One bright October morning, when the woods Had donned their purple mantles and red hoods In honour of the Frost King, Vivian came, Bringing some green leaves, tipped with crimson flame, - First trophies of the Autumn time.
And Roy Made a proposal that we all should go And ramble in the forest for a while.
But Helen said she was not well--and so Must stay at home. Then Vivian, with a smile, Responded, "I will stay and talk to you, And they may go;" at which her two cheeks grew Like twin blush roses--dyed with love's red wave, Her fair face shone transfigured with great joy.
And Vivian saw--and suddenly was grave.
Roy took my arm in that protecting way Peculiar to some men, which seems to say, "I shield my own," a manner pleasing, e'en When we are conscious that it does not mean More than a simple courtesy. A woman Whose heart is wholly feminine and human, And not unsexed by hobbies, likes to be The object of that tender chivalry, That guardianship which man bestows on her, Yet mixed with deference; as if she were Half child, half angel.
Though she may be strong, Noble and self-reliant, not afraid To raise her hand and voice against all wrong And all oppression, yet if she be made, With all the independence of her thought, A woman womanly, as God designed, Albeit she may have as great a mind As man, her brother, yet his strength of arm, His muscle and his boldness she has not, And cannot have without she loses what Is far more precious, modesty and grace.
So, walking on in her appointed place, She does not strive to ape him, nor pretend But that she needs him for a guide and friend, To shield her with his greater strength from harm.
We reached the forest; wandered to and fro Through many a winding path and dim retreat, Till I grew weary: when I chose a seat Upon an oak-tree, which had been laid low By some wind storm, or by some lightning stroke.
And Roy stood just below me, where the ledge On which I sat sloped steeply to the edge Of sunny meadows lying at my feet.
One hand held mine; the other grasped a limb That cast its checkered shadows over him; And, with his head thrown back, his dark eyes raised And fixed upon me, silently he gazed Until I, smiling, turned to him and spoke:
"Give words, my cousin, to those thoughts that rise, And, like dumb spirits, look forth from your eyes."
The smooth and even darkness of his cheek Was stained one moment by a flush of red.
He swayed his lithe form nearer as he stood Still clinging to the branch above his head.
His brilliant eyes grew darker; and he said, With sudden passion, "Do you bid me speak?
I cannot, then, keep silence if I would.
That hateful fortune, coming as it did, Forbade my speaking sooner; for I knew A harsh-tongued world would quickly misconstrue My motive for a meaner one. But, sweet, So big my heart has grown with love for you I cannot shelter it or keep it hid.
And so I cast it throbbing at your feet, For you to guard and cherish, or to break.
Maurine, I love you better than my life.
My friend--my cousin--be still more, my wife!
Maurine, Maurine, what answer do you make?"
I scarce could breathe for wonderment; and numb With truth that fell too suddenly, sat dumb With sheer amaze, and stared at Roy with eyes That looked no feeling but complete surprise.
He swayed so near his breath was on my cheek.
"Maurine, Maurine," he whispered, "will you speak?"
Then suddenly, as o'er some magic glass One picture in a score of shapes will pass, I seemed to see Roy glide before my gaze.
First, as the playmate of my earlier days - Next, as my kin--and then my valued friend, And last, my lover. As when colours blend In some unlooked-for group before our eyes, We hold the glass, and look them o'er and o'er, So now I gazed on Roy in his new guise, In which he ne'er appeared to me before.
His form was like a panther's in its grace, So lithe and supple, and of medium height, And garbed in all the elegance of fashion.
His large black eyes were full of fire and passion, And in expression fearless, firm, and bright.
His hair was like the very deeps of night, And hung in raven clusters 'round a face Of dark and flashing beauty.
He was more Like some romantic maiden's grand ideal Than like a common being. As I gazed Upon the handsome face to mine upraised, I saw before me, living, breathing, real, The hero of my early day-dreams: though So full my heart was with that clear-cut face, Which, all unlike, yet claimed the hero's place, I had not recognised him so before, Or thought of him, save as a valued friend.
So now I called him, adding, "Foolish boy!
Each word of love you utter aims a blow At that sweet trust I had reposed in you.
I was so certain I had found a true, Steadfast man friend, on whom I could depend, And go on wholly trusting to the end.
Why did you shatter my delusion, Roy, By turning to a lover?"
"Why, indeed!
Because I loved you more than any brother, Or any friend could love." Then he began To argue like a lawyer, and to plead With all his eloquence. And, listening, I strove to think it was a goodly thing To be so fondly loved by such a man, And it were best to give his wooing heed, And not deny him. Then before my eyes, In all its clear-cut majesty, that other Haughty and poet-handsome face would rise And rob my purpose of all life and strength.
Roy urged and argued, as Roy only could, With that impetuous, boyish eloquence.
He held my hands, and vowed I must, and should Give some least hope; till, in my own defence, I turned upon him, and replied at length:
"I thank you for the noble heart you offer:
But it deserves a true one in exchange.
I could love you if I loved not another Who keeps my heart; so I have none to proffer."
Then, seeing how his dark eyes flashed, I said:
"Dear Roy! I know my words seem very strange; But I love one I cannot hope to wed.
A river rolls between us, dark and deep.
To cross it--were to stain with blood my hand.
You force my speech on what I fain would keep In my own bosom, but you understand?
My heart is given to love that's sanctified, And now can feel no other.
