Not despair, Not sorrow, not even the sense of her loss, Flow'd in those happy tears, so oblivious she was Of all save the sense of her own love! Anon, However, his words rush'd back to her. "All gone, The fortune you brought me!"
And eyes that were dim With soft tears she upraised; but those tears were for HIM.
"Gone! my husband?" she said," tell me all! see! I need, To sober this rapture, so selfish indeed, Fuller sense of affliction."
"Poor innocent child!"
He kiss'd her fair forehead, and mournfully smiled, As he told her the tale he had heard--something more, The gain found in loss of what gain lost of yore.
"Rest, my heart, and my brain, and my right hand, for you;
And with these, my Matilda, what may I not do?
And know not, I knew not myself till this hour, Which so sternly reveal'd it, my nature's full power."
"And I too," she murmur'd, "I too am no more The mere infant at heart you have known me before.
I have suffer'd since then. I have learn'd much in life.
O take, with the faith I have pledged as a wife, The heart I have learn'd as a woman to feel!
For I--love you, my husband!"
As though to conceal Less from him, than herself, what that motion express'd, She dropp'd her bright head, and hid all on his breast.
"O lovely as woman, beloved as wife!
Evening star of my heart, light forever my life!
If from eyes fix'd too long on this base earth thus far You have miss'd your due homage, dear guardian star, Believe that, uplifting those eyes unto heaven, There I see you, and know you, and bless the light given To lead me to life's late achievement; my own, My blessing, my treasure, my all things in one!"
XII.
How lovely she look'd in the lovely moonlight, That stream'd thro' the pane from the blue balmy night!
How lovely she look'd in her own lovely youth, As she clung to his side, full of trust and of truth!
How lovely to HIM, as he tenderly press'd Her young head on his bosom, and sadly caress'd The glittering tresses which now shaken loose Shower'd gold in his hand, as he smooth'd them!
XIII.
O Muse, Interpose not one pulse of thine own beating heart Twixt these two silent souls! There's a joy beyond art, And beyond sound the music it makes in the breast.
XIV.
Here were lovers twice wed, that were happy at least!
No music, save such as the nightingales sung, Breath'd their bridals abroad; and no cresset, up-hung, Lit that festival hour, save what soft light was given From the pure stars that peopled the deep-purple heaven.
He open'd the casement: he led her with him, Hush'd in heart, to the terrace, dipp'd cool in the dim Lustrous gloom of the shadowy laurels. They heard Aloof, the invisible, rapturous bird, With her wild note bewildering the woodlands: they saw Not unheard, afar off, the hill-rivulet draw His long ripple of moon-kindled wavelets with cheer From the throat of the vale; o'er the dark sapphire sphere The mild, multitudinous lights lay asleep, Pastured free on the midnight, and bright as the sheep Of Apollo in pastoral Thrace; from unknown Hollow glooms freshen'd odors around them were blown Intermittingly; then the moon dropp'd from their sight, Immersed in the mountains, and put out the light Which no longer they needed to read on the face Of each other life's last revelation.
The place Slept sumptuous round them; and Nature, that never Sleeps, but waking reposes, with patient endeavor Continued about them, unheeded, unseen, Her old, quiet toil in the heart of the green Summer silence, preparing new buds for new blossoms, And stealing a finger of change o'er the bosoms Of the unconscious woodlands; and Time, that halts not His forces, how lovely soever the spot Where their march lies--the wary, gray strategist, Time, With the armies of Life, lay encamp'd--Grief and Crime, Love and Faith, in the darkness unheeded; maturing, For his great war with man, new surprises; securing All outlets, pursuing and pushing his foe To his last narrow refuge--the grave.
XV.
Sweetly though Smiled the stars like new hopes out of heaven, and sweetly Their hearts beat thanksgiving for all things, completely Confiding in that yet untrodden existence Over which they were pausing. To-morrow, resistance And struggle; to-night, Love his hallow'd device Hung forth, and proclaim'd his serene armistice.
