Dreams of life : miscellaneous poems / Timothy Thomas Fortune [electronic text]

THE BRIDE OF ELLERSLEE.

Argument.— Florida was first settled by the Spaniards in 1565, although the first white man to visit the country was Ponce de Leon, in 1513. In 1819 the Spaniards ceded the whole Province to the United States. During the time of the Spanish occupation there was a constant clashing between the Spaniards and the Englishmen, between whom there was never any good blood.

Don Carlos Garcia y Artero was a typical Spanish nobleman—haughty, imperious, pompous, and fabulously rich. His hatred of the English people was an inherited infirmity, which the long contention of supremacy between the two peoples in Florida served to aggravate. He never could abide Ralph Bondly in any of the relations of life. He regarded him as embodying all of the objectionable and offensive traits in the English character.

This matter of racial aversion and antagonism, while very prevalent today in all parts of the world, has lost much of the bitterness that characterized it in past times. Modern inventions have brought the world into closer contact, and made men more dependent upon each other than they were even a century ago. The wars of conquest and reprisals waged between Spain and England from the earliest times would be sufficient explanation of individual likes and antagonisms wherever any two or more of these people should meet, as in Florida.

CANTO I.

Ralph Bondly was Misfortune's child; The gods on him but seldom smiled;

Yet he possessed the wealth men crave As greatest boon this side the grave. Restless as tides that come and go, In Summer's calm or Winter's blow, Something he sought and longed to grasp, But ever failed its form to clasp.

In every land his feet had strayed; He 'neath Italian skies had prayed, And scoffed beneath the Othman's sign, And loitered by the Seine and Rhine; Siberian snows had swept his face Where Afric's sun had left its trace; But nowhere what he sought for found, Though present oft to sight and sound. E'en Europe gave him no relief From gnawings of his nameless grief— From tortured Self, the worst of foes That breed Delusion's endless woes. Delusion! O, who has not chased Some Phantom through Life's trackless waste!

And there were times when Bondly's hate Embraced the world, e'en cursing Fate! At other times he felt not so, But free, forsooth, to come and go, To mingle with the social throng, And lend himself to dance and song. Some relaxation from the law That governs life we all must draw, Forget in Pleasure's treasured hour, Perhaps in Beauty's charming bower,

The speedy coming of the morrow, With its vain hopes and toil and sorrow! O Life! O Death! We well may cry, Who, dying, live, and living, die!

Ralph Bondly loved the solitude Of mountain high and leafy wood; The dreamy silence soothed his brain And robbed his nerves of numbing pain. And yet he shunned not womankind, Nor to their queenly charms was blind. And he was learned in the lore The seers of eld have placed in store, From which may draw all who incline To drink of Wisdom's thoughts divine; And he was eloquent of speech, Since versed in all the schools could teach; And if the social theme he led, Or dance, or song, 'twas never said That he was vain. From Vanity— The meanest thing beneath the sky!— From vain display of Self, he shrank, As do all men of noble rank— The masters of the world, the strong, The brave, their weaker kind among.

His voice was sweet as music sung By sirens when the world was young; And he could sing as only they Who have been bathed in heavenly spray. The thoughtful noted with what care Ralph Bondly bore his earthly share; How firm he was, how gentle, too, In all that he did say and do—

Precise, methodical. No mask He wore, not he, whate'er the task Assigned him in the day's just claim, In Duty's e'er exacting name.

He was a riddle to the few Who dwelt about him and he knew; But to the gossip-loving crowd He seemed but over-lordly, proud— So proud he could have worn a crown, Or, on a broader field, renown In war's brave game or walks of peace, Snatched from the hands of sluggard ease! And none who sought them found the flaws That mark a break in Nature's laws— Shown most in conduct of the fools, Earth's dunces on their little stools, The noisy creatures of the hour, Who scream for honor and for power. Yet many failed the man to read, Who gave to them such little heed. The idle gossips of the earth— 'Tis strange why they were given birth! They fill a place, 'tis true. But, why? And thereby hangs a mystery!

Action, on life's strenuous field, To do and dare, to never yield, A soldier's duty is, or high Or low the place whence he may fly The standard of humanity! No steel of isolation must Within the human heart be thrust

And there remain, for it will kill The stoutest heart that hope may thrill; Yet such had been Ralph Bondly's fate— To love the world and reap its hate.

Many there are who deem him blest Upon whose slender shoulders rest The weight of birth and wealth and fame, The well-filled purse, the titled name, Unheeding that the wise and strong— Warrior, statesman, child of song— Fall, as the humblest fall, borne down By burdens all too heavy grown, And even in Life's glorious prime And long ere man's allotted time! The lowly grumble at their fate And have but curses and fierce hate For those who rise above them far, The chosen leaders in Life's war, The valiant captains in the race, Who reap the honors of the chase! Forsooth, the wisest men agree That wealth and power bring misery, Bring cares the humble poor ne'er know In Summer's sun or Winter's snow! "Uneasy lies the head that wears "A crown!" 'Tis filled with cares and fears! Likewise the head upon a stone, Reaping the whirlwind it has sown; The head of him who plays the fool Is tortured, too, by Nature's rule; The head with learning stored, though proud, Is restless oft, in sorrow bowed,

From garnering where some other head Has sown the seed its blood had fed. Masters of science and of art, And speakers to the head and heart, And bards who make all earth their prize Seeking sometimes to pierce the skies— How often in the lap of Fame Their heads lie sleepless, the frail frame Wasting to speedy death, while yet Uncanceled is Life's honest debt!

We seek contentment here in vain! There are in earth but woe and pain! Or wealth or transient power or fame Or outcast without home or name— Back to the dust all mortals go And vanish as a mimic show! What boots the place to us assigned In matter gross or God-like mind! What boots if rags or furs are ours To blunt the edge of Winter's powers? The shepherd's hut, the prince's hall— The two extremes of earth's grim thrall— What matters where we sleep when locked In earth's embrace, by grim Death shocked?

When he no longer cared to roam Ralph Bondly came and made his home Amid the glories of the South, Where seldom comes a blighting drouth; The magic land of sweetest flowers That ever bloomed in Nature's bowers;

Where songs of birds fill all the trees That blossom in the tropic breeze, With melody divine. Fair land Of chivalry and song, thy wand Has touched with more than wizard power The pulse that ruled the Nation's hour! A land as rich in womankind, In royal maiden charms that blind By dazzlement the human mind, As ever bard of old had found Upon Enchantment's vanished ground! He came, but why and whence, to dwell With strangers all, no one could tell; He deigned no word to speak but this: "A British Earl!" That must suffice!

Ralph Bondly's home was all that heart Could wish, or lavish wealth and art Combined could body forth in form To kiss the sun or brave the storm! A glorious mansion, where was caught The gloom its lord so long had fought; And you could trace a master's hand In every line the builders planned Through all the palace, sombre, vast, That 'gainst the sky its shadows cast. Rich fields and wooded acres wide And gardens fair in flowery pride Held fast the eye—for in design And richness they were most divine! Here, hidden from all prying eyes, Beneath the fairest, balmiest skies,

Where merriment of carnival Was never heard in room or hall, But silent, closed against the world, Which e'er around him surged and swirled— Here dwelt Ralph Bondly in his prime, As princes dwell beyond our clime, In grand but isolated state— A child of sorrow and of hate, The offspring of a loveless twain That he would never see again!

His spacious mansion, his domain, That stretched o'er hill and dale and plain; The thousand slaves that claimed him lord, And breathless hung upon his word; The pleasures of the field and chase, The ruling passion of his race; And piscatorial toils—he cared For these, and in their joyance shared. And if he loved the solitude Of mountain peaks or leafy wood, Where silence held eternal reign, And found forgetfulness of pain Therein, shall he be charged with pride And vanity? Not so! 'Twere well If in such scene his heart could swell, Responsive to great Nature's voice, Which, silent e'en, bids us rejoice! If by some gurgling, murmuring stream He could forget himself and dream Of happy days sometime to be, Why grudge him such felicity?

He worshipped Nature—'twas his god— Worshipped the air, the trees, the sod, And all the living things that brood And breathe in forest's solitude.

All knew his famous country seat, For such a man a fit retreat; And many sighed to own the prize, Which was a bauble in his eyes. The country people canvassed well All that was his or him befell.

Did they not envy him? Oh, no! But what he owned. 'Twas ever so! His gloom of mind they feared; and none Desired his hermit life to share, His seeming load of endless care! 'Tis always true that Life's hard yoke Will e'en the stoutest heart provoke! Do what we will, the smiles and tears Go hand in hand with hopes and fears! The changeless laws of Nature, Life, Ordain in all that ceaseless strife Prevail; so, what the world to-day Proclaims and worships, falls away When comes another morrow morn— Discarded for some newer horn, Some newer toy, more pleasing yet— And that it, too, will soon forget! The rich man, poor man, and the fool, Attend alike Delusion's school! Each fondly dreams, in some new way, His vagrant thoughts, where'er they stray,

Will lead him to the fount of youth, Or to the well of endless truth, Or to the gold and diamonds hid Beneath the earth's unyielding lid! Like the dread sword of Damocles, Their hopes are strung on hairs the breeze Will strain and snap, so frail the thread, And leave them mangled, bleeding, dead! And many die in reaching after That which provokes but honest laughter— So absurd are some things men chase Through all of Life's exciting race— While others, without striving, find All that they seek, and would, if blind!

Bondly was not devout in creeds; But many knew him such in deeds. "Ye have the poor always," He said, Who followed where the Father led! He knew that life is like a flower That blooms in sweetness in morn's hour, And droops and withers when the day In royal splendor fades away! He did not strive to bridge the gaps In Nature's large and varied maps, But left them as he found them, sure They would be there forevermore! The music of a brook was sweet, As, dreaming on a mossy seat, He watched the waters rush away To some reposeful, land-locked bay; He loved the odor of a rose, The loveliest flower that ever grows,

And violets, by the dews caressed, Sweet-scented, in their wildwood nest; The baying of his hounds in chase, The fox afar, would flush his face.

And what is love, but death? Although The parent of all life, we know, 'Tis still the parent of decay— But blood to blood and clay to clay! And is it well to love that death May fatten on the vital breath! Oh, life of death! Oh, death of life! In all of earth ye breed but strife.

Ralph Bondly often thought had he Some queen of earth with him to be, To share his life and wealth, a mate, He would not ask for more of Fate; But put the thought away in fear, As something fatal all too near! It could not be! His path must still Be lone and sad! It was God's will! 'Twas his allotted share. But—Why? So all the sons of Adam cry When longed-for bliss the Fates deny! Yet Bondly would have lain his head Against a heart that ne'er had bled Except in pity for such woe As only noble souls can know, When love has lit the deathless flame That burns undimmed, fore'er the same! But he had never loved—ne'er felt The sternness of his nature melt

Into the tenderness that He Showed Mary at far Bethany! "Yes; love indeed is light from heaven, The sweetest boon to mortals given!"

Three years had come and gone since he, The stranger lord, at Ellerslee, Had made his home, fair Bondly Hall— His pride—his neighbors' pride withal; And he a stronger man had grown, And dreamed he might yet claim his own; The earth became a fairer place In all its matchless charm and grace; A newer life was his to live, With power to nobler thoughts to give The active force of soul and mind, As he had always been inclined. A wise seaman distrusts the clouds, Floating above, like myriad shrouds, Although the waters of the sea In placid slumber all may be; He knows the storm is coming fast, To strain his spars, to strain his mast, Until the ship shall creak and groan, While round him wild winds sigh and moan! But Bondly revelled in the calm— To him 'twas more than magic balm— As boys disport them in the sun When Spring, fierce Winter's season run, Has chased the snows to Alpine heights To glisten in the moon's pale nights! The future was remote, unknown; The present, ah! it was his own!

We do not estimate how much A limb is worth until a crutch Has ta'en its place, shattered by shell Or shot or knife in war's fierce hell; Nor know how dear is Fatherland Until we tread a foreign strand, And strangers mingle with, and hear Words that confuse the anxious ear; We do not prize the glorious sun Until the frost its work has done, In killing every flower and leaf, And filling all the earth with grief; The precious gem possessed, the cost Outrageous seems, until 'tis lost; And past misfortunes do not teach There are some things beyond our reach. Yes, there was balsam in the air That gave to Bondly courage rare. Close by his favorite silvery stream, He sat him down to dream and dream, While Nature's smile, pervading all, Presaged a future bright withal! So vigorous manhood feels its power, When no black clouds above it lower. And moments of depression still Come to us all, and ever will; But from despair a strength we gain That makes our living not in vain!

"Life is a curse!" Ralph Bondly mused— To whom the gods so much refused; "Nor can the poet's gentle song, "Of love and hate, of right and wrong;

"Nor braggart's swagger; nor wealth's joys, "With all the ills that wealth destroys; "Nor wedding bells, where grim despair "Rides on a fairy in the air; "Nor incantations of the wise, "That rule the lightnings from the skies "And what beneath earth's surface lies— "Make blessings of the curse! Eden, "Thy awful curse still rests on men! "We laugh and sing this hour; we weep "The next, and groan, and, perchance, die! "And what is death—the hidden hand "Lifted 'gainst life in every land! "I do not know, and never knew "One who could read the riddle true, "The present and the future state, "The one we love, the one we hate! "And no man in the ages past, "In tropic sun or Arctic blast, "Has grown one single inch withal "Since the dread hour of Adam's fall, "By railing at the laws that rule "Alike the wise man and the fool! "Man's stature steadily has grown "Shorter as Time has swiftly flown "Toward the desolation of the earth "And dread cessation of all birth! "As life began with giants, may "It not wind up with pigmies, pray, "Or creatures smaller yet—so small "That they cannot be seen at all! "In truth, the pathway to the sky "Runs o'er rough fields and mountains high!

"From whence we came we do not know, "Nor to what destiny we go; "Knowledge stops here and science gropes "And Faith fills in the void with hopes! "The mountain streams of ice and snow "At last into the ocean flow "And form a part thereof; but man— "Whence came he and, pray, whither goes "When o'er his grave the willow grows? "The flesh returns to earth; the mind— "Does it become part of the wind? "Does Reason vanish with the breath "That yields—resisting still—to Death? "And so we live, and so we die, "Victims of whence, of whither, why?"

CANTO II.

There is no clime beneath the sun Where man predominance has won, Can match the women of our clime In beauty and in virtue prime, In charms of person and of mind In one harmonious whole combined! They are the glory and the pride Of all the beauteous Southland wide, The chiefest treasure of the land O'er which some wizard threw his wand! Thus thought the lord of Ellerslee While dreaming of the galaxy That passed before his mental gaze And made it bright with Beauty's blaze. He had so long enjoyed a state Of single blessedness that Fate,

He deemed, had shut his heart to all The charms that dazzle men withal; And, yet, of late, his thoughts had dwelt More kindly on the themes that melt The stubborn heart than e'er before; And this he pondered o'er and o'er, As now love's dream did not affright Him as a phantom of the night, But lured him as a beacon light. All love—all hate—all laugh—all weep— As through our lives the passions sweep!

The noblest passion of the breast, Love makes a man the noblest, best, Or meanest of the human race, In whom the brute we well can trace. Oft when the object sought is won Man's ardor cools; and she, undone, Who dreamed of love and happiness, Is left the lips of sorrow to caress! And love, like everything possessed, Grows valueless, too oft, with years, And garners naught but sighs and tears. Thought Bondly so? He was not now What he had been. His noble brow Unwrinkled was; his eagle eye No more was blurred with mystery. Reason had come into its own, And this in all his acts was shown.

Within the law Ralph Bondly came That operates on all the same—

On things that breathe, on things that grow, On things unknown, on things we know— He fell in love! For months he felt His sterner nature slowly melt Into a softer mood—the mood That shuns the haunts of solitude, And runs from darkness of the night Into the glamour of day's light! He worshipped her, but from afar, As dreamers of th' Orient a star, New gleaming on th' enraptured sight In the soft splendors of the night; For she was fairest of her kind That ever flashed upon his mind.

Just as the waters madly flow, From mountain heights of ice and snow, O'er rocks and sands into the sea, As if rejoicing to be free, Gathering from resistance force And momentum in their wild course, So love leaps forward—restless free— A thing of life and mystery! 'Twill brook no curb, no counsel take, From those who seek its faith to shake! In ancient times its hate has lit The flames that hoary empires split, Or crumbled in the dust, to rise No more to noble enterprise! Yes, love will dare the world to arms And glory in war's dread alarms! The greatest dangers it will face And thrive on shadows with good grace;

Nor cold nor heat nor hunger, pain, Its burning ardor can restrain. And, yet, from vulgar eyes to hide 'Twill seek, in modest, blushing pride, If all goes well, if flowers are spread Along the path that it must tread! O, love is life, and life is love— The union of the hawk and dove!

She was, indeed, a royal maid— As all maids are, when all is said— Whom Bondly loved, with dreamful eyes That beamed upon you in surprise, And face as beautiful and fair As ever blushed in Southern air, Or smiled from canvas, or from bust, That survives even human dust! A Southern beauty, whom the brave A ready, willing, homage gave, As well the statesman and the bard— Who sang her praises by the yard. From far and near had gallants sought Her smiles, by her sweet beauty caught; But, no; the same reply she gave To giddy youth and aged grave. She was heart-free; no passion's word The damped fires of her soul had stirred. She revelled in the gracious power That makes the weak and strong to cower— To humbly kneel at Beauty's shrine And crave to own its charms divine. Throughout the South her magic name Had traveled on the wings of fame;

In Beauty's Court she was supreme— In Beauty's Court she was a dream! She traced her blood to royalty, From noblest blood of Spain came she; For of her house had men defied The tyranny of princely pride And trod the earth where prowess won, As knights of old have always done. So great in other days, long past, When men were all as warriors classed, Were men of Garcia's haughty tribe, Whom flattery nor pelf could bribe! Ah, glorious days of chivalry, Too bad Cervantes' wit killed ye! This should decide the question then: "Which mightier is—the sword or pen?" Still college youths will argue o'er This settled point forevermore! But now in Flora's sunny clime, And had since his young manhood's prime, Don Garcia lived in quiet ease, Nor sighed for scenes beyond the seas; And while he loved his native land, Where he was born to rule, command, He better loved th' adopted State Where he was greatest of the great. Good Fortune and the Kings of Spain Had filled his coffers well; and vain And Naughty was the little Don— To whom the gods denied a son. A miser with his wealth was he, And little gave to charity.

E'en spare of words the old man was, Economized on breath, alas!

His neighbors did not love the Don, And ridiculed him pro and con, But did it well his back behind, After the nature of their kind— Who curse in private those they hate, Or envy, but would emulate, While publicly they cringe and bow And fawn—so glad the Don to know! It has been so in every age, And will be up to Time's last page. A title and a bag of gold Will make the mob grow hot and cold, However base the owner be— However proud and miserly! But what cared Garcia for the blame Or praise that from the rabble came! What need had he to bother, pray, About what men should think and say Of him! He knew, but did not care; He was supreme in his own sphere. Was he not strong in all men crave Beyond themselves this side the grave— Abundant wealth and titles clear And acres vast his soul to cheer! He loved but one in all the earth, And she had loved him from her birth— The queenly daughter of his pride, Who came when his young wife had died! He had grown old in selfishness, And found in it his happiness;

E'en selfish with young Nada was, While fondly loving her, alas! He grudged the smiles she scattered wide O'er all the flowery country side— For she was lavish with her smiles— The human sunshine that beguiles— And with her charity; so high And low could naught to her deny Of love and gracious courtesy.

Much time had Senor Garcia spent In lands where lavish splendors lent The glamour and the pageantry Of pomp and power to majesty; And in his castles in old Spain— Which he might never see again!— He much of hospitality Had shown his noble peers—for he Was not always the slave of gold, Nor selfish was and harsh and cold! These came when she who made his youth Sublime passed as the breath of truth, And as old age upon him crept While all his generous nature slept— Vindictive that his chiefest joy Death could so cruelly destroy! For this he left his native Spain And went not back to it again The social reins to Nada he Long since resigned, and cheerfully. The years that still were his, he knew, And did not grieve to know, were few,

For he had drained the cup of pleasure, And, in his hours of ample leisure, Had learned its worth o'errated is— As fatal as the Judas kiss! Nothing was left to him but name And wealth, and these had e'en grown tame— Had lost the worth that made them dear Before his eyes had shed a tear— For Garcia had the gout; or, say, The gout had him—a difference, pray, As any victim will agree Who has endured its misery! In her he lived whose fairy life Was image of his vanished wife! The cold sod and the eglantine— The rich grass and the creeping vine— While Nada lived, hid not from view This youthful love that Garcia knew. Linked to the present was the past, And o'er his life dark shadows cast— The living joy—the vanished joy— Which brooding years could not destroy! The thoughtless world for loyal grief, That wavers not, has no relief— Not even sympathy—but sneers, Too oft, it gives and ribald jeers! True love, indeed, can never die; It lives in spiritual form for ay!

Young Nada was an alien flower, Transplanted to our matchless power— A power whose Eagle yet shall be Greater than Rome's when Rome was free!

And, though she knew the toil and care Of those who gave so rich a share To her of wealth and titled name, Snatched from the field of war's red flame, She sighed not for the castles and The pomp, the royal splendors grand, Of Merry Spain, which she had seen, For she had knelt to King and Queen; She left the pride of them and boast To Garcia; but, e'en he, at most, No longer prized them as when he A young Knight was of chivalry; For time had taught him this great truth— Age laughs at vanities of youth!

Garcia despised the Saxon race, And treated none with generous grace; No word escaped his lips or pen In praise of England, or its men. He held this virtue sacred as His love of Pope and Holy Mass. He well could love, he well could hate— This spoilt old Spanish child of Fate! Ralph Bondly could not hope to find Favor—if so he had a mind— In Garcia's eyes, the pompous Don Who thought the country was his own, Or seemed to do so in his acts And words, despite the living facts.

Proud of his land and of his race, Bondly had looked in Garcia's face

With hatred and contempt and scorn— Which suggest rapiers in the morn When other men are sleeping fast, Dreaming, perchance, of combats past; And Garcia th' insult had returned, While all his soul with anger burned, Lighting his face with scarlet flame, While from his eyes fierce flashes came. 'Twas mutual hate—the hate of race Which through all history we trace— The darkest and the bloodiest page Writ in the annals of each age.

And are we brothers—we who hate And rob each other—we who wait. With murder in our hearts, to slay Our kind in stealth or open fray? Are we who make each other bleed And starve all sprung from Adam's seed? Will all the children of the Lord E'er sheathe eternally the sword— The black, the yellow and the white— And banish Might and enthrone Right? Go, get the answer from the wind That speaks the language of the Mind From which the universe, and all That in it is, came forth withal!

But changes come! Sometimes they creep Upon us in our hours of sleep— Come as a thief with muffled tread When slumber holds the living dead! And what, in truth, is sleep, but death,

In all except the gasping breath! But changes come! 'Twas even so With Bondly of the sombre brow. He learned before it was too late That love can blunt the edge of hate! Old Garcia seemed not now the same When seen through love's entrancing flame! It all hangs on the single point, If all is right or out of joint. Whether we are concerned or not In casting here or there our lot! Let love or greed come on the scene, And hate of race will find a screen— Will take itself clear out of sight— Will vanish in the starless night! 'Twas even so when man was young— Before the stars their psalm had sung!

We often crave for sunshine fair When angry storms pervade the air; Yes, sigh for objects of desire, That may the heart or fancy fire, Beyond our reach, and knowing, too, This law of Nature to be true. 'Tis better with a cur to be On friendly terms than enmity; However high the eagle flies, E'en circling in the cloud-fringed skies, It must return for food and drink To earth; we may not always think A common beggar has a claim Upon our pity in his shame,

But if we spurn his hungry plea, We may provoke the hate that he Will find a way to gratify, To our great hurt and misery. Ralph Bondly had not felt the need Old Garcia's words and acts to heed; They lived in separate worlds nor cared, Withal, how each the other fared. The county held them both, 'tis true, But it was all that it could do; Neighbors they, dwelling side by side, Yet separate as the earth is wide! And, no strange thing in any clime, But everywhere a social crime!

Bondly could not the time foresee When Nada Garcia's love would be To him the dearest thing the sun Beneath—whether 'twas lost or won. So many tricks have love—sweet love!— And caprice played, at every move, That on few courtships have fair winds E'er blown. The howling storm that blinds— The rains that beat—the thunders dread, And lightning darting overhead— Have rocked in tempests, sweeping wide, Love's trusting hopes! Many have died, Dashing against the storm-hid rocks, Too frail to stand the furious shocks— As sea fowls in their desperate plight Oft dash against a lighthouse light; While others, yet, have ridden high Upon the waves of Mystery,

And found at last the paradise Of wedded bliss—life's dearest prize!

They had not known each other long, And first had met in a vast throng, Where stately dames and maidens fair Had met to banish earthly care. There wit and beauty claimed their own, And joy and mirth and love alone Held captive statesmen—warriors bold— And country squires, both young and old; But in the festive throng, I vow, There was no face, there was no brow, As beautiful, as fair, as free, As Nada Garcia's was to see! So mused Ralph Bondly, as apart He mutely stood with anxious heart, Watching the movements of the maid In the ballroom's soft light and shade; He had no eyes for others there, However beautiful and fair. To him no woman ever seemed More to possess all that he dreamed Of ideal womanhood—the force That shapes the busy world's rough course; True, one of Wisdom's sons once said, Before his Star of Fortune fled, "The hand that rocks the cradle rules "The world"—savants alike and fools. 'Tis sweet to rule the social hour, Perhaps the sweetest of all power, To know the strong of earth, the great, Upon a smile with pleasure wait.

Ralph Bondly lived another age While standing on that narrow stage, And gazing on one woman fair— The fairest of all women there; And all the past, by him forgot, Was in his mind as if 'twas not. The giddy waltz they glided through With perfect grace and measure, too; And through his soul there seemed to pass A thrill of joy divine, alas! They seemed to float upon the air, All full of joy, all free of care, Bewitched by some mysterious power That ruled them in the festive hour. The close-pressed hands, the dreamful eyes, The rhythmic dance, the low-breathed sighs— Assisted all the flame to light That glows forever in the night And in the day—the quenchless flame That burns eternally the same!

Love's magic dream! How old—how young— It is! How valiant and how strong! The sweetness of the roses red, Or violets in their wildwood bed, Or honey in the comb, alas! Cannot Love's magic sweet surpass! From its excess have died in bliss Many the world paused not to miss When they had sunk in Time's abyss! The wrecks that litter Time's highway Are of all kinds—the grave and gay,

The wise and foolish, rich and poor— Borne down and crushed to rise no more: No record in the minds of men. Or history's page, or why or when: The storm just swept them down. leaving No trace of them, and no grieving! Or bootless love, or vengeful hate, Or poverty, or drunkard's fate— What matters it, for none can tell Or when or why the weaklings fell! The towering shaft and lettered page Are held for those, in every age. Who, stout of heart and strong of hand, The forces of the world command! "None but the brave deserve the fair;" No coward should Love's archery dare. 'Twas even so in days of old When all were knights and warriors bold; If there were other sorts of men They dodged the frenzied poet's pen; And e'en the weavers of romance Gave common mortals little chance To show that they possessed the flame Divine, just as the lord and dame; But in the hut of old, as now, Was breathed and kept love's honest vow!

To Bondly's touch so yielding seemed The fair young maid. while bright lights gleamed: She bent so willingly her ear Each of his whispered words to hear, Each whispered nothing, murmured low, He felt his courage stronger grow;

For faintest heart to faint will cease When seems not hard the adored to please! And when the dreamful waltz was o'er, And all deserted was the floor, He led her from the glare and heat Into the night; a rustic seat, An arbor in, was their retreat. The queenly moon in heaven rode high, While lustrous stars attended nigh, And roses filled with sweets the air— Yes, flowery sweets were everywhere! Have you e'er lingered in the night, When moon and stars diffused the light, In some fair summer land, and drunk, Until to languorous slumber sunk, The perfume of a thousand flowers That bathed you in its soothing showers? They paused and drank the cooling breeze That music made high in the trees— The giants of a distant age That had outlived Time's stormy rage— The breeze that swept their noble brows, As gentle as a lover's vows! How furiously his heart did beat With fear and hope—ah, hope, so sweet!— How nerveless was his tongue! Their eyes Had met beneath the fairest skies And told the tale that needs no word To make its heavenly message heard! The eyes can speak a joy or woe The faithful tongue may never know— Can flash a secret from the soul While the fierce thunders rumbling roll

And piercing lightnings stifle voices, O'erawed by elemental noises! But, now, alone—a time that might Not come again—silent as night Were they, voiceless, dreading and hoping, While through the present blindly groping!

Who can portray the thoughts that swell Two hearts that love each other well When first they learn that they adore, And shall—or hope!—forevermore! And who can tell one-half the fears That then dissolve a maid in tears! And how the strongest man so weak Becomes he cannot even speak— So overcome with nameless dread A child may lead him by a thread! Their love unspoken cowards made Them in the slumberous vine-clad shade. So silence brooded on the deep— Heedless of those who laugh or weep— Pervasive in its noiseless sweep! All nature seemed in league—the sky And earth—to fill with majesty And awe divine the time and place Where love had sought to hide its face! Thus Nature works, through God supreme, To chasten love's delirious dream! His trembling tongue but uttered ill The words conjured by his strong will. "I love but thee!" he hoarsely said; "And could I claim thee, with thee wed,

"I'd give a world, if mine to give, "And joy alone with thee to live! "I crave thy love! 'Tis life to me, "Or death! Give it, and I shall be "The happiest man that walks the earth "Since mortals first had troublous birth! "Refuse it, and, dear maid, I die, "The saddest soul beneath the sky, "For life would be a worthless toy "That I should hasten to destroy! "O, speak! Say I may live and be "Thy willing slave and worship thee!" But not a word spake she! Hushed—scared— Th' emotions of her nature warred! Her hand he still held in his own, A trembling captive he had won; It fed the flames whose violent heat Quenched never is by rain or sleet! The captive hand he dared to kiss! O, bliss of life! O, life of bliss! The seconds seemed to run to hours, 'Midst th' exhalations of the flowers, To him who knelt in dread suspense, While every nerve and sense was tense, Silently pleading for a bride, Pleading his suit be not denied! And, when she said: "I love but thee!" His soul dissolved in ecstasy. He gently drew her to his breast, Never before by woman pressed, And they did vow—but why repeat What they did vow? But it was sweet!

The mortal who has never known The rapture of a kiss, alone The token of affection true, Course all his nature through and through, Has missed the chiefest joy of earth Since love in Eden had its birth!

A moment lingered they, as loath To break the spell of their betroth; And, then, a moment more, and they Were borne along in circles gay, To music's soft alluring strain, That ne'er so sweet might sound again. Changed were the currents of their fate, For conquering love had vanished hate; Th' English Earl o'er the Spanish Don A bloodless victory had won.

Don Garcia saw them leave the hall— Saw them return—he saw it all— And 'twas as wormwood and the gall! He marked the color come and go— The tell-tale eyes—the glances low— The looks they sought in vain to screen, That slyly passed the two between— He marked it all, and but too well, And all his soul with hate did swell! So here the two extremes had met, Of love and hate, which oft upset The best laid plans and hopes of men, Earth filling with "what might have been!" O, love! O, hate! Ye tigers are When roused to vengeance or to war!

Don Garcia and his daughter fair Rode homeward in the morning air, While shook himself th' imperial sun For the long race he had to run; It was so still, it was so calm, No one could dream of coming storm. And they were silent then awhile. Unruffled seemed as Nature's smile. They were unlike as earth and sky In all of life's dark mystery; For he was peevish, gouty, old, In whom the fires of youth were cold; While she was beautiful and young, And dreamed of love and of love sung, And now the vanished night had brought To her a happier, sweeter thought, That made the earth still fairer seem In which to live, in which to dream. This was her thought, when Garcia spoke And from the revery her awoke: "Nada, I charge thee, mark it well— '''Tis thy salvation or thy knell!— "In thy mad course no further go! "'Twill lead thee straight to endless woe. "The man is mad! This thou must know. "I'd rather see the willow wave "Above thy too untimely grave "Than have thee wed the man I scorn— "This man with brain disordered born! "It must not be! Let him be gone! "I hate him, and, if you were one, "I still should hate him! 'Twixt his race "And mine no truce can be—no grace!

"Thou art the solace of my years, "The object of my hopes and fears; "There's nothing left of all my line, "Save thee, 'round which my love can twine. "All else has gone the way I soon "Shall go; my life has passed high noon. "I love thee with my life, and live "Alone my life to thee to give. "Make not my old heart for thee grieve. "I feel thou wilt my warning heed." He calmly spoke, this man of steel, Who crushed inferiors 'neath his heel, And all his enemies defied To scale the ramparts of his pride; But he was furious through and through And his great mantle closer drew About him, not to ward the air, But to conceal his load of care. There is no hate like hate of race In all the climes of earthly space.

She spake no word; she could not speak, For love and reverence made her weak; But with each perfumed breath she drew She vowed to Bondly to be true. Could she forget the moments past, Moments too sweet to longer last! She closed her eyes, as if in sleep, And plunged into Love's pathless deep, Beginning with the vanished night That ope'd new worlds of sun and light To her bewildered, startled sight.

Oh, trackless was the deep blue sea On which her bark danced merrily! But ere it left the home port far It ran into a tempests' war. The present o'er the future casts A spell that oft forever lasts; And maidens grow reserved, whose eyes Had been as free as heaven's fair skies, Before love's magic wand had shown Them life and love indeed are one; And childish innocence may take The wisdom of the crawling snake, To shield it from the prying mind That seeks its hidden thought to find.

When love invades a woman's breast, A long farewell to peace and rest— To days of innocence and truth— The charming innocence of youth. Th' expectant groom becomes a god, Too good to tread his mother sod; Ethereal form is his; the air His fit abode, with angels fair; His power the fiercest oath can break That irate parents ever make; Indeed, such interdict but serves To re-enforce the lovers' nerves. Within themselves they are supreme, Lapped in Illusion's blissful dream, And headlong plunge into Life's roar, And oft fair ports see nevermore.

CANTO III.

Through all of life there runs a vein Of mystery—of joy and pain, Of hope and disappointment, and Of hate and love. In every land, In every age, the wise and good— In cloister cell's dark solitude, In private homes and college walls, In humble huts and stately halls— Have sought this riddle to unmask, But found it was a hopeless task. Nothing we do has made it plain— The why of Joy, the why of Pain. As 'twas when Father Time began— With but one woman and one man— So it is now, a mystery still, To thwart the soul, to curb the will. We need, indeed, celestial light To read Life's darksome riddle right.

The savage chief, under the spell Of love, howe'er he may rebel, Pursues no more th' exciting chase, Nor courts grim war's forbidding face, Nor lingers by the rambling stream; Or slumberous lake's unruffled dream; But spends his hours the woods among, Stolid, by soft desires unstrung; And all his fancies colored are By rays of Love's resplendent star; A god or devils in the shade Primeval, by his passion made!

His dusky choice becomes a queen, Present to him in every scene, Eclipsing all of womankind In form and face and gifts of mind, With eyes in which he clearly reads Th' inspiration of heroic deeds. His narrow world grows narrower still While yielding to her gentle will; And he is happier, manlier, far, Than when the chase or barbarous war Called him o'er winding dale and hill His mission in the world to fill. Suppose he wins the woman's love, Ensnares her as he would a dove, And sinks into a brute again— A crafty, haughty, savage, vain— Love made him for a fleeting hour As Romeo was in Juliet's power.

So lords and princelings of the earth, Born to luxury and ease and mirth, Do barter often everything That to one woman they may cling; And, not unlike the savage, they Too often put the wife away, Or torture her with taunts and jeers And base neglect, till woe and tears Drive her to madness or divorce— There's not much choice in either course! The savage chief and brutal lord Are neither bound by oath nor word; The faithful record plainly shows That each one gives but takes no blows,

Because the victim is too weak Upon the brute revenge to wreak! The object gained, the longings cease, Too oft, for man is hard to please, And spurious love, from friendship grown, Returns to friendship as its own, Or hate or desperate, bloody, crimes, That shock the purists of the times.

But love, true love! The beggar blind, Groping, brooding, sick of mind, Sees, through the mists of vanished time, Her who had made his youth sublime, Nerved him to work, in joy and pain, Conscious he labored not in vain! The blackness of his sightless night Was bright with love's all-conquering light; A woman's tender voice and care Were with him always, everywhere; And though her spirit long since had fled, With him she lived! She was not dead! Go tell it to the moaning seas— Go tell it to the sighing trees— Go tell it to the whistling winds— Go tell it to the lords and hinds— That love is life and life is love And rule in earth and heaven above!

Ralph Bondly built his castles high Upon his life's new mystery; What time or heart had he to waste Upon his haughty Spanish grace!

And all the world for him became A smaller sphere—in which one name, One form, one voice, was all that made His life of hope, of sun and shade. The harshness of his nature fled When love its radiance o'er him shed!

As lovers will, the lovers met, For ne'er has law been found as yet That could prevent two lovers true From meeting to their vows renew. Sometimes they met in solitude, 'Neath oaks which had through ages stood, Where Nature reigned in solemn state, Unruffled by man's love and hate. Here, undisturbed, they conversed long The forest sentinels among, Or gazed into each other's eyes And read, as in the open skies, The secrets of the soul therein, The secrets love alone can win. He was so like a prince in all That makes for royal rank—so tall, So handsome, and so dignified, He bore himself with such rare pride— That in his presence she became As hypnotized—held by the flame That fills the soul with heavenly light Or with the darkness of the night. And happiness few mortals know, Who love and trust the sun below, Was hers in these brief interviews, In twilight hours or morning dews;

For hers was faith to all else blind, Save his o'er-mastering will and mind.

How oft we find, in woe and pain, Our confidence reposed in vain! The gameful trout, disporting free— Nothing more joyous, sure, than he In all the waters of the brook— Thus finds himself on th' angler's hook! Now darted he to catch the fly— Now downward—upward—merrily— Till danced the waters in ferment, He was so gay, so confident! But hooked, in seeking life, his own He gave, his rashness to atone! Through all of Nature runs a chord That binds us to the common horde; In all, the same great thread is found Of love and hate, the world around. They did not always coo and dream; Sometimes the burden of their theme Was full of weight, and sadness, too, From which, alas! escape but few. "And we shall always happy be, "Forgetting in our joy," said he "The world beside, by it forgot "Contented with our generous lot, "Nor sigh for other, richer treasure, "Joy stealing e'en from Sorrow's measure! "Life is so sweet, when love divine "Thrills all the soul with its rich wine; "Each stool becomes a sacred shrine,

"And constant hearts more constant grow "Each hour that they each other know! "Yon glassy stream, meandering hence "Through vale and brake, beneath the lens "Of love, assumes, I say not why, "A thousand shapes to charm the eye; "This rose sends forth a wealth of sweet, "As well the violets at our feet, "A garden might exhale; the trees, "Low murmuring in the gentle breeze, "Are richer in their dress of green "While shading me and thee, my queen; "The landscape far more grandly rises "Against the skies in sweet surprises, "As softly o'er the world the sun "Diffuses light and warmth, which run "Through all of life, and it sustain, "With the sweet moisture of the rain; "The tuneful birds their songs now sing "For us! How sweet their voices ring! "The mocking bird leading the choir— "Now clear, now low, now soft, now higher! "How full of joy and glad delight "His numbers echo in their flight, "As if all seasons were his Spring "In which the praise of God to sing! "He puts all carking care to shame— "Makes love and music seem the same! "But louder, clearer, hear him sing, "As if more joy he could us bring! "His care-free life is one long psalm "To Him who rules the storm and calm!

"So shall it be with me and thee "In that wished time, so soon to be, "When you in word and truth are mine, "And I, no less, my love, am thine! "We think not now of less than joy "That time nor sorrow can destroy— "A perfect state, when we are one! "And have we not that state begun— "Our love, so holy and so pure— "It must forevermore endure! "All heaven and earth upon us smile! "Soon comes the hour. We pause awhile!"

So spake the lord of Ellerslee, And, as he spoke, e'en so felt he, Controlled by Passion's burning fires, And swayed at will by fond desires. Not so the maiden at his side He hoped so soon to make his bride; Her wits were sharper than the man's, Who saw no flaws in all his plans; And this, though strange, is often true, When with the heart we have to do; For man is prone in his survey To sweep from Peru to Cathay— Measuring mountains vast and sky With swiftest movement of the eye, And levelling barriers in his flight By his volition's simple might! For mad is almost always vain And selfish to his object gain! The woman treasures little joys As children do their favorite toys,

And seldom looks beyond the sky 'Neath which her hopes and pleasures lie! Young Nada plainly saw the wrath Of Garcia flash across her path, And heard his protest 'gainst the suit Of him he styled "the English brute!" And vowing vengeance fierce and dread Upon her young, defenceless head, Should she persist in her mad course 'Gainst his commands and wish, perforce! She knew his violent nature well When he was under Passion's spell; For she had seen his little form Convulsed in Anger's mighty storm, And all the vast estate, in fear, Tremble, in awe, as he drew near; Or thundered oaths that seemed to be Bigger and uglier than was he— For he would at no Beauty show Have ta'en a seat in the front row!

Don Garcia was a ball of fire When was aroused his Spanish ire, For his, indeed, was martial blood That came down to him from the Flood; At least, that was his haughty boast, Ere he became a living ghost, Ere age and gout made him forget He was a knight of Castile yet, Or gave the fact but scanty thought, Such as a proud Castilian ought— For Spanish knights have always been The proudest, vainest of all men!

Nada well knew her parent proud Would rather see her in a shroud Than joined in wedlock to the lord 'Gainst whom he longed to draw the sword. No blessing on their vows would he Pronounce, when long and merrily The marriage bells to all should tell That two were one and all was well! So in the gladness of the hour She felt his presence and his power, Whose love, though masterful and great, Was never stronger than his hate. Ne'er blushless could she face again The parent who ne'er caused her pain; Whose life, indeed, was all her own, In all its depth, and hers alone. This made her sad. She loved him well, How well, perchance, she could not tell; She loved him with a daughter's pride, Who loved but her in all earth wide! From out the present there arose A cloud, though small, like little woes, That larger grew and larger still, Till all the skies it seemed to fill, As through the shadows glanced her eyes Where the dread Future's secret lies. And she possessed an ample share Of amorous fire and courage rare And hate as strong as gentleness— She was a Garcia, nothing less! Still, she could be, in hours serene, As happy as a reigning queen,

Whose open heart and generous hand Spread blessings through the grateful land.

"I love but thee, my noble lord! "I love but thee!" she said. "Thy word "Is pleasant law always to me, "And joy is mine to be with thee! "And I have prayed my patron saint "Our future life withal to paint "As thou hast pictured it—all fair, "All free from sorrow and from care, "All full of love and fond devotion, "Life's dearest and its sweetest portion— "But I'm suspicion-haunted still, "And constant fears my musings fill! "I would no cloud hung o'er the way "Our journey leads! O, loved one, pray "That we may find my fears are vain, "Our love be free from woe and pain! "O, pray with me, no curse may fall "Upon the lord of Bondly Hall!"

Oppressed by such distressing fears, Her cheeks suffused with scalding tears, Her tongue refused to further speak The thoughts, it seemed, her heart would break! So droops the plant a boy has bruised, Seeking alone to be amused, All thoughtless that the tender flower To grieve and bleed and die has power! Nada's two loves, by tempests tossed, Made her to feel that all was lost.

Her life had been a summer dream, As placid as a woodland stream, With just a ripple here and there, With just a little bit of care; Her father's love was all she knew Of love, and from that love she drew The beauty and the queenly pride That made her famous far and wide. She had reposed in his strong love Confidingly, as would a dove, As free from care, as free from grief, As the sweet dew-drop on the leaf. Lord Bondly's presence in her life Had filled her soul with constant strife.

When once we hasten from the past And rush into the future's blast; When once the beaten path we shun And into unknown by-paths run; When once we leave the home port far And confide in the Sailor's Star, The pathless seas to brave and roam, We may come back again to home! "We may!" "We may!" many have sighed, Hoping, but lost their way and died! The wreckage, bleaching in the sand, May still be found in every land!

A passing sigh, a vain regret, A clinging hope that lingered yet, Was all she to the past could give— The past in which she longed to live!

The present held her captive still, Obedient to a master will— A will so strong she could no more Resist its power than she could soar To castles in the ambient air— If there should be such castles there.

"I go!" she said, "but we shall meet "Again and soon, when I can greet "Thee in a happier, cheerfuller mood, "But now my heart is sore and sad "Beneath this vast o'erhanging shade; "Not that I love not this abode, "Through which primeval mankind strode; "I love it, and I love thee well! "Joy of my life, farewell! Farewell!"

Such power has love—a potion dread That kills or cures the heart and head! Filling the soul with glorious light Or darkness of the fearsome night! It lifts to heaven's fruition fair, Or dashes down to hell's despair! It leads through valleys where the blooms Are ripening for the mills and looms, By streams that oaks and cedars shade, While wildly rushing through the glade! It toils o'er rugged mountains steep, Where snows in wakeless slumber sleep!

Alone, the strong man sat upon A monarch of the woods, moss-grown,

Whose form a lightning bolt had split And splintered as a boy would slit A leaf, and doubt entered his mind, Responsive to the questioning wind. Suppose this dream should fade away, As night engulfs the brightest day, And leave a haunting memory— Could such calamity e'er be? Suppose Nada should vanish now, Despite the beauty of her vow, As she had come, from out his life— What then? Grim Death! He drew a knife From out its sheath—a dagger keen And sharp as razor e'er had been, With golden hilt, and o'er and o'er Turned it, and felt the edge it bore, With the deliberate calm and care Which make the timid quake with fear. "If she be false, thou wilt be true!" Drawing the blade his fingers through. "If she be false, thou wilt be true! "And thou hast served me well; thou art "My friend, cold blade! Close to my heart "I hold thee! And, while I so hold "Thee—sharp, keen, pitiless and cold— "The antidote is surely mine, "And safer, deadlier, than is wine, "'Gainst treachery and the agony "That woman's fickleness for ay "Provokes! For what is life to me, "With this love dead, but misery, "But Death! Aye, what! Then you, "If she be false, will still be true!"

And then his head drooped on his breast; His limbs relaxed; his eyes expressed Nothing—vacant—blank! O'er him fell The potence of the old-time spell! So blasted was the noble tree, In lightning's rage, on which sat he.

CANTO IV.

Among the slaves Garcia did own Was one in service aged grown, The trusted mother of the place— A part of Garcia's ancient race. Nada she gave her Christian name, And nursed her beauty into fame; For she was present when the maid First to earth's smile her tribute paid— The baby nursed; she watched at play The child through many a laggard day. A mother she had joyed to be To the sweet baby on her knee And to the girl whose winsome smile Even indulgence could not spoil, And to the maiden—fair as morn, When first the huntsman winds his horn, Or when the slaves, their work begun, Sing paeans to the rising sun— A mentor she had been, and was— Nada no other mother had, alas! And many a Southern beauty fair Rejoices in her "mammy's" care— The dear black face, the tender heart, Untutored in Refinement's art—

Devotion's slave, a willing slave, With soul as good as God e'er gave The freest, noblest, of her kind, Of generous heart, of subtle mind!

Through all of Garcia's vast estate Her word was law. She held the fate Of high and low within her hands; None dared dispute her wise commands. Not e'en the master's curb restrained Aunt Sara's sway. E'en he complained, Sometimes, against her tyranny, And, laughing, swore he would be free; He did but jest. Full well he knew The value of her service true! She came and went as fancy moved her; All feared her and, forsooth, all loved her— A contradiction, if you will, And, yet, a truth that hedged her still. And many called her "Voudoo Queen"— Perhaps their ignorance to screen. She seldom spoke; but full of tact, Deliberate in speech and act, She easily controlled the strong, And those who had committed wrong, While timid mortals quaked with fear Her stealthy step to even hear; The urchins of the vast estate Hung on her movements soon and late; And, it is not too much to say, Her eyes were on them night and day— For boys are boys, or black or white— Preferring darkness to the light,

Preferring evil to the good— For mischief seems childhood's chief food! No one could penetrate the source From which Aunt Sara drew the force, The nervous strength of soul and mind, To rule her white and sable kind. There was no mystery at all; Her age and ready wit withal Gave her the words and looks and acts— The wit that grasps and controls facts— That men respect and defer to, In priests of Gentile and of Jew; E'en as old age and clinging vines Give to a tower its sharp-drawn lines, That brave the flight of laggard years And fury of the storm's mad tears!

None loved, none feared, Aunt Sara more Than she whose life she had watched o'er, The charming woman who had grown From childhood as her pet, her own. She loved, she feared, she knew not why, This woman wrapt in mystery; Or seemed to be, and that's the same As being, since she had the name, And disdained not to take the fame. A strange freak, that, in all the race— Earth's phantom power to love and chase, To be distinguished from the mob, With right of Might to rule and rob, To grind to dust or starve and slay— The tyrant right the fool to play.

Aunt Sara let th' ignorant think That she could walk upon the brink Of Life's abyss, and converse hold With gri-gri dread of Afric old; It gave her power and consequence And satisfied her common sense; If people wished to act the fool, So well and good, was her safe rule; If they were wise, and acted wise, She simply sagely winked her eyes.

Nada's rich love and confidence She gave Aunt Sara, whose good sense Repaid her well; and, yet, with awe, Aunt Sara's word with her was law; She told her all her maiden woes And joys—the hope that grows and grows From childish joys to woman's fears, From care-free smiles to heart-sore tears. When Nada told Aunt Sara of Ralph Bondly and her infant love, She was so stunned she could not speak, The crushing truth made her so weak.

"My dear," she said, "be not so mad! "Forsooth, the Englishman is mad! "A thing like that such noise would make "That it would all our estates shake, "Both here and in our Merry Spain! "Indeed, we should not hear again "The last of it! And, mark it well, "Joy of my heart, yea, mark it well,

"Before the end, alive or dead, "Thy father's curse upon thy head "Would crush thee to th' unfeeling earth "And all of thine that should have birth! "No! No! Retrace the step, I pray, "Retrace it, Nada, while you may! "No error that we cannot mend, "If we but listen to our friend, "And with our stubborn wills contend! "Take thou the wise, the better course, "And save thyself lifelong remorse! "The Fates decree," Aunt Sara said, "That, if thou shouldst this stranger wed, "Misfortune—lynx-eyed, fierce, and gaunt— "Through all the earth thy life will haunt, "Thy cherished hopes to foil and blight, "Turning thy brightest day to night! "Thy cup of anguish and of woe "With sighs and groans will overflow, "Till death shall come, thy sorrows past, "The saddest chapter still the last! "Be warned! Rush not to such a life "Of vain regrets and ceaseless strife. "'Tis written on the wall. Pause now! "Retract thy foolish, hasty vow! "Reflect whilst yet thou may'st, whilst yet "The way is broad and free, nor let "Thy evil genius of a day "From the straight path lead thee astray!"

Young Nada shook as if a chill Had griped her fragile form and will.

Where she had hoped for sympathy To temper her sweet misery, And counsel grave to do the right, As God should give her Wisdom's light, A warning found her hopes to blight! The new-born woman in her cried In anguish for the thing denied— The wish to be Ralph Bondly's bride!

"'Tis false!" young Nada Garcia cried, Touched in her love and in her pride; "'Tis false! Ralph Bondly is not mad! "And, if he be, am I not mad? "Or sane or mad, I vow, we wed! "I'll not recall my vow! 'Tis said! "If that be death, to live apart "Is crucifixion of the heart! "Between the two my course is plain; "Be mine the joy, be mine the pain; "And, if I die, I'll be content, "If all my life in woe be spent!"

Aunt Sara raised her hand. "Sweet one, "The very ground thou treadst upon "Trembles beneath thy feet. Beware, "For woe and death are in the air! "An hour of bliss for years of woe "Is idle talk, as you well know. "To die? For what? The thought is wild, "And ill beseems my gentle child. "Thou used not always thus to speak; "Thou wast not always thus so weak.

"Life's sweetest roses grow for thee, "And all the winds blow fair and free; "With health and happiness they groan, "Sweeping afar from zone to zone— "For thee they ladened are, my own. "Banish the idle thought of death— "'Tis poison to thy queenly breath!— "And conquer love, if love but lead "To death—fair Eden's worst of seed!— "For life is sweet; yes, life is sweet, "While love is oft a spurious cheat. "The wounds of disappointed love "Will heal, my dear, as time will prove,"

"And what is life when love is gone? "What?" cried she. "Love and life are one. "We cannot separate the twain; "As one they will for ay remain! "When my sweet love—sweet love!—is dead, "When my fond dream of love has fled, "No more for me the royal sun "His daily, stately course will run; "No more the queenly moon will ride "Triumphant through the milky tide; "My life will go from whence it came, "And vanish all of Garcia's name! "Why should I live when love is dead "And gloom through all the earth is spread? "O, loyal, faithful, friend of mine, "Thou ne'er hast felt the flame divine, "Or thou wouldst plainly with me see "That what thou wish'st can never be!

"When naught remains of all the hope "That makes me no more blindly grope, "But lifts my soul to Paradise, "Where dwell alone the good and wise, "But ashes, then, this earth would be "A prison house, indeed, for me. "O, let me love, or let me die, "And, dreamless, in the cold earth lie! "Say not he's mad! Or say I'm mad! "It well may be we both are mad! "Is love but madness—saneness—both? "Is cursed or blessed love's binding oath! "I do not know. I only know "I love; and joy to have it so!"

Aunt Sara grieved, sincerely grieved, To see that love such spell had weaved; But firm in her position still, She strove to bend the maiden's will. "My dear," she said, "thou canst not know "How much I share thy joy and woe; "Thy every thought appeals to me, "Just as it must appeal to thee; "No hope thy gentle soul can move "That does not rouse my constant love; "I'd give my life to save thee pain, "To know thee free from care again— "The joyous, trusting child at play "About my knee the long, long day— "The days before Ralph Bondly came "And fanned to fire love's smouldering flame. "O, woe is me, in mine old age, "With thee such angry war to wage,

"To plead with thee, in vain to plead, "Thou wouldst preserve the Garcia seed; "For, mark my words, thou wilt destroy "Thy peace of earth and heaven's great joy, "If thou shalt still persist, perforce, "In thy unholy, fatal course!

"O, let my words persuade thee, dear, "And swerve thee from the danger near! "I would not have thee wreck thy life, "Unwarned to plunge into the strife, "For one whose mind thou canst not know, "A changing mind as th' winds that blow! "Remain with those whose love hath made "Thy life all sunshine, and no shade, "Sweet years to thee of peace and joy, "Which one false step may now destroy. "Remain with us! No evil wind, "E'en from the Arctic unconfined, "Shall fan thy face that we can ward "By valiant act or loving word! "Between thee and the world we'll stand, "With love as our magician's wand, "With tenderness to smooth thy brow— "Where sadness hovers even now!"

All pleading was, alas! in vain— But magnified her sense of pain— Her isolation from the hearts That practiced not Deception's arts, The faithful, honest, loyal few Who to her always had been true—

The narrow domain of the home, We reap our chiefest pleasures from! Her mind was set—set as the oak Which braved the storm and lightning stroke Of ages in their mystic flight Into the Past's confusing night! For, when a woman will, she will, Or be it good or be it ill! Persuasive words nor ugly threats Have ever cancelled love's just debts, Or won o'er love's young dream, forsooth, A victory—for love is truth And truth is love! So strangely are The victims bound, they do not care, They do not heed, but follow where They hope to find a haven fair! No warning voice, no danger feared, Have e'er two loving souls deterred; Still constant, true, young hearts remain— An hour of bliss! an age of pain! The fearful cost! The little gain! And yet, as 'twere a fashion's fad, The whole world seems to be love mad. The courtship ended, life they face, And Romance drops to commonplace; The skies grow black, the path grows long, The strong grow weak, the weak grow strong, And hearts once young too soon grow old, And hearts once warm too soon grow cold, And beauty fades and backs are bent And all the fires of Hope are spent; For dreams are dreams, the real is real— "For better or for worse"—for woe or weal!

CANTO V.

Don Garcia, with advancing age, For he was living life's last page, Became more headstrong and more vain, If to that state he could attain; More pronounced in his hates and spites, Less careful, too, of others' rights. The name of Bondly stirred his ire As pitch-pine does a smouldering fire, And, when with Nada's linked—O, shame!— He like a crazy man became. 'Tis comical, at times, to see How big a fool a man can be When he allows his prejudice To fall into a common vice. He would not reason out the case 'Bout Bondly and the English race; He hated them, and ever should, And would not like them if he could; Young Nada trembled when the spell Of passion on her father fell. We pity him, the brave old knight, On whom old age had fixed its blight!

Nada to him made her last plea. He said: "My child, it cannot be! "Thy plea cannot prevail! I hate "The man! I hate him! Not e'en Fate "Can alter my unbending scorn "Of every thing of England born. "Vex not my patience more. No thing

"In earth I love as I do thee, "But, on thy natal day shall be "My curse, if thou shouldst rashly wed "The man I hate! Mark well! 'Tis said. "Thou art of age, and, in thy right, "Mistress of ample wealth. 'Tis thine; "Take it, and, soon, all that is mine "As well. Thou wilt thy father lose, "A husband gain—is 't hard to choose?— "And, with him, honest prayer of mine, "Thou be the last of Garcia's line! "Go, then! A father's curse is all "I place between thee and thy fall!"

"I go!" she said, with erect form And flashing eyes, facing the storm. "I go! A blessing asked! Instead, "A curse thou hurlest at my head! "So be it! I love thee well! Yet, "I will the past—thy love!—forget, "As thou hast willed, though it should break "The heart thy curses cannot shake! "I am thy daughter, it is true— "Forget not, I'm a Garcia, too! "Be mine the blame, if death be mine! "And peace and joy and life be thine! "I go! Be mine the curse—the pain! "Betwixt ye two my path is plain!" Don Garcia shook with angry rage, Regardless of his gout and age, Surprised and shocked in her to find The fury of the desperate hind,

Rebellious 'gainst his will and word, Who was her parent and her lord— A thing she never dared before And never should again, he swore.

"Then, go!" he hissed, "Why longer stay "To vex me with thy presence, pray? "Go—meet thy doom, thy tragic fate! "Go—wed the Englishman I hate! "For thou shalt reap as thou shalt sow! "Take thou my parent curse, and go!"

And thus they parted—they whose pride The love of years could override! The new love bade the old love go; And so it was, and will be so, Till all of Adam's scattered seed Shall cease to hope, shall cease to bleed. Forever from the past we fly— We know not whence, we know not why— Out of the day, into the night, All heedless in the headlong flight! Don Garcia bowed his aged head And wished, alas! that he were dead! His eagle eyes grew dim with tears; Remorse filled his proud breast with fears; And desolation—awful, dread— Settled on his devoted head! From her all joy he long had gleaned, Upon her as a staff he leaned— The hope and prop of his old age, Which he had blasted in his rage!

He well could drown his woe in tears And sigh away his haunting fears! The bitter words had burned his tongue E'en from his mouth as they had sprung, Charged as the lightning's forkèd flame, To blast the thing that bore his name— The only thing! E'en as he spake Nada's resolve he hoped to break By working on her maiden fear— Nor was he first in that to err! He could have won his child anew, To his old self had he been true, Now she had gone, and he was crushed— While voice of love and hate was hushed! He had the sorrow and the woe As first fruits of his vengeful blow; But, e'en thus weighted, left alone, Garcia would not his error own— Would not his heartless words recall— Temper the wormwood and the gall. His word was law! Who disobeyed, Who braved his wish, was promptly flayed— Had he the power. So, sad to tell, The only thing that he loved well, Committed th' unpardonable crime For the first and the only time! But what had been, had been! The past Was past! The present held him fast, And it was full of gloom—the gloom That settles o'er a new-made tomb! The future—'twas one ball of night, Through which there pierced no ray of light!

He felt as one whose craft the gale Had robbed of compass, mast and sail, While all about him spread the sea That soon his luckless grave might be! And sudden fell the mighty stroke That rent the craft of steel and oak! Awhile upon the waves 'twill ride Then sink—its glory and its pride!

Old age makes man a child again— Peevish, irritable and vain, Who thinks and plans for self alone, Nor cares how others weep and groan— The selfishness that fills all life With bickerings and petty strife. And sometimes giant wrongs and crimes That blot the annals of the times! We make the bed on which we rest, Or tortured are, by grief distressed; We hew the paths we daily tread Towards the City of the Dead, Or smooth or rough, just as we will, Or through the vale or o'er the hill; We make the storm, the sunshine make, Our hopes to bolster or to shake, The smiles that dissipate our fears, Or heartbreaks that o'erflow in tears. These are our works; and, as we sow, We reap, a crop of joy or woe. The havoc of a word could we, In all its ghastliness, foresee, Or, yet, the terror a frown may cause, The consequence might make us pause.

We ne'er on man or beast a wound Inflict but, in the end, 'tis found, It hurts us too, as much somehow, And as we least expect the blow! A wrong to one, a wrong to all, Comes down to us from Adam's fall, And governs in our actions still For woe or weal, and ever will! Let pleasing notes escape the lyre, Notes that uplift, enthuse, inspire, As o'er its strings the fingers stray, To cheer our fellows on life's way; Nor seek in Nature, or its laws, Or in its lord, in man, for flaws, To serve a selfish whim of thine; Be generous all thou may'st design. The best of marksmen may o'ershoot His mark—his victim man or brute!

Th' imperious judge, who, in his pride, Refused with Bondly to divide Affection in a lovely bride— The daughter exiled from his breast, Which long had been her place of rest— Joy of his home, pride of his eye, And hope of his posterity— Th' imperious judge, Don Garcia, fell So low and was so miserable, That e'en the slave within his gate Envied him not his poor estate! Old age and gout, but half his woe, And wounded pride, laid Garcia low!

A raging fever burned his brain And rioted in every vein, So that he raved and swore like one That demons foul had seized upon! The once stout heart, the once strong will, Were mastered by a stronger still, In the death grapple—hopeless fight!— Or waged in darkness or in light, Which all must wage, or soon or late, Who live and hope and love and hate! And all the hist'ry of the past, All that to earth had held him fast, The social triumphs and the wars, The laurels won, the ugly scars, Passed through his fevered brain again— A grotesque and a tragic train!

AND THEN HE DIED! None of his blood, That came down to him from the Flood, Was near him in the final hour When vanished all of mortal power; But old Aunt Sara stood beside The noble column's broken pride, As she had done when he was born, With none but slaves with her to mourn!

The age of Seers and Prophecy Has passed, like that of chivalry! It came out of the lap of Faith, So record and tradition saith, And has returned to whence it came— The Rod divine and Bush of Flame!

Men hoped and prayed and cursed and blest, When Faith was all that they possessed! So Nada and Ralph Bondly found All prophecy but empty sound— All curses harmless as the wind That whistles through the broken blind. And still they live and love, while seers And curses fill them not with fears!