Nor given him cause to deem himself be- And this the world calls frenzy; but the loved; Nor could he be a part of that which preyed Upon her mind-a spectre of the past. VI. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream: The wanderer was returned-I saw him stand Before an altar, with a gentle bride; Her face was fair; but was not that which made The starlight of his boyhood. As he stood, And all things reeled around him; he could see Not that which was, nor that which should have been But the old mansion, and the accustomed hall, And the remembered chambers, and the place, The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade All things pertaining to that place and hour, And her who was his destiny-came back And thrust themselves between him and the light; What business had they there at such a time? VII. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream: They had not their own lustre, but the look I, too, at love's brim MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. Touched the sweet. I would die if death bequeathed Sweet to him. "Speak-I love thee best!" He exclaimed "Let thy love my own foretell.” I confessed: "Clasp my heart on thine Now unblamed, Since upon thy soul as well Was it wrong to own, Being truth? Why should all the giving prove His alone? I had wealth and ease, Beauty, youth Since my lover gave me love, That was all I meant, -To be just, And the passion I had raised To content. Since he chose to change Gold for dust, If I gave him what he praised Was it strange? Would he loved me yet, On and on, While I found some way undreamed -Paid my debt! Gave more life and more, Till, all gone, He should smile "She never seemed Mine before. "What-she felt the while, Must I think? Love's so different with us men," He should smile. "Dying for my sake White and pink! Can't we touch these bubbles then But they break?" Dear, the pang is brief. Do thy part, Have thy pleasure. How perplext Grows belief! Well, this cold clay clod Was man's heart. Crumble it-and what comes next? Is it God? 293 ROBERT BROWNING MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. I. WITH one black shadow at its feet, But "Ave Mary," made she moan, And "Ave Mary," night and morn; And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.” II. She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down Her streaming curls of deepest brown And "Ave Mary," was her moan, "Madonna, sad is night and morn;" And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." III. Till all the crimson changed, and passed "Is this the form," she made her moan, "That won his praises night and morn?" And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." IV. Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, Nor any cloud would cross the vault; But day increased from heat to heat, On stony drought and steaming salt; Till now at noon she slept again, And seemed knee-deep in mountain grass, She breathed in sleep a lower moan; V. Dreaming, she knew it was a dream; She felt he was and was not there. She whispered, with a stifled moan VI. And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth; For "Love," they said, "must needs be true, To what is loveliest upon earth." An image seemed to pass the door. To look at her with slight, and say, "But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone for evermore." "O cruel heart," she changed her tone, "And cruel love, whose end is scorn, Is this the end-to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn!" VII. But sometimes in the falling day "But thou shalt be alone no inore." |