Love or Fame | Page 7

youthful head,
While on his brow a dim, vague

majesty
Seemed shadowed forth. Yet restless as the sea
His eyes
that Hilda's fair young face had read.
With beating heart he'd watched her kneeling there
Upon the rocks;
had listened to her prayer
In silence wondering; so strange it seemed

To see her there amid the storm, but still
He stood and powerless; a
gladdening thrill
Ran through his veins to see that form alone,
And
o'er his noble, Godlike face there gleamed
A pride to think this maid
was all his own.
He loved--and love our hearts can ne'er repress--
In
truth he gazed upon that face and form
As though upon her head each
wet and gleaming tress
Were more than all the phantoms of the storm.

He loved as even the sun must love the flowers
That shyly glance
to him 'neath leafy bowers,
Or as the river with its strong deep tide

Must love the willows nestling by its side.
She stood as one within a waking dream,
Nor looked upon the earth,
nor in the sky;
But only far at sea whose amber gleam
Was as the
light that in fair gems doth lie.
Entranced she stood--the mocking
visions came--
But see! she starts; upon the air her name
Steals like
a whisper of the wave's low song,
Borne by the zephyrs of the night
along.
She turns--beside her on the rocks he stands
With
questioning eyes and eager, outstretched hands;
She smiles, then
starts back with a startled look,
As some wild fawn within its
sheltered nook.
"Fair Hilda, tell me why with reckless feet
You braved the elements
and dared to kneel
Here in the angry storm--it was not meet
That all
this night's wild tempest you should feel."
She looked at him with almost haughty air,
To think that to reprove
her he should dare;
Then fearlessly as some undaunted child
She
met his eyes that searched her own for truth,
She who had scorned the
tempest dark and wild,
Feared not the chidings of his hasty youth.

And undismayed she moved to where he stood,

With blushing,

beauteous charms of maidenhood,
And there with rapt eyes looking
up to him,
She told him of those visions never dim;
Of that wild
spirit born amid the storm
Whose restless strength had swayed her
fragile form.
Before his own she laid her very soul,
That he might
there its inmost thoughts unroll.
Her pleading voice grew stronger with each word,
Until enthralled
and hushed his spirit heard.
Upright she stood in girlish, thrilling
grace,
The glancing moonlight falling o'er her face;
It seemed as
though some heavenly, unknown power
Had come to her within that
strange, short hour,
To make the listener feel the truth divine
That
lingered in her words and true design.
Her rich young voice flowed on and on,
In silvery cadence earnest,
clear and strong,
And still he stood with bowed head 'neath the skies

Bound by the fascination of her eyes
And winning voice--and
manly thought he stood,
He humbly bowed before that womanhood

Which seemed with conscious might to grasp the power
Of fame,
the world's alluring, phantom flower.
Amazed he stood, before her
words struck dumb;
And startled gazed--the maid he loved had come

This night to teach him that her woman's soul
Had dared to seek,
than his, a higher goal.
At last each thought was told; with eager eyes
That glowed with fire,
as stars throughout the night,
She waited as some birdling ere it flies,

Awaits to poise itself for stronger flight.
But he, when that dear voice had ceased to flow,
Awoke as if from
some entrancing spell;
He knew not what to say, but to and fro,
He
paced awhile with restless step; too well
He knew her dauntless will,
her fearless heart;
He dared not say her dreams, her plans were
naught,
And yet to lose her--quickly came the thought--
It roused
him with a sudden mad'ning start.

"Oh! Hilda unto me these things do seem
But burning traces of some
ill-starred dream;
I grieve that e'er thy soul should long to claim

The thorny diadem of worldly fame.
Life's mystery to thee is yet
unknown;
Why dost thou seek its misery to own?
With all a
woman's power thou this night
Hast led me on by th' fascinating light

Of thy dear eyes and voice, till almost blind
To reason, I allowed
my wandering mind
To follow as a willing captive thine;
I listened
with a will not wholly mine.
But now when freed from th' witchery of
thy voice
I see no wisdom in thy new made choice.
Thou art a
woman pure, whose noble heart
Would fain do, in this world, its
earnest part;
But Hilda, with a girl's weak, erring hand,
Thy hopes
are builded on the treacherous sand.
Give up this dream that in thy
mind now lies
And be again my Hilda, glad and wise."
"No, no" the dark eyes flash with sudden fire,
"Of this bright dream I
know I ne'er shall tire;
The busy world has called me, I will go
And
take my station, be it high or low."
"Dear Hilda," then his voice grew
low and sweet,
"I love thee; and my love has not been brief.
When
thou wert young I led thy wand'ring feet,
And ever guarded thee from
pain