Maurine and Other Poems | Page 5

deceit.'
Let Helen smile too oft on Maurine's beaux,

Or wear more stylish or becoming clothes,
Or sport a hat that has a
longer feather -
And lo! the strain has broken 'friendship's tether.'

Maurine's sweet smile becomes a frown or pout;
'She's just begun to
find that Helen out.'
The breach grows wider--anger fills each heart;

They drift asunder, whom 'but death could part.'
You shake your
head? Oh, well, we'll never know!
It is not likely Fate will test you so.

You'll live, and love; and, meeting twice a year,
While life shall
last, you'll hold each other dear.
I pray it may be so; it were not best

To shake your faith in woman by the test.
Keep your belief, and
nurse it while you can.
I've faith in woman's friendship too--for man!

They're true as steel, as mothers, friends, and wives:
And that's
enough to bless us all our lives.
That man's a selfish fellow, and a
bore,
Who is unsatisfied and asks for more."
"But there is need of
more!" I here broke in.
"I hold that woman guilty of a sin,
Who
would not cling to, and defend another,
As nobly as she would stand
by a brother.
Who would not suffer for a sister's sake,
And, were
there need to prove her friendship, make
'Most any sacrifice, nor
count the cost.
Who would not do this for a friend is lost
To every
nobler principle."
"Shame, shame!"
Cried Vivian, laughing, "for you now defame
The
whole sweet sex; since there's not one would do
The thing you name,
nor would I want her to.

I love the sex. My mother was a woman -
I
hope my wife will be, and wholly human.
And if she wants to make
some sacrifice,
I'll think her far more sensible and wise
To let her

husband reap the benefit,
Instead of some old maid or senseless chit.

Selfish? Of course! I hold all love is so:
And I shall love my wife
right well, I know.
Now there's a point regarding selfish love,
You
thirst to argue with me, and disprove.
But since these cosy hours will
soon be gone,
And all our meetings broken in upon,
No more of
these rare moments must be spent
In vain discussions, or in argument.

I wish Miss Trevor was in--Jericho!
(You see the selfishness
begins to show.)
She wants to see you?--So do I: but she
Will gain
her wish, by taking you from me.
'Come all the same?' that means I'll
be allowed
To realize that 'three can make a crowd.'
I do not like to
feel myself de trop.
With two girl cronies would I not be so?
My
ring would interrupt some private chat.
You'd ask me in and take my
cane and hat,
And speak about the lovely summer day,
And
think--'The lout! I wish he'd kept away.'
Miss Trevor'd smile, but just
to hide a pout
And count the moments till I was shown out.
And,
while I twirled my thumbs, I would sit wishing
That I had gone off
hunting birds, or fishing,
No, thanks, Maurine! The iron hand of Fate,

(Or otherwise Miss Trevor's dainty fingers,)
Will bar my entrance
into Eden's gate;
And I shall be like some poor soul that lingers
At
heaven's portal, paying the price of sin,
Yet hoping to be pardoned
and let in."
He looked so melancholy sitting there,
I laughed outright. "How well
you act a part;
You look the very picture of despair!
You've missed
your calling, sir! suppose you start
Upon a starring tour, and carve
your name
With Booth's and Barrett's on the heights of Fame
But
now, tabooing nonsense, I shall send
For you to help me entertain my
friend,

Unless you come without it. 'Cronies?' True,
Wanting our
'private chats' as cronies do.
And we'll take those, while you are
reading Greek,
Or writing 'Lines to Dora's brow' or 'cheek.'
But
when you have an hour or two of leisure,
Call as you now do, and
afford like pleasure.
For never yet did heaven's sun shine on,
Or
stars discover, that phenomenon,
In any country, or in any clime:


Two maids so bound, by ties of mind and heart,
They did not feel the
heavy weight of time
In weeks of scenes wherein no man took part.

God made the sexes to associate:
Nor law of man, nor stern decree of
Fate,
Can ever undo what His hand has done,
And, quite alone,
make happy either one.
My Helen is an only child:- a pet
Of loving
parents: and she never yet
Has been denied one boon for which she
pleaded.
A fragile thing, her lightest wish was heeded.
Would she
pluck roses? They must first be shorn,
By careful hands, of every
hateful thorn,
And loving eyes must scan the pathway where
Her
feet may tread, to see no stones are there.
She'll grow dull here, in this
secluded nook,
Unless you aid me in the pleasant task
Of
entertaining. Drop in with your book -
Read, talk, sing for her
sometimes. What I ask,
Do once, to please me: then there'll be no
need
For me to state the case again, or plead.
There's nothing like a
woman's grace and beauty
To waken mankind to a sense of duty."
"I bow before the mandate of my queen:
Your slightest wish is law,
Ma Belle Maurine,"
He answered,