Sea and Shore | Page 6

Mrs. Catherine A. Warfield
reward his care. See how skillfully I avoided
that fallen branch--suppose I were to be spiteful, and upset you against
this stump?"
Any thing was preferable to his levity; and, as I had warned him of the
possible effect of the poem he solicited, I could not be accused of want
of consideration in reciting it. Besides, he deserved the lesson, the stern
lesson that it taught.
As this could in no way be understood by such of my readers as are
unacquainted with this little gem, I venture to give it here--exquisite,
passionate utterance that it is, though little known to fame, at least at
this writing:
"'How shall I woo her? I will stand Beside her when she sings, And
watch her fine and fairy hand Flit o'er the quivering strings! But shall I
tell her I have heard, Though sweet her song may be, A voice where
every whispered word _Was more than song to me_?
"'How shall I woo her? I will gaze, In sad and silent trance, On those
blue eyes whose liquid rays Look love in every glance. But shall I tell
her eyes more bright, Though bright her own may beam, Will fling a
deeper spell to-night _Upon me in my dream_?'"
I hesitated. "Let me stop here, Major Favraud, I counsel you," I
interpolated, earnestly; but he only rejoined:
"No, no! proceed, I entreat you! it is very beautiful--very touching,
too!" Speaking calmly, and slacking rein, so that the grating of the
wheels among the stems of the scarlet _lychnis_, that grew in immense
patches on our road, might not disturb his sense of hearing, which,
by-the-way, was exquisitely nice and fastidious.
"As you please, then;" and I continued the recitation.
"'How shall I woo her? I will try The charms of olden time, And swear
by earth, and sea, and sky, And rave in prose and rhyme-- And I will
tell her, when I bent My knee in other years, I was not half so

_eloquent_; I could not speak--_for tears_!'"
I watched him narrowly; the spell was working now; the poet's hand
was sweeping, with a gust of power, that harp of a thousand strings, the
wondrous human heart! And I again pursued, in suppressed tones of
heart-felt emotion, the pathetic strain that he had evoked with an idea of
its frivolity alone:
"'How shall I woo her? I will bow Before the holy shrine, And pray the
prayer, and vow the vow, And press her lips to mine-- And I will tell
her, when she starts From passion's thrilling kiss, That memory to many
hearts Is dearer far than bliss!'"
It was reserved for the concluding verse to unnerve him completely; a
verse which I rendered with all the pathos of which I was capable, with
a view to its final effect, I confess:
"'Away! away! the chords are mute, The bond is rent in twain; You
cannot wake the silent lute, Or clasp its links again. Love's toil, I know,
is little cost; Love's perjury is light sin; But souls that lose what I have
lost, What have they left to win?'"
"What, indeed?" he exclaimed, impetuously--tears now streaming over
his olive cheeks. He flung the reins to me with a quick, convulsive
motion, and covered his face with his hands. Groans burst from his
murmuring lips, and the great deeps of sorrow gave up their secrets. I
was sorry to have so stirred him to the depths by any act or words of
mine, and yet I enjoyed the certainty of his anguish.
I checked the horses beneath a magnolia-tree, and sat quietly waiting
for the flood of emotion to subside as for him to take the initiative. I
had no word to say, no consolation to offer. Nay, after consideration,
rather did I glory in his grief, which redeemed his nature in my
estimation, though grieved in turn to have afflicted him. For, in spite of
all his faults, and my earlier prejudices, I loved this impulsive Southron
man, as Scott has it, "right brotherly."
At last, looking up grave, tearless, and pale, and resuming his reins
without apology for having surrendered them, he said, abruptly:
"All is so vain! Such mockery now to me! She was the sole reality of
this universe to my heart! I grapple with shadows unceasingly. There is
not on the face of this globe a more desolate wretch. You understand
this! You feel for me, you do not deride me! You know how perfect,
how spiritual she was! You loved her well--I saw it in your eyes, your

manner--and for that, if nothing else, you have my heart-felt gratitude.
So few appreciated her unearthly purity. Yet, was it not strange she
should have loved a man so gross, so steeped in sensuous,
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