The Mistress of the Manse | Page 6

with dreaming eyes?And heart content, upon the scene,?She saw a stalwart man arise?Where the wild water lashed the green,?And pause a breath, to signalize
Some one beyond her stinted view;?Then turn with hurried feet, and straight?The deep, rain-burdened grasses through,?And through the manse's open gate,?Pass to her door. At once she knew
That some faint soul, in sad extreme,?Had sent for succor to the manse,?And knew its master would redeem?To sacred use the circumstance?That made such havoc of her dream.
XX.
She saw the quiet men depart,?She saw them leave the river-side,?She saw them brave with sturdy art?The surges of the angry tide,?And disappear; the while her heart
Sank down in dismal loneliness.?Then came her vexing thoughts again;?And quick, as if she broke duress?Of heavy weariness or pain,?She sought the study's dim recess,
Where rank on rank, against the wall,?The mighty men of every land?Stood mutely waiting for the call?Of him who, with his single hand,?Had bravely met and mastered all.
The gray old monarchs of the pen?Looked down with calm, benignant gaze,?And Augustine and Origen?And Ansel justified the ways--?The wondrous ways--of God with men.
Among the tall hierophants?Angelical Aquinas stood;?While Witsius held the "Covenants,"?And Irenaeus, wise and good,?Couched low his silver-bearded lance
For strife with heresy and schism,?And Turretin with lordly nod?Gave system to the dogmatism?That analyzed the thought of God?As light is painted by a prism.
Great Luther, with his great disputes,?And Calvin, with his finished scheme,?And Charnock, with his "Attributes,"?And Taylor with his poet's dream?Of theologic flowers and flutes,
And Thomas Fuller, old and quaint,?And Cudworth, dry with dust of gold,?And South, the sharp and witty saint,?With Howe and Owen--broad and bold--?And Leighton still without the taint
Of earth upon his robe of white,?Stood side by side with Hobbes and Locke,?And, braced by many an acolyte,?With Edwards standing on his rock,?And all New England's men of might,
Whose gifts and offices divine?Had crowned her with a kingly crown,?And solemn doctors from the Rhine,?With Fichte, Kant, and Hegel, down?Through all the long and stately line!
As Mildred saw the awful host,?She felt within no motive stir?To realize her girlish boast,?And knew they held no more for her?Than if each volume were a ghost.
XXI.
She sat in Philip's vacant chair,?And pondered long her doubtful way;?And, in her impotent despair,?Lifted her longing eyes to pray,?When on a shelf, far up, and bare,
She saw an ancient volume lie;?And straight her rising thought was checked.?What were its dubious treasures? Why?Had it been banished from respect,?And from its owner's hand and eye?
The more she gazed, the stronger grew?The wish to hold it in her hand.?Strange fancies round the volume flew,?And changed the dust their pinions fanned?To atmospheres of red and blue,
That blent in purple aureole,--?As if a lymph of sweetest life?Stood warm within a golden bowl,?Crowned with its odor-cloud, and rife?With strength and solace for her soul!
And there it lay beyond her arm,?And wrought its fine and wondrous spell,?With all its hoard of good or harm,?Till curious Mildred, struggling well,?Surrendered to the mighty charm.
The steps were scaled for boon or bale,?The book was lifted from its place,?And, bowing to the fragrant grail,?She drank with pleased and eager face?This draught from off an Eastern tale:
Selim, the haughty Jehangir, the Conqueror of the Earth,?With royal pomps and pageantries and rites of festal mirth Was set to celebrate the day--the white day--of his birth.
His red pavilions, stretching wide, crowned all with globes of gold, And tipped with pinnacles of fire and streamers manifold, Flamed with such splendor that the sun at noon looked pale and cold!
And right and left, along, the plain, far as the eye could gaze, His nobles and retainers who were tented in the blaze,?Kept revel high in honor of that day of all the days.
The earth was spread, the walls were hung, with silken fabrics fine, And arabesque and lotus-flower bore each the broidered sign Of jewels plucked from land and sea, and red gold from the mine.
Upon his throne he sat alone, half buried in the gems?That strewed his tapestries like stars, and tipped their tawny hems, And glittered with the glory of a hundred diadems.
He saw from his pavilion door the nodding heron plumes?His nobles wore upon their brows, while, from the rosy glooms Which hid his harem, came low songs, on wings of rare perfumes!
The elephants, a thousand strong, had passed his dreaming eye, Caparisoned with golden plates on head and breast and thigh, And a hundred flashing troops of horse unmarked had thundered by.
He sat upon old Akbar's throne, the heir of power and fame, But all his glory was as dust, and dust his wondrous name-- Swept into air, and scattered far, by one consuming flame!
For on that day of all the days, and in that festal hour, He sickened with his glory and grew weary of his power,?And pined to bind upon his breast his harem's choicest flower,
"Oh Nourmahal! oh Nourmahal!