Exile - Part 6
I DA .
Here let us rest awhile; I can no more,
And we are surely past his reach.
A LFRED .
You shake,
And you are white, and though you do not weep,
Your eyes seem as of one whose tears must flow.
I DA .
I cannot weep although I would; I feel
Quite strange; was there such cause for us to fear?
A LFRED .
I do not think it; I had stood my ground,
But 'twas through you I acted as if need were
To fight him off; now that I think on it,
You were quite foolish, as you often are,
And with you near I do beyond my will
Things I should not attempt alone.
I DA .
Oh, brother,
You must not talk so; ah, I weep at last;
Yet you are right as I so frequent find you.
My heart is sad when I fall on to think
How my weak fears broke in on several joys;
How white he seemed, and his voice shook alway
As if to speak were hard; if we had gone
Along the shore, and heard him tell his tales,
It had been better; yet I cannot tell
How some great dread took hold of me; I think
If he should come again, I should repeat
What now I grieve at, having done.
A LFRED .
Well — well —
It matters not, sweet sister, let us on.
I DA .
We are not far from home; we need not run,
And when we gain the path that rounds the hill,
The house will be in sight and our way clear.
A LFRED .
See, sister, how the grass is full of color,
Low-drooping blossoms, and the snap-dragon,
And pale pink flowers I know not how to name.
I DA .
We can rest here awhile; you do not deem
That he will follow — I am yet afraid.
A LFRED .
Here is a smooth white stone, where you can sit,
And the thick-leaved tree makes pleasant shade.
He will not come, and we are so near home
That they would know our cries if trouble rose.
I DA .
'Tis so, indeed, and while we rest us here,
You can cull perfect flowers, and clover leaves,
And the long grass with delicate-woven top,
And I will bind them in a sweet bouquet
For mother; for you bear in mind she said
That wild flowers made her dream of happy days,
And seemed more tender than the flowers of home,
That made your heart beat, but these gentle blooms
Brought back the times when she was young like you
And full of glee.
A LFRED .
It is a happy thought;
Meanwhile you can recover from your scare,
And need not frighten mother with a tale
Of terrible nothing, for he meant no harm,
And when I see him, I will speak to him,
And ask him of the pictures and the book.
I DA .
I shall not easily forget my fear.
But here is your bouquet, the flowers well set
In a green border, and the spires of grass
In feathery tufts o'erhanging with thin shades
The pallid colors under. Let us on.
A LFRED .
We reach the turn of road, and mother stands
Looking down the tree-bordered length for us.
She answers my quick wave of hat — come, run.
I DA .
No, I must walk; I am all tired and hot,
And now I am to tell, my cheeks burn red,
And my strange fear renews.
A LFRED .
You need not speak;
I will relate the startling thing for you,
As you are wont to make the little great,
And out of a slim trifle weave a tale
That frightens mother, makes her white.
I DA .
No, no,
You cannot tell, for I have more to say
Than you know of.
Mother .
You have been very long.
Three times or more I stood at door to gaze,
And wondered what detained my little ones.
But you remembered me — thanks for the flowers.
I DA .
Oh, dear mamma!
Mother .
What ails my little girl?
Have you been running, for you seem quite tired,
And shake as if much effort had unnerved,
Or set you trembling like a slender branch
A bird has leaped from?
A LFRED .
Let me tell the tale;
I shall not take so long, for going straight
I reach the end far quicker.
I DA .
Oh, mamma,
I am not tired, but he so frightened me,
That I must weep; and yet I feel deep shame;
For he was kind, and meant no harm; I spoiled
His wished enjoyment, and kind brother's too.
Mother .
My child, you need not weep; I kiss your cheek,
And in my arms fear may not find a place.
My little one, come, ease yourself, be calm;
So, lay your head against me; tell me now
Who he may be, and what adventure strange
Stirred in your heart such fear.
I DA .
I am ashamed;
He was quite good, and brother wished to stay.
A LFRED .
You need not speak; we met the black-clothed man,
I told you how he gazed two days ago.
He came while we were both absorbed in play,
Looked on awhile with large surprised eyes,
Then praised my houses, spoke of picture-books,
But sister felt such fear, we ran away.
I DA .
There is much more; he spoke of his far home,
And all the splendors it enshrined, and asked,
Would I not go with him? It is most strange,
But I felt quite as though I must obey;
I tremble now to think of it.
Mother .
Dearest,
He spoke but as one might in jest, no doubt;
You cannot think he meant it otherwise.
Remember that but just a day ago
The friend you love so used the self-same words,
And you laughed as you clung to me.
A LFRED .
But I.
Dear mother, threw a stone at him that hit;
I do not deem it hurt — would that it had!
I DA .
You are too rude by far.
Mother .
Well, dry your eyes,
And now forget it all. You are at home,
And you shall go no more along the beach,
Unless some older friend companions you.
And yet my little girl must cease these fears,
And bear a stouter heart.
F ATHER .
Delay not more,
Go in, the dinner waits the truants twain.
A LFRED .
Father, was I far wrong because I threw?
F ATHER .
We shall not speak about it further now;
Go in, and at more leisure we can talk,
And penetrate the matter through and through,
Although remember still to play the part
Of a courageous brother apt to help. —
What shall be done with our sweet sensitive plant
That shuts when the breeze freshens? She was not made
For earth, but some ideal virginal realm,
Some land of solid dream, whose air is song,
And all whose life is simple peace and joy.
Perchance she came from thence to light our home,
As a white lily lights the forest's gloom,
Or through a rent of cloud a mild star shines,
And saves the night from storm. Alas for us,
If we have not the power of wisest love
To bind her to us here.
Mother .
Speak not such thoughts;
They clothe a real fear in garb fantastic,
A fear I shrink to put in words or form.
I drive it to some far recess of mind,
And lull it with the melodies of hope,
Till it falls on light sleep. I cannot think
Of aught befalling our most gentle child
Save life's divinest ministerings.
F ATHER .
Forgive
If I have roused the woe you sang asleep.
I would that life withheld not high success,
That ever flies my best-adjusted aim.
For her dear sake I would have liberal wealth,
And that fine grasp of possibilities
That should assure to sight her lightest wish;
For she is fashioned in so noble mould
That no result of pride or baneful scorn
Could yet ensue upon her gaining all
That widest life can give.
Mother .
The same sad chord;
I bid you now again renounce the strain.
She will have love to wait upon her steps,
And make the frowning face of time relax,
And change to smiles; surely that is enough.
In your strong hands and gentle as great strength's,
She will be safe, and grow a human flower,
That makes the space she dwells in full of joy.
F ATHER .
If it prove so, it will not be to me
The high result is due. A sudden thought;
'Tis he, indeed.
Mother .
You reproduce the child
In obscure hints of he . You speak of whom?
F ATHER .
You know the sad recluse, the scholar mild,
Who dwells in outskirts of our busy town,
I saw him yestermorn in reverie
Pacing the beach, and wrapt in mystic dreams,
Scarce like a denizen of our world.
Mother .
Ah, so!
I do not wonder at the child's affright;
His cold calm eyes, and utter-abstract mien,
Fill me with dread when at rare times I go
Past the great garden which the summer makes
A gem miraculous set upon the ring
Of our dear town.
F ATHER .
I cannot longer doubt,
He is the man, and we must have great care
Of our dear girl's play on the beach; her frame
Can bear but ill these gusts of feeling strong
That are beyond the wont of her bright youth.
Here let us rest awhile; I can no more,
And we are surely past his reach.
A LFRED .
You shake,
And you are white, and though you do not weep,
Your eyes seem as of one whose tears must flow.
I DA .
I cannot weep although I would; I feel
Quite strange; was there such cause for us to fear?
A LFRED .
I do not think it; I had stood my ground,
But 'twas through you I acted as if need were
To fight him off; now that I think on it,
You were quite foolish, as you often are,
And with you near I do beyond my will
Things I should not attempt alone.
I DA .
Oh, brother,
You must not talk so; ah, I weep at last;
Yet you are right as I so frequent find you.
My heart is sad when I fall on to think
How my weak fears broke in on several joys;
How white he seemed, and his voice shook alway
As if to speak were hard; if we had gone
Along the shore, and heard him tell his tales,
It had been better; yet I cannot tell
How some great dread took hold of me; I think
If he should come again, I should repeat
What now I grieve at, having done.
A LFRED .
Well — well —
It matters not, sweet sister, let us on.
I DA .
We are not far from home; we need not run,
And when we gain the path that rounds the hill,
The house will be in sight and our way clear.
A LFRED .
See, sister, how the grass is full of color,
Low-drooping blossoms, and the snap-dragon,
And pale pink flowers I know not how to name.
I DA .
We can rest here awhile; you do not deem
That he will follow — I am yet afraid.
A LFRED .
Here is a smooth white stone, where you can sit,
And the thick-leaved tree makes pleasant shade.
He will not come, and we are so near home
That they would know our cries if trouble rose.
I DA .
'Tis so, indeed, and while we rest us here,
You can cull perfect flowers, and clover leaves,
And the long grass with delicate-woven top,
And I will bind them in a sweet bouquet
For mother; for you bear in mind she said
That wild flowers made her dream of happy days,
And seemed more tender than the flowers of home,
That made your heart beat, but these gentle blooms
Brought back the times when she was young like you
And full of glee.
A LFRED .
It is a happy thought;
Meanwhile you can recover from your scare,
And need not frighten mother with a tale
Of terrible nothing, for he meant no harm,
And when I see him, I will speak to him,
And ask him of the pictures and the book.
I DA .
I shall not easily forget my fear.
But here is your bouquet, the flowers well set
In a green border, and the spires of grass
In feathery tufts o'erhanging with thin shades
The pallid colors under. Let us on.
A LFRED .
We reach the turn of road, and mother stands
Looking down the tree-bordered length for us.
She answers my quick wave of hat — come, run.
I DA .
No, I must walk; I am all tired and hot,
And now I am to tell, my cheeks burn red,
And my strange fear renews.
A LFRED .
You need not speak;
I will relate the startling thing for you,
As you are wont to make the little great,
And out of a slim trifle weave a tale
That frightens mother, makes her white.
I DA .
No, no,
You cannot tell, for I have more to say
Than you know of.
Mother .
You have been very long.
Three times or more I stood at door to gaze,
And wondered what detained my little ones.
But you remembered me — thanks for the flowers.
I DA .
Oh, dear mamma!
Mother .
What ails my little girl?
Have you been running, for you seem quite tired,
And shake as if much effort had unnerved,
Or set you trembling like a slender branch
A bird has leaped from?
A LFRED .
Let me tell the tale;
I shall not take so long, for going straight
I reach the end far quicker.
I DA .
Oh, mamma,
I am not tired, but he so frightened me,
That I must weep; and yet I feel deep shame;
For he was kind, and meant no harm; I spoiled
His wished enjoyment, and kind brother's too.
Mother .
My child, you need not weep; I kiss your cheek,
And in my arms fear may not find a place.
My little one, come, ease yourself, be calm;
So, lay your head against me; tell me now
Who he may be, and what adventure strange
Stirred in your heart such fear.
I DA .
I am ashamed;
He was quite good, and brother wished to stay.
A LFRED .
You need not speak; we met the black-clothed man,
I told you how he gazed two days ago.
He came while we were both absorbed in play,
Looked on awhile with large surprised eyes,
Then praised my houses, spoke of picture-books,
But sister felt such fear, we ran away.
I DA .
There is much more; he spoke of his far home,
And all the splendors it enshrined, and asked,
Would I not go with him? It is most strange,
But I felt quite as though I must obey;
I tremble now to think of it.
Mother .
Dearest,
He spoke but as one might in jest, no doubt;
You cannot think he meant it otherwise.
Remember that but just a day ago
The friend you love so used the self-same words,
And you laughed as you clung to me.
A LFRED .
But I.
Dear mother, threw a stone at him that hit;
I do not deem it hurt — would that it had!
I DA .
You are too rude by far.
Mother .
Well, dry your eyes,
And now forget it all. You are at home,
And you shall go no more along the beach,
Unless some older friend companions you.
And yet my little girl must cease these fears,
And bear a stouter heart.
F ATHER .
Delay not more,
Go in, the dinner waits the truants twain.
A LFRED .
Father, was I far wrong because I threw?
F ATHER .
We shall not speak about it further now;
Go in, and at more leisure we can talk,
And penetrate the matter through and through,
Although remember still to play the part
Of a courageous brother apt to help. —
What shall be done with our sweet sensitive plant
That shuts when the breeze freshens? She was not made
For earth, but some ideal virginal realm,
Some land of solid dream, whose air is song,
And all whose life is simple peace and joy.
Perchance she came from thence to light our home,
As a white lily lights the forest's gloom,
Or through a rent of cloud a mild star shines,
And saves the night from storm. Alas for us,
If we have not the power of wisest love
To bind her to us here.
Mother .
Speak not such thoughts;
They clothe a real fear in garb fantastic,
A fear I shrink to put in words or form.
I drive it to some far recess of mind,
And lull it with the melodies of hope,
Till it falls on light sleep. I cannot think
Of aught befalling our most gentle child
Save life's divinest ministerings.
F ATHER .
Forgive
If I have roused the woe you sang asleep.
I would that life withheld not high success,
That ever flies my best-adjusted aim.
For her dear sake I would have liberal wealth,
And that fine grasp of possibilities
That should assure to sight her lightest wish;
For she is fashioned in so noble mould
That no result of pride or baneful scorn
Could yet ensue upon her gaining all
That widest life can give.
Mother .
The same sad chord;
I bid you now again renounce the strain.
She will have love to wait upon her steps,
And make the frowning face of time relax,
And change to smiles; surely that is enough.
In your strong hands and gentle as great strength's,
She will be safe, and grow a human flower,
That makes the space she dwells in full of joy.
F ATHER .
If it prove so, it will not be to me
The high result is due. A sudden thought;
'Tis he, indeed.
Mother .
You reproduce the child
In obscure hints of he . You speak of whom?
F ATHER .
You know the sad recluse, the scholar mild,
Who dwells in outskirts of our busy town,
I saw him yestermorn in reverie
Pacing the beach, and wrapt in mystic dreams,
Scarce like a denizen of our world.
Mother .
Ah, so!
I do not wonder at the child's affright;
His cold calm eyes, and utter-abstract mien,
Fill me with dread when at rare times I go
Past the great garden which the summer makes
A gem miraculous set upon the ring
Of our dear town.
F ATHER .
I cannot longer doubt,
He is the man, and we must have great care
Of our dear girl's play on the beach; her frame
Can bear but ill these gusts of feeling strong
That are beyond the wont of her bright youth.
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