A Narrow Vessel
BEING A LITTLE DRAMATIC SEQUENCE ON THEASPECT OF PRIMITIVE GIRL-NATURETOWARDS A LOVE BEYONDITS CAPACITIES.
A GIRL’S SIN I.—IN HER EYES
CROSS child! red, and frowning so?‘I, the day just over,Gave a lock of hair to—no!How dare you say, my lover?’
He asked you?—Let me understand;Come, child, let me sound it!‘Of course, he would have asked it, and—And so—somehow—he—found it.
‘He told it out with great loud eyes—Men have such little wit!His sin I ever will chastiseBecause I gave him it.
‘Shameless in me the gift, alas!In him his open bliss:But for the privilege he hasA thousand he shall miss!
‘His eyes, where once I dreadless laughed,Call up a burning blot:I hate him, for his shameful craftThat asked by asking not!’
Luckless boy! and all for hairHe never asked, you said?‘Not just—but then he gazed—I swearHe gazed it from my head!
‘His silence on my cheek like breathI felt in subtle way;More sweet than aught another saithWas what he did not say.
‘He’ll think me vanquished, for this lapse,Who should be above him;Perhaps he’ll think me light; perhaps—Perhaps he’ll think I—love him!
‘Are his eyes conscious and elate,I hate him that I blush;Or are they innocent, still I hate—They mean a thing’s to hush.
‘Before he nought amiss could do,Now all things show amiss;’Twas all my fault, I know that true,But all my fault was his.
‘I hate him for his mute distress,’Tis insult he should care!Because my heart’s all humbleness,All pride is in my air.
‘With him, each favour that I doIs bold suit’s hallowing text;Each gift a bastion levelled, toThe next one and the next.
‘Each wish whose grant may him befallIs clogged by those withstood;He trembles, hoping one means all,And I, lest perhaps it should.
‘Behind me piecemeal gifts I cast,My fleeing self to save;And that’s the thing must go at last,For that’s the thing he’d have.
‘My lock the enforcèd steel did grateTo cut; its root-thrills cameDown to my bosom. It might sateHis lust for my poor shame!
‘His sifted dainty this should beFor a score ambrosial years!But his too much humilityAlarums me with fears.
‘My gracious grace a breach he countsFor graceless escalade;And, though he’s silent ere he mounts,My watch is not betrayed.
‘My heart hides from my soul he’s sweet:Ah dread, if he divine!One touch, I might fall at his feet,And he might rise from mine.
‘To hear him praise my eyes’ brown gleamsWas native, safe delight;But now it usurpation seems,Because I’ve given him right.
‘Before I’d have him not remove,Now would not have him near;With sacrifice I called on Love,And the apparition’s Fear.’
Foolish to give it!—‘’Twas my whim,When he might parted be,To think that I should stay by himIn a little piece of me.
‘He always said my hair was soft—What touches he will steal!Each touch and look (and he’ll look oft)I almost thought I’d feel.
‘And then, when first he saw the hair,To think his dear amazement!As if he wished from skies a star,And found it in his casement.
‘He’s kiss the lock—and I had toyedWith dreamed delight of this:But ah, in proof, delight was void—I could not see his kiss!’
So, fond one, half this agonyWere spared, which my hand hushes,Could you have played, Sweet, the sweet spy,And blushed not for your blushes!
A GIRL’S SIN II.—IN HIS EYES
CAN I forget her crueltyWho, brown miracle, gave you me?Or with unmoisted eyes think onThe proud surrender overgone,(Lowlihead in haughty dress),Of the tender tyranness?And ere thou for my joy was given,How rough the road to that blest heaven!With what pangs I fore-expiatedThy cold outlawry from her head;How was I trampled and brought low,Because her virgin neck was so;How thralled beneath the jealous stateShe stood at point to abdicate;How sacrificed, before to meShe sacrificed her pride and thee;How did she, struggling to abaseHerself to do me strange, sweet grace,Enforce unwitting me to shareHer throes and abjectness with her;Thence heightening that hour when her loverHer grace, with trembling, should discover,And in adoring trouble beHumbled at her humility!And with what pitilessness was IAfter slain, to pacifyThe uneasy manes of her shame,Her haunting blushes!—Mine the blame:What fair injustice did I rueFor what I—did not tempt her to?Nor aught the judging maid might winMe to assoil from her sweet sin.But nought were extreme punishmentFor that beyond-divine content,When my with-thee-first-giddied eyesStooped ere their due on Paradise!O hour of consternating blissWhen I heavened me in thy kiss;Thy softness (daring overmuch!)Profaned with my licensed touch;Worshipped, with tears, on happy knee,Her doubt, her trust, her shyness free,Her timorous audacity!