Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (687 page)

Upon the Spaniard’s air. If I must sink

At last to hell, I will not take my stand

Among the coward crew who could not bear

The harm themselves had done, which others bore.

My young life yet may fill a breach,

And I will take no pardon, not my own,

Not God’s, — no pardon idly on my knees ;

But it shall come to me upon my feet

And in the thick of action, and each deed

That carried shame and wrong shall be the sting

That drives me higher up the steep of honor

In deeds of duteous service to that Spain

Who nourished me on her expectant breast,

The heir of highest gifts. I will not fling

My earthly being down for carrion

To fill the air with loathing : I will be

The living prey of some fierce noble death

That leaps upon me while I move. Aloud

I said, “ I will redeem my name,’ “ and then, —

I know not if aloud : I felt the words

Drinking up all my senses, — “ She still lives.

I would not quit, the dear familiar earth

Where both of us behold the selfsame sun,

Where there can be no strangeness ‘twixt our thoughts

So deep as their communion. “ Resolute

I rose and walked. — Fedalma, think of me

As one who will regain the only life

Where he is other than apostate, — one

Who seeks but to renew and keep the vows

Of Spanish knight and noble. But the breach

Outside those vows — the fatal second breach —

Lies a dark gulf where I have naught to cast,

Not even expiation, — poor pretence,

Which changes naught but what survives the past,

And raises not the dead. That deep dark gulf

Divides us.

FEDALMA.

Yes, forever. We must walk

Apart unto the end. Our marriage rite

Is our resolve that we will each be true

To high allegiance, higher than our love, —

Our dear young love, — its breath was happiness !

But it had grown upon a larger life

Which tore its roots asunder. We rebelled, —

The larger life subdued us. Yet we are wed ;

For we shall carry the pressure deep

Of the other’s soul. I soon shall leave the shore.

The winds to-night will bear me far away.

My lord, farewell !

[He did not say “ Farewell.”

But neither knew that he was silent. She,

For one long moment, moved not. They knew naught

Save that they parted.; for their mutual gaze

As with their soul’s full speech forbade their hands

To seek each other, — those oft-clasping hands

Which had a memory of their own, and went.

Widowed of one dear touch forevermore.

At last she turned and with swift movement went,

Beckoning to Hinda, who was bending low

And lingered still to wash her shells, but soon

Leaping and scampering followed, while her Queen

Mounted the steps again and took her place,

Which Juan rendered silently.

And now

The press upon the quay was thinned ; the ground

Was cleared of cumbering heaps, the eager shouts

Had sunk, and left a murmur more restrained

By common purpose. All the men ashore

Were gathering into ordered companies,

And with less clamor filled the waiting boats,

As if the speaking light commanded them

To quiet speed : for now the farewell glow

Was on the topmost heights, and where far ships

Were southward tending, tranquil, slow and white

Upon the luminous meadow toward the verge.

The quay was in still shadow, and the boats

Went sombrely upon the sombre waves

Fedalma watched again ; but now her gaze

Takes in the eastward bay, where that small bark

Which held the fisher-boy floats weightier

With one more life, that rests upon the oar

Watching with her. He would not go away

Till she was gone ; he would not turn his face

Away from her at parting : but the sea

Should widen slowly ‘twixt their seeking eyes.

The time was coming. Nadar had approached.

Was the Queen ready ? Would she follow now

Her father’s body ? For the largest boat

Was waiting at the quay, the last strong band

Of armed Zincali ranged themselves in lines

To guard her passage and to follow her.

“Yes, I am ready “ ; and with action prompt

They cast aside the Gypsy’s wandering tomb,

And fenced the space from curious Moors who pressed

To see Chief Zarca’s coffin as it lay.

They raised it slowly, holding it aloft

On shoulders proud to bear the heavy load.

Bound on the coffin lay the chieftain’s arms,

His Gypsy garments and his coat of mail.

Fedalma saw the burden lifted high,

And then descending followed. All was still.

The Moors aloof could hear the struggling steps

Beneath the lowered burden at the boat, —

The struggling calls subdued, till safe released

It lay within, the space around it filled

By black-haired Gypsies. Then Fedalma stepped

From off the shore and saw it flee away, —

The land that bred her helping the resolve

Which exiled her forever.

It was night

Before the ships weighed anchor and gave sail :

Fresh Night emergent in her clearness, lit

By the large crescent moon, with Hesperus,

And those great stars that lead the eager host.

Fedalma stood and watched the little bark

Lying jet-black upon moon-whitened waves.

Silva was standing too. He too divined

A steadfast form that held him with its thought,

And eyes that sought him vanishing : he saw

The waters widen slowly, till at last

Straining he gazed, and knew not if he gazed

On aught but blackness overhung by stars. ]

THE END

I COME AND STAND AT EVERY DOO
R

I come and stand at every door
But no one hears my silent tread
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead, for I am dead.
I’m only seven although I died
In Hiroshima long ago
I’m seven now as I was then
When children die they do not grow.
My hair was scorched by swirling flame
My eyes grew dim, my eyes grew blind
Death came and turned my bones to dust
And that was scattered by the wind.
I need no fruit, I need no rice
I need no sweet, nor even bread
I ask for nothing for myself
For I am dead, for I am dead.
All that I ask is that for peace
You fight today, you fight today
So that the children of this world
May live and grow and laugh and play.

LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE CONVICTION THAT IT IS NOT WISE TO READ MATHEMATICS IN NOVEMBER AFTER ONE’S FIRE IS OU
T

In the sad November time,
When the leaf has left the lime,
And the Cam, with sludge and slime,
    Plasters his ugly channel,
While, with sober step and slow,
Round about the marshes low,
Stiffening students stumping go
    Shivering through their flannel.
Then to me in doleful mood
Rises up a question rude,
Asking what sufficient good
    Comes of this mode of living?
Moping on from day to day,
Grinding up what will not “pay,”
Till the jaded brain gives way
    Under its own misgiving.
Why should wretched Man employ
Years which Nature meant for joy,
Striving vainly to destroy
    Freedom of thought and feeling?
Still the injured powers remain
Endless stores of hopeless pain,
When at last the vanquished brain
    Languishes past all healing.
Where is then his wealth of mind --
All the schemes that Hope designed?
Gone, like spring, to leave behind
    Indolent melancholy.
Thus he ends his helpless days,
Vex’t with thoughts of former praise --
Tell me, how are Wisdom’s ways
    Better than senseless Folly?
Happier those whom trifles please,
Dreaming out a life of ease,
Sinking by unfelt degrees
    Into annihilation.
Or the slave, to labour born,
Heedless of the freeman’s scorn,
Destined to be slowly worn
    Down to the brute creation.
Thus a tempting spirit spoke,
As from troubled sleep I woke
To a morning thick with smoke,
    Sunless and damp and chilly.
Then to sleep I turned once more,
Eyes inflamed and windpipe sore,
Dreaming dreams I dreamt before,
    Only not quite so silly.
In my dream methought I strayed
Where a learned-looking maid
Stores of flimsy goods displayed,
    Articles not worth wearing.
“These,” she said, with solemn air,
“Are the robes that sages wear,
Warranted, when kept with care,
    Never to need repairing.”
Then unnumbered witlings, caught
By her wiles, the trappings bought,
And by labour, not by thought,
    Honour and fame were earning.
While the men of wiser mind
Passed for blind among the blind;
Pedants left them far behind
    In the career of learning.
“Those that fix their eager eyes
Ever on the nearest prize
Well may venture to despise
    Loftier aspirations.
Pedantry is in demand!
Buy it up at second-hand,
Seek no more to understand
    Profitless speculations.”
Thus the gaudy gowns were sold,
Cast off sloughs of pedants old;
Proudly marched the students bold
    Through the domain of error,
Till their trappings, false though fair,
Mouldered off and left them bare,
Clustering close in blank despair,
    Nakedness, cold, and terror.
Then, I said, “These haughty Schools
Boast that by their formal rules
They produce more learned fools
    Than could be well expected.
Learned fools they are indeed,
Learned in the books they read;
Fools whene’er they come to need
    Wisdom, too long neglected.
“Oh! that men indeed were wise,
And would raise their purblind eyes
To the opening mysteries
    Scattered around them ever.
Truth should spring from sterile ground,
Beauty beam from all around,
Right should then at last be found
    Joining what none may sever.”