lucile-第47章
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'd； she is lost to my life！ Can her home be my home？ Can I claim in the wife Of that man's son the child of my age？ At her side Shall he stand on my hearth？ Shall I sue to the bride Of 。 。 。 enough！ 〃Ah； and you immemorial halls Of my Norman forefathers； whose shadow yet falls On my fancy； and fuses hope； memory； past； Present；all； in one silence！ old trees to the blast Of the North Sea repeating the tale of old days； Nevermore； nevermore in the wild bosky ways Shall I hear through your umbrage ancestral the wind Prophesy as of yore； when it shook the deep mind Of my boyhood； with whispers from out the far years Of love； fame； the raptures life cools down with tears！ Henceforth shall the tread of a Vargrave alone Rouse your echoes？〃 〃O think not；〃 she said； 〃of the son Of the man whom unjustly you hate； only think Of this young human creature； that cries from the brink Of a grave to your mercy！ 〃Recall your own words （Words my memory mournfully ever records！） How with love may be wreck'd a whole life！ then； Eugene； Look with me （still those words in our ears！） once again At this young soldier sinking from life heredragg'd down By the weight of the love in his heart： no renown； No fame comforts HIM！ nations shout not above The lone grave down to which he is bearing the love Which life has rejected！ Will YOU stand apart？ You； with such a love's memory deep in your heart！ You the hero； whose life hath perchance been led on Through the deeds it hath wrought to the fame it hath won； By recalling the visions and dreams of a youth； Such as lies at your door now： who have but； in truth； To stretch forth a hand； to speak only one word； And by that word you rescue a life！〃 He was stirr'd。 Still he sought to put from him the cup； bow'd his face on his hand； and anon； as though wishing to chase With one angry gesture his own thoughts aside； He sprang up； brush'd past her； and bitterly cried； 〃No！Constance wed a Vargrave！〃I cannot consent！〃 Then up rose the Soeur Seraphine。 The low tent In her sudden uprising； seem'd dwarf'd by the height From which those imperial eyes pour'd the light Of their deep silent sadness upon him。 No wonder He felt； as it were； his own stature shrink under The compulsion of that grave regard！ For between The Duc de Luvois and the Soeur Seraphine At that moment there rose all the height of one soul O'er another； she look'd down on him from the whole Lonely length of a life。 There were sad nights and days； There were long months and years in that heart…searching gaze； And her voice； when she spoke； with sharp pathos thrill'd through And transfix'd him。 〃Eugene de Luvois； but for you； I might have been nownot this wandering nun； But a mother； a wifepleading； not for the son Of another； but blessing some child of my own； His；the man's that I once loved！ 。 。 。 Hush！ that which is done I regret not。 I breathe no reproaches。 That's best Which God sends。 'Twas his will： it is mine。 And the rest Of that riddle I will not look back to。 He reads In your heartHe that judges of all thoughts and deeds。 With eyes； mine forestall not！ This only I say： You have not the right （read it； you； as you may！） To say 。 。 。 'I am the wrong'd。〃' 。 。 。 〃Have I wrong'd thee？wrong'd THEE！〃 He falter'd； 〃Lucile； ah； Lucile！〃 〃Nay； not me；〃 She murmur'd； 〃but man！ The lone nun standing here Has no claim upon earth； and is pass'd from the sphere Of earth's wrongs and earth's reparations。 But she； The dead woman； Lucile； she whose grave is in me； Demands from her grave reparation to man； Reparation to God。 Heed； O heed； while you can； This voice from the grave！〃 〃Hush！〃 he moan'd； 〃I obey The Soeur Seraphine。 There； Lucile！ let this pay Every debt that is due to that grave。 Now lead on： I follow you； Soeur Seraphine！ 。 。 。 To the son Of Lord Alfred Vargrave 。 。 。 and then；〃 。 。 。 As he spoke He lifted the tent…door； and down the dun smoke Pointed out the dark bastions； with batteries crown'd； Of the city beneath them 。 。 。 〃Then； THERE； underground； And valete et plaudite； soon as may be！ Let the old tree go down to the earththe old tree With the worm at its heart！ Lay the axe to the root！ Who will miss the old stump； so we save the young shoot？ A Vargrave！ 。 。 。 this pays all 。 。 。 Lead on！ In the seed Save the forest！ 。 。 。 I follow 。 。 。 forth； forth！ where you lead。〃
XXX。
The day was declining； a day sick and damp。 In a blank ghostly glare shone the bleak ghostly camp Of the English。 Alone in his dim； spectral tent （Himself the wan spectre of youth）； with eyes bent On the daylight departing； the sick man was sitting Upon his low pallet。 These thoughts； vaguely flitting； Cross'd the silence between him and death； which seem'd near； 〃Pain o'erreaches itself； so is balk'd！ else； how bear This intense and intolerable solitude； With its eye on my heart and its hand on my blood？ Pulse by pulse！ Day goes down： yet she comes not again。 Other suffering； doubtless； where hope is more plain； Claims her elsewhere。 I die； strange！ and scarcely feel sad。 Oh； to think of Constance THUS； and not to go mad！ But Death； it would seem； dulls the sense to his own Dull doings 。 。 。〃
XXXI。
Between those sick eyes and the sun A shadow fell thwart。
XXXII。
'Tis the pale nun once more！ But who stands at her side； mute and dark in the door？ How oft had he watch'd through the glory and gloom Of the battle； with long； longing looks； that dim plume Which now （one stray sunbeam upon it） shook； stoop'd To where the tent…curtain； dividing； was loop'd！ How that stern face had haunted and hover'd about The dreams it still scared！ through what fond fear and doubt Had the boy yearn'd in heart to the hero。 （What's like A boy's love for some famous man？） 。 。 。 Oh； to strike A wild path through the battle； down striking perchance Some rash foeman too near the great soldier of France； And so fall in his glorious regard！ 。 。 。 Oft； how oft； Had his heart flash'd this hope out； whilst watching aloft The dim battle that plume dance and dartnever seen So near till this moment！ how eager to glean Every stray word； dropp'd through the camp…babble in praise Of his heroeach tale of old venturous days In the desert！ And now 。 。 。 could he speak out his heart Face to face with that man ere he died！
XXXIII。
With a start The sick soldier sprang up： the blood sprang up in him； To his throat； and o'erthrew him： he reel'd back： a dim Sanguine haze fill'd his eyes； in his ears rose the din And rush； as of cataracts loosen'd within； Through which he saw faintly； and heard； the pale nun （Looking larger than life； where she stood in the sun） Point to him and murmur； 〃Behold！〃 Then that plume Seem'd to wave like a fire； and fade off in the gloom Which momently put out the world。
XXXIV。
To his side Moved the man the boy dreaded yet loved 。 。 。 〃Ah！〃 。 。 。 he sigh'd； 〃The smooth brow； the fair Vargrave face！ and those eyes； All the mother's！ The old things again！ 〃Do not rise。 You suffer； young man？〃
THE BOY。
Sir； I die。
THE DUKE。
Not so young！
THE BOY。
So young？ yes！ and yet I have tangled among The fray'd warp and woof of this brief life of mine Other lives than my own。 Could my death but untwine The vext skein 。 。 。 but it will not。 Yes； Duke； youngso young！ And I knew you not？ yet I have done you a wrong Irreparable！ 。 。 。 late； too late to repair。 If I knew any means 。 。 。 but I know none！ 。 。 。 I swear； If this broken fraction of time could extend Into infinite lives of atonement； no end Would seem too remote for my grief （could that be！） To include it！ Not too late； however； for me To entreat： is i
