The Lovers' Last Meeting

IT was a calm, still, Sabbath eve—no breezeWent o'er the sleeping flowers, no murmured sound,From Nature's harp of many voices, roseUpon the deep and strange serenityOf the lone death of day. The Lovers metIn the sweet silence of that holy eve,Once more upon the old, familiar spotOf love's dear tryst. Dark months had passed awaySince they had gazed together on that sceneOf deepest, keenest raptures. That young girl,Even in her girlhood's rip cuing flush, seethed old,And worn in soul. Her pale and withering cheekTold to the heart the tale of many a wild,Fierce struggle of a spirit unsubdued.Her dark eyes gleamed with the intensityOf strange, unspoken griefs, and in their calm,Mysterious fixedness there seemed a high,And deep, and stern resolve, as though her heartOf iron pride might never quail beneathLife's fiercest storms. Yet when she turned those orbsTo his, a gentle, melancholy smilePlayed round their lids, and quivering tear-drops hung,Like the bright gems of dewy morning, o'erTheir dark and stormy depths.

And he on whomHer glance of love fell, piercing his deep soul,His soul of strong and manly daring, stoodAll tearfully beside her, and his armAround her slender form was wildly flung,Love's living, burning cestus; and her head,With all its clustering wealth of raven curls,Drooped to his heaving bosom, as a dove,Weary and broken wing'd, sinks to its ownDear parent nest. Her little trembling handWas clasped within his own, her upturned eyeMet his, and drank again the heavenly blissOf dear and sweet reunion. On each paleAnd stricken brow the darkness of deepAnd solemn shadow rested, and each cheekAnd lip seemed chilled with sorrow's withering frost.Though summer, autumn, winter, spring had passedAgain and yet again since they had met,They gazed into each other's hearts and readNo change in those deep founts of burning love.There no dark raven-wing had brooded—eachHad e'er embalmed with love's pure incense-breathThe image of the other. They had vowedAnd kept their holy truth, end now their loveWas all undimed, though grief had almost crushedThe life from out their souls.

The sweet rich glowOf the soft twilight lent its passion-hueOf crimson to her temples, or perchanceIt may have been the deep reflection caughtFrom the wild burning thoughts that raged withinHer shut and silent heart. She did not lookUpon the many flowers, she did not hearThe music of the stream—the fairy tintsOf sunset, the green surging of the woods,The mildly-wooing zephyrs, and the tones,The thousand deep tones of the holy hour,All were unheeded then. Her eyes, her ears,Her thoughts, her soul, her life, were but for him.She leaned upon him with that touching trustAnd holy confidence a saint would feelIn leaning upon heaven. And she to himWas all that mortal creature e'er could beTo a proud child of earth. With lip to lip,And heart quick-throbbing to its throbbing mate,They stood in love's bewildering embrace,Silently clasping in their straining armsAll that they knew of heaven on earth. And thenThey heeded not the passing of the hours,They saw not sunset's glorious roses fadeWithin the west's sky-garden, they but feltThey loved and were supremely blest.

At lengthThe thought that they must part stole on their soulsLike the deep shadow of a thunder-cloud.She strove to drive that fearful thought away,But there it stood, a fiend between her soulAnd her bright heaven of joy. Beneath the weightOf her great grief, her head sank down, as bendsThe lily's pale and broken cup beneathThe torrents of the cloud. And then with low,Sweet tones of tenderness, though his own heartWas bursting with its stifled rush of tears,He soothed her fearful agony. He spokeOf joys and raptures past but treasured stillIn memory's sacred chambers, of the hopeThat even then seemed shining with a dimAnd pale but beauteous gleam upon the wavesOf the far distant future. Thus he wonHer spirit from its dark and crushing grief,And bade her turn her thoughts from earth, and lookAbove life's clouds for perfect happinessWithin the skies. He told her how they twoWould wander there, twin-spirits, hand in hand,Beside the lovely Eden streams that glassThe blessed rainbow skies, how they would cullThe sweetest blossoms glowing with the dewsOf heaven, and twine them into beauteous wreaths,Dear love-wreaths, for each other's foreheads; howThey oft would fly upon their spirit-wingsFrom star to star, to read the beautifulAnd blazing mysteries of the sky, and howThey would at times come down from heaven to earthTo sit beside each other on the dearAnd blessed spot where then they sat, and museOn all the raptures shared together there,And breathe again the vows so often breathedIn life from their deep hearts of love, and makeThat scene the tryst of their pure souls in heavenAs 'twas their tryst upon the earth.

But thoughBy soft and low and gentle words like these,Breathed in the rich tones that first won her love,He calmed the fiery lava-flood that ragedWithin her tortured heart, he could not sootheThe agony that burned within his own.His soul was strong and haughty. He could bearThe cold world's bitter hate, he faltered notAt "foaming calumny," he did not heedThe piercing blasts of poverty, but when,At that sad hour, he fixed his eyes on her,His bright though fading flower, and thought how sheWould pine in his drear absence from her side,And saw that her young morning-tide of lifeWas ebbing fast away, Oh then his heart,His high, proud heart, sank in his manly breast,His naughty spirit trembled, and a strongConvulsion shook his features, and the dropsOf agony welled upward from a fountLong sealed within his bosom, and he weptAs if his heart were broken. And her tearsGushed forth to blend with his, and thus they weptTogether long and wildly.

On their earsNow stole the deep tones of the vesper bell,As mournfully as if it had been tolledFor some dear friend. It woke them from their tranceOf paralyzing grief, it pealed and rangFar through the echoing chambers of their souls,And told them with its mocking cadencesThat 'twas the hour, the moment, they must part.All silently, but for one death-like groan,He strained her to his bosom, on her browHe breathed his passion-kisses till it seemedAs if each trembling blood-drop in her frameRushed up to share the maddening embrace—Then with one low, deep, passionate farewell,That sounded as if uttered by his soulThrough still, unbreathing lips, they parted.

She,Pale, faint, and weak, with faltering footsteps soughtHer chamber's silent solitude, to pourHer sad soul forth in earnest prayer to GodFor strength to quell the fierce, rebellious thoughtsThat seemed for ever sweeping like a tideOf burning waters o'er her heart. He soughtThe forest's deeper silence, there to holdThrough the still night communion with his soul,And her, and heaven; and, when the morning came,He went with sickening heart and aching browOnce more into the toiling world of men,To struggle with his bitter destiny.

'Twas their last parting—a brief year passed by,And lo! a pitying angel came from HeavenAnd joined their fates forever. 'Twas the kindDeath-angel—they are all each other's now.