SCENE: St. Petersburg. Period: the present time. A ballroom in the
winter palace of the Prince--. The ladies in character costumes and
masks. The gentlemen in official dress and unmasked, with the
exception of six tall figures in scarlet kaftans, who are treated with
marked distinction as they move here and there among the
promenaders. Quadrille music throughout the dialogue.
Count SERGIUS PAVLOVICH PANSHINE, who has just
arrived, is standing anxiously in the doorway of an antechamber
with his eyes fixed upon a lady in the costume of a maid of honor
in the time of Catherine II. The lady presently disengages herself
from the crowd, and passes near Count PANSHINE, who
impulsively takes her by the hand and leads her across the threshold
of the inner apartment, which is unoccupied.

[1]


Mary, I believed thee true,
    And I was blest in thus believing
But now I mourn that e'er I knew
    A girl so fair and so deceiving.
        Fare thee well.

Few have ever loved like me,--
    Yes, I have loved thee too sincerely!
And few have e'er deceived like thee.--
    Alas! deceived me too severely.

Fare thee well!--yet think awhile
    On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee:
Who now would rather trust that smile,
    And die with thee than live without thee.

Fare thee well! I'll think of thee.
    Thou leavest me many a bitter token;
For see, distracting woman, see,
    My peace is gone, my heart is broken!--
        Fare thee well!

Wilful we are in our infirmity
Of childish questioning and discontent.
Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant -
Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery!
Make us to meet what is or is to be
With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent
To serve us in some way full excellent,
Though we discern it all belatedly.
The rose buds, and the rose blooms and the rose
Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo,
Is in the lover's hand, - then on the breast
Of her he loves, - and there dies. - And who knows
Which fate of all a rose may undergo
Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest?

Nay, we are children: we will not mature.
A blessed gift must seem a theft; and tears
Must storm our eyes when but a joy appears
In drear disguise of sorrow; and how poor
We seem when we...

    Make the most of this life; where the shadow reposes
        The beams of the summer shall gather in glee,
    And the snow on the graves of the lilies and roses
        But cradles the blooms that shall whiten the lea;
    Though the hopes of the heart be encircled with sorrow
        And billows of wretchedness mutter and roll,
    There shall come with the morn of the bountiful morrow
        The pleasures that gladden the desolate soul.

    Make the most of this life; where the carols are sleeping
        That rose in their rapture from lips of the spring,
    That awakened the world from its winter of weeping,
        Sweet songs shall be sung by the birds on the wing.
    Though the bosom be dark with the dirges of sadness
        And solitudes gather so heav...

Her heart knew naught of sorrow,
    Nor the vaguest taint of sin -
'Twas an ever-blooming blossom
    Of the purity within:
And her hands knew only touches
    Of the mother's gentle care,
And the kisses and caresses
    Through the interludes of prayer.

Her baby-feet had journeyed
    Such a little distance here,
They could have found no briers
    In the path to interfere;
The little cross she carried
    Could not weary her, we know,
For it lay as lightly on her
    As a shadow on the snow.

And yet the way before us -
    O how empty now and drear! -
How ev'n the dews of roses
    Seem as dripping tears for her!
And the song-birds all seem crying,
    As the winds cry and the rain,
All sobbingly, - "We want - we wa...

Love on his errand bound to go
Can swim the flood and wade through snow,
Where way is none, 't will creep and wind
And eat through Alps its home to find.

The Lord shall slay or the Lord shall save!
He is righteous whether He save or slay,
Brother, give thanks for the gifts He gave,
Though the gifts He gave He hath taken away.
Shall we strive for that which is nothing? Nay.
Shall we hate each other for that which fled?
She is but a marvel of modelled clay,
And the smooth, clear white, and the soft, pure red,
That we coveted, shall endure no day.

Was it wise or well that I hated you
For the fruit that hung too high on the tree?
For the blossom out of our reach that grew,
Was it well or wise that you hated me?
My hate has flown, and your hate shall flee.
Let us veil our faces like children chid,
Can that violet orb we swore by see
Through that violet-vein’d, transparent lid?
Now the Lord forbid that thi...

(ASLEEP IN THE DAYTIME.)

All rough winds are hushed and silent, golden light the meadow steepeth,
    And the last October roses daily wax more pale and fair;
They have laid a gathered blossom on the breast of one who sleepeth
    With a sunbeam on her hair.

Calm, and draped in snowy raiment she lies still, as one that dreameth,
    And a grave sweet smile hath parted dimpled lips that may not speak;
Slanting down that narrow sunbeam like a ray of glory gleameth
    On the sainted brow and cheek.

There is silence! They who watch her, speak no word of grief or wailing,
    In a strange unwonted calmness they gaze on and cannot cease,
Though the pulse of life beat faintly, thought shrink back, and hope be failing,
    They, like Aaron, "hold their peace."

    First-born of the creating Voice!
    Minister of God's Spirit, who wast sent
    Waiting upon him first, what time he went
    Moving about mid the tumultuous noise
    Of each unpiloted element
    Upon the face of the void formless deep!
    Thou who didst come unbodied and alone
    Ere yet the sun was set his rule to keep,
    Or ever the moon shone,
    Or e'er the wandering star-flocks forth were driven!
    Thou garment of the Invisible, whose skirt
    Sweeps, glory-giving, over earth and heaven!
    Thou comforter, be with me as thou wert
    When first I longed for words, to be
    A radiant garment for my thought, like thee!

    We lay us down in sorrow,
    Wrapt in the old mantle of our mother Night;
    In vexing dreams we strive ...

Nor time nor all his minions
Of sorrow or of pain,
Shall dash with vulture pinions
The cup she fills again
Within the dream-dominions
Of life where she doth reign.

Clothed on with bright desire
And hope that makes her strong,
With limbs of frost and fire,
She sits above all wrong,
Her heart, a living lyre,
Her love, its only song.

And in the waking pauses
Of weariness and care,
And when the dark hour draws his
Black weapon of despair,
Above effects and causes
We hear its music there.

The longings life hath near it
Of love we yearn to see;
The dreams it doth inherit
Of immortality;
Are callings of her spirit
To something yet to be.

When God drave the ruthless waters
From our cornfields to the sea,
Came she where our wives and daughters
Sobbed their thanks on bended knee.
Hidden faces! there ye found her
Mute as death, and staring wild
At the shadow waxing round her
Like the presence of her child
Of her drenched and drowning child!

Dark thoughts live when tears won’t gather;
Who can tell us what she felt?
It was human, O my Father,
If she blamed Thee while she knelt!
Ever, as a benediction
Fell like balm on all and each,
Rose a young face whose affliction
Choked and stayed the founts of speech
Stayed and shut the founts of speech!

Often doth she sit and ponder
Over gleams of happy hair!
How her white hands used to wander,
Like a flood of moonlight ther...

I

I(First Love)
Through nurtured like the sailing moon
In beauty's murderous brood,
She walked awhile and blushed awhile
And on my pathway stood
Until I thought her body bore
A heart of flesh and blood.
But since I laid a hand thereon
And found a heart of stone
I have attempted many things
And not a thing is done,
For every hand is lunatic
That travels on the moon.
She smiled and that transfigured me
And left me but a lout,
Maundering here, and maundering there,
Emptier of thought
Than the heavenly circuit of its stars
When the moon sails out.

II

I(Human Dignity)
Like the moon her kindness is,
If kindness I may call
What has no comprehension in't,
But is the same for all
As though my sorrow we...