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Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton - "The Undying One" - Canto III
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Her struggles and her love at once confess`d. 

"Years--sorrow--death--the hopes that leave me lone, 
All I have suffer`d, and must suffer on; 
The love of other bright things which may pass 
In half eclipse, beyond the darken`d glass 
Through which my tearful soul hath learnt to gaze-- 
The fond delusions of all future days:-- 
All that this world can bring, hath not the power 
To blot from memory that delicious hour. 
She, who I thought would leave me desolate-- 
For whom I brooded o`er a future fate; 
She, who had wander`d through each sunny land, 
Yet found no heart that could her love command-- 
She lay within my arms, my own--my own-- 
Unsought, unwoo`d, but oh! too surely won. 

"She was not one of many words and vows, 
And breathings of her love, and eager shows 
Of warm affection;--in her quiet eye, 
Which gazed on all she worshipp`d silently, 
There dwelt deep confidence in what she loved, 
And nothing more--till some slight action proved 
My ceaseless thought of her: then her heart woke, 
And fervent feeling like a sunrise broke 
O`er her illumined face. Her love for me 
Was pure and deep, and hidden as the fount 

Which floweth `neath our footsteps gushingly, 
And of whose wanderings none may take account; 
And like those waters, when the fountain burst 
To light and sunshine, which lay dark at first, 
Quietly deep, it still kept flowing on-- 
Not the less pure for being look`d upon. 

"And then she loved all things, and all loved her. 
Each sound that mingleth in the busy stir 
Of nature, was to her young bosom rife 
With the intelligence of human life. 
Edith, my playful Edith, when her heart 
Tenderly woke to do its woman`s part, 
Fill`d with a sentiment so strong and new, 
Each childish passion from her mind withdrew, 
And looking round upon the world beheld 
Her Isbal only. By deep sorrow quell`d, 
Xarifa`s was a melancholy love. 
The plashing waters, the blue sky above, 
The echo speaking from the distant hill, 
The murmurs indistinct which sweetly fill 
The evening air--all had for her a tone 
Of mournful music--and I stood alone 
The one thing that could bid her heart rejoice 
With the deep comfort of a human voice. 

Not so, young Miriam. Love, within her breast, 
Had been a welcome and familiar guest 
Ev`n from her childhood:--I was link`d with all 
The sunny things that to her lot might fall; 
The past--the present--and the future, were 
Replete with joys in which I had my share. 
Nothing had been, or ever could be, felt 
Singly, within the heart where such love dwelt-- 
Her birds, her trees, her favourite walks, her flowers, 
She knew them not as hers--they were all ours. 
And thus she loved in her imaginings 
Our earth, and all its dumb and living things; 
Oft whispering in her momentary glee, 
It was the world I dwelt in; part of me: 
And, bound by a sweet charm she might not break, 
She look`d upon that world, and loved it for my sake. 

"How shall I tell it? Linda, a dark pain 
Is in my heart, and in my burning brain.-- 
Where is she?--where is Miriam?--who art thou? 
Oh! wipe the death-dew from her pallid brow; 
I dare not touch her! See, how still she lies, 
Closing in weakness her averted eyes: 
Gaspingly struggling for her gentle breath-- 
And stretching out her quivering limbs in death! 

Will no one save her? Fool!--the shadow there 
Is the creation of thine own despair. 
No love, no agony, is in her heart: 
In sin, in suffering, she hath now no part. 
She is gone from thee--sooner doom`d to go 
Than Nature meant; but thou didst will it so. 

"Oh, Linda! the remembrance of that day, 
When sad Xarifa`s spirit pass`d away, 
Haunted me ever with a power that thou, 
Who hast not sinn`d or suffer`d, canst not know. 
My joys were turn`d to miseries, and wrought 
My heart into delirium; I thought 
That, as she wept, so Miriam would weep, 
And start and murmur in her troubled sleep: 
That, as she doubted, Miriam too would find 
A dark suspicion steal across her mind: 
That, as she faded, Miriam too would fade, 
And lose the smile that round her full lips play`d: 
That as she perish`d--Miriam too would die, 
And chide me with her last reproachful sigh. 
Often when gazing on her open brow, 
And the pure crimson of her soft cheek`s glow-- 
Sudden, a dark unhappy change would seem 
To fall upon her features like a dream. 

In vain her merry voice, with laughing tone, 
Bade the dim shadow from my heart begone: 
Pale--pale and sorrowful--she seem`d to rise, 
Death on her cheek, and darkness in her eyes; 
The roundness of her form was gone, and care 
Had blanch`d the tresses of her glossy hair. 
Wan and reproachful, mournfully and mild 
Her thin lips moved, and with an effort smiled. 
And when with writhing agony I woke 
From the delusion, and the dark spell broke; 
And Miriam stood there, smiling brilliantly, 
Shuddering, I said, `And yet these things must be.` 
Must be;--that young confiding heart must shrink 
From my caress; the joyous eyes which drink 
Light from the sunshine that doth play within, 
Must grovel downcast with a sense of sin; 
Or, startled into consciousness, will gaze 
Bewilderingly upon the sunset rays; 
And, meeting mine, with sorrow wild and deep, 
Heart and eyes sinking, turn again to weep. 
Yes, these things must be: if, when years have pass`d, 
Each leaving her more fading than the last, 
She turns to the companion of her track, 
And, while her wandering thoughts roam sadly back, 
Seeks in her soul the reason why his form 
Laughs at the slow decay or ruffling storm, 

That hath wreck`d better things;--while on her sight, 
With the deep horrible glare, and certain light 
Of hell to a lost soul, the slow truth breaks; 
Till, as one wounded in his sleep, awakes 
To writhe, and shriek, and perish--silently: 
Her heart is roused--to comprehend and die. 

"To die!--and wherefore should she not depart 
Ere doubt hath agonized the trusting heart? 
Wherefore not pass away from earth, ere yet 
Its mossy bosom with her tears is wet?-- 
It was a summer`s morning, when the first 
Glance of that dreadful haunting vision burst 
Upon my mind:--I doom`d her then to die, 
For then I pictured to my heart and eye 
A world where Miriam was not:--often after, 
Amid the joyous ringing of her laughter, 
In sunshine and in shade, those thoughts return`d, 
Madden`d my brain, and in my bosom burn`d. 
Oh, God! how bitter were those idle hours, 
When softly bending o`er her fragrant flowers, 
She form`d her innocent plans, and playfully 
Spoke of that future which was not to be! 
How bitter were her smiles--her perfect love-- 
Her deep reliance, which no frowns could move, 

On the affections of my murderous heart, 
Where the thought brooded,--when shall she depart? 
As Jephthah gazed upon her smiling face, 
Who bounded forth to claim his first embrace; 
And felt, with breathless and bewilder`d pause, 
Her early death foredoom`d--her love the cause: 
As Jephthah struggled with the vow that still 
Bound his pain`d soul against his own free will; 
And heard her fond and meekly-worded prayer, 
To climb the well-known hills, and wander there, 
Weeping to think that in her virgin pride 
The beautiful must perish--no man`s bride; 
And that her name must die away from earth; 
And that her voice must leave the halls of mirth, 
And they be not less mirthful: so to me 
It was to gaze on Miriam silently: 
Miriam, who loved me; who, if I had said, 
`Lo! thou must perish--bow thy gentle head,`-- 
Would have repress`d each faint life-longing sigh, 
Bared her white bosom, and knelt down to die, 
Without a murmur.--So when she upraised 
Her quiet eyes, and on my features gazed, 
Asking me to come forth and roam with her 
Around her favourite haunts, the maddening stir 
Of agony and vain resolve would rend 
My bosom, and to earth my proud head bend. 

It seem`d to me as if that gentle prayer 
She breathed--to bid farewell to all her share 
Of life and sunshine; to behold again 
The high bright happy hills and outstretch`d plain; 
And then--come back and die. I left that isle, 
And Miriam follow`d with a tearful smile, 
Glad to be with me, sorrowful to go 
From the dear scene of joy and transient woe. 
As Eve to Eden--towards that land of rest 
She gazed, then turn`d, and wept upon my breast. 
To Italy`s sweet shores we bent our course; 
And for a while my grief and my remorse, 
And all my fearful thoughts, forsook me, when 
We mingled in the busy haunts of men. 
But oh! the hour was fix`d--though long delay`d; 
Like the poor felon`s doom, which some reprieve hath stay`d. 

"One night a dream disturb`d my frenzied soul. 
Methought, to Miriam I confess`d the whole 
Of what thou know`st, and watch`d her young glad face, 
That on her brow her feelings I might trace. 
Methought that, as I gazed, the flushing red 
Once more upon her cheek and bosom spread, 
As when she told her love; and then--and then-- 
(How strongly does that vision rise again!) 

Each hue of life by gradual shades withdrew, 
Till ev`n her dark blue eyes seem`d fading too. 
Paler and paler--whiter and more white-- 
Gazing upon me in the ghastly light, 
Her features grew; till all at length did seem 
Like moving marble, in that sickly dream, 
Except the faded eyes; they faintly kept 
The hue of life, and look`d on me, and wept. 
And still she spoke not, but stood weeping there, 
Till I was madden`d with mine own despair-- 
And woke. She lay beside me, who was soon 
To perish by my hand: the pale clear moon 
O`er her fair form a marble whiteness threw, 
And wild within my heart the madness grew. 
I rush`d from out that chamber, and I stood 
By the dim waters of the moon-lit flood; 
And in that hour of frantic misery, 
I thought my vision told how she would die, 
Pining and weeping.--I return`d again, 
And gazed upon her with a sickening pain. 
Her fair soft arms were flung above her head, 
And the deep rose of sleep her cheek was tinging: 
The tear which all who follow me must shed, 
Slept `neath the lashes which those orbs were fringing. 
And there she lay--so still, so statue-like-- 
I stagger`d to her-- 

I lifted up my desperate arm to strike-- 
Linda--I slew her! 
Once--only once--she faintly strove to rise; 
Once--only once--she call`d upon my name; 
And o`er the dark blue heaven of those eyes, 
Death, with its midnight shadows, slowly came. 
That tone`s despairing echo died away; 
The last faint quivering pulsation ceased 
To thrill that form of beauty, as it lay 
From all the storms and cares of life released: 
And I sat by the dead. Fast o`er my soul 
A dream of memory`s treasured relics stole. 
And the day rose before me, and the hour, 
When Miriam sat within her own sweet bower, 
The red rich sunset lighting on her cheek; 
Afraid to trust herself to move or speak, 
Conscious and shrinking--while I strove to trace 
Her bosom`s secret on her guileless face. 
I turn`d to press her to my burning heart-- 
I that had slain her--Wherefore did I start? 
Cold, pure, and pale, that glowing cheek was laid, 
And motionless each marble limb was lying; 
Closed were those eyes which tears of passion shed, 
And hush`d the voice that call`d on me in dying. 
Gone!--gone!--that frozen bosom never more, 
Press`d to mine own, in rapture shall be beating: 
Gone!--gone!--her love, her struggles--all was o`er, 
Life--weary life, would bring for us no meeting! 

"They bore her from me, and they laid her low, 
With all her beauty, in the cheerless tomb; 
And dragg`d me forth, all weak with pain and woe, 
Heedless of death, to meet a murderer`s doom. 
The wheel--the torturing wheel--was placed to tear 
Each quivering limb, and wring forth drops of pain; 
And they did mock me in my mute despair, 
And point to it, and frown--but all in vain. 
The hour at length arrived--a bright sweet day 
Rose o`er the world of torture, and of crime; 
And human blood-hounds and wild birds of prey 
Waited with eagerness their feasting time. 
And as I gazed, a wild hope sprang within 
My feverish breast:--perchance this dreadful death 
And my past sufferings might efface my sin; 
And I might now resign my weary breath. 
And as the blessed thought flash`d o`er my mind, 
I gazed around, and smiled.--To die--to die-- 
Oh little thought those wolves of human kind, 
What rapture in that word may sometimes lie! 
They stripp`d my unresisting limbs, and bound; 
And the huge ponderous engine gave a sound 

Like a dull heavy echo of the moans, 
The exhausted cries, the deep and sullen groans, 
Of all its many victims. Through each vein 
Thrill`d the strange sense of swift and certain pain; 
And each strong muscle from the blood-stain`d rack, 
Conscious of suffering, quiveringly shrank back. 
But I rejoiced--I say I did rejoice: 
And when from the loud multitude a voice 
Cried `Death!` I wildly echoed it, and said 
`Death! Death! oh, lay me soon among the dead.` 
And they did gaze on me with fiendish stare, 
Half curiosity, and half the glare 
Of bloody appetite; while to and fro, 
Nearer and nearer, wheel`d the carrion crow, 
As seeking where to strike.--A pause, and hark! 
The signal sound! 
When sudden as a dream, the heavens grew dark 
On all around: 
And the loud blast came sweeping in its wrath, 
Scattering wide desolation o`er its path: 
And the hoarse thunder struggled on its way; 
And livid lightning mock`d the darken`d day 
With its faint hellish lights.--They fled, that crowd, 
With fearful shrieks, and cries, and murmurs loud, 
And left me bound. The awful thunder crash`d 
Above my head; and in my up-turn`d eyes 

The gleams of forked fire brightly flash`d, 
Then died along the dark and threatening skies: 
And the wild howling of the fearful wind 
Madden`d my ringing brain; while, swiftly driven, 
The torrent showers fell all thick and blind, 
Till mingling seem`d the earth and angry heaven, 
A flash--a sound--a shock--and I was free-- 
Prostrate beside me lay the shiver`d wheel 
In broken fragments--I groan`d heavily, 
And for a while I ceased to breathe or feel. 

"And I arose again, to know that death 
Was not yet granted--that the feverish hope 
Of yielding up in torture my cursed breath 
Was quench`d for ever; and the boundless scope 
Of weary life burst on my soul again, 
Like the dim distance of the heaving main 
On some lost mariner`s faint failing eyes; 
Who, fondly dreaming of his native shore, 
(While in his throat the gurgling waters rise) 
Fancies he breathes that welcome air once more, 
And far across the bleak lone billows sees 
Its blue cool rivers, and its shady trees; 
Till when, upraised a moment by the wave, 
He views the watery waste, and sickening draws 
One long last gasping sigh for a green grave, 
Ere helplessly he sinks in Ocean`s yawning jaws. 

"Night fell around. The quiet dews were weeping 
Silently on the dark and mournful earth; 
And Sorrow pale its sleepless watch was keeping, 
And slumber weigh`d the closing lid of mirth; 
While the full round-orb`d moon look`d calmly down 
From her thin cloud, as from a light-wreathed crown: 
And I went out beneath her silver beams; 
And through my `wilder`d brain there pass`d dark dreams 
Of Miriam, and of misery, and death; 
And of that tomb, and what lay hid beneath: 
And I did lay my head upon that grave, 
Weepingly calling on her gentle name; 
And to the winds my grieving spirit gave 
In words which half without my knowledge came:-- 

`Thou art gone, with all thy loveliness, 
To the silence of the tomb, 
Where the voice of friends can never bless, 
Nor the cool sweet breezes come; 
Deep, deep beneath the flowers bright, 
Beneath the dark blue sky, 
Which may not send its joyous light 
To gladden those who die. 
This world to thee was not a world of woe: 
My bird of beauty! wherefore didst thou go? 

`Thou art gone, and gone for ever--thou 
In whom my life was bound: 
The seal of death is on thy brow, 
And in thy breast a wound. 
Who could have slain thee, thou who wert 
So helpless and so fair? 
When strong arms rose to do thee hurt, 
Why was not Isbal there? 
Didst thou not call upon him in thy woe? 
My bird of beauty! wherefore didst thou go? 

`Thou art gone!--Oh! fain my heart would rest, 
And dream--but thou art gone; 
The head that lay upon my breast 
Is hid beneath that stone. 
And art thou there? and wilt thou ne`er 
Rise up from that dark place, 
And, shaking back thy glossy hair, 
Laugh gladly in my face? 
This world to thee was not a world of woe: 
I loved thee--wherefore, wherefore didst thou go? 

`Return, return! Oh! if the rack-- 
If nature`s death-like strife, 
Borne silently, could bring thee back 
Once more to light, and life: 
Ev`n if those lips that used to wreathe 
Smiles that a glory shed, 
Ne`er parted but in scorn, to breathe 
Dark curses on my head:-- 
Oh! I could bear it all, nor think it woe: 
My bird of beauty! wherefore didst thou go? 

`Once more--once more--oh! yet once more! 
If I could see thee stand, 
A breathing creature, as before 
I smote thee with this hand. 
If that dear voice--oh! must these groans, 
This agony be vain? 
Will no one lift the ponderous stones, 
And let thee rise again? 
Thou wert not wont in life to work me woe: 
My bird of beauty! wherefore didst thou go?` 

"And then I reason`d--Wherefore should the sod 
Hold all of her, which hath not gone to God? 
I have the power again that form to see-- 
I have the wish once more with her to be: 
And wherefore should we fear to look upon 
What, from our sight, some few short hours is gone? 
Wherefore the thrill our senses which comes o`er 
At sight of what shall breathe and feel no more? 
Oh! Miriam, can there be indeed a place 
Where I must dread to look upon thy face?-- 
And then I knelt, and desperately did tear 
The earth from off that form so young and fair, 
And dash`d aside the sods which heavily 
Press`d on the bosom which had beat for me. 
At length `twas over;--at the break of day 
The scatter`d fragments round about me lay; 
And we once more were seated side by side-- 
The half-immortal, and his victim bride! 
What the grave yet had had no power to change, 
Her long bright locks, these fingers did arrange 
As she had worn them in her life`s short spring; 
And the sweet flowers which lay half withering 
Upon the turf, I wreathed with pains and care, 
And braided them among her glossy hair. 
And the rich glow of light burst on mine eyes; 
And the bright morning, with her dark blue skies, 

Beam`d on the pale and faded form, that lay 
Cold and unconscious in the waking day. 
And forms drew round me, in a busy crowd: 
But though I saw them come, I heeded not, 
But call`d on Miriam with upbraidings loud, 
And clung to that beloved and fatal spot. 
And rude hands dragg`d me thence. I know not how 
Or where they fetter`d me; but when I woke 
From that night`s dream, with cooler pulse and brow, 
Chains hung around me, which might not be broke, 
And in a damp deep dungeon I was flung, 
With scarce a gleam of heaven`s sweet light to cheer, 
And silence round, save when my irons rung, 
Or the stern keeper`s foot was drawing near. 
And many a weary day and sleepless night, 
I sat unmoved within that wretched cell, 
Dreaming confusedly of that last sight, 
The alter`d form of her I loved so well. 
`Miriam! my Miriam!`--Such the first faint word 
Which burst my trembling lip with deep low sighs, 
Unconscious that the frowning keeper heard, 
And gazed with half-contempt, and half-surprise. 
And then I raved, and with a shaking hand 
Traced that dear name upon the dewy clay, 
And strove with feeble limbs to rise and stand, 
Greeting the vision`d form that might not stay. 

And they did call me mad--oh! such his madness 
Who having lost what he half fear`d to love, 
Deep from his prison dungeon`s gloomy sadness 
Sent forth his spirit by her side to rove, 
And dreamt of love, and Italy`s sweet skies, 
And Leonora`s proud impassion`d eyes; 
And from his world of misery gazed afar 
On his own dream, as on a lovely star. 

"And from the earth I imaged forth a form, 
And call`d it Miriam, and would smile to see 
How calmly, amid all my passion`s storm, 
Its stedfast rayless eyes still gazed on me. 
And I did love it, with a love beyond 
All that I felt before, except for her: 
And call`d to it, till, feverishly fond, 
I thought the clay began to speak and stir. 

"One day I slept--I had not slept for long, 
Long weary days and nights ;--and in my ear 
Rang the sweet notes of Miriam`s gentle song, 
Which ev`n in that lone rest I smiled to hear:-- 

`The world--the sunny world!--I love 
To roam untired, till evening throws 
Sweet shadows in the pleasant grove; 
And bees are murmuring on the rose. 
I love to see the changeful flowers 
Lie blushing in the glowing day, 
Bend down their heads to `scape the showers, 
Then shake the chilly drops away.` 

"I woke and saw my keeper by me stand; 
And curiously he gazed, with wondering eyes, 
On the form moulded by my frantic hand, 
And sternly bade me from my bed arise. 
Oh! well my heart foreboded from his brow: 
Methinks I see the dark stern glances now, 
With which he heard my tale, for I did kneel 
And swear each secret feeling to reveal, 
So he would leave my precious Miriam there, 
To comfort Isbal in his lone despair. 
He heard: and o`er that dark and sullen brow 
A smile ev`n darker pass`d; and he did throw 
That image rudely on the echoing ground, 
And spurn`d in scorn the broken fragments round; 
And call`d me madman, and the threaten`d scourge 
Shook o`er my fetter`d limbs, his words to urge. 
He left me--madness did not come till then 
In spite of all I suffer`d.--Till that hour 

I had distinguish`d all, like other men, 
Nor sunk beneath misfortune`s blasting power. 
But then, I felt a circling in my brain; 
A laugh convulsive in my choking breast; 
A starting in each heavy temple vein, 
A weight which all my shivering limbs oppress`d. 
Through my bewilder`d brain the warm blood rush`d, 
From my distended mouth in torrents gush`d; 
And with a low sick sob I sank in pain, 
Trusting no more to wake or breathe again. 

"Days, months, and years roll`d on, and I had been 
A prisoner a century; had seen 
Change after change among my keepers; heard 
The shrieks of new-made captives, (which oft stirr`d 
My heart again to madness) and the groans 
Of those whom death released; the low faint moans 
Of the exhausted; and I yet remain`d 
To my dark dungeon, and existence, chain`d. 
But wherefore should I struggle thus, to show 
The dull monotony of endless woe? 
Suffice it, that it was amongst a race 
Then, yet unborn, that I beheld thy face-- 
Thy angel face, for whom ev`n I would crave 
A few years respite from the welcome grave." 

He ceased; and with a tearless deep despair, 
Turn`d to the sad one who sat by him there; 
And neither spoke;--but o`er his wasted frame 
A shaking, as of strong convulsion, came: 
And, taking her faint hand between his own, 
Quivering he press`d it, with a heavy groan; 
And look`d into her face, as if to read 
His fate therein--and bow`d his grief-worn head 
Upon his arms awhile; then started up 
To live--or drink the dregs of sorrow`s cup. 
And she rose too, who had been sitting by, 
Gazing upon those dark curls vacantly; 
And once or twice half-bending, as she would 
Have press`d her lips on them--though stain`d with blood, 
She rose, and when he murmur`d forth his fears-- 
"Is it too horrible? must I depart?" 
Look`d up, and with an agony of tears, 
Spread forth her arms, and clasp`d him to her heart.
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