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Ada Cambridge - Dead
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"On board the Petrel, in St. Lucia`s bay, 
Of yellow fever—aged twenty-nine." 

"Who did you say, my lady?" drawled the Earl. 
"The duke—what duke?" 
                    "I did not speak of dukes," 
Replied the Countess slowly, white and grim, 
Pressing the rustling sheet between her palms, 
The while her diamonds heaved upon her breast, 
And sank and heaved, and glitter`d like her eyes— 
Hungry, pathetic eyes,—"`Tis only Dick, 
Only a sailor-lad I used to know." 

"Humph! A West Indian friend?" he softly sneer`d, 
And bow`d and gave his arm. "The carriage waits— 
My lady loses time." 
                    Then pass`d they out, 
Through silky servants,—he, the great Earl, stark 
In plume and crest and linked mediæval steel, 
The Countess en bergère, in white and red, 
With roses, diamond dew-dropped, in her hat 
And in her queenly bosom;—pass`d they out, 
And, through clear gaslight and the avenue 
Of silent Champs-Elysées, to the fête. 

Her restless eyes were blind to all the blaze 
And motley splendour of the throng`d saloons; 
The flowers, the cool cascades, the magic wand 
Of Strauss, the vine-draped balustrades, the gaze 
Of wistful admiration meeting hers 
At every step. The Empress smiled and bow`d, 
The Emperor praised the beauty and the taste 
Of her mock-rustic costume, princes begged 
Her fair hand for the dance, and her grim lord 
Scowl`d, wrathful, on her when she pass`d him by. 
She cared for none,—she look`d beyond them all. 

She saw another night—a hot, bright night— 
A night of years ago—danced out in joy 
`Neath the low roof-tree of a planter`s house 
In fair Antigua`s bosom;—saw the stars, 
Large, liquid, golden, swimming in the blue, 
Shining through open doors and jalousies, 
And the green sparkles of the fire-flies, thick 
About the forest, fringing all the dark; 
The crimson creepers swaying in the air 
From white verandah pillars—swaying soft; 
The small nest of a humming-bird; the stems, 
Brown-ring`d, of feathery palm-trees,—plaintains bow`d 
With broad, thick leaves, and clustering fruit, and seeds 
In scarlet vessels—orange-groves, white-flower`d 
And sweet, with hanging balls of green and gold— 
All vaguely outlined in the mellow night. 
And nearer still a brave, brown English face, 
Bent low, with clear grey eyes and faithful lips 
That whisper`d, "Reine, I love you," meeting hers. 
The drowsy sound of laughter and light feet 
Behind them she could hear—but the quick throb 
Of poor Dick`s English heart upon her breast 
She felt to suffocation. "Reine, my sweet, 
I love you—Reine, I love you; kiss me, child." 
And her soft hands stray`d softly round his neck, 
And softer still she kiss`d him. 
                    Then she saw 
A morning, hot and stormy—saw the Earl, 
Drunk with her wondrous beauty, standing there 
Where Dick had stood. She saw his cultured ways, 
His high-bred, stately courtesy and grace; 
She heard his subtle flatteries, his tales 
Of the great world, of court and city life, 
With gaping ears and speculating brain. 
The voice of the arch-tempter, low and soft, 
Spoke in his polished accents, "Reine, `tis sin, 
`Tis sin and shame, that such a face as yours 
Should waste its sweetness in these heathen isles. 
There`s not a fairer face in Europe, Reine; 
`Tis worth a coronet. Come back with me 
As a great earl`s wife; in his diamonds dress`d, 
You would have homage like a crownèd queen." 
She shudder`d now,—his diamonds gall`d her worse 
Than felon`s chains. 
                    Anon she saw a bay— 
Blue, limpid water, fringed with dipping palms, 
A green rock-gateway opening on the sea, 
Green cane-fields stretching upward, woods and hills 
Lying entangled in the summer clouds; 
An English ship at anchor—burning noon— 
A thin, brown, fever`d face, with hungry eyes 
Roaming from side to side, in dumb appeal, 
Which none could understand,—and dying lips 
Muttering to vacant air and heedless ears, 
"I love you, Reine, I love you!" 
                    "O my love— 
O Dick—my Dick—would I could sleep with thee 
In thy last happy sleep among the palms, 
With my dead hands clasp`d tight about thy neck! 
O Dick, I did not mean it—did not think— 
And now my heart is broken! 
                    "Take me home. 
The rooms are hot, my lord, and I am faint— 
The music makes me giddy. Take me home!"
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