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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

JEALOUSY by WILLIAM HERBERT (1778-1847)

First Line: FOUR THINGS THE WISE MAN KNEW NOT TO DECLARE
Last Line: WHICH SHOULD IN DEATH UNITE HIM WITH HIS BRIDE.
Subject(s): JEALOUSY;
FOUR things the wise man knew not to declare
The eagle's path athwart the fields of air;
The ship's deep furrow thro' the ocean's spray;
The serpent's winding on the rock; the way
Of man with woman. Into water clear
The jealous Indian rudely thrust his spear,
And, quick withdrawing, pointed how the wave
Subsided into stillness. The dark grave,
Which knows all secrets, can alone reclaim
The fatal doubt once cast on woman's fame.
Night's shade fell thick; the evening was far spent
Ere proud Montalban to her chamber went.
Slowly he enter'd, and with cautious glance
Cast his eye round, before he did advance;
Then placed a bowl of liquor by her side,
And thus severe address'd his sorrowing bride:
"The night advances, Julia: hast thou pray'd
To Him whose eye can pierce the thickest shade,
Who, robed in truth, is never slow to mark
The hidden guilty secrets of the dark?"
"Yes, honour'd Albert, I have duly learn'd
That prayer is sorrow's balm," the wife return'd.
"The voice of God is awful, when the breast
Of the weak sufferer is by guilt oppress'd;
But mercy dawns upon the patient head,
The peace of Him who for our failings bled."
Her words some tender sympathy awoke,
But he repress'd it, and thus sternly spoke.
"If morning's dawn must glimmer on our bier,
Say, canst thou meet the future without fear?
Is thy soul chasten'd, and resign'd to go
This night to everlasting bliss or wo?"
His accents falter'd; but unmoved he stood,
And, firm of heart, his beauteous victim view'd.
He wore the ghastly aspect of the dead,
But his lip quiver'd, and his eye was red;
And such dark feelings character'd his gaze,
That Julia shrunk with terror and amaze.
She paused; her eye fell doubtful on that bowl;
O'er all her frame a shuddering horror stole.
Then thus with downcast look; (she dared not raise
Her eye to meet again that fearful gaze:)
"Yes, Albert, I have made my peace with Heaven,
At whose pure shrine my secret thoughts are shriven.
Whene'er fate calls, this humble soul obeys;
The tear of sorrow asks no fond delays.
With tremulous hope the lingering heart may cling
To life's blest walks, illumed by pleasure's spring.
Cold duty's path is not so blithely trod,
Which leads the mournful spirit to its God."
She spoke, half-timid, and presaging ill
From his knit brow and look severely still.
The thought of death came o'er her; and the mind
Disown'd her words, more fearful than resign'd.
Love's secret influence heaved the conscious breast
With fluttering pulse, that would not be at rest.
Stern Albert mark'd the tremor of her brow,
And the cheek's fitful colour come and go.
His eye was big with anguish, as it stray'd
O'er all the charms, which her thin robe betray'd;
The perfect loveliness of that dear form
In its full spring of beauty ripe and warm;
And never had she look'd so wondrous fair,
So precious, so surpassing all compare,
In blither hours, when innocent delight
Flush'd her young cheek and sparkled in her sight,
As languid, in that careless garb array'd,
Half-lit by the pale lamp, half-hid in shade.
He would have given health, life, eternity,
The joys that fleet, the hopes that never die,
Once more in tenderest rapture to have press'd
That shape angelic to his troubled breast;
But pride forbade, and from each living charm
Drew fiercer hate, which love could not disarm.
Upon that form of beauty, now his bane,
Pollution seem'd to have impress'd a stain.
Awhile he paced the floor with heavy stride,
Then gazed once more upon his sorrowing bride;
And, parting with his hands the glossy hair
On the white forehead of the silent fair,
Look'd wistfully; then, bending sad and slow,
Fix'd one long kiss upon that brow of snow,
It seem'd as if love's spirit in his soul
Was battling with his passion's fierce control.
He sat before her; on one hand reclined
His face, which told the struggle of his mind;
The other held the bowl: she raised her head,
As, slow his hand extending, thus he said:
"Drink, Julia; pledge me in this cup of peace;
Drink deep, and let thy tears of sorrow cease."
Her eye was fix'd and motionless; her cheek
Had lost its changeful hue; she did not speak.
Her nerves seem'd numb'd, and icy horror press'd,
Like a cold weight of lead, upon her breast.
"Drink, Julia," spoke again that dreadful voice:
"Drink, Julia, deep; for thou hast now no choice."
A fatal shiver seem'd to reach her soul,
And her hand trembled, as it touch'd the bowl;
But duty's call prevail'd o'er shapeless dread;
She look'd with silent terror, and obey'd.
I know not, whether it was fancy's power
Which smote each conscious sense in that dread hour.
Or whether, doom'd at mortal guilt to grieve,
Thus his good angel sadly took his leave;
But he half-started, and in truth believed
That a deep lengthen'd sob was faintly heaved,
And some dark shuddering form behind him pass'd,
Which o'er her shape its fearful shadow cast.
Breathless he listen'd by his thoughts appall'd;
(The hour of mercy could not be recall'd,)
Then to his lips in turn the draught applied,
Which should in death unite him with his bride.



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