| |
| MIDNIGHT past! Not a sound of aught | |
| Through the silent house, but the wind at his prayers. | |
| I sat by the dying fire, and thought | |
| Of the dear dead woman upstairs. | |
| |
| A night of tears! for the gusty rain | 5 |
| Had ceased, but the eaves were dripping yet; | |
| And the moon looked forth, as though in pain, | |
| With her face all white and wet: | |
| |
| Nobody with me, my watch to keep, | |
| But the friend of my bosom, the man I love: | 10 |
| And grief had sent him fast to sleep | |
| In the chamber up above. | |
| |
| Nobody else, in the country place | |
| All round, that knew of my loss beside, | |
| But the good young Priest with the Raphael-face, | 15 |
| Who confessed her when she died. | |
| |
| That good young Priest is of gentle nerve, | |
| And my grief had moved him beyond control; | |
| For his lips grew white, as I could observe, | |
| When he speeded her parting soul. | 20 |
| |
| I sat by the dreary hearth alone: | |
| I thought of the pleasant days of yore: | |
| I said, “The staff of my life is gone: | |
| The woman I loved is no more. | |
| |
| “On her cold dead bosom my portrait lies, | 25 |
| Which next to her heart she used to wear— | |
| Haunting it o’er with her tender eyes | |
| When my own face was not there. | |
| |
| “It is set all round with rubies red, | |
| And pearls which a Peri might have kept. | 30 |
| For each ruby there my heart hath bled: | |
| For each pearl my eyes have wept.” | |
| |
| And I said—“The thing is precious to me: | |
| They will bury her soon in the churchyard clay; | |
| It lies on her heart, and lost must be | 35 |
| If I do not take it away.” | |
| |
| I lighted my lamp at the dying flame, | |
| And crept up the stairs that creaked for fright, | |
| Till into the chamber of death I came, | |
| Where she lay all in white. | 40 |
| |
| The moon shone over her winding-sheet, | |
| There stark she lay on her carven bed: | |
| Seven burning tapers about her feet, | |
| And seven about her head. | |
| |
| As I stretched my hand, I held my breath; | 45 |
| I turned as I drew the curtains apart: | |
| I dared not look on the face of death: | |
| I knew where to find her heart. | |
| |
| I thought at first, as my touch fell there, | |
| It had warmed that heart to life, with love; | 50 |
| For the thing I touched was warm, I swear, | |
| And I could feel it move. | |
| |
| ’T was the hand of a man, that was moving slow | |
| O’er the heart of the dead,—from the other side: | |
| And at once the sweat broke over my brow. | 55 |
| “Who is robbing the corpse?” I cried. | |
| |
| Opposite me by the tapers’ light, | |
| The friend of my bosom, the man I loved, | |
| Stood over the corpse, and all as white, | |
| And neither of us moved. | 60 |
| |
| “What do you here, my friend?”… The man | |
| Looked first at me, and then at the dead. | |
| “There is a portrait here,” he began; | |
| “There is. It is mine,” I said. | |
| |
| Said the friend of my bosom, “Yours, no doubt, | 65 |
| The portrait was, till a month ago, | |
| When this suffering angel took that out, | |
| And placed mine there, I know.” | |
| |
| “This woman, she loved me well,” said I. | |
| “A month ago,” said my friend to me: | 70 |
| “And in your throat,” I groaned, “you lie!” | |
| He answered,… “Let us see.” | |
| |
| “Enough!” I returned, “let the dead decide: | |
| And whosesoever the portrait prove, | |
| His shall it be, when the cause is tried, | 75 |
| Where Death is arraigned by Love.” | |
| |
| We found the portrait there, in its place: | |
| We opened it by the tapers’ shine: | |
| The gems were all unchanged: the face | |
| Was—neither his nor mine. | 80 |
| |
| “One nail drives out another, at least! | |
| The face of the portrait there,” I cried, | |
| “Is our friend’s, the Raphael-faced young Priest, | |
| Who confessed her when she died.” | |
| |
| The setting is all of rubies red, | 85 |
| And pearls which a Peri might have kept. | |
| For each ruby there my heart hath bled: | |
| For each pearl my eyes have wept. | |
| |
