Part 43

Those hearts of ours -- but I've said enough, As I find that my rhyme grows rude and rough; I'll rest me now, but I'll come again Some other day, to resume my strain.

---- Their Story Runneth Thus

Two little children played among the flowers, Their mothers were of kin, tho' far apart; The children's ages were the very same E'en to an hour -- and Ethel was her name, A fair, sweet girl, with great, brown, wond'ring eyes That seemed to listen just as if they held The gift of hearing with the power of sight. Six summers slept upon her low white brow, And dreamed amid the roses of her cheeks. Her voice was sweetly low; and when she spoke Her words were music; and her laughter rang So like an altar-bell that, had you heard Its silvery sound a-ringing, you would think Of kneeling down and worshiping the pure.

They played among the roses -- it was May -- And "hide and seek", and "seek and hide", all eve They played together till the sun went down. Earth held no happier hearts than theirs that day: And tired at last she plucked a crimson rose And gave to him, her playmate, cousin-kin; And he went thro' the garden till he found The whitest rose of all the roses there, And placed it in her long, brown, waving hair. "I give you red -- and you -- you give me white: What is the meaning?" said she, while a smile, As radiant as the light of angels' wings, Swept bright across her face; the while her eyes Seemed infinite purities half asleep In sweetest pearls; and he did make reply: "Sweet Ethel! white dies first; you know, the snow, (And it is not as white as thy pure face) Melts soon away; but roses red as mine Will bloom when all the snow hath passed away."

She sighed a little sigh, then laughed again, And hand in hand they walked the winding ways Of that fair garden till they reached her home. A good-bye and a kiss -- and he was gone.

She leaned her head upon her mother's breast, And ere she fell asleep she, sighing, called: "Does white die first? my mother! and does red Live longer?" And her mother wondered much At such strange speech. She fell asleep With murmurs on her lips of red and white.

Those children loved as only children can -- With nothing in their love save their whole selves. When in their cradles they had been betroth'd; They knew it in a manner vague and dim -- Unconscious yet of what betrothal meant.

The boy -- she called him Merlin -- a love name -- (And he -- he called her always Ullainee, No matter why); the boy was full of moods. Upon his soul and face the dark and bright Were strangely intermingled. Hours would pass Rippling with his bright prattle; and then, hours Would come and go, and never hear a word Fall from his lips, and never see a smile Upon his face. He was so like a cloud With ever-changeful hues, as she was like A golden sunbeam shining on its face.

* * * * *

Ten years passed on. They parted and they met Not often in each year; yet as they grew In years, a consciousness unto them came Of human love. But it was sweet and pure. There was no passion in it. Reverence, Like Guardian-Angel, watched o'er Innocence.

One night in mid of May their faces met As pure as all the stars that gazed on them. They met to part from themselves and the world; Their hearts just touched to separate and bleed; Their eyes were linked in look, while saddest tears Fell down, like rain, upon the cheeks of each: They were to meet no more. Their hands were clasped To tear the clasp in twain; and all the stars Looked proudly down on them, while shadows knelt, Or seemed to kneel, around them with the awe Evoked from any heart by sacrifice. And in the heart of that last parting hour Eternity was beating. And he said: "We part to go to Calvary and to God -- This is our garden of Gethsemane; And here we bow our heads and breathe His prayer Whose heart was bleeding, while the angels heard: Not my will, Father! but Thine own be done." Raptures meet agonies in such heart-hours; Gladness doth often fling her bright, warm arms Around the cold, white neck of grief -- and thus The while they parted -- sorrow swept their hearts Like a great, dark stormy sea -- but sudden A joy, like sunshine -- did it come from God? --

Flung over every wave that swept o'er them A more than golden glory. Merlin said: "Our loves must soar aloft to spheres divine; The human satisfies nor you nor me, (No human love shall ever satisfy -- Or ever did -- the hearts that lean on it); You sigh for something higher as do I, So let our spirits be espoused in God, And let our wedlock be as soul to soul; And prayer shall be the golden marriage ring, And God will bless us both." She sweetly said: "Your words are echoes of my own soul's thoughts; Let God's own heart be our own holy home And let us live as only angels live; And let us love as our own angels love. 'Tis hard to part -- but it is better so -- God's will is ours, and -- Merlin! let us go."

And then she sobbed as if her heart would break -- Perhaps it did; an awful minute passed, Long as an age and briefer than a flash Of lightning in the skies. No word was said -- Only a look which never was forgot. Between them fell the shadows of the night. Their faces went away into the dark, And never met again; and yet their souls Were twined together in the heart of Christ.

And Ethel went from earthland long ago; But Merlin stays still hanging on his cross. He would not move a nail that nails him there, He would not pluck a thorn that crowns him there. He hung himself upon the blessed cross With Ethel; she has gone to wear the crown That wreathes the brows of virgins who have kept Their bodies with their souls from earthly taint.

And years and years, and weary years, passed on Into the past. One Autumn afternoon, When flowers were in their agony of death, And winds sang "De Profundis" over them, And skies were sad with shadows, he did walk Where, in a resting place as calm as sweet, The dead were lying down; the Autumn sun Was half way down the west; the hour was three -- The holiest hour of all the twenty-four, For Jesus leaned His head on it, and died. He walked alone amid the virgin's graves Where virgins slept; a convent stood near by, And from the solitary cells of nuns Unto the cells of death the way was short. Low, simple stones and white watched o'er each grave, While in the hollows 'tween them sweet flowers grew, Entwining grave and grave. He read the names Engraven on the stones, and "Rest in peace" Was written 'neath them all, and o'er each name A cross was graven on the lowly stone. He passed each grave with reverential awe, As if he passed an altar, where the Host Had left a memory of its sacrifice. And o'er the buried virgins' virgin dust He walked as prayerfully as tho' he trod The holy floor of fair Loretta's shrine. He passed from grave to grave, and read the names Of those whose own pure lips had changed the names By which this world had known them into names Of sacrifice known only to their God; Veiling their faces they had veiled their names; The very ones who played with them as girls, Had they passed there, would know no more than he Or any stranger where their playmates slept; And then he wondered all about their lives, their hearts, Their thoughts, their feelings, and their dreams, Their joys and sorrows, and their smiles and tears. He wondered at the stories that were hid Forever down within those simple graves. In a lone corner of that resting-place Uprose a low white slab that marked a grave Apart from all the others; long, sad grass Drooped o'er the little mound, and mantled it With veil of purest green; around the slab The whitest of white roses 'twined their arms -- Roses cold as the snows and pure as songs Of angels -- and the pale leaflets and thorns Hid e'en the very name of her who slept Beneath. He walked on to the grave, but when He reached its side a spell fell on his heart So suddenly -- he knew not why -- and tears Went up into his eyes and trickled down Upon the grass; he was so strangely moved As if he met a long-gone face he loved. I believe he prayed. He lifted then the leaves That hid the name; but as he did, the thorns Did pierce his hand, and lo! amazed, he read The very word -- the very, very name He gave the girl in golden days before --

"ULLAINEE".

He sat beside that lonely grave for long, He took its grasses in his trembling hand, He toyed with them and wet them with his tears, He read the name again, and still again, He thought a thousand thoughts, and then he thought It all might be a dream -- then rubbed his eyes And read the name again to be more sure; Then wondered and then wept -- then asked himself: "What means it all? Can this be Ethel's grave? I dreamed her soul had fled. Was she the white dove that I saw in dream Fly o'er the sleeping sea so long ago?"

The convent bell Rang sweet upon the breeze, and answered him His question. And he rose and went his way Unto the convent gate; long shadows marked One hour before the sunset, and the birds Were singing Vespers in the convent trees. As silent as a star-gleam came a nun In answer to his summons at the gate; Her face was like the picture of a saint, Or like an angel's smile; her downcast eyes Were like a half-closed tabernacle, where God's presence glowed; her lips were pale and worn By ceaseless prayer; and when she sweetly spoke, And bade him enter, 'twas in such a tone As only voices own which day and night Sing hymns to God.

She locked the massive gate. He followed her along a flower-fringed walk That, gently rising, led up to the home Of virgin hearts. The very flowers that bloomed Within the place, in beds of sacred shapes, (For they had fashioned them with holy care, Into all holy forms -- a chalice, a cross, And sacred hearts -- and many saintly names, That, when their eyes would fall upon the flowers, Their souls might feast upon some mystic sign), Were fairer far within the convent walls, And purer in their fragrance and their bloom Than all their sisters in the outer world.

He went into a wide and humble room -- The floor was painted, and upon the walls, In humble frames, most holy paintings hung; Jesus and Mary and many an olden saint Were there. And she, the veil-clad Sister, spoke: "I'll call the mother," and she bowed and went.

He waited in the wide and humble room, The only room in that unworldly place This world could enter; and the pictures looked Upon his face and down into his soul, And strangely stirred him. On the mantle stood A crucifix, the figured Christ of which Did seem to suffer; and he rose to look More nearly on to it; but he shrank in awe When he beheld a something in its face Like his own face. But more amazed he grew, when, at the foot Of that strange crucifix he read the name --

"ULLAINEE".

A whirl of thought swept o'er his startled soul -- When to the door he heard a footstep come, And then a voice -- the Mother of the nuns Had entered -- and in calmest tone began: "Forgive, kind sir, my stay; our Matin song Had not yet ended when you came; our rule Forbids our leaving choir; this my excuse." She bent her head -- the rustle of her veil Was like the trembling of an angel's wing, Her voice's tone as sweet. She turned to him And seemed to ask him with her still, calm look What brought him there, and waited his reply. "I am a stranger, Sister, hither come," He said, "upon an errand still more strange; But thou wilt pardon me and bid me go If what I crave you cannot rightly grant; I would not dare intrude, nor claim your time, Save that a friendship, deep as death, and strong As life, has brought me to this holy place."

He paused. She looked at him an instant, bent Her lustrous eyes upon the floor, but gave Him no reply, save that her very look Encouraged him to speak, and he went on:

He told her Ethel's story from the first, He told her of the day amid the flowers, When they were only six sweet summers old; He told her of the night when all the flowers, A-list'ning, heard the words of sacrifice -- He told her all; then said: "I saw a stone In yonder graveyard where your Sisters sleep, And writ on it, all hid by roses white, I saw a name I never ought forget."

She wore a startled look, but soon repressed The wonder that had come into her face. "Whose name?" she calmly spoke. But when he said

"ULLAINEE",

She forward bent her face and pierced his own With look intensest; and he thought he heard The trembling of her veil, as if the brow It mantled throbbed with many thrilling thoughts But quickly rose she, and, in hurried tone, Spoke thus: "'Tis hour of sunset, 'tis our rule To close the gates to all till to-morrow's morn. Return to-morrow; then, if so God wills, I'll see you."