The Sisters Tragedy | Page 3

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THE SISTERS' TRAGEDY
WITH OTHER POEMS, LYRICAL

AND DRAMATIC. BY
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH
CONTENTS
THE SISTERS' TRAGEDY
THE LAST CAESAR
IN
WESTMINSTER ABBEY
ALEC YEATON'S SON
AT THE
FUNERAL OF A MINOR POET
BATUSCHKA
ACT V

TENNYSON
THE SHIPMAN'S TALE
"I VEX ME NOT
WITH BROODING ON THE YEARS"
MONODY ON THE
DEATH OF WENDELL PHILLIPS
INTERLUDES

ECHO-SONG
A MOOD
GUILIELMUS REX
"PILLARED
ARCH AND SCULPTURED TOWER
THRENODY
SESTET

A TOUCH OF NATURE
MEMORY
"I'LL NOT CONFER
WITH SORROW"
A DEDICATION
NO SONGS IN WINTER

"LIKE CRUSOE, WALKING BY THE LONELY STRAND

THE LETTER
SARGENT'S PORTRAIT OF EDWIN BOOTH
AT "THE PLAYERS"
PAULINE PAVLOVNA
BAGATELLE.

CORYDON: A PASTORAL
AT A READING
THE MENU

AN ELECTIVE COURSE
L'EAU DORMANTE
THALIA

PALINODE
A PETITION
THE SISTERS' TRAGEDY
0. D. 1670
AGLAE, a widow
MURIEL, her unmarried sister.
IT happened once, in that brave land that lies
For half the
twelvemonth wrapt in sombre skies,

Two sisters loved one man. He
being dead,
Grief loosed the lips of her he had not wed,
And all the
passion that through heavy years
Had masked in smiles unmasked
itself in tears.
No purer love may mortals know than this,
The
hidden love that guards another's bliss.
High in a turret's
westward-facing room,
Whose painted window held the sunset's

bloom,
The two together grieving, each to each
Unveiled her soul
with sobs and broken speech.
Both still were young, in life's rich summer yet;
And one was dark,
with tints of violet
In hair and eyes, and one was blond as she
Who
rose--a second daybreak--from the sea,
Gold-tressed and azure-eyed.
In that lone place,
Like dusk and dawn, they sat there face to face.
She spoke the first whose strangely silvering hair
No wreath had
worn, nor widow's weed might wear,
And told her blameless love,
and knew no shame--
Her holy love that, like a vestal flame
Beside
the sacred body of some queen
Within a guarded crypt had burned
unseen
From weary year to year. And she who heard
Smiled
proudly through her tears and said no word,
But, drawing closer, on
the troubled brow
Laid one long kiss, and that was words enow!
MURIEL.
Be still, my heart! Grown patient with thine ache,
Thou shouldst be
dumb, yet needs must speak, or break.
The world is empty now that
he is gone.
AGLAE.
Ay, sweetheart!
MURIEL.
None was like him, no, not one.
From other men he stood apart, alone

In honor spotless as unfallen snow.
Nothing all evil was it his to
know;
His charity still found some germ, some spark
Of light in
natures that seemed wholly dark.
He read men's souls; the lowly and
the high
Moved on the self-same level in his eye.
Gracious to all, to
none subservient,
Without offence he spake the word he meant--

His word no trick of tact or courtly art,
But the white flowering of the

noble heart.
Careless he was of much the world counts gain,

Careless of self, too simple to be vain,
Yet strung so finely that for
conscience-sake
He would have gone like Cranmer to the stake.
I
saw--how could I help but love? And you--
AGLAE.
At this perfection did I worship too . . .
'Twas this that stabbed me.
Heed not what I say!
I meant it not, my wits are gone astray,
With
all that is and has been. No, I lie--
Had he been less perfection,
happier I!
MURIEL.
Strange words and wild! 'Tis the distracted mind
Breathes them, not
you, and I no meaning find.
AGLAE.
Yet 'twere as plain as writing on a scroll
Had you but eyes to read
within my soul.--
How a grief hidden feeds on its own mood,

Poisons the healthful currents of the blood
With bitterness, and turns
the heart to stone!
I think, in truth, 'twere better to make moan,
And
so be done with it. This many a year,
Sweetheart, have I laughed
lightly and made cheer,
Pierced through with sorrow!
Then the widowed one
With sorrowfullest eyes beneath the sun,

Faltered, irresolute, and bending low
Her head, half whispered,
Dear, how could you know?
What masks are faces!--yours, unread by
me
These seven long summers; mine, so placidly
Shielding my woe!
No tremble of the lip,
No cheek's quick pallor let our secret slip!

Mere players we, and she that played the queen,
Now in her
homespun, looks how poor and mean!
How shall I say it, how find
words to tell
What thing it was for me made earth a hell
That else

had been my heaven! 'Twould blanch your cheek
Were I to speak it.
Nay, but I will speak,
Since like two souls at compt we seem to stand,

Where nothing may be hidden. Hold my hand,
But look not at me!
Noble 'twas, and meet,
To hide your heart, nor fling it at his feet
To
lie despised there. Thus saved you our pride
And that white honor for
which earls have died.
You were not all unhappy, loving so!
I with
a difference wore my weight of woe.
My lord was he. It was my cruel
lot,
My hell, to love him--for he loved me not!
Then came a silence. Suddenly like death
The truth flashed on them,
and each held her breath--
A flash of light whereby they both were
slain,
She that was loved and she that loved in vain!
THE LAST CAESAR