At last our school ranks took their ground, The hard-fought field I won; The prize, a laurel-wreath, was bound My throbbing forehead on.
Low at my master's knee I bent, The offered crown to meet; Its green leaves through my temples sent A thrill as wild as sweet.
The strong pulse of Ambition struck In every vein I owned; At the same instant, bleeding broke A secret, inward wound.
The hour of triumph was to me The hour of sorrow sore; A day hence I must cross the sea, Ne'er to recross it more.
An hour hence, in my master's room I with him sat alone, And told him what a dreary gloom O'er joy had parting thrown.
He little said; the time was brief, The ship was soon to sail, And while I sobbed in bitter grief, My master but looked pale.
They called in haste; he bade me go, Then snatched me back again; He held me fast and murmured low, "Why will they part us, Jane?"
"Were you not happy in my care?
Did I not faithful prove?
Will others to my darling bear As true, as deep a love?
"O God, watch o'er my foster child!
O guard her gentle head!
When minds are high and tempests wild Protection round her spread!
"They call again; leave then my breast; Quit thy true shelter, Jane; But when deceived, repulsed, opprest, Come home to me again!"
I read--then dreamily made marks on the margin with my pencil; thinking all the while of other things; thinking that "Jane" was now at my side; no child, but a girl of nineteen; and she might be mine, so my heart affirmed; Poverty's curse was taken off me; Envy and Jealousy were far away, and unapprized of this our quiet meeting; the frost of the Master's manner might melt; I felt the thaw coming fast, whether I would or not; no further need for the eye to practise a hard look, for the brow to compress its expense into a stern fold: it was now permitted to suffer the outward revelation of the inward glow--to seek, demand, elicit an answering ardour. While musing thus, I thought that the grass on Hermon never drank the fresh dews of sunset more gratefully than my feelings drank the bliss of this hour.
Frances rose, as if restless; she passed before me to stir the fire, which did not want stirring; she lifted and put down the little ornaments on the mantelpiece; her dress waved within a yard of me; slight, straight, and elegant, she stood erect on the hearth.