Strive as I did, I could not
repress it; a woman's love is too mighty to be put down with little
reasonings. I called to him in terror, "Bernard, Bernard!" He did not
turn; gave no sign of having heard.
"Bernard, come back; I didn't mean it!"
He passed slowly away with bent head, out of the house and out of my
life. I've never seen him since, never heard of him. Somewhere, perhaps
on God's earth he wanders outcast, forsaken, loveless. I have my
vengeance, but it is like Dead Sea fruit, all bitter ashes to the taste.
I am a miserable, heart-weary wreck,--a woman with fame, without love.
"Vengeance is an arrow that often falleth and smiteth the hand of him
that sent it."
AT BAY ST. LOUIS.
Soft breezes blow and swiftly show
Through fragrant orange branches parted,
A maiden fair, with sun-flecked hair,
Caressed by arrows, golden darted.
The vine-clad tree holds forth to me
A promise sweet of purple blooms,
And chirping bird, scarce seen but heard
Sings dreamily, and sweetly croons
At Bay St. Louis.
The hammock swinging, idly singing,
Lissome nut-brown maid
Swings gaily, freely, to-and-fro;
The curling, green-white waters casting cool, clear shade,
Rock small, shell boats that go
In circles wide, or tug at anchor's chain,
As though to skim the sea with cargo vain,
At Bay St.
Pages:
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76