CANTO IV. I. LETTER FROM COUSIN JOHN TO COUSIN ALFRED. 'Bigorre, Thursday. 'TIME up, you rascal! Come back, or be hang'd. 'Matilda grows peevish. Her mother harangued 'For a whole hour this morning about you. The deuce! 'What on earth can I say to you?-nothing's of use. 'And the blame of the whole of your shocking behaviour 'Falls on me, sir! Come back,-do you hear?—or I leave your 'Affairs, and abjure you for ever. Come back 'To your anxious betroth'd; and perplex'd 'COUSIN JACK.' II. Alfred needed, in truth, no entreaties from John All the place was now fraught with sensations of pain Was effaced from his fancy by that of Lucile. From the ground which he stood on he felt himself reel. Just before, all his heart had so soon given way, When he caught, with a strange sense of fear, for assistance At what was, till then, the great fact in existence, 'Twas a phantom he grasp'd. III. Having sent for his guide, He order'd his horse, and determin'd to ride Then, the guide, who well knew Every haunt of those hills, said the wild lake of Oo Two long valleys; and thinking, 'Perchance change of scene 'May create change of thought,' Alfred Vargrave agreed, Mounted horse, and set forth to Bigorre at full speed. IV. His guide rode beside him. The king of the guides! The gallant Bernard! ever boldly he rides, Ever gaily he sings! For to him, from of old, Where the white partridge lies, and the cock o' the woods; He has laugh'd with the girls, he has leap'd with the boys; Ever blithe, ever bold, ever boon, he enjoys An existence untroubled by envy or strife, While he feeds on the dews and the juices of life. For BERNARD LE SAUTEUR is the king of all guides! V. But Bernard found, that day, neither song nor love-tale, To arouse from his deep and profound reverie Him that silent beside him rode fast as could be. VI. Ascending the mountain they slacken'd their pace, And the marvellous prospect each moment changed face. Breathed about them. The scarp'd ravaged mountains, all worn The white happy homes of the village of Oo, And high overhead The wrecks of the combat of Titans were spread. And the dew linger'd fresh in the heavy harebells; O'er the wall Of a grey sunless glen gaping drowsy below, Of the great golden dawn, hovers faint on the eye, Takes command of a valley as fair to behold Sacred sky, where the footsteps of spirits are furl'd 'Mid the clouds beyond which spreads the infinite world Of man's last aspirations, unfathom'd, untrod, Save by Even and Morn, and the angels of God. VII. Meanwhile, as they journey'd, that serpentine road, A gay cavalcade some few feet in advance. Alfred Vargrave's heart beat; for he saw at a glance The slight form of Lucile in the midst. His next look Show'd him, joyously ambling beside her, the Duke. The rest of the troop which had thus caught his ken He knew not, nor noticed them (women and men). They were laughing and talking together. Soon after His sudden appearance suspended their laughter. VIII. 'You here! . . . I imagined you far on your way 'To Bigorre !' . . . said Lucile. 'What has caused you to stay?' 'I am on my way to Bigorre,' he replied, 'But, since my way would seem to be yours, let me ride For one moment beside you.' And then, with a stoop, At her ear, 'and forgive me!' IX. By this time the troop Had regather'd its numbers. Lucile was as pale As the cloud 'neath their feet, on its way to the vale. To his firm resolution and effort to please. He talk'd much; was witty, and quite at his ease. X. After noontide, the clouds, which had traversed the east Half the day, gather'd closer, and rose and increased. The air changed and chill'd. As though out of the ground, There ran up the trees a confused hissing sound, And the wind rose. The guides sniff'd, like chamois, the air, And look'd at each other, and halted, and there Unbuckled the cloaks from the saddles. The white Aspens rustled, and turn'd up their frail leaves in fright. Ere long, Thick darkness descended the mountains among; K |