AURORA LEIGH.
Was that his face I saw? . . his . . Romney Leigh's . .
Which tossed a sudden horror like a sponge
Into all eyes,—while himself stood white upon
The topmost altar-stair, and tried to speak,
And failed, and lifted higher above his head
A letter, . . as a man who drowns and gasps.
Which tossed a sudden horror like a sponge
Into all eyes,—while himself stood white upon
The topmost altar-stair, and tried to speak,
And failed, and lifted higher above his head
A letter, . . as a man who drowns and gasps.
'My brothers, bear with me! I am very weak.
I meant but only good. Perhaps I meant
Too proudly,—and God snatched the circumstance
And changed it therefore. There's no marriage—none
She leaves me,—she departs,—she disappears,—
I lose her. Yet I never forced her 'ay'
To have her 'no' so cast into my teeth
In manner of an accusation, thus.
My friends, you are all dismissed. Go, eat and drink
According to the programme,—and farewell!'
I meant but only good. Perhaps I meant
Too proudly,—and God snatched the circumstance
And changed it therefore. There's no marriage—none
She leaves me,—she departs,—she disappears,—
I lose her. Yet I never forced her 'ay'
To have her 'no' so cast into my teeth
In manner of an accusation, thus.
My friends, you are all dismissed. Go, eat and drink
According to the programme,—and farewell!'
He ended. There was silence in the church;
We heard a baby sucking in its sleep
At the farthest end of the aisle. Then spoke a man,
'Now, look to it, coves, that all the beef and drink
Be not filched from us like the other fun;
For beer's spilt easier than a woman is!
This gentry is not honest with the poor;
They bring us up, to trick us.'—'Go it, Jim,'
A woman screamed back,—'I'm a tender soul;
I never banged a child at two years old
And drew blood from him, but I sobbed for it
Next moment,—and I've had a plague of seven.
We heard a baby sucking in its sleep
At the farthest end of the aisle. Then spoke a man,
'Now, look to it, coves, that all the beef and drink
Be not filched from us like the other fun;
For beer's spilt easier than a woman is!
This gentry is not honest with the poor;
They bring us up, to trick us.'—'Go it, Jim,'
A woman screamed back,—'I'm a tender soul;
I never banged a child at two years old
And drew blood from him, but I sobbed for it
Next moment,—and I've had a plague of seven.
