Pictures in Rhyme/Sir Alexander's Desk
SIR ALEXANDER'S DESK
In the wan shadow-land which lies
Hidden from sight of human eyes,
Half-way 'twixt here and Heaven,
You, my good grandfather, await
The utterance of that mandate
Which strikes all odd scores even.
I, still on earth, am curious
To know, could you but tell it us,
The whole veracious story
Of this, your dead and done romance,
When Bonaparte ruled in France,
And you won glory.
A case of coromandel wood,
Brass-bound, shield-locked, which I found stood
Aside in our old store-room,
Never unlocked since that day when,
Some nearly threescore years and ten,
In times of doubt and war-gloom,
You fastened it yourself with care—
A shrine which held two hearts laid bare—
And thus inscribed the packet:
'If I should fall, as fall I may,
Bury this in my grave, I pray;'
Then donned your martial jacket,
And galloped off to face the foe
Upon the field of Waterloo,
Where, one long June day,
Cannon and musket, sword and lance,
Did, in our hands, for men of France
A lively tune play.
And in that dance of fiery sounds
You lost two horses, gained two wounds,
A flag, some female pity
From her who nursed you, brought you round,
Though doctors doomed you to the ground
In Belgic city.
I forced the case, and peered within—
It seemed like sacrilege to win
Your secrets dust-encrusted.
Then I undid, with reverent hands,
A parcel from its swathing-bands
Of ribbon, rusted.
From the split, yellow folds there fell
An agate seal—a rose as well,
Half-dust, half-wilted;
Some letters writ on paper thin;
Then, last, a miniature within
A sachet, quilted.
Painted by hand of Cosway, too!
A gracious lady, robed in blue,
Dark-eyed, with ringlets raven,
In a broad rim of garnets set;
'S.C.' beneath a coronet,
At back engraven.
Who was the dainty dame? Is this
A record of forbidden bliss?
Was she another's?
Was she——? But this at least I know,
That face portrayed in smiling show
Was not grandmother's!
Did she die early? Or did Fate
And cruel parents dissipate
Your rapturous dreaming,
And make you picture Gretna-ways—
A white face in a flying chaise,
With dark eyes streaming?
Or did the 'fair deceitful she'
But add you to her list to be
One amid many?
Or did she love you as you her?—
This last the theory I prefer
Better than any.
A case of true love's crooked course:
Two wedded souls; a stern divorce;
Hopes crushed, affections blighted!
Perhaps 'twas so—who knows? And yet,
Perhaps it was that coronet;
You were but knighted!
Well, rest in peace; I'll not presume
Further to penetrate the gloom—
Be this an ending.
See, I place all upon the fire,
Your secrets, from a funeral pyre,