Poems (Hoffman)/Estella
ESTELLA
Chapter 1(The ballroom)
A mingling of soft colors and the soundOf footsteps echoing to a rapturous strain,The rustle of rich silken robes, the airPerfumed with flowers, awoke the notes againAnd bore them out upon the balmy breeze;The light of laughing eyes, of merry hearts,The gleam of jewels clasped in waving hairSpake but of Pleasure and of Beauty's reignWhile flew the unmeasured moments unaware.
To the gay revelers who thronged the hallForgotten were the problems of the day,Care fled like darkness from the tapers' glance,Light, jest and laughter filled the thoughtless hoursWhile light feet caught the spirit of the dance,And so the eve flew onward to the dawn.
A group beneath a canopy of flowersGathered around the ballroom's reigning belle,From her acknowledged throne she viewed her slavesAnd held them captive by a magic spellWhile her devotees worshiped at her shrine.Her brown eyes, pensive first and almost sad,Bright as gems or twinkling as the stars;Her wand, a lily clasped in dimpled hands,Her hair fantastically wreathed with flowersSeemed to have caught its lustre from the sun,Flattery fell like music on her ear;She spoke and many doubting hearts admired,She smiled upon the captives she would win; She conquered and each dim distrust expiredAnd satisfied she held them in their chains,Held them, until tired of their servitudeShe snapped the subtle chains and turned asideTo win some other heart on which her charmsHad been before unwasted and untriedAnd left them hopeless, ruined, in despair.
Thus had she lived, success she boasted hersAnd loved the life of coquetry she led,And counted with exultant victoryThe hearts whose love for her had long been dead,Some in a real, some in a living grave.No pangs seemed ever to disturb her calm,Mercy was not to her a transient guest,Estella, ever gayest of the gay,With countless fascinating talents blest,Was said by many to possess no heart.She reigned a feared yet a resistless queen,No other dared with her rare charms compete;She caught her victim with a smile, a glance,She left him in the dust, low at her feetAnd mocked his frail endeavors to arise.
Ah, fair Estella! Can that lovely smileDimpling the cheek.and pearly brow of youth,So like the innocence it should have been,Be but the masking of a dread untruth,A thing of base, despised hypocrisy?Can those fair words in cadence soft and sweet,Befitting to a soul exalted, high,Be but a garment by dark falsehood worn,Or but a covering of a hidden lie,A snare, a gilded cloak of vile deceit?'Tis hard to think yet it is even so.Thy bud of promise faded ere it bloomed, Thy purity that might have been thy crownIs in the grave of selfishness entombed,Thy youth devoted at the shrine of pride;We leave thee in thy thoughtless revelry,Surrounded by the glories of a day,Smiling and beautiful as any queen,Amid the alluring brightness of display,Gracefully joining in the giddy dance.
Chapter II(After the dance)
The lights had vanished from the deserted hall,The floral festoons wither where they hang,Unbroken silence reigns supremely whereBefore glad sounds and merry music rang,And overhead the moon looks coldly down.Unbroken save by the night-owl's hideous screech,And now and then a cart that rattles by,The houses stand like dense, unbroken clouds,In the pale light the moon and stars supply,And in the east the roseate peep of dawn.
A sad, mysterious air pervades the place,The banquet hall when all the guests depart,Reminds one of a lonely sepulcher,Hiding within it a once joyous heart,And keeping silent vigil o'er the dead;But where is now the ballroom's beauteous queen?She sits alone beside a glowing hearth,Not with the radiant smiles and sunny air,By which she shone within the hall of Mirth,For none are near to praise her loveliness.
Weary and petulant, she languidlyWatches the smoldering embers, 'till at lastThe clock's shrill voice intrudes upon the muse,Reminding her that time is flying fast;And calling to the mystic land of dreams,The sunbeams struggle through the window blinds,And play for hours upon the chamber wall;They strive to wake the dreamer from her sleep,But all in vain; she does not heed their call,And so the morn wears onward to the noon.
At last she wakens from a troubled dream,The day far spent; a linnet in the oakThat shades her room trills forth a joyous lay;The song no echo in her soul awoke,For Nature held no varied charms for her;Sauntering out along the garden walkSweet with the perfume of a thousand flowers,She does not realize how fair they are;Her mind is busy in the by-gone hours,Rehearsing Fashion's fascinating toys.The sunbeams kiss the violets at her feet,The lilies tremble as she passes by,The daisies from their beds of living greenStrain their bright eyes to view the clear blue sky,The divers feed with fleecy Summer clouds.
She passes slowly on and comes at lastTo a cool Summer-house o'errun with vines,And sinks down on a sheltered rustic seatOver her head the fragrant jasamine twines,And sports its snowy blossoms in the breeze, But heeding not the beauty 'round her spreadTurns to the novel in her idle hand,And soon is lost to all the world without,Roaming within some fancied fairyland,Mingling with heroines of charmed romance.
The story done, she lays the book aside,And o'er her face falls an unpleasant cloud,As conning some deep problem in her mind,Unconsciously she speaks her thoughts aloud,Thoughts not unlike the cloud her features wear:
"Shall I be baffled by a simple child,In this one conquest I have vowed to win?I shall have my way and gain my ends,I never fail in what I once begin;Estella, shall yet be a rival there,He would avoid me, yes, 'tis well—He knows his weakness, but I know my power—She trusts him in her simple innocence,But she will live to hate and rue the hourWhen she presumed to wander in my way;I will accomplish what I have begun,What beauty and what wit have failed to do,And they have very seldom failed before,Scheming and stratagem shall carry through;Yes, I will try the merits of my plan."
With a low laugh she rises from her seat,And leaves the garden wrapped in solitude;The birds have hushed their merry twitterings;And o'er the flowers the twilight shadows brood;The sun has said "good-night" and set behind the hills.
Chapter III(Lucia)
All day the rain fell in a tedious drizzle,All day a dreary wind blew cold and chill,The very air seemed clouded with depression,Weighed down with doubts and murmurings untilThe glorious sun burst from behind a cloud,For a brief moment glancing on the raindrops,Setting the dripping roofs aglow with light,Making bright gems of every pearly crystal,Painting sweet Hope upon the clouds of night,In the bright bow that spanned the impending gloom;
Only a moment, then a cloud came overAnd hid the vision in its misty fold,Shutting the bright transforming gates of beauty,Leaving but raindrops for the gems of gold,Erasing the great Artist's marvelous lines.
Lucia stood watching the slow rain falling,Gazing with a sense of awe upon the change,Such a brief, unexpected transformationWakened her mind to feelings new and strange;And then the transient inspiration vanishedAlmost before she realized its beauty,Almost before the fullness of its dawn;She looked and lo, the clouds were touched with glory,She looked and lo, the shining bow was gone,And the dark clouds hung heavy as before;But with it went her hopelessness and sadness,And the deep crushing weight of untold grief,Leaving instead a promise for the future;O Vision, thy existence was but brief,But thy sweet influence cannot be forgotten!
She stood a moment with her eyes uplifted,Scanning the heavens for one last lingering sign,Or one last token of the wondrous promiseWrit in the purest light of trust divine,And looked upon by eyes undimmed by sin;Then sitting down, burst into bitter weeping,Shedding the tears that long refused to flow,But had been falling drop by drop unnoticed,Wearing away with steady steps but slowThe youth and gladness of her fresh young heart.
A letter lay upon her open desk,A letter not yet sealed, a little ringLay glittering by it in the shadowy light;Why had the presence of that sable wingLeft on this fair young head its withering blight?Alas! the fairest, frailest barque must meet the storm!At last she rises with a fresh resolve,Rises as one braced for a coming blast,Firm is the hand that seals a just decree,Calm is the soul whose victory is past,Who soars triumphant on the wing of Faith;The shades of night fall silently about her,O, do not wake her from her peaceful sleep!O, do not wake sweet dreams to real trials!O, do not wake the tearless eyes to weep!
Hush! let no footfall break her calm repose;What is this thing, this quiet rest from troubles,This sweet forgetfulness of tempests past,This blessed gift to soul, to mind, to body?O, do not break it, 'tis not long to last,Let the tired spirit slumber while it may!Yes, it will if when the heart is burdened, Consciousness wanders into sweet repose,For lost in sleep Nature finds strength and courage,And for a time the heart no anguish knows,While mind and soul regain their wasted strength.
Yes, let her sleep, assured that she will wakenBetter prepared life's arduous tasks to meet,Better prepared to find in paths of dutyTrue pearls of happiness strewn at her feet;Poor tired child, thy idol was but clay;May loving guardian angels 'round thee hover,And twine their sweetest garlands through thy dreams;What though the morn beheld but heavy clouds,The starlight floods the night with holiest beams;Surely at eventide it shall be light!
Chapter IV(Despair)
Alone in the twilight with thoughts for companions,He walks to and fro like a sentinel guard;Once hopeful and handsome, but now every feature,With a settled despair, like a heavy cloud, marred;
A hopelessness, pitiful in one so youthful,Seems taking possession of body and soul;No music can lift the dark shroud from his spirit,No friend can the stone from its sepulcher roll.Shall he go to the one who has trusted him fully?But no, she can never believe him again;Oh, why had he traded true worth for vain beauty,That brought at the last but its merited pain!
Deserted by her who has led him to ruin,And made of his honor a hideous lie,He sees now his unblinded madness and follyStanding out clear and plain when the dream has passed by,
And wearily gropes for some light in the darkness,For some bow of promise the storm to abate,But not a gleam comes to scatter its blackness,And in low, husky whispers he murmurs: "Too late!"
Too late; oh, the darkest most horrible messageThat ever chilled hope in the heart of the brave,That ever hushed gladness to slumber forever,That ever doomed beauty to fade in the grave!
Is there hope for him yet? (He looks wildly about him.)No; not on the land where his day-star has set,But perhaps on the ocean, the great surging ocean,Sweet Mercy may comfort and solace him yet.
As the day dawn is breaking a strong iron-bound vesselLaunches out from the harbor to traverse the deep,A calm, peaceful ocean lies tranquil before her,As if tempests and breakers had fallen asleep;
One passenger stands on the deck, pale and haggard,Gazing anxiously back to the receding shore,As if fearing to lose the last glimpse for a momentOf the hills that shall gladden his vision no more.
No kerchief for him flutters trembling with feeling,No loving farewell falls like balm on his ear,But he stands like a statue surrounded by mourners,And moves not a muscle and sheds not a tear;
But a bitterness deeper than tears or emotionMakes the dark eyes grow darker, the pale face more white,As the land of his fathers, the home of his childhood,Grows dim in the distance and fades from his sight.
Farewell, noble ship, may the waves bear thee onward,Till in some sunny harbor thy anchor is cast,And oh, mighty deep, may thy wonderful music,Bring mercy and peace to the erring at last!
Chapter V(The wreck)
A storm fierce and sudden swept over the waters,The lightning's red gleam glanced afar on the wave,A mingling of voices in helpless appealing,A struggle in vain from a watery grave;
A man clings alone to a fragment of timber,His eye on the tempest, his thoughts far away,Traversing the past with its thousand green islands,And the mirage that beckoned his footsteps astray.
The cold, chilling sea-spray all glistening and sparklingFalls damp on his brow, but it breaks not the chainThat binds him to days that have vanished forever,And wakens the dream of his boyhood again.
He thinks of the love that for him never faltered,Till slighted by cruel untruth and neglect,And the heartless coquette whose unprincipled schemingHad the hope of two lives in an evil hour wrecked;
A bitter remorse for the past and the presentSweeps over his soul as he faces his doom,And with one last look upward, one low-breathed petition,He welcomes the breakers and owns them his tomb.
As the eagles exultantly sweep o'er their victim,So the surges triumphantly hurl him from sight,And over the spot where a thousand had struggled,The waves in a transport of victory unite.
Around their lone graves no sad mourners shall gather,To bring floral offerings glistening with tears,But the blue waves shall wreathe graceful anchors and crossesOf seaweed and coral to lay on their bier.
No dirges shall echo through aisles and through arches,No gravestones for these shall stand lonely and grim;But sleeping with those who sank long years before them,The surges shall chant their funeral hymn.
We might weep for the weak could we catch for a momentA glimpse of the pearls in the sea's hidden crown,Where clasped to the heart of the faithless and friendless,A little gold band and a ringlet went down.