HARRY’S LETTER.

  ’O Child, when my words your sweet youth beguil’d
  I meant to make you the happiest child! 
  I meant that no earthly life should be known
  As bless’d as the life I had made my own;
  My weakness and follies I had forgot—­
  But you were happy with me, were you not? 
  I am not worthy my Love should come,
  Forsaking for my sake her English home;
  Exiled from all that is happy and good,
  Caress’d by a hand that is stain’d with blood. 
  Your innocent face shall never be kiss’d
  By him who his Heaven and Hope has miss’d! 
  I suffer for sin, as I ought to do;
  But, my darling, it shall not fall on you.

’I am safely hous’d by a faithful friend, And the letter I write his hands will send; I’m at Clarendon Crescent, Liverpool (I’ve told you, Love, of the dear old school); Clarence will help me all ways that he can (Though a good tutor, he is a good man).  I shall sail for another hemisphere, Leaving behind me my anguish and fear; Leaving behind me my joy and my grace, I shall soon pass over limitless space.

’Could I but have seen you but once again! 
It is hard to suffer and not complain! 
’Tis my sin against you I most repent
(I did make you happy? you were content?)

’O fool, who possessing all man may win,
Could not keep his fool-nature free from sin! 
Love must have changed to a useless regret;
You cannot forgive me—­can you forget?’

* * * * *

Without an hour’s or a minute’s delay
All is arranged, I decide what to do;
My brain is at work, my heart is at play,
I am running, flying, Harry, to you.

O stricken woman, whose life is all black,
Wearily walking in sorrow and shame! 
O gay little girl who comes running back,
You are not, I’m certain, one and the same!

The sky is hid in its lead-coloured pall,
Not a bird utters the least little tone;
The blossoms about me wither and fall;
The change must be in me—­and me alone!

* * * * *

I tell them I cannot endure it more;
That the empty house is killing my heart;
They have done their best to assist before,
And they eagerly help me to depart. 
The world is very good-natured, I find
(Why do worldlings often their home condemn?)
And servants are always extremely kind,
If mistresses only are kind to them. 
’I go to London to meet a friend’—­
They are all agreed I want change and rest—­
I give a direction where they may send,
I take my own maid, and I leave the rest.

  I know that detectives are on my track,
  Watching the house—­watching all that I do—­
  I have to pretend I am coming back,
  And enact this drama, Harry, for you.