'When the poor exiles, every pleasure past,
Hung round the bowers1, and fondly looked their last,
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain
For seats like these beyond the western main,
And shuddering2 still to face the distant deep,
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep.'
Oliver Goldsmith.
It is almost over, our Irish holiday, so full of delicious, fruitful experiences; of pleasures we have made and shared, and of other people's miseries3 and hardships we could not relieve. Almost over! Soon we shall be in Dublin, and then on to London to meet Francesca's father; soon be deciding whether she will be married at the house of their friend the American ambassador, or in her own country, where she has really had no home since the death of her mother.
The ceremony over, Mr. Monroe will start again for Cairo or Constantinople, Stockholm or St. Petersburg; for he is of late years a determined4 wanderer, whose fatherly affection is chiefly shown in liberal allowances, in pride of his daughter's beauty and many conquests, in conscientious5 letter-writing, and in frequent calls upon her between his long journeys. It is because of these paternal6 predilections7 that we are so glad Francesca's heart has resisted all the shot and shell directed against it from the batteries of a dozen gay worldlings and yielded so quietly and so completely to Ronald Macdonald's loyal and tender affection.
At tea-time day before yesterday, Salemina suggested that Francesca and I find the heart of Aunt David's labyrinth8, the which she had discovered in a less than ten minutes' search that morning, leaving her Gaelic primer behind her that we might bring it back as a proof of our success. You have heard in Pearla's Celtic fairy tale the outcome of this little expedition, and now know that Ronald Macdonald and Himself planned the joyful9 surprise for us, and by means of Salemina's aid carried it out triumphantly10.
Ronald crossing to Ireland from Glasgow, and Himself from Liverpool, had met in Dublin, and travelled post-haste to the Shamrock Inn in Devorgilla, where they communicated with Salemina and begged her assistance in their plot.
I was looking forward to my husband's arrival within a week, but Ronald had said not a word of his intended visit; so that Salemina was properly nervous lest some one of us should collapse11 out of sheer joy at the unexpected meeting.
I have been both quietly and wildly happy many times in my life, but I think yesterday was the most perfect day in all my chain of years. Not that in this long separation I have been dull, or sad, or lonely. How could I be? Dull, with two dear, bright, sunny letters every week, letters throbbing12 with manly13 tenderness, letters breathing the sure, steadfast14, protecting care that a strong man gives to the woman he has chosen. Sad, with my heart brimming over with sweet memories and sweeter prophecies, and all its tiny crevices15 so filled with love that discontent can find no entrance there! Lonely, when the vision of the beloved is so poignantly16 real in absence that his bodily presence adds only a final touch to joy! Dull, or sad, when in these soft days of spring and early summer I have harboured a new feeling of companionship and oneness with Nature, a fresh joy in all her bounteous17 resource and plenitude of life, a renewed sense of kinship with her mysterious awakenings! The heavenly greenness and promise of the outer world seem but a reflection of the hopes and dreams that irradiate my own inner consciousness.
My art, dearly as I loved it, dearly as I love it still, never gave me these strange, unspeakable joys with their delicate margin18 of pain. Where are my ambitions, my visions of lonely triumphs, my imperative19 need of self-expression, my ennobling glimpses of the unattainable, my companionship with the shadows in which an artist's life is so rich? Are they vanished altogether? I think not; only changed in the twinkling of an eye, merged20 in something higher still, carried over, linked on, transformed, transmuted21, by Love the alchemist, who, not content with joys already bestowed22, whispers secret promises of raptures23 yet to come.
The green isle24 looked its fairest for our wanderers. Just as a woman adorns25 herself with all her jewels when she wishes to startle or enthrall26, wishes to make a lover of a friend, so Devorgilla arrayed herself to conquer these two pairs of fresh eyes, and command their instant allegiance.
It was a tender, silvery day, fair, mild, pensive27, with light shadows and a capricious sun. There had been a storm of rain the night before, and it was as if Nature had repented28 of her wildness, and sought forgiveness by all sorts of winsome29 arts, insinuating30 invitations, soft caresses31, and melting coquetries of demeanour.
Broona and Jackeen had lunched with us at the Old Hall, and, inebriated32 by broiled33 chicken, green peas, and a half holiday, flitted like fireflies through Aunt David's garden, showing all its treasures to the two new friends, already in high favour.
Benella, it is unnecessary to say, had confided34 her entire past life to Himself after a few hours' acquaintance, while both he and Ronald, concealing35 in the most craven manner their original objections to the part she proposed to play in our triangular36 alliance, thanked her, with tears in their eyes, for her devotion to their sovereign ladies.
We had tea in the Italian garden at Rosnaree, and Dr. Gerald, arm in arm with Himself, walked between its formal flower borders, along its paths of golden gravel37, and among its spirelike cypresses38 and fountains, where balustrades and statues, yellowed and stained with age (stains which Benella longs to scrub away), make the brilliant turf even greener by contrast.
Tea was to have been followed in due course by dinner, but we all agreed that nothing should induce us to go indoors on such a beautiful evening; so baskets were packed, and we went in rowboats to a picnic supper on Illanroe, a wee island in Lough Beg.
I can close my eyes to-day and see the picture--the lonely little lake, as blue in the sunshine as the sky above it, but in the twilight39 first brown and cool, then flushed with the sunset. The distant hills, the rocks, the heather, wore tints40 I never saw them wear before. The singing wavelets 'spilled their crowns of white upon the beach' across the lake, and the wild-flowers in the clear shallows near us grew so close to the brink41 that they threw their delicate reflections in the water, looking up at us again framed in red-brown grasses.
By and by the moon rose out of the pearl-greys and ambers in the east, bevies42 of black rooks flew homeward, and stillness settled over the face of the brown lake. Darkness shut us out from Devorgilla; and though we could still see the glimmer43 of the village lights, it seemed as if we were in a little world of our own.
It was useless for Salemina to deny herself to the children, for was she not going to leave them on the morrow? She sat under the shadow of a thorn bush, and the two mites44, tired with play, cuddled themselves by her side, unreproved. She looked tenderly, delectably45 feminine. The moon shone full upon her face; but there are no ugly lines to hide, for there are no parched46 and arid47 places in her nature. Dews of sympathy, sweet spring floods of love and compassion48, have kept all fresh, serene49, and young.
We had been gay, but silence fell upon us as it had fallen upon the lake. There would be only a day or two in Dublin, whither Dr. Gerald was going with us, that he might have the last word and hand-clasp before we sailed away from Irish shores; and so near was the parting that we were all, in our hearts, bidding farewell to the Emerald Isle.
Good-bye, Silk of the Kine! I was saying to myself, calling the friendly spot by one of the endearing names given her by her lovers in the sad old days. Good-bye, Little Black Rose, growing on the stern Atlantic shore! Good-bye, Rose of the World, with your jewels of emerald and amethyst50, the green of your fields and the misty51 purple of your hills! Good-bye, Shan Van Vocht, Poor Little Old Woman! We are going back, Himself and I, to the Oilean Ur, as you used to call our new island--going back to the hurly-burly of affairs, to prosperity and opportunity; but we shall not forget the lovely Lady of Sorrows looking out to the west with the pain of a thousand years in her ever youthful eyes. Good-bye, my Dark Rosaleen, good-bye!
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1
bowers
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| n.（女子的）卧室( bower的名词复数 )；船首锚；阴凉处；鞠躬的人 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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predilections
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| n.偏爱，偏好，嗜好( predilection的名词复数 ) | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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9
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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poignantly
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bounteous
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| adj.丰富的 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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adorns
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| 装饰，佩带( adorn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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enthrall
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| vt.迷住，吸引住；使感到非常愉快 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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inebriated
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| adj.酒醉的 | |
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broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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bevies
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| n.（尤指少女或妇女的）一群( bevy的名词复数 )；（鸟类的）一群 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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44
mites
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| n.（尤指令人怜悯的）小孩( mite的名词复数 )；一点点；一文钱；螨 | |
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45
delectably
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| 令人愉快的，让人喜爱的 | |
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46
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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50
amethyst
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| n.紫水晶 | |
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51
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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