Wessex Poems by Thomas Hardy - 19/48. The Burghers (read by Libby Gohn)

XVII00-something The sun had wheeled from Gray's to Danmer's crest, And still I mused on that thing imminent, At length I sought the high street to the west. The level flare raked pain and pediment, And wrecked my face, and shaped my Nearing friends like one of those the furnace held unshent. I've news concerning her, he said, attend, They fly to-night at the late moon's first gleam, Watch with thy steel, two righteous thrusts will end Her shameless visions and his passion dream. I'll watch with thee, to testify thy wrong, To aid, maybe, law consecrates the scheme. I started, and we paced the flags along, Till I replied, since it has come to this, I'll do it, but alone I can be strong. Three hours passed curfew, when the froom's mild hiss Rained soul, undulled by whir of merchandise. From Pummery Tout to where the gibbet is, I crossed my pleasants hard by Glidpath Rise, And stood beneath the wall. Seven strokes went, and to the door they came Contrary-wise, and met in clasp so close I had but bent my lifted blade upon them To have let their two souls loose upon the firmament. But something held my arm, a moment yet, As pray-time e'er your wantons die, I said, And then they saw me. Swift her gaze was set, with eye and cry Of love illimited, upon her heart-king. Never upon me had she thrown look of love So thorough-sped. At once she flung her faint form shieldingly On his, against the vengeance of my vows, The witch or ruling, her shape shielded he. Blanked by such love I stood as in a drowse, In the slow moon edged from the upland nigh, My sad thoughts moving thus-wise, I may house and I may husband her, yet what am I But licensed tyrant to this bonded pair? Says charity, do as you would be done by. Hurling my iron to the bushes there, I bade them stay, And as if brain and breast were passive, They walked with me to the stair. Inside the house none watched, and on we pressed Before a mirror, in whose gleam I read Her beauty, his, and mine own mean unbless'd. Till at her room I turned, Madam, I said, Have you the wherewithal for this? Pray speak, love fills no cupboard, You'll need daily bread. We've nothing, sire, said she, and nothing seek, T'were base in me to rob my lord unware, Our hands will earn a pittance week by week. And next I saw she'd piled her raiment rare, Within the guard-robes and her household purse, Her jewels, and least lace of personal wear, And stood in homespun. Now grown wholly hers, I handed her the gold, Her jewels and all, and him the choicest Of her robes diverse. I'll take you to the doorway in the wall, And then adieu, I to them, friends, withdraw. They did so, and she went, beyond recall. And as I paused beneath the arch, I saw Their moonlit figures, slow as in surprise, Descend the slope, and vanish on the hall. Fool, some will say, I thought, but who is wise, Save God alone, to weigh my reasons why? Lest thou struck home, came the bough's night sighs. It was my friend, I have struck well, they fly, But carry wounds that none can cicatrise. Not mortal, said he, lingering, worse, said I.