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    The Sisters' Tragedy
    The Sisters' Tragedy
    The Sisters' Tragedy
    Ebook140 pages41 minutes

    The Sisters' Tragedy

    By Thomas Bailey Aldrich

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 25, 2013
    The Sisters' Tragedy
    Author

    Thomas Bailey Aldrich

    Thomas Bailey Aldrich; November 11, 1836 – March 19, 1907) was an American writer, poet, critic, and editor. He is notable for his long editorship of The Atlantic Monthly, during which he published works by Charles W. Chesnutt and others. He was also known for his semi-autobiographical book The Story of a Bad Boy, which established the "bad boy's book" sub genre in nineteenth-century American literature, and for his poetry, which included "The Unguarded Gates" (Wikipedia)

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      Book preview

      The Sisters' Tragedy - Thomas Bailey Aldrich

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sisters' Tragedy, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: The Sisters' Tragedy

      Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich

      Posting Date: July 30, 2008 [EBook #595] Release Date: July, 1996

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SISTERS' TRAGEDY ***

      Produced by Judith Boss

      THE SISTERS' TRAGEDY WITH OTHER POEMS, LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC. BY THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

      CONTENTS

      THE SISTERS' TRAGEDY THE LAST CAESAR IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY ALEC YEATON'S SON AT THE FUNERAL OF A MINOR POET BATUSCHKA ACT V TENNYSON THE SHIPMAN'S TALE I VEX ME NOT WITH BROODING ON THE YEARS MONODY ON THE DEATH OF WENDELL PHILLIPS INTERLUDES ECHO-SONG A MOOD GUILIELMUS REX PILLARED ARCH AND SCULPTURED TOWER THRENODY SESTET A TOUCH OF NATURE MEMORY I'LL NOT CONFER WITH SORROW A DEDICATION NO SONGS IN WINTER LIKE CRUSOE, WALKING BY THE LONELY STRAND THE LETTER SARGENT'S PORTRAIT OF EDWIN BOOTH AT THE PLAYERS PAULINE PAVLOVNA BAGATELLE. CORYDON: A PASTORAL AT A READING THE MENU AN ELECTIVE COURSE L'EAU DORMANTE THALIA PALINODE A PETITION

      THE SISTERS' TRAGEDY

      A. D. 1670

        AGLAE, a widow

        MURIEL, her unmarried sister.

        IT happened once, in that brave land that lies

        For half the twelvemonth wrapt in sombre skies,

        Two sisters loved one man. He being dead,

        Grief loosed the lips of her he had not wed,

        And all the passion that through heavy years

        Had masked in smiles unmasked itself in tears.

        No purer love may mortals know than this,

        The hidden love that guards another's bliss.

        High in a turret's westward-facing room,

        Whose painted window held the sunset's bloom,

        The two together grieving, each to each

        Unveiled her soul with sobs and broken speech.

        Both still were young, in life's rich summer yet;

        And one was dark, with tints of violet

        In hair and eyes, and one was blond as she

        Who rose—a second daybreak—from the sea,

        Gold-tressed and azure-eyed. In that lone place,

        Like dusk and dawn, they sat there face to face.

        She spoke the first whose strangely silvering hair

        No wreath had worn, nor widow's weed might wear,

        And told her blameless love, and knew no shame—

        Her holy love that, like a vestal flame

        Beside the sacred body of some queen

        Within a guarded crypt had burned unseen

        From weary year to year. And she who heard

        Smiled proudly through her tears and said no word,

        But, drawing closer, on the troubled brow

        Laid one long kiss, and that was words enow!

      MURIEL.

        Be still, my heart! Grown patient with thine ache,

        Thou shouldst be dumb, yet needs must speak, or break.

        The world is empty now that he is gone.

      AGLAE.

      Ay, sweetheart!

      MURIEL.

                        None was like him, no, not one.

        From other men he stood apart, alone

        In honor spotless as unfallen snow.

        Nothing all evil was it his to know;

        His charity still found some germ, some spark

        Of light in natures that seemed wholly dark.

        He read men's souls; the lowly and the high

        Moved on the self-same level in his eye.

        Gracious to all, to none subservient,

        Without offence he spake the word he meant—

        His word no trick of tact or courtly art,

        But the white flowering of the noble heart.

        Careless

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