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In his exasperated frame of mind, Button had been ready to believe almost any story at the expense of Lanier, and, such is the perversity of human nature, it added to rather than diminished his wrath that his revered senior surgeon should promptly corroborate the statements of both Schuchardt and Ennis, and further assume personal and entire responsibility for the episode of Saturday afternoon in Lanier's quarters.
"Help me off with these," he said, "and bring a lamp. Come up-stairs, Barker;" and, wondering, both the others followed. There were but two sleeping rooms aloft in the little bachelor set. Ennis had the one facing the parade. Lanier's looked out upon the hospital and surgeon's quarters at the back.
Let us take some illustrations from Sidney Lanier's Poem Outlines, a posthumously published collection of some of his sketches for poems, "jotted in pencil on the backs of envelopes, on the margins of musical programmes, or little torn scraps of paper." "The United States in two hundred years has made Emerson out of a witch-burner." This is polished, graphic prose.
He has set some of Tolstoï's words to music, the sinister love of "Doubt Not, O Friend," and the hurry and glow of "The First Spring Days," making unusually powerful songs. In the "Look Off, Dear Love," he did not catch up with Lanier's great lyric, but he handled his material most effectively in Aldrich' "Song from the Persian," with its Oriental wail followed by a martial joy.
Diana's intervention saved the weeping, trembling Iphigenia, but how find available substitute or Tauris asylum for deluded Esther Randolph? Thus chafing against the day's revelations, Oswald continued, until wearied he relaxed from such tense state into uneasy sleep. Paul Lanier's quickened sense of personal humiliation struggled with the promptings of overpowering craft.
Colonel Button was "hopping mad," as the quartermaster put it, and as all men could see, yet at what? Lanier's offence, when fairly measured, had not been so grave.
To which, truculently, came response in Lanier's unmistakable voice: "He is not, if I know it." "Do you know or suspect where he is?" "Neither. And there is no reason why I should." "Have you seen him to-night?" An instant's pause; then, "I don't know whether I have or not." "You don't know?" exclaimed Curbit, puzzled and beginning to bristle.
I am told that he has given almost every evening for four years out of a busy life which is just opening into great promise, to help these people of his. I am reminded as I have been listening to him of Lanier's wonderful poem, 'The Marshes of Glynn. Do you recall it?
Thomson, Dabney and other prosodists have followed Lanier's general theory, without always agreeing with him as to whether blank verse is written in 3/8 or 2/4 time. See also Alden's English Verse, Part 3. T. S. Omond's words: "Musical notes are almost pure symbols.
The pallor and lassitude had gone. The soft eyes were brimming with bliss. The rounded cheeks had regained all their bloom. The sweet, rosebud mouth seemed all smiles and warmth and witchery, and Lanier's eyes were glowing as he drew her to his heart and gazed down into the depths of those uplifted to his. "That brute of a train has been late for a week," said he, "but to-day it comes on time.
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