Thus while egotism was avoided, the fancy was exercised, and the heart satisfied. I translate as before, and my translation is nearly literal; it continued thus:-When sickness stay'd awhile my course, He seem'd impatient still, Because his pupil's flagging force Could not obey his will.
One day when summoned to the bed Where pain and I did strive, I heard him, as he bent his head, Say, "God, she must revive!"
I felt his hand, with gentle stress, A moment laid on mine, And wished to mark my consciousness By some responsive sign.
But pow'rless then to speak or move, I only felt, within, The sense of Hope, the strength of Love, Their healing work begin.
And as he from the room withdrew, My heart his steps pursued; I long'd to prove, by efforts new; My speechless gratitude.
When once again I took my place, Long vacant, in the class, Th' unfrequent smile across his face Did for one moment pass.
The lessons done; the signal made Of glad release and play, He, as he passed, an instant stay'd, One kindly word to say.
"Jane, till to-morrow you are free From tedious task and rule; This afternoon I must not see That yet pale face in school.
"Seek in the garden-shades a seat, Far from the play-ground din; The sun is warm, the air is sweet: Stay till I call you in."
A long and pleasant afternoon I passed in those green bowers; All silent, tranquil, and alone With birds, and bees, and flowers.
Yet, when my master's voice I heard Call, from the window, "Jane!"
I entered, joyful, at the word, The busy house again.
He, in the hall, paced up and down; He paused as I passed by; His forehead stern relaxed its frown: He raised his deep-set eye.
"Not quite so pale," he murmured low.
"Now Jane, go rest awhile."
And as I smiled, his smoothened brow Returned as glad a smile.
My perfect health restored, he took His mien austere again; And, as before, he would not brook The slightest fault from Jane.
The longest task, the hardest theme Fell to my share as erst, And still I toiled to place my name In every study first.
He yet begrudged and stinted praise, But I had learnt to read The secret meaning of his face, And that was my best meed.
Even when his hasty temper spoke In tones that sorrow stirred, My grief was lulled as soon as woke By some relenting word.
And when he lent some precious book, Or gave some fragrant flower, I did not quail to Envy's look, Upheld by Pleasure's power.