Maud - Part 1 - 13.

1 Scorn'd, to be scorn'd by one that I scorn, Is that a matter to make me fret? That a calamity hard to be borne? Well, he may live to hate me yet. Fool that I am to be vext with his pride! I past him, I was crossing his lands; He stood on the path a little aside; His face, as I grant, in spite of spite, Has a broad-blown comeliness, red and white, And six feet two, as I think, he stands; But his essences turn'd the live air sick, And barbarous opulence jewel-thick Sunn'd itself on his breast and his hands. 2 Who shall call me ungentle, unfair, I long'd so heartily then and there To give him the grasp of fellowship; But while I past he was humming an air, Stopt, and then with a riding whip Leisurely tapping a glossy boot, And curving a contumelious lip, Gorgonised me from head to foot With a stony British stare. 3 Why sits he here in his father's chair? That old man never comes to his place: Shall I believe him ashamed to be seen? For only once, in the village street, Last year, I caught a glimpse of his face, A gray old wolf and a lean. Scarcely, now, would I call him a cheat; For then, perhaps, as a child of deceit, She might by a true descent be untrue; And Maud is as true as Maud is sweet: Tho' I fancy her sweetness only due To the sweeter blood by the other side; Her mother has been a thing complete, However she came to be so allied. And fair without, faithful within, Maud to him is nothing akin: Some peculiar mystic grace Made her only the child of her mother, And heap'd the whole inherited sin On that huge scapegoat of the race, All, all upon the brother. 4 Peace, angry spirit, and let him be! Has not his sister smiled on me?