Page:The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884).djvu/431

 VIII.

But sudden came the barge's pitch-black prow,

Nearer and angrier came my brother's cry,

And all my soul was quivering fear, when lo!

Upon the imperilled line, suspended high,

A silver perch! My guilt that won the prey,

Now turned to merit, had a guerdon rich

Of hugs and praises, and made merry play.

Until my triumph reached its highest pitch

When all at home were told the wondrous feat.

And how the little sister had fished well.

In secret, though my fortune tasted sweet,

I wondered why this happiness befell.

"The little lass had luck," the gardener said:

And so I learned, luck was with glory wed.

IX.

We had the selfsame world enlarged for each

By loving difference of girl and boy:

The fruit that hung on high beyond my reach

He plucked for me, and oft he must employ

A measuring glance to guide my tiny shoe

Where lay firm stepping-stones, or call to mind

"This thing I like my sister may not do,

For she is little, and I must be kind."

Thus boyish Will the nobler mastery learned

Where inward vision over impulse reigns,

Widening its life with separate life discerned,

A Like unlike, a Self that self restrains.