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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391617" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lady Of The Castle</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou see'st her pictured with her shining hair,<br>(Famed were those tresses in Provencal song,)<br>Half braided, half o'er cheek and bosom fair<br>Let loose, and pouring sunny waves along<br>Her gorgeous vest. A child's light hand is roving<br>Midst the rich curls; and, oh! how meekly loving<br>Its earnest looks are lifted to the face,<br>Which bends to meet its lip in laughing grace! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet that bright lady's eye methinks hath less<br>Of deep, and still, and pensive tenderness,<br>Than might beseem a mother's; on her brow<br>Something too much there sits of native scorn,<br>And her smile kindles with a conscious glow,<br>As from the thought of sovereign beauty born.<br>These may be dreams but how shall woman tell<br>Of woman's shame, and not with tears?–She fell!<br>That mother left that child! went hurrying by<br>Its cradle haply, not without a sigh,<br>Haply one moment o'er its rest serene<br>She hung but no! it could not thus have been,<br>For she went on! forsook her home, her hearth,<br>All pure affection, all sweet household mirth,<br>To live a gaudy and dishonour'd thing,<br>Sharing in guilt the splendours of a king. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her lord, in very weariness of life,<br>Girt on his sword for scenes of distant strife; <br>He reck'd no more of glory: grief and shame<br>Crush'd out his fiery nature, and his name<br>Died silently. A shadow o'er his halls<br>Crept year by year; the minstrel pass'd their walls;<br>The warder's horn hung mute: meantime the child<br>On whose first flowering thoughts no parent smiled,<br>A gentle girl, and yet deep-hearted, grew<br>Into sad youth; for well, too well, she knew<br>Her mother's tale! Its memory made the sky<br>Seem all too joyous for her shrinking eye;<br>Check'd on her lip the flow of song, which fain<br>Would there have linger'd; flush'd her cheek to pain<br>If met by sudden glance; and gave a tone<br>Of sorrow, as for something lovely gone,<br>Ev'n to the spring's glad voice. Her own was low<br>And plaintive Oh! there lie such depths of wo<br>In a young blighted spirit! Manhood rears<br>A haughty brow, and age has done with tears;<br>But youth bows down to misery, in amaze<br>At the dark cloud o'ermantling its fresh days,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus it was with her. A mournful sight<br>In one so fair for she indeed was fair<br>Not with her mother's dazzling eyes of light,<br>Hers were more shadowy, full of thought and prayer,<br>And with long lashes o'er a white-rose cheek,<br>Drooping in gloom, yet tender still and meek,<br>Still that fond child's–and oh! the brow above,<br>So pale and pure! so form'd for holy love<br>To gaze upon in silence! But she felt<br>That love was not for her, tho' hearts would melt<br>Where'er she mov'd, and reverence mutely given<br>Went with her; and low prayers, that call'd on Heaven<br>To bless the young Isaure. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">One sunny morn<br>With alms before her castle gate she stood,<br>Midst peasant-groups; when, breathless and o'erworn,<br>And shrouded in long weeds of widowhood, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A stranger thro' them broke: the orphan maid<br>With her sweet voice, and proffer'd hand of aid,<br>Turn'd to give welcome; but a wild sad look<br>Met hers; a gaze that all her spirit shook;<br>And that pale woman, suddenly subdued<br>By some strong passion in its gushing mood,<br>Knelt at her feet, and bath'd them with such tears<br>As rain the hoarded agonies of years<br>From the heart's urn; and with her white lips press'd<br>The ground they trod; then, burying in her vest<br>Her brow's deep flush, sobb'd out 'Oh! undefiled!<br>I am thy mother spurn me not, my child!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Isaure had pray'd for that lost mother; wept<br>O'er her stain'd memory, while the happy slept<br>In the hush'd midnight: stood with mournful gaze<br>Before yon picture's smile of other days,<br>But never breath'd in human ear the name<br>Which weigh'd her being to the earth with shame. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What marvel if the anguish, the surprise,<br>The dark remembrances, the alter'd guise,<br>Awhile o'erpower'd her? from the weeper's touch<br>She shrank 'twas but a moment yet too much<br>For that all humbled one; its mortal stroke<br>Came down like lightning, and her full heart broke<br>At once in silence. Heavily and prone<br>She sank, while o'er her castle's threshold-stone,<br>Those long fair tresses they still brightly wore<br>Their early pride, though bound with pearls no more<br>Bursting their fillet, in sad beauty roll'd,<br>And swept the dust with coils of wavy gold. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her child bent o'er her call'd her 'twas too late<br>Dead lay the wanderer at her own proud gate!<br>The joy of courts, the star of knight and bard,<br>How didst thou fall, O bright-hair'd Ermengarde!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391617" data-title="The Lady Of The Castle de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="Thou see'st her pictured with her shining hair,
(Famed were those tresses in Provencal song,)
Half braided, half o'er cheek and bosom fair
Let loose, and pouring sunny waves along
Her gorgeous vest. A child's light hand is roving
Midst the rich cu..."></div>
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