<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447619" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Troubadour. Canto 2</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE first, the very first; oh! none<br>Can feel again as they have done;<br>In love, in war, in pride, in all<br>The planets of life's coronal,<br>However beautiful or bright,--<br>What can be like their first sweet light?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When will the youth feel as he felt,<br>When first at beauty's feet he knelt?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As if her least smile could confer<br>A kingdom on its worshipper;<br>Or ever care, or ever fear<br>Had cross'd love's morning hemisphere.<br>And the young bard, the first time praise<br>Sheds its spring sunlight o'er his lays,<br>Though loftier laurel, higher name,<br>May crown the minstrel's noontide fame,<br>They will not bring the deep content<br>Of his lure's first encouragement.<br>And where the glory that will yield<br>The flush and glow of his first field<br>To the young chief? Will RAYMOND ever<br>Feel as he now is feeling?--Never.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun wept down or ere they gain'd<br>The glen where the chief band remain'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was a lone and secret shade,<br>As nature form'd an ambuscade<br>For the bird's nest and the deer's lair,<br>Though now less quiet guests were there.<br>On one side like a fortress stood<br>A mingled pine and chesnut wood;<br>Autumn was falling, but the pine<br>Seem'd as it mock'd all change; no sign<br>Of season on its leaf was seen,<br>The same dark gloom of changeless green.<br>But like the gorgeous Persian bands<br>'Mid the stern race of northern lands,<br>The chesnut boughs were bright with all<br>That gilds and mocks the autumn's fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like stragglers from an army's rear<br>Gradual they grew, near and less near,<br>Till ample space was left to raise,<br>Amid the trees, the watch-fire's blaze;<br>And there, wrapt in their cloaks around,<br>The soldiers scatter'd o'er the ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One was more crowded than the rest,<br>And to that one was RAYMOND prest;--<br>There sat the chief: kind greetings came<br>At the first sound of RAYMOND'S name.<br>'Am I not proud that this should be,<br>Thy first field to be fought with me:<br>Years since thy father's sword and mine<br>Together dimm'd their maiden shine.<br>We were sworn brothers; when he fell<br>'Twas mine to hear his last farewell:<br>And how revenged I need not say,<br>Though few were left to tell that day.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy brow is his, and thou wilt wield<br>A sword like his in battle-field.<br>Let the day break, and thou shalt ride<br>Another RAYMOND by my side;<br>And thou shalt win and I confer,<br>To-morrow, knightly brand and spur.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With thoughts of pride, and thoughts of grief,<br>Sat RAYMOND by that stranger chief,<br>So proud to hear his father's fame,<br>So sad to hear that father's name,<br>And then to think that he had known<br>That father by his name alone;<br>And aye his heart within him burn'd<br>When his eye to DE VALENCE turn'd,<br>Mark'd his high step, his warlike mien,--<br>'And such my father would have been!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A few words of years past away,<br>A few words of the coming day,<br>They parted, not that night for sleep;<br>RAYMOND had thoughts that well might keep<br>Rest from his pillow,--memory, hope,<br>In youth's horizon had full scope<br>To blend and part each varied line<br>Of cloud and clear, of shade and shine.<br>--He rose and wander'd round, the light<br>Of the full moon fell o'er each height;<br>Leaving the wood behind in shade,<br>O'er rock, and glen, and rill it play'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He follow'd a small stream whose tide<br>Was bank'd by lilies on each side,<br>And there, as if secure of rest,<br>A swan had built her lonely nest;<br>And spread out was each lifted wing,<br>Like snow or silver glittering.<br>Wild flowers grew around the dale,<br>Sweet children of the sun and gale;<br>From every crag the wild vine fell,<br>To all else inaccessible;<br>And where a dark rock rose behind,<br>Their shelter from the northern wind,<br>Grew myrtles with their fragrant leaves,<br>Veil'd with the web the gossamer weaves,<br>So pearly fair, so light, so frail,<br>Like beauty's self more than her veil.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And first to gaze upon the scene,<br>Quiet as there had never been<br>Heavier step than village maid<br>With flowers for her nuptial braid,<br>Or louder sound than hermit's prayer,<br>To crush its grass or load its air.<br>Then to look on the armed train,<br>The watch-fire on the wooded plain,<br>And think how with the morrow's dawn,<br>Would banner wave, and blade be drawn;<br>How clash of steel, and trumpet's swell,<br>Would wake the echoes of each dell.<br>--And thus it ever is with life,<br>Peace sleeps upon the breast of Strife,<br>But to be waken'd from its rest,<br>Till comes that sleep the last and best.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND paused at last, and laid<br>Himself beneath a chesnut's shade,<br>A little way apart from all,<br>That he might catch the waterfall,<br>Whose current swept like music round,--<br>When suddenly another sound<br>Came on the ear; it was a tone,<br>Rather a murmur than a song,<br>As he who breathed deem'd all unknown<br>The words, thoughts, echo bore along.<br>Parting the boughs which hung between,<br>Close, thick, as if a tapestried screen,<br>RAYMOND caught sight of a white plume<br>Waving o'er brow and cheek of bloom;<br>And yet the song was sad and low,<br>As if the chords it waked were woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SONG OF THE YOUNG KNIGHT. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">YOUR scarf is bound upon my breast,<br>Your colours dance upon my crest,--<br>They have been soil'd by dust and rain,<br>And they must wear a darker stain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I mark'd thy tears as fast they fell,<br>I saw but heard not thy farewell,<br>I gave my steed the spur and rein,--<br>I dared not look on thee again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My cheek is pale, but not with fears,<br>And I have dash'd aside my tears;<br>This woman's softness of my breast<br>Will vanish when my spear's in rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know that farewell was our last,<br>That life and love from me are past;<br>For I have heard the fated sign<br>That speaks the downfall of our line.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I slept the soldier's tired sleep;<br>But yet I heard the music sweep,<br>Dim, faint, as when I stood beside<br>The bed whereon my father died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell, sweet love! never again<br>Will thine ear listen to the strain<br>With which so oft at midnight's hour<br>I've waked the silence of thy bower.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell! I would not tears should stain<br>Thy fair cheek with their burning rain:<br>Tears, sweet! would an ill offering be<br>To one whose death was worthy thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">RAYMOND thought on that song next day<br>When bleeding that young warrior lay,<br>While his hand, in its death-pang, prest<br>A bright curl to his wounded breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">AND waning stars, and brightening sky,<br>And on the clouds a crimson dye,<br>And fresher breeze, and opening flowers,<br>Tell the approach of morning hours.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, how can breath, and light, and bloom,<br>Herald a day of death and doom!<br>With knightly pennons, which were spread<br>Like mirror's for the morning's red,<br>Gather the ranks, while shout and horn<br>Are o'er the distant mountains borne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas a fair sight, that arm'd array<br>Winding through the deep vale their way,<br>Helmet and breast-plate gleaming in gold,<br>Banners waving their crimson fold,<br>Like clouds of the day-break: hark to the peal<br>Of the war-cry, answer'd by clanging steel!<br>The young chief strokes his courser's neck,<br>The ire himself had provoked to check,<br>Impatient for that battle plain<br>He may reach but never leave again;<br>And with flashing eye and sudden start,<br>He hears the trumpet's stately tone,<br>Like the echo of his beating heart,<br>And meant to rouse his ear alone.<br>And by his side the warrior grey,<br>With hair as white as the plumes that play<br>Over his head, yet spurs he as proud,<br>As keen as the youngest knight of the crowd:<br>And glad and glorious on they ride<br>In strength and beauty, power and pride.<br>And such the morning, but let day<br>Close on that gallant fair array,<br>The moon will see another sight<br>Than that which met the dawning light.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look on that field,--'tis the battle field!<br>Look on what harvest victory will yield!<br>There the steed and his rider o'erthrown,<br>Crouch together, their warfare is done:<br>The bolt is undrawn, the bow is unbent,<br>And the archer lies like his arrow spent.<br>Deep is the banner of crimson dyed,<br>But not with the red of its morning pride;<br>Torn and trampled with soil and stain,<br>When will it float on the breeze again;--<br>And over the ghastly plain are spread,<br>Pillow'd together, the dying and dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There lay one with an unclosed eye<br>Set in bright, cold vacancy,<br>While on its fix'd gaze the moonbeam shone,<br>Light mocking the eye whose light was gone;<br>And by his side another lay,<br>The life-blood ebbing fast away,<br>But calm his cheek and calm his eye,<br>As if leant on his mother's bosom to die.<br>Too weak to move, he feebly eyed<br>A wolf and a vulture close to his side,<br>Watching and waiting, himself the prey,<br>While each one kept the other away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Little of this the young warrior deems<br>When, with heart and head all hopes and dreams,<br>He hastes for the battle:--The trumpet's call<br>Waken'd RAYMOND the first of all;<br>His the first step that to stirrup sprung,<br>His the first banner upwards flung;<br>And brow and cheek with his spirit glow'd,<br>When first at DE VALENCE'S side he rode.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The quiet glen is left behind,<br>The dark wood lost in the blue sky;<br>When other sounds come on the wind,<br>And other pennons float on high.<br>With snow-white plumes and glancing crest,<br>And standard raised, and spear in rest,<br>On a small river's farther banks<br>Wait their approach Sir HERBERT'S ranks.--<br>One silent gaze, as if each band<br>Could slaughter both with eye and hand.<br>Then peals the war-cry! then the dash<br>Amid the waters! and the crash<br>Of spears,--the falchion's iron ring,-- <br>The arrow hissing from the string,<br>Tell they have met. Thus from the height<br>The torrent rushes in its might.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With the lightning's speed, the thunder's peal,<br>Flashes the lance, and strikes the steel.<br>Many a steed to the earth is borne,<br>Many a banner trampled and torn;<br>Or ever its brand could strike a blow,<br>Many a gallant arm lies low;--<br>Many a scarf, many a crest,<br>Float with the leaves on the river's breast;<br>And strange it is to see how around<br>Buds and flowers strew the ground,<br>For the banks were cover'd with wild rose trees,<br>Oh! what should they do amid scenes like these.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the blue stream, as it hovered o'er,<br>A hawk was mirror'd, and before<br>Its wings could reach yon pine, which stands<br>A bow-shot off from the struggling bands,<br>The stain of death was on the flood,<br>And the red waters roll'd dark with blood.--<br>RAYMOND'S spear was the first that flew,<br>He the first who dash'd the deep river through;<br>His step the first on the hostile strand,<br>And the first that fell was borne down by his hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fight is ended:--the same sun<br>Has seen the battle lost and won;<br>The field is cover'd with dying and dead,<br>With the valiant who stood, and the coward who fled.<br>And a gallant salute the trumpets sound,<br>As the warriors gather from victory around.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On a hill that skirted the purple flood,<br>With his peers around, DE VALENCE stood,<br>And with bended knee, and forehead bare,<br>Save its cloud of raven hair,<br>And beautiful as some wild star<br>Come in its glory and light from afar,<br>With his dark eyes flashing stern and bright,<br>And his cheek o'erflooded with crimson light,<br>And the foeman's banner over his head,<br>His first field's trophy proudly spread,<br>Knelt RAYMOND down his boon to name,--<br>The knightly spurs he so well might claim:<br>And a softness stole to DE VALENCE'S eyes,<br>As he bade the new-made knight arise.--<br>From his own belt he took the brand,<br>And gave it into RAYMOND'S hand,<br>And said it might a memory yield<br>Of his father's friend, and his own first field.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pleasant through the darkening night<br>Shines from Clarin's towers the light.<br>Home from the battle the warriors ride,<br>In the soldiers' triumph, and soldiers' pride:<br>The drawbridge is lower'd, and in they pour,<br>Like the sudden rush of a summer shower,<br>While the red torch-light bursts through the gloom,<br>Over banner and breast-plate, helm and plume.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sudden a flood of lustre play'd<br>Over a lofty ballustrade,<br>Music and perfume swept the air,<br>Messengers sweet for the spring to prepare;<br>And like a sunny vision sent<br>For worship and astonishment,<br>Aside a radiant ladye flung<br>The veil that o'er her beauty hung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With stately grace to those below,<br>She bent her gem encircled brow,<br>And bade them welcome in the name<br>Of her they saved, the castle's dame,<br>Who had not let another pay<br>Thanks, greeting to their brave array,--<br>But she had vow'd the battle night<br>To fasting, prayer, and holy rite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the air the last tones of the music die,<br>The odour passes away like a sigh,<br>The torches flash a parting gleam,<br>And she vanishes as she came, like a dream.<br>But many an eye dwelt on the shade,<br>Till fancy again her form display'd,<br>And still again seem'd many an ear<br>The softness of her voice to hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And many a heart had a vision that night,<br>Which future years never banish'd quite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And sign and sound of festival<br>Are ringing through that castle hall;<br>Tapers, whose flame send a perfumed cloud,<br>Flash their light o'er a gorgeous crowd;<br>With a thousand colours the tapestry falls<br>Over the carved and gilded walls,<br>And, between, the polish'd oak pannels hear,<br>Like dark mirrors, the image of each one there.<br>At one end the piled up hearth is spread<br>With sparkling embers of glowing red:<br>Above the branching antlers have place,<br>Sign of many a hard won chase;<br>And beneath, in many a polish'd line,<br>The arms of the hunter and warrior shine;<br>And around the fire, like a laurell'd arch,<br>Raised for some victor's triumphal march,<br>The wood is fretted with tracery fair,<br>And green boughs and flowers are waving there.<br>Lamps, like faery planets shine,<br>O'er massive cups of the genial wine,<br>And shed a ray more soft and fair<br>Than the broad red gleam of the torch's glare;<br>And, flitting like a rainbow, plays<br>In beautiful and changing rays,<br>When from the pictured windows fall<br>The colour'd shadows o'er the hall;<br>As every pane some bright hue lent<br>To vary the lighted element.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The ladye of the festive board<br>Was ward to the castle's absent lord;<br>The Ladye ADELINE ,--the same<br>Bright vision that with their greeting came<br>Maidens four stood behind her chair,<br>Each one was young, and each one fair;<br>Yet they were but as the stars at night<br>When the mood shines forth in her fullness of light<br>On the knot of her wreathed hair was set<br>A blood-red ruby coronet;<br>But among the midnight cloud of curls<br>That hung o'er her brow were eastern pearls,<br>As if to tell their wealth of snow,<br>How white her forehead could look below.<br>Around her floated a veil of white,<br>Like the silvery rack round the star of twilight;<br>And down to the ground her mantle's fold<br>Spread its length of purple and gold;<br>And sparkling gems were around her arm,<br>That shone like marble, only warm,<br>With the blue veins wandering tide,<br>And the hand with its crimson blush inside.<br>A zone of precious stones embraced<br>The graceful circle of her waist,<br>Sparkling as if they were proud<br>Of the clasp to them allow'd.<br>But yet there was 'mid this excess<br>Of soft and dazzling loveliness,<br>A something in the eye, and hand,<br>And forehead, speaking of command:<br>An eye whose dark flash seem'd allied<br>To even more than beauty's pride,--<br>A hand as only used to wave<br>Its sign to worshipper and slave,--<br>A forehead, but that was too fair<br>To read of aught but beauty there!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND had the place of pride,<br>The place so envied by her side,--<br>The victor's seat,--and overhead<br>The banner he had won was spread.<br>His health was pledged!--he only heard<br>The murmur of one silver word;<br>The pageant seem'd to fade away,<br>Vanish'd the board and glad array,<br>The gorgeous hall around grew dim,<br>There shone one only light for him,<br>That radiant form, whose brightness fell<br>In power upon him like a spell,<br>Laid in its strength by Love to reign<br>Despotic over heart and brain.<br>Silent he stood amid the mirth,<br>Oh, love is timid in its birth!<br>Watching her lightest look or stir,<br>As he but look'd and breathed with her.<br>Gay words were passing, but he leant<br>In silence; yet, one quick glance sent,--<br>His secret is no more his own,<br>When has woman her power not known?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The feast broke up:--that midnight shade<br>Heard many a gentle serenade<br>Beneath the ladye's lattice. One<br>Breathed after all the rest were gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SERENADE. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">SLEEP , ladye! for the moonlit hour,<br>Like peace, is shining on thy bower;<br>It is so late, the nightingale<br>Has ended even his love tale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sleep, ladye! 'neath thy turret grows,<br>Cover'd with flowers, one pale white rose;<br>I envy its sweet sighs, they steep<br>The perfumed airs that lull thy sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perchance, around thy chamber floats<br>The music of my lone lute notes,--<br>Oh, may they on thine eyelids fall,<br>And make thy slumbers musical!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sleep, ladye! to thy rest be given<br>The gleamings of thy native heaven,<br>And thoughts of early paradise,<br>The treasures of thy sleeping eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I NEED not say whose was the song<br>The sighing night winds bore along.<br>RAYMOND had left the maiden's side<br>As one too dizzy with the tide<br>To breast the stream, or strive, or shrink,<br>Enough for him to feel, not think;<br>Enough for him the dim sweet fear,<br>The twilight of the heart, or ere<br>Awakening hope has named the name<br>Of love, or blown its spark to flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Restlessness, but as the winds range<br>From leaf to leaf, from flower to flower;<br>Changefulness, but as rainbows change,<br>From colour'd sky to sunlit hour.<br>Ay, well indeed may minstrel sing,--<br>What have the heart and year like spring?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her vow was done: the castle dame<br>Next day to join the revellers came;<br>And never had a dame more gay<br>O'er hall or festival held sway.<br>And youthful knight, and ladye fair,<br>And juggler quaint, and minstrel rare,<br>And mirth, and crowds, and music, all<br>Of pleasure gather'd at her call.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND moved as in a dream<br>Of song and odour, bloom and beam,<br>As he dwelt in a magic bower,<br>Charm'd from all by fairy power.<br>--And ADELINE rode out that morn,<br>With hunting train, and hawk, and horn;<br>And broider'd rein, and curb of gold,<br>And housings with their purple fold<br>Decked the white steed o'er which she leant<br>Graceful as a young cypress, bent<br>By the first summer wind: she wore<br>A cap the heron plume waved o'er,<br>And round her wrist a golden band,<br>Which held the falcon on her hand.<br>The bird's full eye, so clear, so bright,<br>Match'd not her own's dark flashing light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND , as he watch'd the dyes<br>Of her cheek rich with exercise,<br>Could almost deem her beauty's power<br>Was now in its most potent hour;<br>But when at night he saw her glance<br>The gayest of the meteor dance,<br>The jewels in her braided hair,<br>Her neck, her arms of ivory bare,<br>The silver veil, the broider'd vest,--<br>Look'd she not then her loveliest?<br>Ah, every change of beauty's face<br>And beauty's shape has its own grace!<br>That night his heart throbb'd when her hand<br>Met his touch in the saraband:<br>That night her smile first bade love live<br>On the sweet life that hope can give.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beautiful, but thrice wayward, wild,<br>Capricious as a petted child,<br>She was all chance, all change; but now<br>A smile is on her radiant brow,--<br>A moment and that smile is fled,<br>Coldness and scorn are there instead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ended the dance, and ADELINE <br>Flung herself, like an eastern queen,<br>Upon the cushions which were laid<br>Amid a niche of that gay hall,<br>Hid from the lamps; around it play'd<br>The softness of the moonlight fall.<br>And there the gorgeous shapes past by<br>But like a distant pageantry,<br>In which you have yourself no share,<br>For all its pride, and pomp, and care.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She pass'd her hand across the chords<br>Of a lute near, and with soft words<br>Answer'd; then said, 'no, thou shalt sing<br>Some legend of the fair and brave.'<br>To RAYMOND'S hand the lute she gave,<br>Whose very soul within him burn'd<br>When her dark eye on his was turn'd:<br>One moment's pause, it slept not long,--<br>His spirit pour'd itself in song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ELENORE. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE lady sits in her lone bower,<br>With cheek wan as the white rose flower<br>That blooms beside, 'tis pale and wet<br>As that rose with its dew pearls set.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her cheek burns with a redder dye,<br>Flashes light from her tearful eye;<br>She has heard pinions beat the air,<br>She sees her white dove floating there;<br>And well she knows its faithful wing,<br>The treasure of her heart will bring;<br>And takes the gentle bird its stand<br>Accustom'd on the maiden's hand,<br>With glancing eye and throbbing breast,<br>As if rejoicing in its rest.<br>She read the scroll,--'dear love, to-night<br>By the lake, all is there for flight<br>What time the moon is down;--oh, then<br>My own life shall we meet again!'<br>One upward look of thankfulness,<br>One pause of joy, one fond caress<br>Of her soft lips, as to reward<br>The messenger of EGINHARD.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That night in her proud father's hall<br>She shone the fairest one of all;<br>For like the cloud of evening came<br>Over her cheek the sudden flame,<br>And varying as each moment brought<br>Some hasty change of secret thought;<br>As if its colour would confess<br>The conscious heart's inmost recess.<br>And the clear depths of her dark eye<br>Were bright with troubled brilliancy,<br>Yet the lids droop'd as with the tear<br>Which might oppress but not appear.<br>And flatteries, and smile and sigh<br>Loaded the air as she past by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It sparkled, but her jewell'd vest<br>Was crost above a troubled breast:<br>Her curls, with all their sunny glow,<br>Were braided o'er an aching brow:<br>But well she knew how many sought<br>To gaze upon her secret thought;--<br>And Love is proud,--she might not brook<br>That other's on her heart should look.<br>But there she sate, cold, pale, and high,<br>Beneath her purple canopy;<br>And there was many a mutter'd word,<br>And one low whisper'd name was heard,--<br>The name of EGINHARD ,--that name<br>Like some forbidden secret came.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The theme went, that he dared to love<br>One like a star his state above;<br>Here to the princess turn'd each eye,--<br>And it was said, he did not sigh<br>With love that pales the pining cheek,<br>And leaves the slighted heart to break.<br>And then a varying tale was told,<br>How a page had betray'd for gold;<br>But all was rumour light and vain,<br>That all might hear, but none explain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like one that seeks a festival,<br>Early the princess left the hall;<br>Yet said she, sleep dwelt on her eyes,<br>That she was worn with revelries.<br>And hastily her maidens' care<br>Unbinds the jewels from her hair.<br>Odours are round her chamber strown,<br>And ELENORE is left alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With throbbing heart, whose pulses beat<br>Louder than fall her ivory feet,<br>She rises from her couch of down;<br>And, hurriedly, a robe is thrown<br>Around her form, and her own hand<br>Lets down her tresses golden band.<br>Another moment she has shred<br>Those graceful tresses from her head.<br>There stands a plate of polish'd steel,<br>She folds her cloak as to conceal<br>Her strange attire, for she is drest<br>As a young page in dark green vest.<br>Softly she steps the balustrade,<br>Where myrtle, rose, and hyacinth made<br>A passage to the garden shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was a lovely summer night,<br>The air was incense-fill'd, the light<br>Was dim and tremulous, a gleam,<br>When a star, mirror'd on the stream,<br>Sent a ray round just to reveal<br>How gales from flower to flower steal.<br>'It was on such a night as this,<br>When even a single breath is bliss,<br>Such a soft air, such a mild heaven,<br>My vows to EGINHARD were given.'<br>Sigh'd ELENORE , 'Oh, might it be<br>A hope, a happy augury!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She reach'd the lake,--a blush, a smile,<br>Contended on her face the while;<br>And safely in a little cove,<br>Shelter'd by willow trees above,<br>An ambuscade from all secured,<br>Her lover's little boat lay moor'd.--<br>One greeting word, with muffled oar,<br>And silent lip, they left that shore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was most like a phantom dream<br>To see that boat flit o'er the stream,<br>So still, that but yet less and less<br>It grew, it had seem'd motionless.<br>And then the silent lake, the trees<br>Visible only when the breeze<br>Aside the shadowy branches threw,<br>And let one single star shine through,<br>While the faint glimmer scarcely gave<br>To view the wanderers of the wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The breeze has borne the clouds away<br>That veil'd the blushes of young day;<br>The lark has sung his morning song;--<br>Surely the princess slumbers long.<br>And now it is the accustom'd hour<br>Her royal father seeks her bower,<br>When her soft voice and gentle lute,<br>The snowfall of her fairy foot,<br>The flowers she has cull'd, with dew<br>Yet moist upon each rainbow hue;<br>The fruits with bloom upon their cheek,<br>Fresh as the morning's first sun streak;<br>Each, all conspired to wile away<br>The weariness of royal sway.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But she is gone: there hangs her lute,<br>And there it may hang lone and mute:<br>The flowers may fade, for who is there<br>To triumph now if they are fair:<br>There are her gems,--oh, let them twine<br>An offering round some sainted shrine!<br>For she who wore them may not wear<br>Again those jewels in her hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At first the monarch's rage was wild;<br>But soon the image of his child,<br>In tenderness rose on his heart,<br>How could he bear from it to part?<br>And anger turn'd to grief: in vain<br>Ambition had destroy'd the chain<br>With which love had bound happiness.<br>In vain remorse, in vain redress,--<br>Fruitless all search. And years past o'er,<br>No tidings came of ELENORE,<br>Although the king would have laid down<br>His golden sceptre, purple crown,<br>His pomp, his power, but to have prest<br>His child one moment to his breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And where was ELENORE ? her home<br>Was now beneath the forest dome;--<br>A hundred knights had watch'd her hall,<br>Her guards were now the pine trees tall:<br>For harps waked with the minstrel tale,<br>Sang to her sleep the nightingale:<br>For silver vases, where were blent<br>Rich perfumes from Arabia sent,<br>Were odours when the wild thyme flower<br>Wafted its sweets on gale and shower:<br>For carpets of the purple loom<br>The violets spread their cloud of bloom,<br>Starr'd with primroses; and around<br>Boughs like green tapestry swept the ground.<br>--And there they dwelt apart from all<br>That gilds and mocks ambition's thrall;<br>Apart from cities, crowds, and care,<br>Hopes that deceive, and toils that wear;<br>For they had made themselves a world<br>Like that or ever man was hurl'd<br>From his sweet Eden, to begin<br>His bitter course of grief and sin.--<br>And they were happy; EGINHARD <br>Had won the prize for which he dared<br>Dungeon and death; but what is there<br>That the young lover will not dare?<br>And she, though nurtured as a flower,<br>The favourite bud of a spring bower,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Daughter of palaces, yet made<br>Her dwelling place in the green shade;<br>Happy, as she remember'd not<br>Her royal in her peasant lot,--<br>With gentle cares, and smiling eyes<br>As love could feel no sacrifice.<br>Happy her ivory brow to lave<br>Without a mirror but the wave,<br>As one whose sweetness could dispense<br>With all save its own excellence;--<br>A fair but gentle creature, meant<br>For heart, and hearth, and home content.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was at night the chase was over,<br>And ELENORE sat by her lover,--<br>Her lover still, though years had fled<br>Since their first word of love was said,--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When one sought, at that darksome hour,<br>The refuge of their lonely bower,<br>A hunter, who, amid the shade,<br>Had from his own companions stray'd.<br>And ELENORE gazed on his face,<br>And knew her father! In the chase<br>Often the royal mourner sought<br>A refuge from his one sad thought.<br>He knew her not,--the lowly mien,<br>The simple garb of forest green,<br>The darken'd brow, which told the spoil<br>The sun stole from her daily toil,<br>The cheek where woodland health had shed<br>The freshness of its morning red,--<br>All was so changed. She spread the board,<br>Her hand the sparkling wine cup pour'd;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then around the hearth they drew,<br>And cheerfully the woodfire threw<br>Its light around.--Bent o'er her wheel<br>Scarcely dared ELENORE to steal<br>A look, half tenderness, half fear,<br>Yet seem'd he as he loved to hear<br>Her voice, as if it had a tone<br>Breathing of days and feelings gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ah! surely,' thought she, 'Heaven has sent<br>My father here, as that it meant,<br>Our years of absence ended now!'<br>She gazed upon his soften'd brow;<br>And the next moment, all revealing,<br>ELENORE at his feet is kneeling!--<br>Need I relate that, reconciled,<br>The father bless'd his truant child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">WHERE is the heart that has not bow'd<br>A slave, eternal Love, to thee:<br>Look on the cold, the gay, the proud,<br>And is there one among them free?<br>The cold, the proud,--oh! Love has turn'd<br>The marble till with fire it burn'd;<br>The gay, the young,--alas that they<br>Should ever bend beneath thy sway!<br>Look on the cheek the rose might own,<br>The smile around like sunshine thrown;<br>The rose, the smile, alike are thine,<br>To fade and darken at thy shrine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And what must love be in a heart<br>All passion's fiery depths concealing,<br>Which has in its minutest part<br>More than another's whole of feeling.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND'S heart; love's morning sun<br>On fitter altar never shone;<br>Loving with all the snow-white truth,<br>That is found but in early youth;<br>Freshness of feeling as of flower,<br>That lives not more than spring's first hour;<br>And loving with that wild devotion,<br>That deep and passionate emotion,<br>With which the minstrel soul is thrown<br>On all that it would make its own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND loved; the veriest slave<br>That e'er his life to passion gave:<br>Upon his ear no murmur came<br>That seem'd not echoing her name;<br>The lightest colour on her cheek<br>Was lovelier than the morning break.<br>He gazed upon her as he took<br>His sense of being from her look:--<br>Sometimes it was idolatry,<br>Like homage to some lovely star,<br>Whose beauty though for hope too high,<br>He yet might worship from afar.<br>At other times his heart would swell<br>With tenderness unutterable:<br>He would have borne her to an isle<br>Where May and June had left their smile;<br>And there, heard but by the lone gale,<br>He would have whisper'd his love tale;<br>And without change, or cloud, or care,<br>Have kept his bosom's treasure there.<br>And then, with all a lover's pride,<br>He thought it shame such gem to hide:<br>And imaged he a courtly scene<br>Of which she was the jewell'd queen,--<br>The one on whom each glance was bent,<br>The beauty of the tournament,<br>The magnet of the festival,<br>The grace, the joy, the life of all,--<br>But she, alas for her false smile!<br>ADELINE loved him not the while.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And is it thus that woman's heart<br>Can trifle with its dearest part,<br>Its own pure sympathies?--can fling<br>The poison'd arrow from the string<br>In utter heartlessness around,<br>And mock, or think not of the wound?<br>And thus can woman barter all<br>That makes and gilds her gentle thrall,--<br>The blush which should be like the one<br>White violets hide from the sun,--<br>The soft, low sighs, like those which breathe<br>In secret from a twilight wreath,--<br>The smile like a bright lamp, whose shine<br>Is vow'd but only to one shrine;<br>All these sweet spells,--and can they be<br>Weapons of reckless vanity?<br>And woman, in whose gentle heart<br>From all save its sweet self apart,<br>Love should dwell with that purity<br>Which but in woman's love can be:<br>A sacred fire, whose flame was given<br>To shed on earth the light of heaven,--<br>That she can fling her wealth aside<br>In carelessness, or sport, or pride!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was not form'd for length of bliss,<br>A dream so fond, so false as this;<br>Enough for ADELINE to win<br>The heart she had no pleasure in,--<br>Enough that bright eyes turn'd in vain<br>On him who bow'd beneath her chain:--<br>Then came the careless word and look,<br>All the fond soul so ill can brook,<br>The jealous doubt, the burning pain,<br>That rack the lover's heart and brain;<br>The fear that will not own it fear,<br>The hope that cannot disappear;<br>Faith clinging to its visions past,<br>And trust confiding to the last.<br>And thus it is: ay, let Love throw<br>Aside his arrows and his bow;<br>But let him not with one spell part,<br>The veil that binds his eyes and heart.<br>Woe for Love when his eyes shall be<br>Open'd upon reality!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One day a neighbouring baron gave<br>A revel to the fair and brave,--<br>And knights upon their gallant steeds,<br>And ladies on their palfreys gray,<br>All shining in their gayest weeds,<br>Held for the festival their way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A wanderer on far distant shores,<br>That baron, had brought richest stores<br>To his own hall, and much of rare<br>And foreign luxury was there:<br>Pages, with colour'd feathers, fann'd<br>The odours of Arabia's land;<br>The carpets strewn around each room<br>Were all of Persia's purple loom;<br>And dark slaves waited on his guests,<br>Each habited in Moorish vests,<br>With turbann'd brows, and bands of gold<br>Around their arms and ancles roll'd.<br>And gazed the guests o'er many a hoard,<br>Like Sinbad's, from his travel stored.<br>They look'd upon the net work dome,<br>Where found the stranger birds a home,<br>With rainbow wings and gleaming eyes,<br>Seen only beneath Indian skies.<br>At length they stood around the ring,<br>Where stalk'd, unchain'd, the forest king,<br>With eyes of fire and mane erect,<br>As if by human power uncheck'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full ill had RAYMOND'S spirit borne<br>The wayward mood, the careless scorn,<br>With which his mistress had that day<br>Trifled his happiness away.--<br>His very soul within him burn'd,<br>When, as in chance, her dark eye turn'd<br>On him, she spoke in reckless glee,--<br>''Is there a knight who, for love of me,<br>Into the court below will spring,<br>And bear from the lion the glove I fling?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A shriek!--a pause,--then loud acclaim<br>Rose to the skies with RAYMOND'S name.<br>Oh, worthy of a lady's love!<br>RAYMOND has borne away the glove.<br>He laid the prize at the maiden's feet,<br>Then turn'd from the smile he dared not meet:<br>A moment more he is on the steed,<br>The spur has urged to its utmost speed,<br>As that he could fly from himself, and all<br>The misery of his spirit's thrall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The horse sank down, and RAYMOND then<br>Started to see the foaming rein,<br>The drops that hung on the courser's hide,<br>And the rowel's red trace on its panting side;<br>And deep shame mingled with remorse,<br>As he brought the cool stream to his fallen horse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The spot where he paused was a little nook,<br>Like a secret page in nature's book,--<br>Around were steeps where the wild vine<br>Hung, wreathed in many a serpentine,<br>Wearing each the colour'd sign<br>Of the autumn's pale decline.<br>Like a lake in the midst was spread<br>A grassy sweep of softest green,<br>Smooth, flower-dropt, as no human tread<br>Upon its growth had ever been.<br>Limes rose around, but lost each leaf,<br>Like hopes luxuriant but brief;<br>And by their side the sycamore<br>Grew prouder of its scarlet store:<br>The air was of that cold clear light<br>That heralds in an autumn night,--<br>The amber west had just a surge<br>Of crimson on its utmost verge;<br>And on the east were piled up banks<br>Where darkness gather'd with her ranks<br>Of clouds, and in the midst a zone<br>Of white with transient brightness shone<br>From the young moon, who scarcely yet<br>Had donn'd her lighted coronet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With look turn'd to the closing day,<br>As he watch'd every hue decay,<br>Sat RAYMOND ; and a passer by<br>Had envied him his reverie;--<br>But nearer look had scann'd his brow,<br>And started at its fiery glow,<br>As if the temples' burning swell<br>Had made their pulses visible.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too glazed, too fix'd, his large eyes shone<br>To see aught that they gazed upon.<br>Not his the paleness that may streak<br>The lover's or the minstrel's cheek,<br>As it had its wan colour caught<br>From moods of melancholy thought;<br>'Twas that cold, dark, unearthly shade,<br>But for a corpse's death look made;<br>Speaking that desperateness of pain,<br>As one more pang, and the rack'd brain<br>Would turn to madness; one more grief,<br>And the swoln heart breaks for relief.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, misery! to see the tomb<br>Close over all our world of bloom;<br>To look our last in the dear eyes<br>Which made our light of paradise;<br>To know that silent is the tone<br>Whose tenderness was all our own;<br>To kiss the cheek which once had burn'd<br>At the least glance, and find it turn'd<br>To marble; and then think of all<br>Of hope, that memory can recall.<br>Yes, misery! but even here<br>There is a somewhat left to cheer,<br>A gentle treasuring of sweet things<br>Remembrance gathers from the past,<br>The pride of faithfulness, which clings<br>To love kept sacred to the last.<br>And even if another's love<br>Has touch'd the heart to us above<br>The treasures of the east, yet still<br>There is a solace for the ill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those who have known love's utmost spell<br>Can feel for those who love as well;<br>Can half forget their own distress,<br>To share the loved one's happiness.<br>Oh, but to know our heart has been,<br>Like the toy of an Indian queen,<br>Torn, trampled, without thought or care,--<br>Where is despair like this despair!--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ll night beneath an oak he lay,<br>Till nature blush'd bright into day;<br>When, at a trumpet's sudden sound,<br>Started his courser from the ground:<br>And his loud neigh waked RAYMOND'S dream,<br>And, gazing round, he saw the gleam<br>Of arms upon a neighbouring height,<br>Where helm and cuirass stream'd in light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As RAYMOND rose from his unrest<br>He knew DE VALENCE'S falcon crest;<br>And the red cross that shone like a glory afar,<br>Told the warrior was vow'd to the holy war.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay, this,' thought RAYMOND , 'is the strife<br>To make my sacrifice of life;<br>What is it now to me that fame<br>Shall brighten over RAYMOND'S name;<br>There is no gentle heart to bound,<br>No cheek to mantle at the sound:<br>Lady's favour no more I wear,--<br>My heart, my helm--oh! what are there?<br>A blighted hope, a wither'd rose.<br>Surely this warfare is for those<br>Who only of the victory crave<br>A holy but a nameless grave.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Short greeting past; DE VALENCE read<br>All that the pale lip left unsaid;<br>On the wan brow, in the dimm'd eye,<br>The whole of youth's despondency,<br>Which at the first shock it has known<br>Deems its whole world of hope o'erthrown.<br>And it was fix'd, that at Marseilles,<br>Where the fleet waited favouring gales,<br>RAYMOND should join the warrior train,<br>Leagued 'gainst the infidels of Spain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They parted:--Over RAYMOND'S thought<br>Came sadness mingled too with shame;<br>When suddenly his memory brought<br>The long forgotten EVA'S name.<br>Oh! Love is like the mountain tide,<br>Sweeping away all things beside,<br>Till not another trace appears<br>But its own joys, and griefs, and fears.<br>He took her cross, he took her chain<br>From the heart where they still had lain;<br>And that heart felt as if its fate<br>Had sudden grown less desolate,<br>In thus remembering love that still<br>Would share and sooth in good and ill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He spurr'd his steed; but the night fall<br>Had darken'd ere he reach'd the hall;<br>And gladly chief and vassal train<br>Welcomed the youthful knight again.<br>And many praised his stately tread,<br>His face with darker manhood spread;<br>But of those crowding round him now,<br>Who mark'd the paleness of his brow,<br>But one, who paused till they were past,<br>Who look'd the first but spoke the last:<br>Her welcome in its timid fear<br>Fell almost cold on RAYMOND'S ear;<br>A single look,--he felt he gazed<br>Upon a gentle child no more,<br>The blush that like the lightning blazed,<br>The cheek then paler than before,<br>A something of staid maiden grace,<br>A cloud of thought upon her face;<br>She who had been, in RAYMOND'S sight,<br>A plaything, fancy, and delight,--<br>Was changed: the depth of her blue eye<br>Spoke to him now of sympathy,<br>And seem'd her melancholy tone<br>A very echo of his own;<br>And that pale forehead, surely care<br>Has graved an early lesson there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They roved through many a garden scene,<br>Where other, happier days had been;<br>And soon had RAYMOND told his all<br>Of hopes, like stars but bright to fall;<br>Of feelings blighted, changed, and driven<br>Like exiles from their native heaven;<br>And of an aimless sword, a lute<br>Whose chords were now uncharm'd and mute.<br>But EVA'S tender blandishing<br>Was as the April rays, that fling<br>A rainbow till the thickest rain<br>Melts into blue and light again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is a feeling in the heart<br>Of woman which can have no part<br>In man; a self devotedness,<br>As victims round their idols press,<br>And asking nothing, but to show<br>How far their zeal and faith can go.<br>Pure as the snow the summer sun<br>Never at noon hath look'd upon,--<br>Deep as is the diamond wave,<br>Hidden in the desart cave,--<br>Changeless as the greenest leaves<br>Of the wreath the cypress weaves,--<br>Hopeless often when most fond,<br>Without hope or fear beyond<br>Its own pale fidelity,--<br>And this woman's love can be!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND although not again<br>Dreaming of passion's burning chain,<br>Yet felt that life had still dear things<br>To which the lingering spirit clings.<br>More dear, more lovely EVA shone<br>In thinking of that faithless one;<br>And read he not upon the cheek<br>All that the lip might never speak,<br>All the heart cherish'd yet conceal'd,<br>Scarce even to itself reveal'd.<br>And RAYMOND , though with heart so torn<br>By anger, agony, and scorn,<br>Might ill bear even with love's name,<br>Yet felt the maiden's hidden flame<br>Come like the day-star in the east,<br>When every other light has ceased;<br>Sent from the bosom of the night<br>To harbinger the morning light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again they parted: she to brood<br>O'er dreaming hopes in solitude,<br>And every pitying saint to pray<br>For RAYMOND on the battle day.<br>And he no longer deem'd the field<br>But death to all his hopes could yield.<br>To other, softer dreams allied,<br>He thought upon the warrior's pride.<br>But as he pass'd the castle gate<br>He left so wholly desolate,<br>His throbbing pulse, his burning brain,<br>The sudden grasp upon the rein,<br>The breast and lip that gasp'd for air,<br>Told Love's shaft was still rankling there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That night, borne o'er the bounding seas,<br>The vessel swept before the breeze,<br>Loaded the air, the war-cry's swell,<br>Woe to the Moorish infidel;<br>And raising their rich hymn, a band<br>Of priests were kneeling on the strand,<br>To bless the parting ship, and song<br>Came from the maidens ranged along<br>The sea wall, and who incense gave,<br>And flowers, like offerings to the wave<br>That bore the holy and the brave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND felt his spirit rise,<br>And burn'd his cheek, and flash'd his eyes<br>With something of their ancient light,<br>While plume and pennon met his sight;<br>While o'er the deep swept the war-cry,<br>And peal'd the trumpet's voice on high,<br>While the ship rode the waves as she<br>Were mistress of their destiny.<br>And muster'd on the deck the band,<br>Till died the last shout from the strand;<br>But when the martial pomp was o'er,<br>And, like the future, dim the shore<br>On the horizon hung, again<br>Closed RAYMOND'S memory, like a chain<br>The spirit struggles with in vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sky with its delicious blue,<br>The stars like visions wandering through:<br>Surely, if Fate had treasured there<br>Her rolls of life, they must be fair;<br>The mysteries their glories hide<br>Must be but of life's brightest side;<br>It cannot be that Fate would write<br>Her dark decrees in lines of light.<br>And RAYMOND mused upon the hour<br>When, comrade of the star and flower,<br>He watch'd beside his lady's bower;<br>He number'd every hope and dream,<br>Like blooms that threw upon life's stream<br>Colours of beauty, and then thought<br>On knowledge, all too dearly bought;<br>Feelings lit up in waste to burn,<br>Hopes that seem but shadows fair,<br>All that the heart so soon must learn,<br>All that it finds so hard to bear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The young moon's vestal lamp that hour<br>Seem'd pale as that it pined for love;<br>No marvel such a night had power,<br>So calm below, so fair above,<br>To wake the spirit's finest chords<br>Till minstrel thoughts found minstrel words.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE LAST SONG. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IT is the latest song of mine<br>That ever breathes thy name,<br>False idol of a dream-raised shrine,<br>Thy very thought is shame,--<br>Shame that I could my sprit bow<br>To one so very false as thou.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I had past years where the green wood<br>Makes twilight of the noon,<br>And I had watch'd the silver flood<br>Kiss'd by the rising moon;<br>And gazed upon the clear midnight<br>In all its luxury of light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, thrown where the blue violets dwell,<br>I would pass hours away,<br>Musing o'er some old chronicle<br>Fill'd with a wild love lay;<br>Till beauty seem'd to me a thing<br>Made for all nature's worshipping.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">saw thee, and the air grew bright<br>In thy clear eyes' sunshine;<br>I oft had dream'd of shapes of light,<br>But not of shape like thine.<br>My heart bow'd down,--I worshipp'd thee,<br>A woman and a deity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I may not say how thy first look<br>Turn'd my whole soul to flame,<br>I read it as a glorious book<br>Fill'd with high deeds of fame;<br>I felt a hero's spirit rise,<br>Unknown till lighted at thine eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">False look, false hope, and falsest love!<br>All meteors sent to me<br>To show how they the heart could move,<br>And how deceiving be:<br>They left me, darken'd, crush'd, alone,<br>My bosom's household gods o'erthrown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The world itself was changed, and all<br>That I had loved before<br>Seem'd as if gone beyond recall,<br>And I could hope no more;<br>The sear of fire, the dint of steel,<br>Are easier than Love's wounds to heal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But this is past, and I can cope<br>With what I'd fain forget;<br>I have a sweet, a gentle hope<br>That lingers with me yet,--<br>A hope too fair, too pure to be<br>Named in the words that speak of thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Henceforth within the last recess<br>Of my heart shall remain<br>Thy name in all its bitterness,<br>But never named again;<br>The only memory of that heart<br>Will be to think how false thou art.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet I fain would name thy name,<br>My heart's now gentle queen,<br>E'en as they burn the perfumed flame<br>Where the plague spot has been;<br>Methinks that it will cleanse away<br>The ills that on my spirit prey.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet EVA ! the last time I gazed<br>Upon thy deep blue eyes,<br>The cheek whereon my look had raised<br>A blush's crimson dyes,<br>I marvell'd, love, this heart of mine<br>Had worshipp'd at another shrine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I will think of thee when the star,<br>That lit our own fair river,<br>Shines in the blue sky from afar,<br>As beautiful as ever;<br>That twilight star, sweet love, shall be<br>A sign and seal with thee and me!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Letitia+Elizabeth+Landon">Letitia Elizabeth Landon</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=447619" data-title="The Troubadour. Canto 2 de Letitia Elizabeth Landon" data-description="THE first, the very first; oh! none Can feel again as they have done; In love, in war, in pride, in all The planets of life's coronal, However beautiful or bright,-- What can be like their first sweet light? When will the youth feel as he felt, W..."></div> </div> </div>

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