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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447621" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Troubadour. Canto 4</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IT was a wild and untrain'd bower,<br>Enough to screen from April shower,<br>Or shelter from June's hotter hour,<br>Tapestried with starry jessamines,<br>The summer's gold and silver mines;<br>With a moss seat, and its turf set<br>With crowds of the white violet.<br>And close beside a fountain play'd,<br>Dim, cool, from its encircling shade;<br>And lemon trees grew round, as pale<br>As never yet to them the gale<br>Had brought a message from the sun<br>To say their summer task was done.<br>It was a very solitude<br>For love in its despairing mood,<br>With just enough of breath and bloom,<br>With just enough of calm and gloom,<br>To suit a heart where love has wrought<br>His wasting work, with saddest thought;<br>Where all its sickly fantasies<br>May call up suiting images:<br>With flowers like hopes that spring and fade<br>As only for a mockery made,<br>And shadows of the boughs that fall<br>Like sorrow drooping over all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And LEILA , loveliest! can it be<br>Such destiny is made for thee?<br>Yes, it is written on thy brow<br>The all thy lip may not avow,--<br>All that in woman's heart can dwell,<br>Save by a blush unutterable.<br>Alas! that ever RAYMOND came<br>To light thy cheek and heart to flame,--<br>A hidden fire, but not the less<br>Consuming in its dark recess.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She had leant by his couch of pain,<br>When throbbing pulse and bursting vein<br>Fierce spoke the fever, when fate near<br>Rode on the tainted atmosphere;<br>And though that parch'd lip spoke alone<br>Of other love, in fondest tone,<br>And though the maiden knew that death<br>Might be upon his lightest breath,<br>Yet never by her lover's side<br>More fondly watch'd affianced bride,--<br>With pain or fear more anxious strove,<br>Than LEILA watch'd another's love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But he was safe!--that very day<br>Farewell, it had been her's to say;<br>And he was gone to his own land,<br>To seek another maiden's hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who that had look'd on her that morn,<br>Could dream of all her heart had borne;<br>Her cheek was red, but who could know<br>'Twas flushing with the strife below;--<br>Her eye was bright, but who could tell<br>It shone with tears she strove to quell;--<br>Her voice was gay, her step was light;<br>And, beaming, beautiful, and bright,<br>It was as if life could confer<br>Nothing but happiness on her.<br>Ah! who could think that all so fair<br>Was semblance, and but misery there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis strange with how much power and pride<br>The softness is of love allied;<br>How much of power to force the breast<br>To be in outward show at rest,--<br>How much of pride that never eye<br>May look upon its agony!<br>Ah! little will the lip reveal<br>Of all the burning heart can feel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But this was past, and she was now<br>With clasped hands prest to her brow,<br>And head bow'd down upon her knee,<br>And heart-pulse throbbing audibly,<br>And tears that gush'd like autumn rain,<br>The more for that they gush'd in vain.<br>Oh! why should woman ever love,<br>Trusting to one false star above;<br>And fling her little chance away<br>Of sunshine for its treacherous ray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At first ELVIRA had not sought<br>To break upon her lonely thought.<br>But it was now the vesper time,<br>And she return'd not at the chime<br>Of holy bells,--she knew the hour:--<br>At last they search'd her favourite bower;<br>Beside the fount they found the maid<br>On head bow'd down, as if she pray'd;<br>Her long black hair fell like a veil,<br>Making her pale brow yet more pale.<br>'Twas strange to look upon her face,<br>Then turn and see its shadowy trace<br>Within the fountain; one like stone,<br>So cold, so colourless, so lone,--<br>A statue nymph, placed there to show<br>How far the sculptor's art could go.<br>The other, and that too the shade,<br>In light and crimson warmth array'd;<br>For the red glow of day declining,<br>Was now upon the fountain shining,<br>And the shape in its mirror bright<br>Of sparkling waves caught warmth and light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ELVIRA spoke not, though so near,<br>Her words lay mute in their own fear:<br>At last she whisper'd LEILA'S name,--<br>No answer from the maiden came.<br>She took one cold hand in her own,<br>Started, and it dropp'd lifeless down!<br>She gazed upon the fixed eye,<br>And read in it mortality.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And lingers yet that maiden's tale<br>A legend of the lemon vale:<br>They say that never from that hour<br>Has flourish'd there a single flower,--<br>The jasmine droop'd, the violets died,<br>Nothing grew by that fountain side,<br>Save the pale pining lemon trees,<br>And the dark weeping cypresses.--<br>And now when to the twilight star<br>The lover wakes his lone guitar,<br>Or maiden bids a song impart<br>All that is veil'd in her own heart,<br>The wild and mournful tale they tell<br>Of her who loved, alas! too well.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And where was RAYMOND , where was he?<br>Borne homeward o'er the rapid sea,<br>While sunny days and favouring gales<br>Brought welcome speed to the white sails,--<br>With bended knee, and upraised hand,<br>He stood upon his native land,<br>With all that happiness can be<br>When resting on futurity.<br>On, on he went, and o'er the plain<br>He rode an armed knight again;<br>He urged his steed with hand and heel,<br>It bounded concious of the steel,<br>And never yet to RAYMOND'S eye<br>Spread such an earth, shone such a sky,<br>Blew such sweet breezes o'er his brow,<br>As those his native land had now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He thought upon young EVA'S name,<br>And felt that she was still the same;<br>He thought on AMIRALD , his child<br>Had surely his dark cares beguiled;<br>He thought upon the welcome sweet<br>It would be his so soon to meet:<br>And never had the star of hope<br>Shone on a lovelier horoscope.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And evening shades were on the hour<br>When RAYMOND rode beneath the tower<br>Remember'd well, for ADELINE <br>Had there been his heart's summer queen.<br>Could this be it?--he knew the heath<br>Which, lake-like, spread its walls beneath,--<br>He saw the dark old chesnut wood<br>Which had for ages by it stood; <br>And but for these the place had been<br>As one that he had never seen.<br>The walls were rent, the gates were gone,<br>No red light from the watch tower shone.<br>He enter'd, and the hall was bare,<br>It show'd the spoiler had been there;<br>Even upon the very hearth<br>The green grass found a place of birth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, vanity! that the stone wall<br>May sooner than a blossom fall;<br>The tower in its strength may be<br>Laid low before the willow tree.<br>There stood the wood, subject to all<br>The autumn wind, the winter fall,--<br>There stood the castle which the rain<br>And wind had buffetted in vain,--<br>But one in ruins stood beside<br>The other green in its spring pride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND paced the lonely hall<br>As if he feared his own footfall.<br>It is the very worst, the gloom<br>Of a deserted banquet-room,<br>To see the spider's web outvie<br>The torn and faded tapestry,--<br>To shudder at the cold damp air,<br>Then think how once were burning there<br>The incense vase with odour glowing,<br>The silver lamp its softness throwing<br>O'er cheeks as beautiful and bright<br>As roses bathed in summer light,--<br>How through the portals sweeping came<br>Proud cavalier and high-born dame,<br>With gems like stars 'mid raven curls,<br>And snow-white plumes and wreathed pearls--<br>Gold cups, whose lighted flames made dim<br>The sparkling stones around the brim;--<br>Soft voices answering to the lute,<br>The swelling harp, the sigh-waked flute,--<br>The glancing lightness of the dance,--<br>Then, starting sudden from thy trance,<br>Gaze round the lonely place and see<br>Its silence and obscurity:<br>Then commune with thine heart, and say<br>These are the foot-prints of decay,--<br>And I, even thus shall pass away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And RAYMOND turn'd him to depart,<br>With darken'd brow and heavy heart.<br>Can outrage or can time remove<br>The sting, the scar of slighted love?<br>He could not look upon the scene<br>And not remember ADELINE ,<br>Fair queen of gone festivity,--<br>Oh, where was it, and where was she!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At distance short a village lay,<br>And thither RAYMOND took his way,<br>And in its hostel shelter found,<br>While the dark night was closing round.<br>It was a cheerful scene, the hearth<br>Was bright with wood-fire and with mirth,<br>And in the midst a harper bent<br>O'er his companion instrument:<br>'Twas an old man, his hair was grey,--<br>For winter tracks in snow its way,--<br>But yet his dark, keen eye was bright,<br>With somewhat of its youthful light;<br>Like one whose path of life had made<br>Its course through mingled sheen and shade,<br>But one whose buoyant spirit still<br>Pass'd lightly on through good or ill,--<br>One reckless if borne o'er the sea<br>In storm or in tranquillity;<br>The same to him, as if content<br>Were his peculiar element.<br>'Tis strange how the heart can create<br>Or colour from itself its fate;<br>We make ourselves our own distress,<br>We are ourselves our happiness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And many a song and many a lay,<br>Had pass'd the cheerful hour away,<br>When one pray'd that he would relate,<br>His tale of the proud ladye's fate,--<br>The lady ADELINE ;--the name<br>Like lightning upon RAYMOND came!<br>And swept the harper o'er his chords<br>As that he paused for minstrel words,<br>Or stay'd till silence should prevail,<br>When thus the old man told the tale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE PROUD LADYE. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">OH , what could the ladye's beauty match,<br>An it were not the ladye's pride;<br>An hundred knights from far and near<br>Woo'd at that ladye's side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The rose of the summer slept on her cheek,<br>Its lily upon her breast,<br>And her eye shone forth like the glorious star<br>That rises the first in the west.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There were some that woo'd for her land and gold,<br>And some for her noble name,<br>And more that woo'd for her loveliness;<br>But her answer was still the same.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There is a steep and lofty wall,<br>Where my warders trembling stand,<br>He who at speed shall ride round its height,<br>For him shall be my hand.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Many turn'd away from the deed,<br>The hope of their wooing o'er;<br>But many a young knight mounted the steed<br>He never mounted more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last there came a youthful knight,<br>From a strange and far countrie,<br>The steed that he rode was white as the foam<br>Upon a stormy sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And she who had scorn'd the name of love,<br>Now bow'd before its might,<br>And the ladye grew meek as if disdain<br>Were not made for that stranger knight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sought at first to steal his soul<br>By dance, song, and festival;<br>At length on bended knee she pray'd<br>He would not ride the wall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But gaily the young knight laugh'd at her fears,<br>And flung him on his steed,--<br>There was not a saint in the calendar<br>That she pray'd not to in her need.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She dared not raise her eyes to see<br>If heaven had granted her prayer,<br>Till she heard a light step bound to her side,--<br>The gallant knight stood there!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And took the ladye ADELINE <br>From her hair a jewell'd band,<br>But the knight repell'd the offer'd gift,<br>And turn'd from the offer'd hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And deemest thou that I dared this deed,<br>Ladye, for love of thee;<br>The honour that guides the soldier's lance<br>Is mistress enough for me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Enough for me to ride the ring,<br>The victor's crown to wear;<br>But not in honour of the eyes<br>Of any ladye there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I had a brother whom I lost<br>Through thy proud crueltie,<br>And far more was to me his love,<br>Than woman's love can be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I came to triumph o'er the pride<br>Through which that brother fell,<br>I laugh to scorn thy love and thee,<br>And now, proud dame, farewell!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And from that hour the ladye pined,<br>For love was in her heart,<br>And on her slumber there came dreams<br>She could not bid depart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her eye lost all its starry light,<br>Her cheek grew wan and pale,<br>Till she hid her faded loveliness<br>Beneath the sacred veil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And she cut off her long dark hair,<br>And bade the world farewell,<br>And she now dwells a veiled nun<br>In Saint Marie's cell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">AND what were RAYMOND'S dreams that night?<br>The morning's gift of crimson light<br>Waked not his sleep, for his pale cheek<br>Did not of aught like slumber speak;<br>Though not upon a morn like this<br>Should RAYMOND turn to aught but bliss.<br>To-day, when EVA will be prest,<br>Ere evening, to his throbbing breast,--<br>To-day, when all his own will be<br>That cheer'd his long captivity.<br>Care to the wind of heaven was flung<br>As the young knight to stirrup sprung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He reach'd the castle; save one, all<br>Rush'd to his welcome in the hall.<br>He gazed, but there no EVA came,<br>Scarce his low voice named EVA'S name!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Our EVA , she is far away<br>Amid the young, the fair, the gay.<br>At Thoulouse, now the bright resort<br>Of beauty and the Minstrel Court;<br>For this time it is hers to set<br>The victor's brow with violet.<br>Her father,--but you're worn and pale,--<br>Come, the wine cup will aid my tale.'<br>The greeting of the elder knight,<br>The cheerful board, the vintage bright,<br>Not all could chase from RAYMOND'S soul,<br>The cloud that o'er its gladness stole;<br>And soon, pretending toil, he sought<br>A solitude for lonely thought.--<br>'Tis strange how much of vanity<br>Almost unconciously will be<br>With our best feelings mix'd, and now<br>But that, what shadows RAYMOND'S brow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He had deem'd a declining flower,<br>Pining in solitary bower,<br>He should find EVA , sad and lone,--<br>He sought the cage, the bird had flown,<br>With burnish'd plume, and careless wing,<br>A follower of the sunny Spring.<br>He pictured her the first of all<br>In masque, and dance, and festival,--<br>With cheek at its own praises burning,<br>And eyes but on adorers turning,<br>The lady of the tournament,<br>For whose bright sake the lance was sent;<br>While minstrels borrow'd from her name<br>The beauty which they paid by fame:<br>Beloved! not even his hot brain<br>Dared whisper,--loving too again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the next morn, and RAYMOND bent<br>His steps to that fair Parliament,<br>While pride and hasty anger strove<br>Against his memory and his love.<br>But leave we him awhile to rave<br>Against the faith which, like the wave,<br>By every grain of sand can be<br>Moved from its own tranquillity,<br>Till settled he that woman's mind<br>Was but a leaf before the wind,--<br>Left to remain, retreat, advance,<br>Without a destiny but chance.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And where is EVA ? on her cheek<br>Is there aught that of love may speak?<br>Amid the music and perfume<br>That, mingling, fill yon stately room<br>A maiden sits, around her chair<br>Stand others who, with graceful care,<br>Bind Indian jewels in her hair.<br>'Tis EVA ! on one side a stand<br>Of dark wood from the Ethiop's land<br>Is cover'd with all gems that deck<br>A maiden's arm, or maiden's neck:<br>The diamond with its veins of light,<br>The sapphire like a summer night,<br>The ruby rich as it had won<br>A red gift from the setting sun,<br>And white pearls, such as might have been<br>A bridal offering for a queen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the side opposite were thrown,<br>Rainbow-like mix'd, a sparkling zone,<br>A snow-white veil, a purple vest<br>Embroider'd with a golden crest.<br>Before, the silver mirror's trace<br>Is the sweet shadow of her face,<br>Placed as appealing to her eyes<br>For the truth of the flatteries,<br>With which her gay attendants seek<br>To drive all sadness from her cheek.--<br>She heard them not; she reck'd not how<br>They wreath'd the bright hair o'er her brow,<br>Whate'er its sunny grace might be<br>There was an eye that would not see.<br>They told of words of royal praise,<br>They told of minstrel's moonlight lays,<br>Of youthful knights who swore to die<br>For her least smile, her lightest sigh.<br>But he was gone, her young, her brave,<br>Her heart was with him in the grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wearied, for ill the heart may bear<br>Light words in which it has no share,<br>She turn'd to a pale maid, who, mute,<br>Dreaming of song leant o'er her lute;<br>And at her sign, that maiden's words<br>Came echo-like to its sweet chords,--<br>It was a low and silver tone,<br>And very sad, like sorrow's own;<br>She sang of love as it will be,<br>And has been in reality,--<br>Of fond hearts broken and betray'd,<br>Of roses opening but to fade,<br>Of wither'd hope, and wasted bloom,<br>Of the young warrior's early tomb;<br>And the while her dark mournful eye<br>Held with her words deep sympathy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And EVA listen'd;--music's power<br>Is little felt in sunlit hour;<br>But hear its voice when hopes depart,<br>Like swallows, flying from the heart<br>On which the summer's late decline<br>Has set a sadness and a sign;<br>When friends whose commune once we sought<br>For every bosom wish and thought,<br>Have given in our hour of need<br>Such a support as gives the reed,--<br>When we have seen the green grass grow<br>Over what once was life below;<br>How deeply will the spirit feel<br>The lute, the song's sweet-voiced appeal;<br>And how the heart drink in their sighs<br>As echoes they from Paradise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis done: the last bright gem is set<br>In EVA'S sparkling coronet;<br>A soil on her rich veil appears,--<br>Unsuiting here--and is it tears!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her father met her, he was proud<br>To lead his daughter through the crowd,<br>And see the many eyes that gazed,<br>Then mark the blush their gazing raised;<br>And for his sake, she forced away<br>The clouds that on her forehead lay,<br>The sob rose in her throat, 'twas all,<br>The tears swam, but they dared not fall;<br>And the pale lip put on a smile,<br>Alas it was too sad for guile!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A beautiful and festal day<br>Shone summer bright o'er the array,<br>And purple banners work'd in gold,<br>And azure pennons spread their fold,<br>O'er the rich awnings which were round<br>The galleries that hemm'd in the ground,<br>The green and open space, where met<br>The Minstrels of the Violet;<br>And two or three old stately trees<br>Soften'd the sun, skreen'd from the breeze.<br>And there came many a lovely dame,<br>With cheek of rose, and eye of flame;<br>And many a radiant arm was raised,<br>Whose rubies in the sunshine blazed;<br>And many a white veil swept the air<br>Only than what they hid less fair;<br>And placed at his own beauty's feet<br>Found many a youthful knight his seat,<br>And flung his jewell'd cap aside,<br>And wore his scarf with gayer pride,<br>And whisper'd soft and gallant things,<br>And bade the bards' imaginings<br>Whenever love awoke the tone,<br>With their sweet passion plead his own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beneath an azure canopy,<br>Blue as the sweep of April's sky,<br>Upon a snowy couch reclined<br>Like a white cloud before the wind,<br>Leant EVA :--there was many a tent<br>More royal, more magnificent,<br>With purple, gold, and crimson swelling,<br>But none so like a fairy dwelling:<br>One curtain bore her father's crest,<br>But summer flowers confined the rest;<br>And, at her feet, the ground was strew'd<br>With the June's rainbow multitude:<br>Beside her knelt a page, who bore<br>A vase with jewels sparkling o'er,<br>And in that shining vase was set<br>The prize,--THE GOLDEN VIOLET.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas for her whom ev'ry eye<br>Worshipp'd like a divinity!<br>Alas for her whose ear was fill'd<br>With flatteries like sweet woods distill'd!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas for EVA ! bloom and beam,<br>Music and mirth, came like a dream,<br>In which she mingled not,--apart<br>From all in heaviness of heart.<br>There were soft tales pour'd in her ear,<br>She look'd on many a cavalier,<br>Wander'd her eye round the glad scene,<br>It was as if they had not been;--<br>To ear, eye, heart, there only came<br>Her RAYMOND'S image, RAYMOND'S name!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is a flower, a snow-white flower,<br>Fragile as if a morning shower<br>Would end its being, and the earth<br>Forget to what it gave a birth;<br>And it looks innocent and pale,<br>Slight as the least force could avail<br>To pluck it from its bed, and yet<br>Its root in depth and strength is set.<br>The July sun, the autumn rain,<br>Beat on its slender stalk in vain;--<br>Around it spreads, despite of care,<br>Till the whole garden is its share;<br>And other plants must fade and fall<br>Beneath its deep and deadly thrall.<br>This is love's emblem; it is nurst<br>In all unconciousness at first,<br>Too slight, too fair, to wake distrust;<br>No sign how that an after hour<br>Will rue and weep its fatal power.<br>'Twas thus with EVA ; she had dream'd<br>Of love as his first likeness seem'd,<br>A sweet thought o'er which she might brood,<br>The treasure of her solitude;<br>But tidings of young RAYMOND'S fate<br>Waken'd her from her dream too late,<br>Even her timid love could be<br>The ruling star of destiny.<br>And when a calmer mood prevail'd<br>O'er that whose joy her father hail'd,<br>Too well he saw how day by day<br>Some other emblem of decay<br>Came on her lip, and o'er her brow,<br>Which only she would disallow;<br>The cheek the lightest word could flush<br>Not with health's rose, but the heart's gush<br>Of feverish anxiousness; he caught<br>At the least hope, and vainly sought<br>By change, by pleasure, to dispell<br>Her sorrow from its secret cell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In vain;--what can reanimate<br>A heart too early desolate?<br>It had been his, it could not save,<br>But it could follow to his grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The trumpets peal'd their latest round,<br>Stole from the flutes a softer sound,<br>Swell'd the harp to each master's hand,<br>As onward came the minstrel band!<br>And many a bright cheek grew more bright,<br>And many a dark eye flash'd with light,<br>As bent the minstrel o'er his lute,<br>And urged the lover's plaining suit,<br>Or swept a louder chord, and gave<br>Some glorious history of the brave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last from 'mid the crowd one came,<br>Unknown himself, unknown his name,<br>Both knight and bard,--the stranger wore<br>The garb of a young Troubadour;<br>His dark green mantle loosely flung,<br>Conceal'd the form o'er which it hung;<br>And his cap, with its shadowy plume,<br>Hid his face by its raven gloom.<br>Little did EVA'S careless eye<br>Dream that it wander'd RAYMOND by,<br>Though his first tone thrill'd every vein,<br>It only made her turn again,<br>Forget the scene, the song, and dwell<br>But on what memory felt too well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE SONG OF THE TROUBADOUR. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IN some valley low and lone,<br>Where I was the only one<br>Of the human dwellers there,<br>Would I dream away my care:<br>I'd forget how in the world<br>Snakes lay amid roses curl'd,<br>I'd forget my once distress<br>For young Love's insidiousness.<br>False foes, and yet falser friends,<br>Seeming but for their own ends;<br>Pleasures known but by their wings,<br>Yet remember'd by their stings;<br>Gold's decrease, and health's decay,<br>I will fly like these away,<br>To some lovely solitude,<br>Where the nightingale's young brood<br>Lives amid the shrine of leaves,<br>Which the wild rose round them weaves,<br>And my dwelling shall be made<br>Underneath the beech-tree's shade.<br>Twining ivy for the walls<br>Over which the jasmine falls,<br>Like a tapestry work'd with gold<br>And pearls around each emerald fold:<br>And my couches shall be set<br>With the purple violet,<br>And the white ones too, inside<br>Each a blush to suit a bride.<br>That flower which of all that live,<br>Lovers, should be those who give,<br>Primroses, for each appears<br>Pale and wet with many tears.<br>Alas tears and pallid check<br>All too often love bespeak!<br>There the gilderose should fling<br>Silver treasures to the spring,<br>And the bright laburnum's tresess <br>Seeking the young wind's caresses;<br>In the midst an azure lake,<br>Where no oar e'er dips to break<br>The clear bed of its blue rest,<br>Where the halcyon builds her nest;<br>And amid the sedges green,<br>And the water-flag's thick screen,<br>The solitary swan resides;<br>And the bright kingfisher hides,<br>With its colours rich like those<br>Which the bird of India shows.--<br>Once I thought that I would seek<br>Some fair creature, young and meek,<br>Whose most gentle smile would bless<br>My too utter loneliness;<br>But I then remember'd all<br>I had suffer'd from Love's thrall,<br>And I thought I 'd not again<br>Enter in the lion's den;<br>But, with my wrung heart now free,<br>So I thought I still will be.<br>Love is like a kingly dome,<br>Yet too often sorrow's home;<br>Sometimes smiles, but oftener tears,<br>Jealousies, and hopes, and fears,<br>A sweet liquor sparkling up,<br>But drank from a poison'd cup.<br>Would you guard your heart from care<br>Love must never enter there.<br>I will dwell with summer flowers,<br>Fit friends for the summer hours,<br>My companions honey-bees,<br>And birds, and buds, and leaves, and trees,<br>And the dew of the twilight,<br>And the thousand stars of night:<br>I will cherish that sweet gift,<br>The least earthly one now left<br>Of the gems of Paradise,<br>Poesy's delicious sighs.<br>Ill may that soft spirit bear<br>Crowds' or cities' healthless air;<br>Was not her sweet breathing meant<br>To echo the low murmur sent<br>By the flowers, and by the rill,<br>When all save the wind is still?<br>As if to tell of those fair things<br>High thoughts, pure imaginings,<br>That recall how bright, how fair,<br>In our other state we were.<br>And at last, when I have spent<br>A calm life in mild content,<br>May my spirit pass away<br>As the early leaves decay:<br>Spring shakes her gay coronal,<br>One sweet breath, and then they fall.<br>Only let the red-breast bring<br>Moss to strew me with, and sing,<br>One low mournful dirge to tell<br>I have bid the world farewell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">AND praise rang forth, the prize is won,<br>Young minstrel, thou hast equal none!<br>They led him to the lady's seat,<br>And knelt he down at EVA'S feet;<br>She bent his victor brow to deck,<br>And, fainting, sunk upon his neck!<br>The cap and plume aside were thrown,<br>'Twas as the grave restored its own,<br>And sent its victim forth to share<br>Light, life, and hope, and sun, and air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That day the feast spread gay and bright<br>In honour of the youthful knight,<br>And it was EVA'S fairy hand<br>Met RAYMOND'S in the saraband,<br>And it was EVA'S ear that heard<br>Many a low and love-tuned word.--<br>And life seem'd as a sunny stream,<br>And hope awaked as from a dream;<br>But what has minstrel left to tell<br>When love has not an obstacle?<br>My lute is hush'd, and mute its chords,<br>The heart and happiness have no words!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">MY tale is told, the glad sunshine<br>Fell over its commencing line,--<br>It was a morn in June, the sun<br>Was blessing all it shone upon,<br>The sky was clear as not a cloud<br>Were ever on its face allow'd;<br>The hill whereon I stood was made<br>A pleasant place of summer shade<br>By the green elms which seem'd as meant<br>To make the noon a shadowy tent.<br>I had been bent half sleep, half wake,<br>Dreaming those rainbow dreams that take<br>The spirit prisoner in their chain,<br>Too beautiful to be quite vain,--<br>Enough if they can soothe or cheer<br>One moment's pain or sorrow here.<br>And I was happy; hope and fame<br>Together on my visions came,<br>For memory had just dipp'd her wings<br>In honey dews, and sunlit springs,--<br>My brow burnt with its early wreath,<br>My soul had drank its first sweet breath<br>Of praise, and yet my cheek was flushing,<br>My heart with the full torrent gushing<br>Of feelings whose delighted mood<br>Was mingling joy and gratitude.<br>Scarce possible it seem'd to be<br>That such praise could be meant for me.--<br>Enured to coldness and neglect,<br>My spirit chill'd, my breathing check'd,<br>All that can crowd and crush the mind,<br>Friends even more than fate unkind,<br>And fortunes stamp'd with the pale sign<br>That marks and makes autumn's decline.<br>How could I stand in the sunshine,<br>And marvel not that it was mine?<br>One word, if ever happiness<br>In its most passionate excess<br>Offer'd its wine to human lip,<br>It has been mine that cup to sip.<br>I may not say with what deep dread<br>The words of my first song were said,<br>I may not say how much delight<br>Has been upon my minstrel flight.--<br>'Tis vain, and yet my heart would say<br>Somewhat to those who made my way<br>A path of light, with power to kill,<br>To check, to crush, but not the will.<br>Thanks for the gentleness that lent<br>My young lute such encouragement,<br>When scorn had turn'd my heart to stone,<br>Oh, their's be thanks and benison!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Back to the summer hill again,<br>When first I thought upon this strain,<br>And music rose upon the air,<br>I look'd below, and, gather'd there,<br>Rode soldiers with their breast-plates glancing,<br>Helmets and snow-white feathers dancing,<br>And trumpets at whose martial sound<br>Prouder the war horse trod the ground,<br>And waved their flag with many a name<br>Of battles and each battle fame.<br>And as I mark'd the gallant line<br>Pass through the green lane's serpentine,<br>And as I saw the boughs give way<br>Before the crimson pennons' play;<br>To other days my fancy went,<br>Call'd up the stirring tournament,<br>The dark-eyed maiden who for years<br>Kept the vows seal'd by parting tears,<br>While he who own'd her plighted hand<br>Was fighting in the Holy Land.<br>The youthful knight with his gay crest,<br>His ladye's scarf upon a breast<br>Whose truth was kept, come life, come death,--<br>Alas! has modern love such faith?<br>I thought how in the moon-lit hour<br>The minstrel hymn'd his maiden's bower,<br>His helm and sword changed for the lute<br>And one sweet song to urge his suit.<br>Floated around me moated hall,<br>And donjon keep, and frowning wall;<br>I saw the marshall'd hosts advance,<br>I gazed on banner, brand, and lance;<br>The murmur of a low song came<br>Bearing one only worshipp'd name;<br>And my next song, I said, should be<br>A tale of gone-by chivalry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My task is done, the tale is told,<br>The lute drops from my wearied hold;<br>Spreads no green earth, no summer sky<br>To raise fresh visions for my eye,<br>The hour is dark, the winter rain<br>Beats cold and harsh against the pane,<br>Where, spendthrift like, the branches twine,<br>Worn, knotted, of a leafless vine;<br>And the wind howls in gusts around,<br>As omens were in each drear sound,--<br>Omens that bear upon their breath<br>Tidings of sorrow, pain, and death.<br>Thus should it be,--I could not bear<br>The breath of flowers, the sunny air<br>Upon that ending page should be<br>Which ONE will never, never see.<br>Yet who will love it like that one,<br>Who cherish as he would have done,<br>My father! albeit but in vain<br>This clasping of a broken chain,<br>And albeit of all vainest things<br>That haunt with sad imaginings,<br>None has the sting of memory;<br>Yet still my spirit turns to thee,<br>Despite of long and lone regret,<br>Rejoicing it cannot forget.<br>I would not lose the lightest thought<br>With one remembrance of thine fraught,--<br>And my heart said no name, but thine<br>Should be on this last page of mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My father, though no more, thine ear<br>Censure or praise of mine can hear,<br>It soothes me to embalm thy name<br>With all my hope, my pride, my fame,<br>Treasures of Fancy's fairy hall,--<br>Thy name most precious far of all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My page is wet with bitter tears,--<br>I cannot but think of those years<br>When happiness and I would wait<br>On summer evenings by the gate,<br>And keep o'er the green fields our watch<br>The first sound of thy step to catch,<br>Then run for the first kiss, and word,--<br>An unkind one I never heard.<br>But these are pleasant memories,<br>And later years have none like these:<br>They came with griefs, and pains, and cares,<br>All that the heart breaks while it bears;<br>Desolate as I feel alone<br>I should not weep that thou art gone.<br>Alas! the tears that still will fall<br>Are selfish in their fond recall;--<br>If ever tears could win from Heaven<br>A loved one, and yet be forgiven,<br>Mine surely might; I may not tell<br>The agony of my farewell!<br>A single tear I had not shed,--<br>'Twas the first time I mourn'd the dead:--<br>It was my heaviest loss, my worst,--<br>My father!--and was thine the first!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell! in my heart is a spot<br>Where other griefs and cares come not,<br>Hallow'd by love, by memory kept,<br>And deeply honour'd, deeply wept.<br>My own dead father, time may bring<br>Chance, change, upon his rainbow-wing,<br>But never will thy name depart<br>The household god of thy child's heart,<br>Until thy orphan girl may share<br>The grave where her best feelings are.<br>Never, dear father, love can be,<br>Like the dear love I had for thee!</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>
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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=447621" data-title="The Troubadour. Canto 4 de Letitia Elizabeth Landon" data-description="IT was a wild and untrain'd bower,
Enough to screen from April shower,
Or shelter from June's hotter hour,
Tapestried with starry jessamines,
The summer's gold and silver mines;
With a moss seat, and its turf set
With crowds of the white violet.
A..."></div>
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