Her eye has caught a mirror,-that pale face,-
Why lip and brow are sullied by the trace
She wept, childlike, till sleep began to press
Upon her eyes, for very weariness.
She sleeps!-so sleeps the wretch beside the Of blood; its stain is on her tangled hair,
She sleeps!-how dreadful from such sleep to wake!
Which shroudlike hides the neck that else were bare.
Around that neck there is a fragile chain,
And memory's flood comes rushing o'er her brain :
LEONI's gift,-its slight gold links are broken,-
She was both proud and cold: not hers the So are the vows of which it was the token.
Easy to lure, and ready to depart
A trifle, toy-but that fair countess gave
No common gift when she became a slave;
And only did she hold her gift redeem'd,
By that high worthiness she had but dream'd.
A peasant, yet she felt his equal still;
And when her lofty state beseem'd her will,
It was such pride, such pleasure, to have known
LEONI'S love was for herself alone.
And in her young romances loftier view
One touch of vanity might mingle too
It was the triumph of her lowlier state
She had been even then a noble's mate.
AMENAÏDE had many faults; her youth
Had seen too soon life's bitterness and truth:
The cutting word, the cold or scornful look,
All that her earlier days had had to brook-
The many slights the humble one receives-
Lay on her memory like wither'd leaves;
And homage from the crowd, and lovers' praise,
Were all too apt disgust and doubt to raise.
There was a something wayward in her mood;
She left her heart too much to solitude:
For kindly thoughts are social; but she held
A scornful creed, and sympathy repell'd.
That sullen barrier had one gentle break-
She loved, she loved,-and for LEONI's sake
Believed that were some angel steps on earth :-
As truth that keeps the promise of its birth;
As faith that will not change, that will not tire,
And deems its gold the purer for the fire.
Her love was all her nature's better part,
The confidence, the kindness of her heart,
The source of all the sweet or gentle there:
But this was past—what had it left ?—despair!
Who has not loathed that worst, that waking
When grief and consciousness assert their power;
When misery has morn's freshness, yet we fain
Would hold it as a dream, and sleep again;
Then know 'tis not illusion of the night
And sicken at the cold and early light?
How ever shall we pass the weary day,
When thus we shudder at its opening ray?
She gazed upon the glass, then glanced around,
In wonder at the contrast which she found.
The walls were faintly colour'd with the bloom
Which comes when morn has struggled through
the gloom,
And blushes for success; the silken veil
Of the blue hangings seem'd to catch the gale,
Then keep its sweetness prisoner: on the floor
The Persian loom had spread its velvet store:
Vases stood round, each carved with such fine art,
The flowers that fill'd seem'd of themselves a
part:
A sandal lute lay on an inlaid stand,
Whose rich wrought ivory spoke its Indian land;
Shells of bright colours, foreign toys of gold,
And crystals wrought in many a curious mould:
Pictures, a prince's ransom in their worth;
Small alabaster statues-all that earth
Has rich or varied, all that wealth could buy,
Loathing she turn'd. "Yet what a wretch am I!
This must not be !-stain'd cheek and fever'd brow
Too much the secret of my soul avow.
Aye deep as is the grave my heart shall keep
What burning tears AMENAÏDE could weep.
O, never let LEONI know the worst;
'Tis well if he believe I changed the first.
Too much e'en to myself has been reveal'd,
-And thus be every trace of tears conceal'd."
She sought the alcove where the fountain play'd,
The wind threw back the curtain fraught with And wash'd from lip and cheek their crimson shade;
Can sorrow be upon such gales as those?
Yes, for it waked the countess. Up she sprung,
Startled, surprised, to see how she was flung
By the veranda,-and that open, too;
Her hair was heavy with the weight of dew;
Scarcely aroused, painful and slow she raised
Her weary head, and round in wonder gazed.
It was her own fair room,-some frightful dream,
But indistinct, she struggled with a scream:
And bathed her long hair, till its glossy curls
Wore not a trace but of the dewy pearls
The waters left, as if in pity shed;
She loosed the bolt, and sought her silken bed;
But easier far had been the rack, the wheel :-
When hath the body felt what mind can feel?
The weary day pass'd on-night came again :AMENAÏDE has join'd the glittering train;
Self-torturer-self-deceiver-cold and high,
She said it was to mock the curious eye.
Such strength is weakness. Was it not to be
Where still, LEONI, she might gaze on thee?
-She heard the history of his English bride :
A patient nurse at her pale mother's side,
LEONI saw her first :-that mother's hand
(A stranger she and wanderer in the land)
Gave the sweet orphan to his care, and here
Was all to soften, all that could endear.
Together wept they o'er the funeral stone,
His the sole heart she had to lean upon.
Now months had pass'd away, and he was come
To bring his beautiful, his dear one home.
Her beauty was like morning's, breathing, bright,
Eyes glittering first with tears, and then with
light,
And blue, too glad to be the violet's blue,
But that which hangs upon it, lucid dew,—
Its first clear moment, ere the sun has burst
The azure radiance which it kindled first;—
A cheek of thousand blushes; golden hair,
As if the summer sunshine made it fair:
A voice of music, and such touching smile,
AMENAÏDE sigh'd, "Well might they beguile!"
-Love, what a mystery thou art !-how strange
Thy constancy, yet still more so thy change!
How the same love, born in the selfsame hour,
Holds over different hearts such different power;
How the same feeling lighted in the breast
Makes one so wretched, and makes one so blest;
How one will keep the dream of passion born
In youth with all the freshness of its morn;
How from another will thine image fade!
Far deeper records on the sand are made.
-Why hast thou separate being? why not die
At once in both, and not leave one to sigh,
To weep, to rave, to struggle with the chains
Pride would fling off, but memory retains?
There are remembrances that will not vanish,-
Thoughts of the past we would but cannot banish:
As if to show how impotent mere will,
We loathe the pang and yet must suffer still:
For who is there can say they will forget?
-It is a power no science teaches yet.
O love, how sacred thy least words should be,
When on them hangs such abject misery!
Her galling wrongs, and many an evil thought
Envy and hatred in her bosom wrought.
She felt LEONI had not loved till now;
Hers was but youthful fantasy's light vow.
Had he not trifled with her?-She, the proud,
The cold, had of such mocking suit allow'd.
Her heart was wrung, and worse, her pride was
bow'd.
-She hears a step: who is it dares intrude
On this her known and guarded solitude?
She sees an aged Jew; a box he bore
Fill'd with gay merchandise and jewell'd store.
Ere she could speak, he spread before her eyes
Those glittering toys that loveliest ladies prize
"Fair dame, in sooth so fair thou seem'st to be,
That almost it is vain to offer thee
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The many helps for meaner beauty made; But yet these gems would light that dark hair's shade;
Well would these pearls around that white throat show
Each purple vein that wanders through its snow." Angrily turn'd the countess,-" Fool, away !"— "So young, so fair, has vanity no sway ?But I have things most curious, and 'mid these Somewhat may chance your wayward fancy please."
-He took a bracelet,-'twas of fine wrought
And twisted as a serpent, whose lithe fold
Curl'd round the arm-he spoke in whispering
"Here, lady, look at this, I have but one:
Here, press this secret spring; it lifts a lid,-
Beneath there is the subtlest poison hid,
I come from Venice; of the wonders there
There is no wonder like this bracelet rare."
She started-evil thoughts, at first repress'd,
Now struggled like a storm within her breast.
Alas! alas! how plague-spot like will sin
Spread over the wrung heart it enters in !
Her brow grew dark :-" Amid thy baubles shine
This ruby cross,-but be the bracelet mine."
Around her arm the fatal band is fast
Away its seller, like a vision, pass'd.
That night she join'd the revel; but not long
The fountain's music murmur'd through the AMENAÏDE was seen amid the throng.
Like the first plaint that sorrow teaches love;
The orange boughs shut out the sultry sky,
While their rich scent, as pass'd the countess by,
Came homagelike. For hours that chestnut tree-
The only one that grew there-wont to be
Her favourite summer-seat;-but now she paced
Hurriedly, though 'twas noon; her memory traced
No eye beheld her pace her lonely room:
Fearing the light, yet trembling in the gloom;
The ghastly check, as marble cold and white;
The wild eye flashing with unholy light;
The quivering lip, the forehead's dew-moist pore,
The sudden start, the rapid step once more,-
As if it would annihilate the time :-
But who may paint the solitude of crime?
That night there was another saddest scene:
Halls where mirth, music, festival had been
Were as the house of mourning; crowds stood
nigh,
Horror and pity mark'd in every eye.
-Upon a crimson couch-a contrast strange
To those pale features in that ghastly change-
The young, the beautiful, the happy lay,
Life passing in convulsive sobs away.
Still mid her hair the red rose wreath was hung,
Mocking her cheek with the rich dye it flung;
The festal robe still sparkled as it flow'd;
Still on her neck a few fresh flowers glow'd:
The warmth her sandal'd foot hath scarcely left,
Light from the dance, though now of motion reft!
-The agony is over, and she raised
Her feeble head, and round her faintly gazed:
She saw, she leant upon LEONI's breast,
Murmur'd his name, and sank as if to rest.
"EDITH, Sweet EDITH, speak to me again!"
Thou fond one-even thou must ask in vain :
Ay, kiss those lips, and fancy they have breath,
Till they chill even thee:-they're damp with
death.
The night is over,-night which seem'd to be Endless, O lost AMENAÏDE! to thee:
I who would willingly have died for thee,
The fiend has triumph'd in my misery.
I'll rush before the judges,-is there time?—
But no, I cannot bear to own the crime !
And there is nought of proof,-there can be
And then his known love for that happier one ;—
His noble house,-his brave and stainless name :-
He must escape his doom,-and I my shame."
Long hours past by, she stirr'd not from her
A very statue, with that cold set face,
Save that red flushes came at each light sound,
While the wild eyes glanced fearfully around;
But still she moved not, spoke not,-such distress
Seeks no distraction from its wretchedness.
There rose loud voices in the outer hall :-
She nerves her with despair, she will know all :
Her ear, acute with agony, can hear
A name at once so dreaded and so dear :-
"Yes, Lady, he is guilty!" but no more :-
They raise her senseless from the marble floor.
Long did it last, that stony trance like death;
She roused, but scarce it seem'd with mortal
breath.
She show'd no weakness, rose from off the bed
Distinct, though low and few, the words she said.
She took a scroll and wrote,-the phrase was brief;
But a life's sorrow was upon that leaf.
Yet what has daylight brought ?-a haunting "To Count AREZZI this, with all thy speed;
Hark! the hall echoes to a stranger's tread
It is the Count AREZZI :-" My fair child,
And here, my page, gold for present meed.
Now all away,-my spirit is opprest :"
She flung her on the couch as if for rest
How now!-thy cheek is wan, thine eyes are They deem'd she slept :-at length her maidens
Ah, well, the rose is brightening on thy cheek:
I was too hasty with my sudden break
Upon thy solitude; scarce may I tell
The crime and horror which last night befell.
I have no time. The Count LEONI's bride-
You saw her-by some sudden poison died;
And strange suspicions on her husband fall:
There were so many present who recall
He gave her the sherbet :-'twas not all drain'd;
Part of the venom in the cup remain'd.
Some say 'twas jealousy :-I'm on my way
To the tribunal that will sit to-day.
-AMENAÏDE, dear, thou art very pale:
I would I had not told thee of this tale.—
Ha! 'tis the summons of the council bell,-
I loathe my task,-sweet, hastily farewell."
She strove to speak,-to only wave her hand,—
To rise, her trembling limbs refused to stand:
She sought her cross, she strove to think
She gasp'd for breath,—no ruby cross is there;
But full in view the fatal bracelet shone:
"LEONI, this is what my love has done;
He sought to take her hand; but back she flung
The shrouding mantle that around her clung.
"Ah! start you at my livid lip and brow?
You are familiar with such signs ere now!
O for a few short words! I've own'd the whole :
Ere this the Count AREZZI has my scroll.-
The darkness gathers on my failing eye,—
LEONI, let me gaze on thee and die!
O God, unloose this bracelet's fiery clasp !"-
Her spirit pass'd in that convulsive gasp.
They show the traveller still a lonely tomb, Hid in the darkness of a cloister's gloom; As scarcely worthy of such holy ground, No other monument is near it found. A figure closely veil'd bends o'er the stone, Only the arm with its strange bracelet shownA serpent twining round: beneath are graved A few brief words, that passing pity craved—
The struggle's o'er,-that wild heart does not beat; "Pray for the wounded heart, the sinful deed;"
She lies a ghastly corpse before his feet.
And, half effaced, a name-" AMENAÏDE."
A story from the stars; or rather one
Of starry fable from the olden time,
When young Imagination was as fresh
As the fair world it peopled with itself.
The Poet's spirit does so love to link
Its feelings, thoughts, with nature's loveliness:
And hence the twilight grove, the lonely spring,
The ocean-caves, the distant planets, all
Were fill'd with radiant creatures; and the heart
Became interpreter, and language made
From its own warm sad sympathies, for those
Of whom the dream was beauty.
He was weary of flinging the feather'd reed,
He was weary of curbing his raven steed;
He heard the gay din from the palace hall,
But he was not in mood for the festival.
There was that crimson, the last on the sky,
Blushes that fade in the moon's cold eye;
The sigh of the flowers arose sweet on the air,
For the breath of the twilight was wandering
there.
He look'd to the west, and the tranquil main
Was branch'd with many a lifelike vein;
Hues of the rosebud the clouds had cast,
Like a cheek on its mirror in gliding past.
It tempted him forth,-to the lulling gale
Prince CYRIS has open'd his silken sail,
And the little boat went over the sca
Like foam, for it was of ivorie,
And carved and shaped like a wreathed shell,
And it was lined with the rose as well;
From clove, and sandal, and cinnamon,
E'er wash'd that boat when its task was done :
'Twas left in the care of maidens three,
Lovely they were as maidens should be;
And in the soft airs that around it flew,
Perhaps their own breath left a perfume too.
-There lay Prince CYRIS, and his mood
Made harmony with the solitude.
-O pleasant is it for the heart
To gather up itself apart;
To think its own thoughts, and to be
Free, as none ever yet were free,
When, prisoners to their gilded thrall,
Vain crowd meets crowd in lighted hall;
With frozen feelings, tutor'd eye,
And smile which is itself a lie.
-O, but for lonely hours like these,
Would every finer current freeze;
Those kindlier impulses that glow,
For the couch was made of those plumes that Those clear and diamond streams that flow
The one warm tint neath the wooddove's wing.
O'er the purple sail the golden flowers run,
For it was wrought for a monarch's son;
And as it past on, the air was fill'd
With odours, for only waters distill'd
Only in crystal, while their birth,
Is all unsoil'd with stain of earth.
Ever the lover hath gainsay'd
The creed his once religion made,—
That pure, that high, that holy creed,
Without which love is vain indeed;
While that which was a veiled shrine,
Whose faith was only not divine,
Becomes a vague, forgotten dream,—
A thing of scorn-an idle theme.
Denied, degraded, and represt,
Love dies beneath the heartless jest.
O vain! for not with such can be
One trace of his divinity.
Ever from poet's lute hath flown
The sweetness of its early tone,
When from its wild flight it hath bow'd,
To seek for homage 'mid the crowd;
Be the one wonder of the night,
As if the soul could be a sight;
As all his burning numbers speak
Were written upon brow and cheek;
And he forsooth must learn his part,
Must choose his words, and school his heart
To one set mould, and pay again
Flattery with flattery as vain;
Till, mixing with the throng too much,
The cold, the vain, he feels as such;
Then marvels that his silent lute
Beneath that worldly hand is mute.
-Away! these scenes are not for thee:
Go dream beneath some lonely tree;
Away to some far woodland spring,
Dash down thy tinsel crown, and wring
The scented unguents from thine hair:
If thou dost hope that crown to share
The laurell'd bards immortal wear:
Muse thou o'er leaf and drooping flower,
Wander at evening's haunted hour;
Listen to stockdove's plaining song
Until it bear thy soul along;
Then call upon thy freed lute's strain,
And it will answer thee again.
O mine own song, did I not hold
Such faith as held the bards of old,—
That one eternal hope of fame
Which sanctifies the poet's name,—
I'd break my lyre in high disdain,
And hold my gift of song as vain
As those forced flowers which only bloom
One hot night for a banquet-room.
-But I have wander'd from my tale,-
The ivory bark, the purple sail,
That bore Prince CYRIS o'er the sea,-
Content with that slow ebb to be
Danced on the wave. By nightfall shaded,
The red lights from the clouds are faded ;
Leaving one palest amber line
To mark the last of day's decline;
And all o'er heaven is that clear blue
The stars so love to wander through.
They're rising from the silent deep,
Like bright eyes opening after sleep.
Young Crnis watch'd them till their ray
Grew sad-so far they were away.
He felt so earthly, thus to see
What he might never hope to be.
He thought upon earth's loveliest eyes;
What were they to those shining there?
He thought upon earth's sweetest sighs:
What were they to the lulling air?
"O no, my heart," he mournful sigh'd,
"To thee is that dear boon denied ;
That wildering dream whose fair deceit
Makes languid earth a temple meet
For light, such light as dwells above,-
I have no faith in thee, false love!
I've knelt at many a beauteous shrine,
And call'd, but thought them not, divine.
I've dived in many a beating heart,
But search'd them only to depart;
For selfish care, or heartless pride,
Were all they ever had to hide.
I'm weary, weary :-one by one,
The life charms of my youth are gone.
I had a dream of stirring fame
It was a promise, and a name,
Thrice glorious, shining from afar,
But nearer earth had touch'd the star;
With toil and trouble won from many,
Yet trembling on the breath of any.
The bard, the warrior, and the sage,
What win they but one lying page,
Where deeds and words, at hazard thrown,
May be or may not be their own?
And pleasure, lighted halls, red wine,
Bright smiles, gay words, have all been mine: They only left what haunts me now,—
A wasted heart, a weary brow.
Ye distant stars, so calm, so bright,
Would I had portion in your light,
Could read the secrets of your birth,—
Aught, any thing but this dull earth!"
-It was not long, ere, still and deep,
Those restless eyes were closed in sleep.
There lay he like a statue pale,
His canopy that silken sail.
There lay he as Endymion slept
When Dian came to him, and wept
Beside the sleep she might not break.
Love, thus we sorrow for thy sake.
There lay he-well might Crnis seem
The being of a poet's dream.
Ay, beautiful as a star in the sky,
When the clouds are gloom, and the storm is
But still in defiance keeps shining on,
Till the shades are past, and the wind is done.
His hair was gold, like the pheasant's wing,
And curl'd like the hyacinth flower in spring,
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