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Letitia Elizabeth Landon - The Troubadour. Canto 2
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Where darkness gather`d with her ranks
Of clouds, and in the midst a zone
Of white with transient brightness shone
From the young moon, who scarcely yet
Had donn`d her lighted coronet.

With look turn`d to the closing day,
As he watch`d every hue decay,
Sat RAYMOND ; and a passer by
Had envied him his reverie;--
But nearer look had scann`d his brow,
And started at its fiery glow,
As if the temples` burning swell
Had made their pulses visible.

Too glazed, too fix`d, his large eyes shone
To see aught that they gazed upon.
Not his the paleness that may streak
The lover`s or the minstrel`s cheek,
As it had its wan colour caught
From moods of melancholy thought;
`Twas that cold, dark, unearthly shade,
But for a corpse`s death look made;
Speaking that desperateness of pain,
As one more pang, and the rack`d brain
Would turn to madness; one more grief,
And the swoln heart breaks for relief.

Oh, misery! to see the tomb
Close over all our world of bloom;
To look our last in the dear eyes
Which made our light of paradise;
To know that silent is the tone
Whose tenderness was all our own;
To kiss the cheek which once had burn`d
At the least glance, and find it turn`d
To marble; and then think of all
Of hope, that memory can recall.
Yes, misery! but even here
There is a somewhat left to cheer,
A gentle treasuring of sweet things
Remembrance gathers from the past,
The pride of faithfulness, which clings
To love kept sacred to the last.
And even if another`s love
Has touch`d the heart to us above
The treasures of the east, yet still
There is a solace for the ill.

Those who have known love`s utmost spell
Can feel for those who love as well;
Can half forget their own distress,
To share the loved one`s happiness.
Oh, but to know our heart has been,
Like the toy of an Indian queen,
Torn, trampled, without thought or care,--
Where is despair like this despair!--

ll night beneath an oak he lay,
Till nature blush`d bright into day;
When, at a trumpet`s sudden sound,
Started his courser from the ground:
And his loud neigh waked RAYMOND`S dream,
And, gazing round, he saw the gleam
Of arms upon a neighbouring height,
Where helm and cuirass stream`d in light.

As RAYMOND rose from his unrest
He knew DE VALENCE`S falcon crest;
And the red cross that shone like a glory afar,
Told the warrior was vow`d to the holy war.

Ay, this," thought RAYMOND , "is the strife
To make my sacrifice of life;
What is it now to me that fame
Shall brighten over RAYMOND`S name;
There is no gentle heart to bound,
No cheek to mantle at the sound:
Lady`s favour no more I wear,--
My heart, my helm--oh! what are there?
A blighted hope, a wither`d rose.
Surely this warfare is for those
Who only of the victory crave
A holy but a nameless grave."

Short greeting past; DE VALENCE read
All that the pale lip left unsaid;
On the wan brow, in the dimm`d eye,
The whole of youth`s despondency,
Which at the first shock it has known
Deems its whole world of hope o`erthrown.
And it was fix`d, that at Marseilles,
Where the fleet waited favouring gales,
RAYMOND should join the warrior train,
Leagued `gainst the infidels of Spain.

They parted:--Over RAYMOND`S thought
Came sadness mingled too with shame;
When suddenly his memory brought
The long forgotten EVA`S name.
Oh! Love is like the mountain tide,
Sweeping away all things beside,
Till not another trace appears
But its own joys, and griefs, and fears.
He took her cross, he took her chain
From the heart where they still had lain;
And that heart felt as if its fate
Had sudden grown less desolate,
In thus remembering love that still
Would share and sooth in good and ill.

He spurr`d his steed; but the night fall
Had darken`d ere he reach`d the hall;
And gladly chief and vassal train
Welcomed the youthful knight again.
And many praised his stately tread,
His face with darker manhood spread;
But of those crowding round him now,
Who mark`d the paleness of his brow,
But one, who paused till they were past,
Who look`d the first but spoke the last:
Her welcome in its timid fear
Fell almost cold on RAYMOND`S ear;
A single look,--he felt he gazed
Upon a gentle child no more,
The blush that like the lightning blazed,
The cheek then paler than before,
A something of staid maiden grace,
A cloud of thought upon her face;
She who had been, in RAYMOND`S sight,
A plaything, fancy, and delight,--
Was changed: the depth of her blue eye
Spoke to him now of sympathy,
And seem`d her melancholy tone
A very echo of his own;
And that pale forehead, surely care
Has graved an early lesson there.

They roved through many a garden scene,
Where other, happier days had been;
And soon had RAYMOND told his all
Of hopes, like stars but bright to fall;
Of feelings blighted, changed, and driven
Like exiles from their native heaven;
And of an aimless sword, a lute
Whose chords were now uncharm`d and mute.
But EVA`S tender blandishing
Was as the April rays, that fling
A rainbow till the thickest rain
Melts into blue and light again.

There is a feeling in the heart
Of woman which can have no part
In man; a self devotedness,
As victims round their idols press,
And asking nothing, but to show
How far their zeal and faith can go.
Pure as the snow the summer sun
Never at noon hath look`d upon,--
Deep as is the diamond wave,
Hidden in the desart cave,--
Changeless as the greenest leaves
Of the wreath the cypress weaves,--
Hopeless often when most fond,
Without hope or fear beyond
Its own pale fidelity,--
And this woman`s love can be!

 And RAYMOND although not again
Dreaming of passion`s burning chain,
Yet felt that life had still dear things
To which the lingering spirit clings.
More dear, more lovely EVA shone
In thinking of that faithless one;
And read he not upon the cheek
All that the lip might never speak,
All the heart cherish`d yet conceal`d,
Scarce even to itself reveal`d.
And RAYMOND , though with heart so torn
By anger, agony, and scorn,
Might ill bear even with love`s name,
Yet felt the maiden`s hidden flame
Come like the day-star in the east,
When every other light has ceased;
Sent from the bosom of the night
To harbinger the morning light.

Again they parted: she to brood
O`er dreaming hopes in solitude,
And every pitying saint to pray
For RAYMOND on the battle day.
And he no longer deem`d the field
But death to all his hopes could yield.
To other, softer dreams allied,
He thought upon the warrior`s pride.
But as he pass`d the castle gate
He left so wholly desolate,
His throbbing pulse, his burning brain,
The sudden grasp upon the rein,
The breast and lip that gasp`d for air,
Told Love`s shaft was still rankling there.

That night, borne o`er the bounding seas,
The vessel swept before the breeze,
Loaded the air, the war-cry`s swell,
Woe to the Moorish infidel;
And raising their rich hymn, a band
Of priests were kneeling on the strand,
To bless the parting ship, and song
Came from the maidens ranged along
The sea wall, and who incense gave,
And flowers, like offerings to the wave
That bore the holy and the brave.

And RAYMOND felt his spirit rise,
And burn`d his cheek, and flash`d his eyes
With something of their ancient light,
While plume and pennon met his sight;
While o`er the deep swept the war-cry,
And peal`d the trumpet`s voice on high,
While the ship rode the waves as she
Were mistress of their destiny.
And muster`d on the deck the band,
Till died the last shout from the strand;
But when the martial pomp was o`er,
And, like the future, dim the shore
On the horizon hung, again
Closed RAYMOND`S memory, like a chain
The spirit struggles with in vain.

The sky with its delicious blue,
The stars like visions wandering through:
Surely, if Fate had treasured there
Her rolls of life, they must be fair;
The mysteries their glories hide
Must be but of life`s brightest side;
It cannot be that Fate would write
Her dark decrees in lines of light.
And RAYMOND mused upon the hour
When, comrade of the star and flower,
He watch`d beside his lady`s bower;
He number`d every hope and dream,
Like blooms that threw upon life`s stream
Colours of beauty, and then thought
On knowledge, all too dearly bought;
Feelings lit up in waste to burn,
Hopes that seem but shadows fair,
All that the heart so soon must learn,
All that it finds so hard to bear.

The young moon`s vestal lamp that hour
Seem`d pale as that it pined for love;
No marvel such a night had power,
So calm below, so fair above,
To wake the spirit`s finest chords
Till minstrel thoughts found minstrel words.

THE LAST SONG. 

IT is the latest song of mine
That ever breathes thy name,
False idol of a dream-raised shrine,
Thy very thought is shame,--
Shame that I could my sprit bow
To one so very false as thou.

I had past years where the green wood
Makes twilight of the noon,
And I had watch`d the silver flood
Kiss`d by the rising moon;
And gazed upon the clear midnight
In all its luxury of light.

And, thrown where the blue violets dwell,
I would pass hours away,
Musing o`er some old chronicle
Fill`d with a wild love lay;
Till beauty seem`d to me a thing
Made for all nature`s worshipping.

 saw thee, and the air grew bright
In thy clear eyes` sunshine;
I oft had dream`d of shapes of light,
But not of shape like thine.
My heart bow`d down,--I worshipp`d thee,
A woman and a deity.

I may not say how thy first look
Turn`d my whole soul to flame,
I read it as a glorious book
Fill`d with high deeds of fame;
I felt a hero`s spirit rise,
Unknown till lighted at thine eyes.

False look, false hope, and falsest love!
All meteors sent to me
To show how they the heart could move,
And how deceiving be:
They left me, darken`d, crush`d, alone,
My bosom`s household gods o`erthrown.

The world itself was changed, and all
That I had loved before
Seem`d as if gone beyond recall,
And I could hope no more;
The sear of fire, the dint of steel,
Are easier than Love`s wounds to heal.

But this is past, and I can cope
With what I`d fain forget;
I have a sweet, a gentle hope
That lingers with me yet,--
A hope too fair, too pure to be
Named in the words that speak of thee.

Henceforth within the last recess
Of my heart shall remain
Thy name in all its bitterness,
But never named again;
The only memory of that heart
Will be to think how false thou art.

And yet I fain would name thy name,
My heart`s now gentle queen,
E`en as they burn the perfumed flame
Where the plague spot has been;
Methinks that it will cleanse away
The ills that on my spirit prey.

Sweet EVA ! the last time I gazed
Upon thy deep blue eyes,
The cheek whereon my look had raised
A blush`s crimson dyes,
I marvell`d, love, this heart of mine
Had worshipp`d at another shrine.

I will think of thee when the star,
That lit our own fair river,
Shines in the blue sky from afar,
As beautiful as ever;
That twilight star, sweet love, shall be
A sign and seal with thee and me!
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