Landon in The Improvisatrice; and Other Poems/History
LORENZO'S HISTORY.
I was betrothed from earliest youth
To a fair orphan, who was left
Beneath my father's roof and care.—
Of every other friend bereft:
An heiress, with her fertile vales,
Caskets of Indian gold and pearl;
Yet meek as poverty itself,
And timid as a peasant girl:
A delicate, frail thing,—but made
For spring sunshine, or summer shade;—
A slender flower, unmeet to bear
One April shower,—so slight, so fair.
I loved her as a brother loves
His favourite sister:—and when war
First called me from our long-shared home
To bear my father's sword afar,
I parted from her,—not as one
Whose life and soul are wrung by parting:
With death-cold brow and throbbing pulse,
And burning tears like life-blood starting.
Lost in war dreams, I scarcely heard
The prayer that bore my name above:
The 'Farewell!' that kissed off her tears
Had more of pity than of love!
I thought of her not with that deep,
Intensest memory love will keep
More tenderly than life. To me
She was but as a dream of home,—
One of those calm and pleasant thoughts
That o'er the soldier's spirit come;
Remembering him, when battle lours,
Of twilight walks and fireside hours.
I came to thy bright Florence when
The task of blood was done:
I saw thee! Had I lived before?
Oh, no! my life but then begun.
Ay, by that blush! the summer rose
Has not more luxury of light!
Ay, by those eyes! whose language is
Like what the clear stars speak at night,
Thy first look was a fever spell!—
Thy first word was an oracle
Which seal'd my fate! I worshipped thee,
My beautiful, bright deity!
Worshipped thee as a sacred thing
Of Genius' high imagining;—
But loved thee for thy sweet revealing
Of woman's own most gentle feeling.
I might have broken from the chain
Thy power, thy glory round me flung!
But never might forget thy blush—
The smile which on thy sweet lips hung!
I lived but in thy sight! One night
From thy hair fell a myrtle blossom;
It was a relic that breathed of thee:—
Look! it has withered in my bosom!
Yet I was wretched, though I dwelt
In the sweet sight of Paradise:
A curse lay on me. But not now,
Thus smiled upon by those dear eyes,
Will I think over thoughts of pain.
I'll only tell thee that the line
That ever told Love's misery,
Ne'er told of misery like mine!
I wedded.—I could not have borne
To see the young Ianthe blighted
By that worst blight the spring can know—
Trusting affection ill requited!
Oh, was it that she was too fair,
Too innocent for this damp earth;
And that her native star above
Reclaimed again its gentle birth?
She faded. Oh, my peerless queen,
I need not pray thee pardon me
For owning that my heart then felt
For any other than for thee!
I bore her to those azure isles,
Where health dwells by the side of spring;
And deemed their green and sunny vales,
And calm and fragrant airs, might bring
Warmth to the cheek, light to the eye,
Of her who was too young to die.
It was in vain!—and, day by day
The gentle creature died away.
As parts the odour from the rose,—
As fades the sky at twilight's close,—
She past so tender and so fair;
So patient; though she knew each breath
Might be her last; her own mild smile
Parted her placid lips in death.
Her grave is under southern skies;
Green turf and flowers o'er it rise.
Oh! nothing but a pale spring wreath
Would fade o'er her who lies beneath!
I gave her prayers—I gave her tears—
I staid awhile beside her grave;
Then led by Hope, and led by Love,
Again I cut the azure wave.
What have I more to say, my life!
But just to pray one smile of thine,
Telling I have not loved in vain—
That thou dost join these hopes of mine?
Yes, smile, sweet love! our life will be
As radiant as a fairy tale!
Glad as the sky-lark's earliest song—
Sweet as the sigh of the spring gale!
All, all that life will ever be,
Shone o'er, divinest love! by thee.