Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1837/The Secret Discovered

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2445525Landon in Friendship’s Offering, 1837The Secret Discovered1836Letitia Elizabeth Landon


THE SECRET

Painted by F. CorbauxEngraved by C. A. Periam



THE SECRET DISCOVERED.


BY L. E. L.


Or all the things that angels see,
    Who look from heaven above,
There cannot be a sweeter thing
    Than is a sister's love.

It groweth in our early years,
    It shareth in their light;
It blendeth fancies, fears and hopes,
    With a sweet sense of right.


Count Herman had two daughters fair,
    And very fair were they;
The one was like a summer night,
    One like a summer day.

Though three or four brief years were all
    They measured to each other,
Yet Elinore had always been
    To Minna, like a mother.

A pale and thoughtful girl was she,
    And with a statue's grace
Upon the tall and perfect form,
    And on the pensive face.

But Minna was a fairy thing,
    With sunshine in her eyes;
And such a blush as the red rose
    To welcome June supplies.

The song with which she woke the morn,
    At night was scarcely done;
Her spirits, to her sister, were
    Like walking in the sun.

Of late the blush had been less bright,
    The eyes of deeper blue;
As if the just awakening heart
    Its own soft shadow threw.


Her sister watched her anxiously,
    She saw that she was changed;
And felt, although she would not own,
    Somewhat they were estranged.

For sudden and unnatural
    Was often Minna's glee;
And her fond sister saw the tears
    She was not meant to see.

One day she watched her steal away
    Towards a little wood;
Ah! what could Minna's young glad heart
    Desire of solitude?

She saw her bend above a scroll,
    She saw her bend and weep;
"My own sweet sister, why should'st thou
    Such weary secret keep?"

Unseen she reached the reader's side:
    Ah! doth she see aright?
There is a name upon the scroll,—
    Her own betrothed knight.

She had, herself, when but a child,
    Been named Count Rodolph's bride;
Alas! now for her woman's love,
    And for her woman's pride.


She felt it was their fathers' act,
    In which he had no part,
Though they may give the hand away,
    They cannot give the heart.

A moment, and her cheek was pale
    Beyond its natural hue;
A moment, and a deeper breath
    The struggling bosom drew.

Her sister turned, and saw her there;
    She only met a smile;
And Elinore, to calm her tears,
    Forgot her own the while.

She drew the maiden to her side,
    And soothed her with fond words,
And sympathy, whose music comes
    From the heart's own fine chords.

She said that she was glad to know
    Her sister's heart was given,
For that her own had only room
    For their own hearth, and heaven.

A few weeks, and the hills around
    Caught lute and trumpet's call;
For stately was the wedding feast
    Within Count Herman's hall.


And Elinore arrayed the bride,
    And bound her golden hair;
And if her cheek was pale, it seemed
    But a fond sister's care.

Years passed; beside their lonely hearth.
    She cheered her father's age,
And made, for him, life's last dark leaf
    A sweet and sunny page.

Did never other lovers come?
    They did—but came in vain;
A heart like hers, when given once,
    Is given not again.