The Troubadour. Canto 2 D Elenore

ELENORE.

    THE lady sits in her lone bower,
    With cheek wan as the white rose flower
    That blooms beside, 'tis pale and wet
    As that rose with its dew pearls set.
    Her cheek burns with a redder dye,
    Flashes light from her tearful eye;
    She has heard pinions beat the air,
    She sees her white dove floating there;
    And well she knows its faithful wing,
    The treasure of her heart will bring;
    And takes the gentle bird its stand
    Accustom'd on the maiden's hand,
    With glancing eye and throbbing breast,
    As if rejoicing in its rest.
    She read the scroll,—"dear love, to-night
    By the lake, all is there for flight
    What time the moon is down;—oh, then
    My own life shall we meet again!"
    One upward look of thankfulness,
    One pause of joy, one fond caress
    Of her soft lips, as to reward
    The messenger of EGINHARD .

        That night in her proud father's hall
    She shone the fairest one of all;
    For like the cloud of evening came
    Over her cheek the sudden flame,
    And varying as each moment brought
    Some hasty change of secret thought;
    As if its colour would confess
    The conscious heart's inmost recess.
    And the clear depths of her dark eye
    Were bright with troubled brilliancy,
    Yet the lids droop'd as with the tear
    Which might oppress but not appear.
    And flatteries, and smile and sigh
    Loaded the air as she past by.
    It sparkled, but her jewell'd vest
    Was crost above a troubled breast:
    Her curls, with all their sunny glow,
    Were braided o'er an aching brow:
    But well she knew how many sought
    To gaze upon her secret thought;—
    And Love is proud,—she might not brook
    That other's on her heart should look.
    But there she sate, cold, pale, and high,
    Beneath her purple canopy;
    And there was many a mutter'd word,
    And one low whisper'd name was heard,—
    The name of EGINHARD ,—that name
    Like some forbidden secret came.

        The theme went, that he dared to love
    One like a star his state above;
    Here to the princess turn'd each eye,—
    And it was said, he did not sigh
    With love that pales the pining cheek,
    And leaves the slighted heart to break.
    And then a varying tale was told,
    How a page had betray'd for gold;
    But all was rumour light and vain,
    That all might hear, but none explain.

        Like one that seeks a festival,
    Early the princess left the hall;
    Yet said she, sleep dwelt on her eyes,
    That she was worn with revelries.
    And hastily her maidens' care
    Unbinds the jewels from her hair.
    Odours are round her chamber strown,
    And ELENORE is left alone.

        With throbbing heart, whose pulses beat
    Louder than fall her ivory feet,
    She rises from her couch of down;
    And, hurriedly, a robe is thrown
    Around her form, and her own hand
    Lets down her tresses golden band.
    Another moment she has shred
    Those graceful tresses from her head.
    There stands a plate of polish'd steel,
    She folds her cloak as to conceal
    Her strange attire, for she is drest
    As a young page in dark green vest.
    Softly she steps the balustrade,
    Where myrtle, rose, and hyacinth made
    A passage to the garden shade.

        It was a lovely summer night,
    The air was incense-fill'd, the light
    Was dim and tremulous, a gleam,
    When a star, mirror'd on the stream,
    Sent a ray round just to reveal
    How gales from flower to flower steal.
    "It was on such a night as this,
    When even a single breath is bliss,
    Such a soft air, such a mild heaven,
    My vows to EGINHARD were given."
    Sigh'd ELENORE , "Oh, might it be
    A hope, a happy augury!"

        She reach'd the lake,—a blush, a smile,
    Contended on her face the while;
    And safely in a little cove,
    Shelter'd by willow trees above,
    An ambuscade from all secured,
    Her lover's little boat lay moor'd.—
    One greeting word, with muffled oar,
    And silent lip, they left that shore.

        It was most like a phantom dream
    To see that boat flit o'er the stream,
    So still, that but yet less and less
    It grew, it had seem'd motionless.
    And then the silent lake, the trees
    Visible only when the breeze
    Aside the shadowy branches threw,
    And let one single star shine through,
    While the faint glimmer scarcely gave
    To view the wanderers of the wave.

        The breeze has borne the clouds away
    That veil'd the blushes of young day;
    The lark has sung his morning song;—
    Surely the princess slumbers long.
    And now it is the accustom'd hour
    Her royal father seeks her bower,
    When her soft voice and gentle lute,
    The snowfall of her fairy foot,
    The flowers she has cull'd, with dew
    Yet moist upon each rainbow hue;
    The fruits with bloom upon their cheek,
    Fresh as the morning's first sun streak;
    Each, all conspired to wile away
    The weariness of royal sway.

        But she is gone: there hangs her lute,
    And there it may hang lone and mute:
    The flowers may fade, for who is there
    To triumph now if they are fair:
    There are her gems,—oh, let them twine
    An offering round some sainted shrine!
    For she who wore them may not wear
    Again those jewels in her hair.

        At first the monarch's rage was wild;
    But soon the image of his child,
    In tenderness rose on his heart,
    How could he bear from it to part?
    And anger turn'd to grief: in vain
    Ambition had destroy'd the chain
    With which love had bound happiness.
    In vain remorse, in vain redress,—
    Fruitless all search. And years past o'er,
    No tidings came of ELENORE ,
    Although the king would have laid down
    His golden sceptre, purple crown,
    His pomp, his power, but to have prest
    His child one moment to his breast.

        And where was ELENORE ? her home
    Was now beneath the forest dome;--
    A hundred knights had watch'd her hall,
    Her guards were now the pine trees tall:
    For harps waked with the minstrel tale,
    Sang to her sleep the nightingale:
    For silver vases, where were blent
    Rich perfumes from Arabia sent,
    Were odours when the wild thyme flower
    Wafted its sweets on gale and shower:
    For carpets of the purple loom
    The violets spread their cloud of bloom,
    Starr'd with primroses; and around
    Boughs like green tapestry swept the ground.
    —And there they dwelt apart from all
    That gilds and mocks ambition's thrall;
    Apart from cities, crowds, and care,
    Hopes that deceive, and toils that wear;
    For they had made themselves a world
    Like that or ever man was hurl'd
    From his sweet Eden, to begin
    His bitter course of grief and sin.—
    And they were happy; EGINHARD
    Had won the prize for which he dared
    Dungeon and death; but what is there
    That the young lover will not dare?
    And she, though nurtured as a flower,
    The favourite bud of a spring bower,
    Daughter of palaces, yet made
    Her dwelling place in the green shade;
    Happy, as she remember'd not
    Her royal in her peasant lot,—
    With gentle cares, and smiling eyes
    As love could feel no sacrifice.
    Happy her ivory brow to lave
    Without a mirror but the wave,
    As one whose sweetness could dispense
    With all save its own excellence;--
    A fair but gentle creature, meant
    For heart, and hearth, and home content.

        It was at night the chase was over,
    And ELENORE sat by her lover,—
    Her lover still, though years had fled
    Since their first word of love was said,—
    When one sought, at that darksome hour,
    The refuge of their lonely bower,
    A hunter, who, amid the shade,
    Had from his own companions stray'd.
    And ELENORE gazed on his face,
    And knew her father! In the chase
    Often the royal mourner sought
    A refuge from his one sad thought.
    He knew her not,—the lowly mien,
    The simple garb of forest green,
    The darken'd brow, which told the spoil
    The sun stole from her daily toil,
    The cheek where woodland health had shed
    The freshness of its morning red,—
    All was so changed. She spread the board,
    Her hand the sparkling wine cup pour'd;
    And then around the hearth they drew,
    And cheerfully the woodfire threw
    Its light around.—Bent o'er her wheel
    Scarcely dared ELENORE to steal
    A look, half tenderness, half fear,
    Yet seem'd he as he loved to hear
    Her voice, as if it had a tone
    Breathing of days and feelings gone.

        "Ah! surely," thought she, "Heaven has sent
    My father here, as that it meant,
    Our years of absence ended now!"
    She gazed upon his soften'd brow;
    And the next moment, all revealing,
    ELENORE at his feet is kneeling!—

        Need I relate that, reconciled,
    The father bless'd his truant child.