The Fate of Adelaide A Swiss Romantic Tale; And Other Poems: By Letitia Elizabeth Landon |
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 | The Fate of Adelaide |  |
X.
They linger'd there, Orlando and his love,His fair betrothed bride; each step was link'd
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Some thought that love had hallow'd. Love will shed
His magic hues, where'er his pinions find
A resting place; the wilderness will smile,
And blossom like a rose, if he be there.
They reach'd a shadowy alcove, where oft
Th' unconscious hours had past unmark'd away.
It was in young affection's earliest day
They rais'd the fragrant temple, and then said—
No flower should ever deck their fav'rite haunt,
That was not hallow'd by the minstrel's song,
Or fancy could not paint some tender thought.
They rear'd it 'neath a pine which long had braved
The perilous bursting of the winter's storm;
The stem was yet unbent, but it was scath'd
By the red lightning; and the tempest's wing
Had past it, withering like adversity:
A white rose gracefully around it twin'd,
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Even amid decay, like faithful love,
Clinging more closely to the wounded spirit.
Around were brightest flowers; the myrtle flung
Its snowy buds—a wreath for constancy;
The young moss-rose threw from its vermil cheek,
The green veil, fresh and beautiful as those
That caught their warm carnation from the lips
Of Venus, when she kiss'd their fragrant leaves;
Fraught with cerulean hues, the violet
Half-open'd, timidly, its fair blue eyes;
Close by it's side, the lily pensively
Bow'd down its languid head, pale as the cheek
Faded by sorrow. There the hyacinth bloom'd
With liveliest colours; some like rubies glow'd,
Some bright with tyrian purple; others wore
The melting azure of a summer sky;
Some white and stainless, others ting'd with red,
Like the last warmth of a departing blush.—
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Of morning dimple into roseate light;
Here breezes, which had bath'd their burning wings
In streams, whose birth-place is amid the clouds,
Breath'd mountain freshness o'er the sultry noon;
Eve found them here listing her vesper song,
And stars had been the lamps to light their bowers.
And oft at that sweet solitary time
Would young Orlando listen to the voice
Of her he lov'd, soft as the moonlight song
The fabled Syren breath'd; and at his praise
A blush like day-break, and a smile, would play
Upon her cheek—the heart's own eloquence.
| The Fate of Adelaide | |