The Venetian bracelet the lost Pleiad, a history of the lyre, and other poems. By L. E. L. [i.e. Landon] |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. | XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
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 | The Venetian bracelet |  |
XI.
The night is over,—night which seem'd to be
Endless, O lost Amenaïde! to thee:
Yet what has daylight brought?—a haunting dread.
Hark! the hall echoes to a stranger's tread—
It is the Count Arezzi:—“My fair child,
How now!—thy cheek is wan, thine eyes are wild.
Ah, well, the rose is brightening on thy cheek:
I was too hasty with my sudden break
Upon thy solitude; scarce may I tell
The crime and horror which last night befell.
I have no time. The Count Leoni's bride—
You saw her—by some sudden poison died;
And strange suspicions on her husband fall:
There were so many present who recall
He gave her the sherbet:—'twas not all drain'd;
Part of the venom in the cup remain'd.
Some say 'twas jealousy:—I'm on my way
To the tribunal that will sit to-day.
—Amenaïde, dear, thou art very pale:
I would I had not told thee of this tale.—
Ha! 'tis the summons of the council bell.—
I loathe my task,—sweet, hastily farewell.”
She strove to speak,—to only wave her hand,—
To rise,—her trembling limbs refused to stand:
She sought her cross, she strove to think a prayer,—
She gasp'd for breath,—no ruby cross is there;
But full in view the fatal bracelet shone:
“Leoni, this is what my love has done;
I who would willingly have died for thee,—
The fiend has triumph'd in my misery.
I'll rush before the judges,—is there time?—
But no, I cannot bear to own the crime!
And there is nought of proof,—there can be none,—
And then his known love for that happier one;—
His noble house,—his brave and stainless name:—
He must escape his doom,—and I my shame.”
Endless, O lost Amenaïde! to thee:
44
Hark! the hall echoes to a stranger's tread—
It is the Count Arezzi:—“My fair child,
How now!—thy cheek is wan, thine eyes are wild.
Ah, well, the rose is brightening on thy cheek:
I was too hasty with my sudden break
Upon thy solitude; scarce may I tell
The crime and horror which last night befell.
I have no time. The Count Leoni's bride—
You saw her—by some sudden poison died;
And strange suspicions on her husband fall:
There were so many present who recall
He gave her the sherbet:—'twas not all drain'd;
Part of the venom in the cup remain'd.
Some say 'twas jealousy:—I'm on my way
To the tribunal that will sit to-day.
45
I would I had not told thee of this tale.—
Ha! 'tis the summons of the council bell.—
I loathe my task,—sweet, hastily farewell.”
She strove to speak,—to only wave her hand,—
To rise,—her trembling limbs refused to stand:
She sought her cross, she strove to think a prayer,—
She gasp'd for breath,—no ruby cross is there;
But full in view the fatal bracelet shone:
“Leoni, this is what my love has done;
I who would willingly have died for thee,—
The fiend has triumph'd in my misery.
I'll rush before the judges,—is there time?—
But no, I cannot bear to own the crime!
And there is nought of proof,—there can be none,—
And then his known love for that happier one;—
46
He must escape his doom,—and I my shame.”
Long hours past by, she stirr'd not from her place,
A very statue, with that cold set face,
Save that red flushes came at each light sound,
While the wild eyes glanced fearfully around;
But still she moved not, spoke not,—such distress
Seeks no distraction from its wretchedness.
There rose loud voices in the outer hall:—
She nerves her with despair, she will know all:
Her ear, acute with agony, can hear
A name at once so dreaded and so dear:—
“Yes, Lady, he is guilty!—” but no more:—
They raise her senseless from the marble floor.
Long did it last, that stony trance like death;
She roused, but scarce it seem'd with mortal breath.
She show'd no weakness, rose from off the bed;
Distinct, though low and few, the words she said.
She took a scroll and wrote,—the phrase was brief;
But a life's sorrow was upon that leaf.
“To Count Arezzi this, with all thy speed;
And here, my page, is gold for present meed.
Now all away,—my spirit is opprest:”
She flung her on the couch as if for rest:
They deem'd she slept:—at length her maidens came
To ask her will, to light the lamps' sweet flame:—
Where is the Countess? why, the couch is bare.—
They search the halls in vain,—she is not there.
A very statue, with that cold set face,
Save that red flushes came at each light sound,
While the wild eyes glanced fearfully around;
But still she moved not, spoke not,—such distress
Seeks no distraction from its wretchedness.
There rose loud voices in the outer hall:—
She nerves her with despair, she will know all:
Her ear, acute with agony, can hear
A name at once so dreaded and so dear:—
“Yes, Lady, he is guilty!—” but no more:—
They raise her senseless from the marble floor.
Long did it last, that stony trance like death;
She roused, but scarce it seem'd with mortal breath.
47
Distinct, though low and few, the words she said.
She took a scroll and wrote,—the phrase was brief;
But a life's sorrow was upon that leaf.
“To Count Arezzi this, with all thy speed;
And here, my page, is gold for present meed.
Now all away,—my spirit is opprest:”
She flung her on the couch as if for rest:
They deem'd she slept:—at length her maidens came
To ask her will, to light the lamps' sweet flame:—
Where is the Countess? why, the couch is bare.—
They search the halls in vain,—she is not there.
| The Venetian bracelet | |