The Fate of Adelaide A Swiss Romantic Tale; And Other Poems: By Letitia Elizabeth Landon |
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| I. |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| VI. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. | XIII. |
| XIV. |
| II. |
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 | The Fate of Adelaide |  |
26
XIII.
Upon a lofty tower stood Adelaide,
And watch'd the scene below: you might have gaz'd
On those fair tresses floating in the wind;
The white veil flowing o'er her graceful form,
Her arms cross'd pensively upon her breast,
And eyes, now upwards rais'd in tears to heav'n,
Now glancing mournfully on those beneath,
And deem'd that Peace had paus'd one moment, ere
She wing'd her flight from earth; so fair she was,
Like to some lovely creature of the skies.
Her eye dwelt on Orlando's form, who yet
Linger'd to catch one dear, one parting glance—
That last look, treasur'd so in after hours.
He wore the colours she had given, white
And green, the hue of promise, borne by spring.
He passed, and Adelaide is left with nought
But hope, to cheer away the slow wing'd days.
Hope, frail but lovely shadow! thou dost come,
Like a bright vision on our pathway here,
Making the gloomy future beautiful,
And gilding our horizon with a light,
The fairest human eye can ever know.
Fav'rite of heaven! 'twas thine to pledge the cup
Of pleasure's sparkling waters undefil'd;
But, oh! the draught was fleeting! scarce thy lip
Touch'd the clear nectar ere 'twas vanished.
The soul of youth confides in thee; thy voice
Is love's own halcyon music; it is thine
To colour every dream of happiness.
I've pictur'd thine a soft etherial form,
Like to some light creation of the clouds—
Some bright aerial wonder; o'er thy cheek
The rose has shed its beauty; on thy brow
The golden clusters play enwreath'd with flowers,
Gay with a thousand transitory hues;
The rainbow tints are gleaming in thy wings;
Thy laughing eyes are blue—not the deep shade
Worn by the melancholy violet,
But the clear sunny blue of summer skies;
And in thy hand a glass, wherein the eye
May gaze on many a wonder—all is there
That heart can pant for; many a glorious dream
Meets the rapt sight, no sooner seen than gone.
False as thou art, O most illusive Hope!
Reproach is not for thee: what, tho' the flowers
Which thou dost scatter o'er our pilgrimage,
Are evanescent, yet they are most sweet.
Who would not revel in thy witchery,
Tho' all too soon the spell will be dissolved!
The moments of thy reign are bless'd indeed;
They are the purest pleasures life can boast—
Reality is sadness.—
And watch'd the scene below: you might have gaz'd
On those fair tresses floating in the wind;
The white veil flowing o'er her graceful form,
Her arms cross'd pensively upon her breast,
And eyes, now upwards rais'd in tears to heav'n,
Now glancing mournfully on those beneath,
And deem'd that Peace had paus'd one moment, ere
She wing'd her flight from earth; so fair she was,
Like to some lovely creature of the skies.
Her eye dwelt on Orlando's form, who yet
Linger'd to catch one dear, one parting glance—
That last look, treasur'd so in after hours.
He wore the colours she had given, white
And green, the hue of promise, borne by spring.
27
But hope, to cheer away the slow wing'd days.
Hope, frail but lovely shadow! thou dost come,
Like a bright vision on our pathway here,
Making the gloomy future beautiful,
And gilding our horizon with a light,
The fairest human eye can ever know.
Fav'rite of heaven! 'twas thine to pledge the cup
Of pleasure's sparkling waters undefil'd;
But, oh! the draught was fleeting! scarce thy lip
Touch'd the clear nectar ere 'twas vanished.
The soul of youth confides in thee; thy voice
Is love's own halcyon music; it is thine
To colour every dream of happiness.
I've pictur'd thine a soft etherial form,
Like to some light creation of the clouds—
Some bright aerial wonder; o'er thy cheek
The rose has shed its beauty; on thy brow
The golden clusters play enwreath'd with flowers,
28
The rainbow tints are gleaming in thy wings;
Thy laughing eyes are blue—not the deep shade
Worn by the melancholy violet,
But the clear sunny blue of summer skies;
And in thy hand a glass, wherein the eye
May gaze on many a wonder—all is there
That heart can pant for; many a glorious dream
Meets the rapt sight, no sooner seen than gone.
False as thou art, O most illusive Hope!
Reproach is not for thee: what, tho' the flowers
Which thou dost scatter o'er our pilgrimage,
Are evanescent, yet they are most sweet.
Who would not revel in thy witchery,
Tho' all too soon the spell will be dissolved!
The moments of thy reign are bless'd indeed;
They are the purest pleasures life can boast—
Reality is sadness.—
29
But thy power
Sheds its most soothing influence when the heart,
Too full for utterance, beats a fond farewell!
Then beams thy sunshine, lighting up a sky,
Which else were thickest darkness;—for what gloom
Is like the gloom of absence! But for thee,
And thy sweet promises of meeting joys,
The warm embrace, the look of love, the smile,
The blissful words of welcome once again,—
Parting were as the shadow of the grave.
Sheds its most soothing influence when the heart,
Too full for utterance, beats a fond farewell!
Then beams thy sunshine, lighting up a sky,
Which else were thickest darkness;—for what gloom
Is like the gloom of absence! But for thee,
And thy sweet promises of meeting joys,
The warm embrace, the look of love, the smile,
The blissful words of welcome once again,—
Parting were as the shadow of the grave.
| The Fate of Adelaide | |