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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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | SCENE V. |
| VI. |
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 | The Venetian bracelet |  |
154
SCENE V.
—Bertha in her Room.BERTHA.
The sound of festival is in my ear,
Haunting it with faint music; the red lights
Shine fitfully reflected in the lake,
Where I have never seen aught but the moon
Mirror'd before, or the bright quiet stars.
A weight is on the air, for ev'ry breeze
Has, bird-like, folded up its wings for sleep.
It is like mockery of the silent night
To choose her hours for merriment; but thus
We struggle with all natural laws, and make
Our life a strange disorder. Yet how sweet
Comes up the distant music!—though 'tis sad.
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But echoes to the dancers' joyous steps.
Why should they rouse in me such mournful thoughts?
Recalling snatches of familiar songs,
I've sung to those sweet airs, all sorrowful.
I see the youthful warrior with his head
Pillow'd upon his shield, but not for sleep;
The maiden with her face upon her hands
Bow'd in its last despair. What are the words? [Sings a few words in a low tone to herself.
And fitfully the embers raised
A faint and passing flame;
They miss'd her from her father's hearth,
But call'd not on her name.
A faint and passing flame;
They miss'd her from her father's hearth,
But call'd not on her name.
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They knew that she was weeping
For the loved and for the dead;
In silence and in solitude,
Must such heavy tears be shed?
For the loved and for the dead;
In silence and in solitude,
Must such heavy tears be shed?
And can these notes, so long associate
With love and sorrow, thus be turn'd to mirth,
And we shall dance to what brought tears before? [Leaning from the casement.
How beautiful it is! though on the air
There is the stillness of a coming storm,
And on the sky its darkness. On the west,
Like a rebellious multitude, the clouds
Are gather'd in huge masses; but the Moon,
Like a young queen, unconscious, brightens still
A little clear blue space; though rapidly
Her comrades, the sweet stars, sink one by one,
Lost in the spreading vapours. Yet the lake
Has not a shadow. Well may the young Moon
Forget her danger, gazing on the face
Its silver waters mirror:—all beyond
Is like the grave's obscurity; more near
All is most tranquil beauty and repose.
The garden flowers are paler than by day,
And sweeter. What an altar of perfume
Is the musk-rose, beneath my casement twined!
Dipping its golden tresses in the lake,
Leans the laburnum, and beneath its shade
Sleep my two swans, as white, as still as snow.
—The wind is rising, and a yellow haze,
Like a volcano's smoke, makes heaven less dark
To be more fearful. I can now discern
Our ancient avenue of cedar trees,—
How black they look, and with what heavy strength
The giant branches move!—the weary air
Like a deep breath comes from them.—Ah, how dark!
It is the first cloud that has touch'd the moon:—
Her loveliness has conquer'd,—oh, not yet!—
One huge cloud, and another. I could deem
The evil powers did war on high to-night.
And are there such that o'er humanity
Hold influence,—the terrible, the wild,—
Inscrutable as fear,—the ministers
To our unholy passions? These are they
Who dazzle with unrighteous wealth, and make
Our sleep temptation; they who fill its dreams
With passionate strife and guilt, until the mind
Is grown familiar with the sight of blood.
I do believe in them:—by those strange crimes
Man's natural heart would shrink from,—by the fear
That comes with midnight,—by that awful face,
Which, though they say it was a fantasy,
I know I saw,—I do believe in them.
With love and sorrow, thus be turn'd to mirth,
And we shall dance to what brought tears before? [Leaning from the casement.
How beautiful it is! though on the air
There is the stillness of a coming storm,
And on the sky its darkness. On the west,
Like a rebellious multitude, the clouds
Are gather'd in huge masses; but the Moon,
Like a young queen, unconscious, brightens still
A little clear blue space; though rapidly
157
Lost in the spreading vapours. Yet the lake
Has not a shadow. Well may the young Moon
Forget her danger, gazing on the face
Its silver waters mirror:—all beyond
Is like the grave's obscurity; more near
All is most tranquil beauty and repose.
The garden flowers are paler than by day,
And sweeter. What an altar of perfume
Is the musk-rose, beneath my casement twined!
Dipping its golden tresses in the lake,
Leans the laburnum, and beneath its shade
Sleep my two swans, as white, as still as snow.
—The wind is rising, and a yellow haze,
Like a volcano's smoke, makes heaven less dark
To be more fearful. I can now discern
158
How black they look, and with what heavy strength
The giant branches move!—the weary air
Like a deep breath comes from them.—Ah, how dark!
It is the first cloud that has touch'd the moon:—
Her loveliness has conquer'd,—oh, not yet!—
One huge cloud, and another. I could deem
The evil powers did war on high to-night.
And are there such that o'er humanity
Hold influence,—the terrible, the wild,—
Inscrutable as fear,—the ministers
To our unholy passions? These are they
Who dazzle with unrighteous wealth, and make
Our sleep temptation; they who fill its dreams
With passionate strife and guilt, until the mind
Is grown familiar with the sight of blood.
159
Man's natural heart would shrink from,—by the fear
That comes with midnight,—by that awful face,
Which, though they say it was a fantasy,
I know I saw,—I do believe in them.
Enter Jaromir.
JAROMIR.
O Bertha, you are beautiful to-night!
My fairy Princess, with your golden hair
Loosed from the braids which almost hid its wealth,
Descending in a sunny shower of curls,
And lighted up with diamonds; and your waist,—
That rainbow girdle of all precious stones,—
How well it suits its slender gracefulness!
160
At yonder mirror; and now let me lead
My lovely cousin to the festal rooms.
Come, Bertha.
| The Venetian bracelet | |