 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
THE MOURNFUL GUEST.
I passed through the Hall—
Bright and joyous seemed all—
But one Form drew my rapt looks there;
Not all from the grace
Of a matchless face—
But the fixed look of frozen Despair!
Bright and joyous seemed all—
But one Form drew my rapt looks there;
Not all from the grace
Of a matchless face—
But the fixed look of frozen Despair!
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The look of Despair
That aspect did wear—
It was that chained my long-lingering gaze;
I turned from the rest
To the pale, lorn Guest—
'Twas my pity she won—not my praise!
That aspect did wear—
It was that chained my long-lingering gaze;
I turned from the rest
To the pale, lorn Guest—
'Twas my pity she won—not my praise!
I might not reveal
What I learned to feel
While I gazed on that joyless brow;
No deep words could tell
What I felt too well,
What I strongly felt then, and now!
What I learned to feel
While I gazed on that joyless brow;
No deep words could tell
What I felt too well,
What I strongly felt then, and now!
But these fond alarms
Sprang not from her charms—
(Though perchance they might fan the fire)
Nor the dazzling display
Of her pompous array—
For all royal was her attire!
Sprang not from her charms—
(Though perchance they might fan the fire)
Nor the dazzling display
Of her pompous array—
For all royal was her attire!
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Not her queen-like grace,
Nor her beauteous face,
Then so drew and so fixed my sight—
'Twas to see her stand there,
With that look of Despair,
Like a shroud around Sunshine and Light!
Nor her beauteous face,
Then so drew and so fixed my sight—
'Twas to see her stand there,
With that look of Despair,
Like a shroud around Sunshine and Light!
I turned from the gay
That crowded the way—
To that desolate Being I turned—
In that proud festal room
Fixed and sealed was my doom,
And my heart with Love's fervency burn'd.
That crowded the way—
To that desolate Being I turned—
In that proud festal room
Fixed and sealed was my doom,
And my heart with Love's fervency burn'd.
With a tremulous tone
Then I asked of one—
Who had followed her steps thro' the Hall—
That pale Being's name
Who had lighted the flame
In a heart that had long scorn'd Love's thrall.
Then I asked of one—
Who had followed her steps thro' the Hall—
That pale Being's name
Who had lighted the flame
In a heart that had long scorn'd Love's thrall.
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How the accents did flow
(Distinctly—though low)—
Of the answer he gave to my words—
Through my Sense to my Soul,
Till they maddened the whole,
And thrilled harshly my heart's quiv'ring chords!
(Distinctly—though low)—
Of the answer he gave to my words—
Through my Sense to my Soul,
Till they maddened the whole,
And thrilled harshly my heart's quiv'ring chords!
Oh! the pale, mournful Guest
Was the Queen of the Feast—
(Wretched Victim of cold heartless Pride!)—
That lorn Being so fair,
With her sad hopeless air,
It was she, was the Palatine's Bride!
Was the Queen of the Feast—
(Wretched Victim of cold heartless Pride!)—
That lorn Being so fair,
With her sad hopeless air,
It was she, was the Palatine's Bride!
Still she haunts this crushed heart,
Which thro' Life will ne'er part
With that Vision of Sorrow and Love—
Still I see her stand there,
With her look of Despair,
Although now she's a freed Saint above!
Which thro' Life will ne'er part
With that Vision of Sorrow and Love—
Still I see her stand there,
With her look of Despair,
Although now she's a freed Saint above!
| Hours at Naples, and Other Poems | |