University of Virginia Library

The halls were bright, and music echoed round,
While merry feet responded to the sound,
As light as is the gentle rustling heard
When the fresh leaves by evening's breath are stirred:
Aye, beautiful were those resplendent rooms,
All light, and flowers, and delicate perfumes;
While many a brilliant form swept gayly by,
With lofty step, and proudly flashing eye;
And many a knight, stern on the battle-field,
Taught by sweet woman's witchery to yield,
Was bowed to her capricious smile; and now
'Twas pleasant to behold the warrior brow
Bending before some gentle girl, as fair
And delicate as a thing all light or air.

Apart from the gay throng, a pale youth stood,
As, though 'mid thousands, still in solitude,
Holding a simple lyre: not his the form
That ladies love to look on and to charm:
Small, slender, boyish was his figure; pale
His sunken cheek, that told a mournful tale
Of early suffering; though his eye was proud,
And bright as flashes from the thunder-cloud;
His thin and flexile lips seemed meant to pour
The wealth of song, but not the honeyed store
Of youthful love; and though his raven hair
Fell on a lofty brow, yet early care
Had left its foot-prints on it. What doth he
Amid that joyous scene of revelry?

He was the castle's lord, and he in truth
Had tasted sorrow; on his early youth
No parents kindly smiled; their pride, their joy
Was centred in their younger, fairer boy.
The mother gazed upon the charms that dwelt
In Julio's noble face, until she felt
Her soul, almost with loathing, turn away
From Guido's pale and shrunken form: each day
Guido more keenly felt this; his stern sire
Loved the proud boy who stood with eye of fire
To hear the tale of battles fierce and wild,
But turned in scorn upon his feebler child:
“What, comest thou, too? no, boy, thy woman's hand
Was never meant to grasp the blood-stained brand;
Julio's high heart is vowed to chivalry,
But nursery legends are more fit for thee.”
He little knew the being he despised!
Guido had not the gifts by warriors prized,
But genius o'er his soul had poured its light;
His was the poet's wreath, and O, how bright
It shone o'er wasted feeling's hopeless night!
Dearly the brothers loved each other: birth
Placed Guido first: but all men hold of worth,—
All that they deem the richest goods of heaven,
Love, beauty, honor,—were to Julio given;
While all the hapless elder-born could claim
Beyond his birthright, was a minstrel's fame.
Yet did they cling together: nought could speak
To Julio's heart like Guido's kindling cheek;
And praise might fall upon his ear in vain,
If that loved voice reëchoed not the strain;
While Guido felt as if not quite bereft
Of all life's joys, since Julio yet was left.

That sire was dead, that brother far away,
And Guido now must celebrate the day
When he first claimed his birthright; but how sad
Was his young heart while all around was glad!
He felt that to his noble name he owed
The homage of the gay and thoughtless crowd.
He knew that, had he been the younger born,
He had been deemed a thing that men might scorn;
And, now he stood apart from all, a smile
Of cold contempt curled his pale lip the while
That they, who bowed the castle's lord to greet,
Should think him duped by such scarce-veiled deceit.
But these unkindly feelings were not made
To dwell with poesy: his fingers strayed
Across his harp-strings, then, to still the throng
Of wayward thoughts, he calmed them thus with song:—

The song had ceased; but still the minstrel seemed
Gazing on visions he too oft had dreamed;
Till the low tones of woman's voice awoke
New thoughts, new dreams; for of himself she spoke:
“And is he always thus—so sad and pale?
Surely that brow reveals a mournful tale.”
He started—turned—O! years might not erase
The memory of that young and lovely face.
Her eye met his full gaze—a deep blush shone
O'er her fair cheek and brow—then—she was gone.
But those sweet words of kind and gentle feeling,
The look, that beamed on him so bright, revealing
All woman's pitying tenderness, now fell
On Guido's soul like some bewitching spell,
Bidding his wayward fantasies depart,
And chasing all the demon from his heart.

Where is he now? His simple lyre thrown by,
With joyous smile the bard is seated nigh
That graceful girl. E'en had she not been fair
Guido had found some trace of beauty there;
For he recalled the look, the low-breathed word
That with such new-born bliss his feelings stirred.
But she was beautiful; 'twas not the glow
Of simple beauty decked her cheek and brow;
For on her lofty forehead mind had made
Its visible temple; her thick tresses strayed
Down on her neck, as if they feared to rest
On that proud brow, but loved her gentler breast;
Her eye was dark as midnight, yet as bright
As if no tear had ever dimmed its light;
Lovely as love's first dream were her sweet lips—
Sweet as the honey that the wild bee sips
On famed Hymettus; the pale, pearl-like hue
Of her soft cheek was fair as if it drew
Its tint from purity: the oval face,
So like some sculptured statue's classic grace,
The nobly-arching brow, the veinèd lid,
'Neath which the full dark eye was scarcely hid,
The short, curved upper lip,—aye, Guido dwelt
On all these charms, until his spirit felt
As though it looked on some bright deity;
But O! what passing joy was his when she
Looked kindly on him, and, with gentle wile,
Sought to win back to his pale lip the smile!

The crowd have passed away, and, 'mid the sighs
Of dying odors, Guido lonely lies
Wrapt in fair dreams of beauty; but each thought
With the remembrance of one face is fraught:
He oft had fancied, but to-night he feels
How much of sweetness woman's look reveals.