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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 | The Venetian bracelet |  |
III.
O pleasant was that night the toilet's care—What broider'd robe to don, what gems to wear!
Her hair was parted on her brow, each braid
Black as the dark-wing'd raven's darkest shade,
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Just stars to light the midnight of her hair.
Well did the sweeping robe of emerald green,
Wrought in rich gold, suit with her stately mien.
“How beautiful she looks this evening!” burst
From every lip, when that fair Countess first
Enter'd Arezzi's hall: her heart's content
To every lighted look its lustre lent.
Her beauty's fault had been, it was too cold;
Features too tranquil in their perfect mould,
A cheek somewhat too pale; but not to-night—
The eye was sparkling, and the cheek was bright.
Gently she glided to a balustrade,
Where jessamine a pleasant shadow made:
It raised no marvel; never had her hand
With its white beauty link'd the saraband;
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Where the light flattery gains its gilded way:
They seldom won more than a few cold words,
As when unskilful hands awake the chords
Of some lorn lute, the music of whose tone
Lives for one touch, and only for that one.
She dwelt within the circle of her heart,
A charm'd world, lovely, lonely, and apart,
Where it had seem'd to her as sin and shame
Aught there had enter'd, not in his dear name.
—It was a spell-touch'd hour. That gorgeous hall,
With perfume floating and with music's fall,
Light steps, and gentle laugh, and whispers bland,—
Was it their words or the sweet airs that fann'd
The beauty's cheek into a redder rose?—
And starry eyes, like what the clear night shows,
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Like sudden sunshine; and dark braids, whose pearls
Were lost on the white neck when there they fell;
And there were shapes, such as in pictures dwell;
It look'd like fairy land. With eager glance
She watch'd the door, and counted every dance;
Then time grew long, hope caught a shade of fear—
“Leoni—but they said he would be here!”
When sudden came Arezzi to her side,—
“Look there, the Count Leoni and his bride!
She with the violet wreath in her bright hair;
Sooth but to say, that English bride is fair!
But I must go and have my welcome paid.”
Alone Amenaïde stood in the shade,—
Alone! ay, utterly. A couch was nigh,
And there she sank—oh, had it been to die!
| The Venetian bracelet | |