_Leonore_. Why art thou sad?
_Lover_. Sweet Leonore
Come hither and list! On their golden shore
Yon waters sing. The winds are nigh;
They have swept all cloud from the starry sky;
And a rare song-woof their fingers weave
On earth--in air. 'Tis a pleasant eve!
A magic is in wind, moon and star--
A magic that winneth hearts afar
To the days that are past. Come, best beloved,
Look forth from this lattice: own the spell
Which hath moved a spirit long unmoved--
While I tell thee a tale I love to tell.
_Leon_. A tale thou lovest!
_Lover_. Aye, by my word!
As her wail is dear to the shadow bird,
Whose haunt is low in yon Linden glen,
I love the tale of my grievous pain.
The bird of the shadow will wail her wail--
Come hither, sweet Lady, and list my tale;
No word of my lip shall wound thine ear.
_Leon_. I will list thy story--but O, _not here!_
This lattice!--Hast thou----
_Lover_. Forgotten?--no.
Here--erst--when the moon--a bended bow--
Rained its ray-arrows on wave and air,
And their jewelled points illumed thy hair,
I saw thy lips part, and heard thee say,
Thou wouldst love me well till thy dying day.
I am happy!--But Lady, thou wilt not blame
This lip that sad words--sad words--brim o'er
At thought of one whom I may not name.
Wilt thou list my dark story, sweet Leonore?
_Leon_. I hear thee.
_Lover_. The stars and the white-armed moon
Are bright in heaven; and the breath of June
In the faint wind liveth. On such a night,
With the sky as blue, with the moon as bright,
I roved with one by a lonely shore;
_I have loved another_, sweet Leonore!
_Leon_. I hear thee!
_Lover_. Wan were the brow and cheek
Of her whose name I may not speak;
And gentle the flow of her long fair hair;
And her azure eye had a beauty rare.
I won that girl to my doting heart:
But a rival came, and his fiendish art
Fell witheringly--as falls the dew
On Brandon night. Her kinsman knew
That 'twas a sinful and deadly stain--
This last wild love--so not again
Met they--the lovers--in peace or pain!
--He who had won by his fiendish art
Died mad; and _she_ of a broken heart. {110}
They made her a grave by our love's lone shore,
And I laughed in strange mirth, sweet Leonore.
_Leon_. Alas!
_Lover_. Yet a burning and restless pain
Lived evermo' at my heart and brain.
What balm sought I?--Forgetfulness,
Ah!--wo is me! I had none to bless
My desolate heart: no soothing tone
To cheer my spirit seared and lone:
No hand of love to clasp mine own.
And anguish--great anguish dogged my step,
Till I did swear me that a fiend
Spake in mine ear with a hissing lip.
I bared my brow to the haunted wind
On wintry hills; and then in fear
Would seek my couch most lone and drear,
And mutter a name for the dead to hear.
And in my mad dreams, sweet Leonore,
I shuddered and moaned--"Pain evermore!"
_Leon_. Alas!
_Lover_. But time wore fleetly on,
And the lines were less deep on my forehead wan.
I sought to bury my wrongs in wine;
And I sought in the crowd where star-eyes shine
For my thwarted heart a second shrine:--
Yet _this_ in vain! I found it not,
For naught from the book of Time mote blot
The one black page, and Memory ever
Dwelt, till my temples throbbed with fever,
On that stained page and its letters wild.
_Leon_. And yet thou lovedst!
_Lover_. A dream beguiled
My life from anguish. Leonore!
Canst thou unlock the mystic lore
Of sleep and its visions dim and bright?
I slumbered--in pain: the lingering blight
Still lay on my spirit. I dreamed a dream!
Like motes on the swell of a noonday beam,
A thousand vague forms passed me by,
Wheeling and circling hurriedly.
These passed, and methought a lady bright
Leant on my arm, and clasped my hand:
Her chiselled temples were high and white;
But her life did seem as a name in sand,
With the waters near:--For her eyes were wild,
And her long teeth glittered as she smiled,
And her cheek was sunken. I ne'er had seen
That lofty brow with its lily sheen,
In my waking hours, and ne'er till then
Had I heard what I yearned to hear again--
That lady's voice!--Sweet Leonore,
'Twas a gentle joy to linger o'er
That dying one so fair and meek.
While I gazed in love on her faded cheek,
She shuddered and--died! I sprang, aghast,
From my couch, and moaned.
The strange dream passed--
Passed from its seat on my troubled brain.
I awoke to the forms of earth again.
Time flew his soar, as Time aye flies;
And I basked in the light of earthly eyes,
Till, joyous of heart, and light of mood,
I fled from naught save solitude.
I laughed, and many a hoary head
Shook thoughtfully, and wise men said--
As stole vague fears of a stormy morrow--
"Naught knoweth yon gallant _yet_ of sorrow."
In a crowded hall, on a festive night--
Aloof from the fears of dotard eld--
I spake in the ear of a Lady bright,
Whom--awake--I had ne'er, till then, beheld.
_Thine_ was that ear: and much it moved
The chords of my spirit, best beloved,
To gaze on the peerless Leonore.
Thou--_thou_ wast the Lady of the dream;
And I unriddled the mystic lore
Which mortal men a madness deem,
And said, while my heart leapt joyously,
"The dream was the voice of destiny.
Kind Heaven hath sent this gentle one--
This being of beauty--of beauty to atone
For the viper's tooth: and she will be
Through sorrow and joy, mine faithfully,
Till the days of her life on earth are o'er"--
And I wooed and won thee, Leonore.
He ceased. The Lady turned her head,
Her soft cheek flushed with a ruby fever--
But she gazed in his face and meekly said,
"As I love thee now will I love thee ever."
Then passion came to the Lover's eye,
And as he bowed him, tenderly,
To kiss the brow of his Leonore,
These words spake he--"Bliss evermore!"
But constancy dwelleth not on earth,
And this world's joy is of little worth,
For we know that ere the birth of morrow,
The cup may be changed for one of sorrow.
This is a truth my heart hath learned,
From one who loved, and then falsely spurned:
This is a truth which all must know
Whose lots are cast in this world of wo.
A poet's thanks for thy courtesy,
Thou gentle one, whose step with me
Hath kindly been!
One fytte is done--
Yet sith thus far we twain have gone,
I'll "ply my wrest,"[1] then tell thee more
Of the loves of the Lady Leonore.