THE ROSE:

THE ITALIAN MINSTREL'S TALE

 

THE Count GONFALI held a feast that night,

And colour'd lamps sent forth their odorous light

Over gold carvings and the purple fall

Of tapestry ; and around each stately hall

Were statues, pale and finely shaped and fair,

As if all beauty save her life were there ;

And, like light clouds floating around each room,

The censers roll'd their volumes of perfume ;

And scented waters mingled with the breath

Of flowers, which died as if they joy’d in death ;

And the white vases, white as mountain snow,

Look'd yet more delicate in the rich glow

Of summer blossoms hanging o'er each side,

Like sunset reddening o'er a silver tide.

There was the tulip with its rainbow globe;

And like the broidery on a silken robe

Made for the beauty's festal midnight hours,

The sparkling jessamine shook its silver showers ;

Like timid hopes the lily shrank from sight;

The rose leant as it languish'd with delight,

Yet, bridelike, drooping in its crimson shame ;

And the anemone, whose cheek of flame

Is golden, as it were the flower the sun

In his noon-hour most loved to look upon.

 

      At first the pillar'd halls were still and lone,

As if some fairy palace all unknown

To mortal eye or step. This was not long ;

Waken'd the lutes, and swell'd a burst of song,

And the vast mirrors glitter'd with the crowd

Of changing shapes. The young, the fair, the proud,

Came thronging in ; and the gay cavalier

Took some fair flower from the fairest near,

And gave it to the dark-eyed beauty's hand,

To mark his partner for the saraband ;

And graceful steps pass'd on, whose tender tread

Was as the rose leaf in the autumn shed ;

And witching words, raising on the young cheek

Blushes that had no need of words to speak.

Many were lovely there ; but, of that many,

Was one who shone the loveliest of any,

The young OLYMPIA. On her face the dyes

Were yet warm with the dance's exercise,

The laugh upon her full red lip yet hung,

And, arrow-like, flash'd light words from her tongue.

She had more loveliness than beauty : hers

Was that enchantment which the heart confers ;

A mouth sweet from its smiles, a glancing eye,

Which had o'er all expression mastery ;

Laughing its orb, but the long dark lash made

Somewhat of sadness with its twilight shade,

And suiting well the upcast look which seem'd

At times as it of melancholy dream'd ;

Her cheek was as a rainbow, it so changed,

As each emotion o'er its surface ranged ;

And every word had its companion blush,

But evanescent as the crimson flush

That tints the daybreak ; and her step was light

As the gale passing o'er the leaves at night ;

In truth those snow feet were too like the wind,

Too slight to leave a single trace behind.

She lean'd against a pillar, and one hand

Smooth'd back the curls that had escaped the band

Of wreath'd red roses,—soft and fitting chain

In bondage such bright prisoners to retain.

The other was from the white marble known

But by the clasping of its emerald zone :

And lighted up her brow, and flash'd her eye,

As many that were wandering careless by

Caught but a sound, and paused to hear what more

Her lip might utter of its honey store.

She had that sparkling wit which is like light.

Making all things touch'd with its radiance bright ;

And a sweet voice, whose words would chain all round,

Although they had no other charm than sound.

And many named her name, and each with praise;

Some with her passionate beauty fill'd their gaze,

Some mark'd her graceful step, and others spoke

Of the so many hearts that own'd the yoke

Of her bewildering smile ; meantime, her own

Seem'd as that it no other love had known

Than its sweet loves of nature, music, song,

Which as by right to woman's world belong,

And make it lovely for Love's dwelling-place.

Alas ! that he should leave his fiery trace !

But this bright creature's brow seem'd all too fair,

Too gay, for Love to be a dweller there ;

For Love brings sorrow : yet you might descry

A troubled flashing in that brilliant eye,

A troubled colour on that varying cheek,

A hurry in the tremulous lip to speak

Avoidance of sad topics, as to shun

Somewhat the spirit dared not rest upon ;

An unquiet feverishness a change of place,

A pretty pettishness, if on her face

A look dwelt as in scrutiny to seek

What hidden meanings from its change might break.

.

      One gazed with silent homage, one who caught

Her every breath, and blush, and look, and thought ;

One whose step mingled not with the gay crowd

That circled round her as of right allow'd,

But one who stood aloof with that lone pride

Which ever to deep passion is allied.

Half-scorning, yet half-envying the gay ring

That gather'd round with gentle blandishing,

He stood aloof; and, cold and stern and high,

Look'd as he mock'd at their idolatry :

Yet long'd his knee to bend before the shrine

Of the sweet image his heart own'd divine ;

While, half in anger that she had not known

What even to himself he would not own.

He knew not how a woman's heart will keep

The mystery of itself, and like the deep

Will shine beneath the sunbeam, flash and flow

O'er the rich bark that perishes below.

She felt he gazed upon her, and her cheek

Wore added beauty in its crimson break;

And softer smiles were on her lip, like those

The summer moonlight sheds upon the rose ;

And her eye sparkled, like the wine-cup's brim,

Mantling in light, though it turn'd not to him.

Again the dancers gather'd ; from them one

Took gayly her fair hand, and they are gone.

LEONI follow'd not, yet as they pass'd

How could OLYMPIA'S light step be the last?

Yet pass'd she quickly by him, and the haste

From her wreath'd hair one fragrant rose displaced.

LEONI saw it fall ; he is alone,

And he may make the fairy gift his own.

He took the flower, and to his lip 't was press'd,

One moment, and 'tis safe within his breast ;

But while he linger'd dreaming o'er its bloom,

OLYMPIA’S step again is in the room

With the young cavalier, who urged her way,

And said her rose beside the column lay,

For there he miss'd it, and some flattering word

Fill'd up the whisper which he only heard.

LEONI flung it down in carelessness,

As he had mark'd them not, and held it less

From knowledge of his act than vacant thought,

While the mind on some other subject wrought.

In haste he left them both, but he could hear

The pleading of the gallant cavalier

For that rose as a gift. He might not tell

What answer from the maiden's lip then fell,

But when they met again he mark'd her hair

Where it had wreath'd,—the rosebud was not there.

They pass'd and repass'd : he, cold, silently,

As was his wont ; but she, with flashing eye,

And blush lit up to crimson, seem'd to wear

More than accustom'd gladness in her air.

Ah ! the heart overacts its part ; its mirth,

Like light, will all too often take its birth

'Mid darkness and decay ; those smiles that press,

Like the gay crowd round, are not happiness :

For peace broods quiet on her dovelike wings,

And this false gaiety a radiance flings,

Dazzling but hiding not ; and some who dwelt

Upon her meteor beauty, sadness felt ;

Its very brilliance spoke the fever'd breast ;

Thus glitter not the waters when at rest.

 

      The scene is changed, the maiden is alone

To brood upon Hope's temple overthrown ;

The hue has left her lip, the light her eye,

And she has flung her down as if to die.

Back from her forehead was the rich hair swept,

Which yet its festal braid of roses kept.

She was in solitude ; the silent room

Was in the summer's sweet and shadowy gloom ;

The sole light from the oratory came,

Where a small lamp sent forth its scented flame

Beneath the Virgin's picture ; but the wind

Stole from the casement, for the jasmine twined,

With its luxuriant boughs, too thickly grew,

To let the few dim star-beams wander through.

In her hand was a rose ; she held the flower

As if her eye were spellbound by its power.

It was spell-bound ; coldly that flower repress'd

Sweet hopes,—ay, hopes, albeit unconfess'd.

Check'd, vainly check'd, the bitter grief recurs—

That rose flung down because that rose was hers !

And at the thought paleness in blushes fled,

Had he, then, read her heart, and scorn'd when read !

Oh ! better perish, than endure that thought

She started from her couch ; when her eye caught

The Virgin's picture. Seem'd it that she took

Part in her votary's suffering ; the look

Spoke mild reproof, touch'd with grave tenderness,

Pitying her grief, yet blaming her excess.

OLYMPIA turn'd away, she might not bear

To meet such holy brow, such placid air,

At least not yet ; for she must teach her breast

A lesson of submission, if not rest,

And still each throbbing pulse, ere she might kneel

And pray for peace she had not sought to feel.

 

      She sought the casement, lured by the soft light

Of the young moon, now rising on the night

The cool breeze kiss'd her, and a jasmine spray

Caught in her tresses, as to woo her stay.

And there were sights and sounds that well might fling

A charmed trance on deepest suffering.

For stood the palace close on the sea shore ;

Not like the northern ones, where breakers roar,

And rugged rocks and barren sands are blent,—

At once doth desolate and magnificent ;

But here the beach had turf, and trees that grew

Down to the waterside, and made its blue

Mirror for their dark shapes. Is naught so fair

But must there come somewhat of shadow there ?

Whate'er thou touchest there must be some shade,

Fair earth, such destiny for thee is made.

 

      It was a night to gaze upon the sea,

Marvel, and envy its tranquillity ;

It was a night to gaze upon the earth,

And feel mankind were not her favourite birth ;

It was a night to gaze upon the sky.

Pine for its loveliness, and pray to die.

OLYMPIA felt the hour; from her cheek fled

Passion's untranquil rose, she bow'd her head :

For the thick tears like hasty childhood's came ;

She hid her face, for tears are shed with shame.

Her heart had spent its tempest, like the cloud

When summer rain bursts from its stormy shroud ;

Pale, sad, but calm, she turn'd, and bent the knee,

In meekest prayer, Madonna fair, to thee. 

Where might the maiden's soul, thus crush'd and riven.

Turn from its mortal darkness, but to Heaven ?

It is in vain to say that love is not

The life and colour of a woman's lot.

It is her strength ; for what, like love's caress,

Will guard and guide her own weak tenderness ?

It is her pride, fleeting and false the while,

To see her master suing for her smile.

Calls it not all her best affections forth,—

Pure faith, devotedness, whose fruitless worth

Is all too little felt ? Oh ! man has power

Of head and hand,—heart is a woman's dower.

      Youth, beauty, rank, and wealth, all these combined,—

Can these be wretched ? Mystery of the mind !

Whose happiness is in itself, but still

Has not that happiness at its own will.

 

      And she was wretched ; she, the young, the fair,

The good, the kind, bow'd down in her despair.

Ay, bitterest of the bitter, this worst pain,—

To know love's offering has been in vain ;

Rejected, scorn'd, and trampled under foot,

Its bloom and leaves destroy'd, not so its root.

" He loves me not,"—no other word or sound

An echo in OLYMPIA’S bosom found,

She thought on many a look, and many a tone,

From which she gather'd hope,—now these were gone,

Life were too burthensome, save that it led

To death ; and peace, at least, was with the dead.

One pang remain'd ; perchance, though unconfess'd, 

Some secret hope yet linger'd in her breast ;

But this too was destroy'd. She learn'd next morn

Sea winds and waters had LEONI borne

Afar to other lands; and she had now

But only to her hapless fate to bow.

 

      She changed, she faded, she the young, the gay,

Like the first rose Spring yields to pale decay.

Still her lip wore the sweetness of a smile,

But it forgot its gaiety the while.

Her voice had ever a low gentle tone,

But now 'twas tremulous as Sorrow's own ;

Her step fell softer as it were subdued

To suit its motion to her alter'd mood ;

As if her every movement, gesture, look,

Their bearing from the spirit's sadness took ;

And yet there was no word which told that grief

Prey'd on the heart as blight plays on the leaf.

But meeker tenderness to those around,

A soothing, sharing love, as if she found

Her happiness in theirs ; more mild, more kind,

As if a holier rule were on her mind.

I cannot choose but marvel at the way

In which our lives pass on, from day to day

Learning strange lessons in the human heart,

And yet like shadows letting them depart.

Is misery so familiar that we bring

Ourselves to view it as a usual thing ?

Thus is it ; how regardless pass we by

The cheek to paleness worn, the heavy eye !

We do too little feel each other’s pain ;

We do relax too much the social chain

That binds us to each other; slight the care

There is for grief in which we have no share.

 

       OLYMPIA felt all this ; it loosed one more

Of her heart's ties, and earth's illusions wore

The aspect of their truth, a gloomy show,

But what it well befits the soul to know,

It taught the lesson of how vain the toil

To build our hopes upon earth's fragile soil.

Oh ! only those who suffer, those may know

How much of piety will spring from woe.

 

      Days, weeks, and months pass'd onwards, and once more

LEONI stood upon his native shore.

Slight change there was in him: perchance his brow

Wore somewhat of more settled shadow now ;

Somewhat of inward grief, too, though repress'd,

Was in his scornful speech and bitter jest ;

For misery, like a masquer, mocks at all

In which it has no part, or one of gall,

I will say that he loved her, but say not

That his, like hers, was an ill-blighted lot ;

For ever in man's bosom will man's pride

An equal empire with his love divide.

 

      It was one glorious sunset, lone and mute,

Save a young page who sometimes waked his lute

With snatches of sad song ; LEONI paced

His stately hall, and much might there be traced

What were the workings of its owner's mind.

Red wine was in a silver vase enshrined,

But rudely down the cup was flung, undrain'd,

So hastily, the leaf below was stain'd ;

For many an open'd volume lay beside,

As each for solace had in vain been tried :

And now, worn, wearied, with his solitude,

He strode, half sad, half listless in his mood,

Listening the lute or the deep ocean wave,

When an attendant enter'd in and gave

A packet to his hand. Careless he gazed,

And broke the seal. Why ! the red flush has raised

Its passion to his brow—what ! is the name

There written ?—from OLYMPIA, then, it came.

 

      " One word, LEONI, 'tis my first and last,

And never spoken but that life is past.

It is earth's lingering dreaming, that I pine

To know these lines will meet one look of thine ;

If possible upon thy heart to fling

One gentle memory, one soft thought to cling

To thy more mournful hours ; to bid thee take

A pledge too dearly treasured for thy sake,

And one of mine. Ah ! this may be forgiven ;

"Tis the last weakness of the bride of Heaven,

Which I shall be or e'er this comes to tell

How much thou hast been loved. Farewell, farewell !"

 

      He took her gift: well known the pledges there,

A wither'd rose, a tress of silken hair.

 

                         ------------------

 

SUNNY and blue was the minstrel's eye,

Like the lake when noontide is passing by ;

And his hair fell down in its golden rings,

As bright and as soft as his own harp-strings.

Yet with somewhat wild upon lip and cheek,

As forth the enthusiast spirit would break

To wander at times through earth and air,

And feed upon all the wonders there.

A changeful prelude his light notes rung,

As remembering all they had ever sung :

Now the deep numbers rolled along,

Like the fiery sweep of a battle song ;

Now sad, yet bold, as those numbers gave

Their last farewell to the victor's grave ;

Then was it soft and low, as it brought

The depths of the maiden's lovelorn thought :—

Harp of Erin ! hath song a tone

Not to thy gifted numbers known ?—

But the latest touch was light and calm,

As the voice of a hymn, the night-falling balm ;

Holy and sweet, as its music were given

Less from a vision of earth than of heaven.