Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE IMPROVISATORE: ALBERT AND EMILY, by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE IMPROVISATORE: ALBERT AND EMILY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Twas on the evening of a summer day
Last Line: A downy perfume whispers in the air.
Subject(s): Death; Despair; Insanity; Lightning; Love; Nature; Rain; Sleep; Storms; Summer; Dead, The; Madness; Mental Illness; Lightning Rods


I.
'TWAS on the evening of a summer day,
The frowning clouds were scudding fast away;
The sky, which shone like one broad eye of blue,
Sprinkled the velvet turf with scented dew;
The prattling birds now ventured from their nests,
Some spread their wings where the sweet balm was shed,
Some vainly decked their variegated breasts,
And some were bustling to their tiny bed.

II.
There was a flush of gladness in the west
The sun was sinking from the realms he blessed;
Huge snaky wreaths of mist were twining round
In spires, the steaming incense of the ground;
The flowrets downward cast their tearful eyes,
And seemed to sleep, so silently they hung;
Save where the harebells waved in zephyr's sighs;
To elfin ears, no doubt, a peal they rung.

III.
The alley was all motionless and still;
A sleepy streamlet murmured down the hill,
And on its mossy banks the violet blue,
The couch of perfume, in dark beauty grew.
In the mid stream there was a little isle,
Fragrant and cool, with liquid odours wet;
Round it the dimpled current seemed to smile;
'Twas like a gem in living silver set.

IV.
Within that isle there was a flower-crowned mount
For ever moistened by a sparkling fount;
'Twas as though Flora had been sporting there,
And dropped some jewels from her loosened hair:
On many a spangled stalk there blushed the rose,
And in its cup a drop of evening dew
ked like a cloud-wept ruby, among those
The silken grass its tears of emerald threw.

V.
There too were lilies, like a lady's cheek
Moistened with lover's kisses; there the sleek
And glittering turf was daisy-chequered o'er,
A beauteous carpet on the arbour's floor.
And there they lay, Albert and Emily,
As fair a pair of buds as e'er were seen,
The while she listened to his eager sigh,
And answered, smiling, all his glances keen.

VI.
Her eyes were but half open, yet out peeped
Two starry balls, in watery radiance steeped,
Between the fringed lids, striving to hide
Their softness from the lover at her side:
And when he dared to look into those bright
And streaming crystals, with a timid stare,
He saw a smiling babe swathed in their light,
As if the god of love were cradled there.

VII.
Those eyes were of a beauteous melting blue,
Like a dark violet bathed in quivering dew;
Her mouth seemed formed for sighs and sportive guile
And youthful kisses; and there played a smile
About her lips; like an inconstant moth
Around a flower, now settling, and now flown
With every passing breath, as though 'twere loth
To stay and make the resting place its own.

VIII.
Her bosom too was fair, and calmly heaved
As her glad ears his fervent vows received;
And ever and anon a flush was cast
Across its surface, as his warm sighs passed.
But, underneath that breast, panted a heart
In which pure love had fixed his sovereign seat;
All ignorant of cold disdain or smart,
Responsive to her lover's sighs it beat—

IX.
Her music-winged voice, from her sweet throat,
Came winding to the ear, like a small boat
Of sounds melodious, buoyed upon a lake
Of flowing harmony; and, when she spake
Echo scarce sighed again, or breathed a sound
As soft as zephyrs buzzing in a tree;
Or, as in noontide stillness float around
The honey-smothered murmurs of a bee.

X.
A down her fair and glowing cheek there hung
A cluster of slight auburne curls, that clung
To her brows tenderly; a brilliancy
Fell on them from the sunshine of her eye;
And, as she calmly breathed, those ringlets gay
Danced in her sighs upon her bosom white;
So oft the wanderer in the noon of May
Sees golden insects glittering in the light.

XI.
He was a fair and noble youth; his face
Was feminine, and yet a manly grace
A dorned his features, and imperial thought
State on his lofty brow, whereon were wrought
The lineaments of wisdom; but a cloud
Of love despondent oftentimes would lie
A cross his front, and kindle up a proud
Swift flash of lightning in his lowering eye.

XII.
Vows panted on his breath, and the soft air
Grew moist with dewy sighs which floated there;
Their eyes were quaffing one another's beams,
Fixedly feasting on those amorous streams.
'Twas on the evening of a summer day,
A joyous moment in a youthful life,
When Albert to his heart, as there she lay,
Clasped that bright Angel upon earth, a wife:

XIII.
(For they were plighted; and the sunset ray
That kissed her lovely bosom, the next day
Would light them to the changing of their troth
So long desired and waited for by both.)
He read in those deep glances, which the lash
So beautifully curtained from his sight,
Her perfect love, and answered with a flash
Of rapture from his eye, which streamed delight.

XIV.
Meantime the sun was fading fast away,
Stealing his glory from the closing day;
The breeze low murmured with its downy breath,
And fanned the songsters into nightly death.
The glare of light was mellowed into shade,
And myriad-eyed night, the queen of thought,
The silent mandate of old time obeyed,
And blotted nature's beauties into nought.

XV.
Quickly the moon, in virgin lustre dight,
Amongst the brilliant swarm cast forth her light,
Sailing along the waveless lake of blue,
Smiling with pallid light, a bright canoe.
The earth beneath, the silent-moving globe,
The restless sea, the hills, and fertile ground,
Were all enveloped in a slender robe
Of splendour, which she nightly weaves around.

XVI.
Still there the lovers were, and her hand lay,
Wrapped round and round, by his, in gentle play:
It struggled softly, with a feeble power,
Like a lone bee imprisoned in a flower,
That beats against the petals peevishly;
Yet round her wrist still Albert's fingers clung,
And, as she looked at him half angrily,
To soothe her, with a murmuring voice he sung.

XVII.
But oh! what thought-dipped pen shall chain in words
Those sweet endearments, that, like truant birds,
Fled from their lips, and nestled in their ears,
Unruffled by sad sobs, unclogged with tears?
What voice shall echo lovers' gentle jars,
And fancied griefs, and eager sighs, which stole
Airy-winged prisoners through mouth's ivory bars,
And whispers, bubbles of the melting soul?

XVIII.
Those words that waft the odour of the heart,
Those looks which chain their eyes together?—Art
Is all in vain. My young and feeble hand
Drops from its nerveless grasp the poet's wand.
Then let your feelings tell them all in thought;
And to th' Æolian touches of the Iyre
Hang to the sweet tear, from Love's deep treasury brought,
And tune the breathings of his cherub choir.

XIX.
She listened to his love, and wove a wreath,
For her young bard, of plants which grew beneath;
She kissed them as she plucked, and tried to shower
Upon his willing head each lovely flower.
Her head was pillowed on her waxen arm,
And to the light she turned her forehead bare,
And slumber'd lightly. Oh, what impious harm
Could dare to harass that sweet sleeping fair!

XX.
The murmuring brook, and breezes without number,
Lulled with short harmony her peaceful slumber;
Then Albert looked with joy upon his love,
And called on her sweet visions from above:
And, ere he turned to sleep, he swept aside
The long grass from her cheeks, and gently spread
His mantle, which was warm and fully wide,
Upon her bosom and unshielded head.

XXI.
They slept like infants. Not a breeze passed o'er
Their cheeks, but downy lullings with it bore:
Their calm lips moved not, and no throb of pain
Drove fitful streams from every swelling vein,
To tinge with blood the fever-parched cheek,
But the thin moonlight kissed their eyes to rest,
And, like a mother's blessing, pure and meek,
It hovered o'er them in their silent nest.

XXII.
But in their dreams, which thickly came and sweet,
They knew not with what sudden sweep a fleet
Of clustering clouds, cumbering the stars, were driven,
And scowled upon their slumbers from high heaven:
They poured unnumbered, until the sky
Was blotted every where; there seemed to stare
At intervals, an hideous bloodshot eye,
That threatened them with flickering, doubtful flare.

XXIII.
At length the war-cry of the heavens burst out,
A deep, encreasing murmur; like the shout
From darkling ambush of some savage foes;
At that loud peal the startled hills arose,
And growled out discord from their straining throats;
The clouds again gave forth a dismal roar;
Again the mountains caught the deafening notes,
Like surges lashing on a rocky shore.

XXIV.
And when those billows of fierce sound had passed,
Chasing their echo on the midnight blast,
A sullen silence brooded on the hill,
And every living thing was deadly still:
The air grew stagnant, not a truant breath
Ruffled the herbage; every sound was hushed
On earth and sky, as if the hand of death
Had with wild grasp all life and motion crushed.

XXV.
Then Emily awoke. She, in her sleep,
Had seen bright angel faces downward peep
With radiant kindness, and she seemed to hear
Whispers of comfort rustle in her ear;
Her soul was bathed in gladness; every thought,
That formed a picture in her clouded eye,
Fresh joy and pleasure to her feelings brought:
She woke—and saw the terrors of the sky!

XXVI.
Fear choaked her screams; she flew and rudely took
Reclining Albert by his arm, and shook
The sleeper with her weak and trembling might,
That he might know the dangers of the night.
She stirred him; but he 'woke not—Oh! that sleep,
'Twould never leave him; slowly she laid down
His heavy arm, and then began to weep;
He started up, and saw the tempest frown—

XXVII.
As he was rising quickly from the ground,
She heard him move, and gladly turned around;
He clasped her hand;—'twas trembling and chill,
But between his he wrapped it fondly still.
She tried to whisper to him all her dread,
The stifled words fell back into her breast;
Then on his arm she softly drooped her head,
Which to his swelling heart he silent pressed.

XXVIII.
He murmured comfort in her ear, and chid
The sorrow which her shivering bosom hid,
Then gently bore her with uplifted arm,
From clouds, which glared with thunder and with harm.
Near them an oak in sturdy strength uprose,
And proudly stretched a bulky trunk of power,
Quick to that spot the harassed lover goes
To shield his precious burthen from the shower.

XXIX.
The clouds anew with fury 'gan to swell,
Till from their depths sprung forth an hideous yell
Darting along the wind, stunning the earth,
And echoing horribly with fiendish mirth.
The parting clouds that hovered in the heaven
Wild cataracts of tempest downward threw,
The veil of darkness in the midst was riven,
And the swift blast with wings of lightning flew.

XXX.
Pale Emily said nothing, but she wept,
And shuddering into his bosom crept;
There in despair she closed her deafened ear,
And sought a false security from fear.
He thought upon the lovely one, that laid
Her helpless beauty on his trusty heart,
And muttered hope to the distracted maid,
Resolving that in death they ne'er should part.

XXXI.
She heard not what he said, but yet she smiled
Because she heard his tones; with terror wild,
Close to his beating bosom still she clung,
And nestled in his vest her head, that hung.
He tried again to speak, again to cheer
The timid girl; but his grief-blighted voice
Withered upon his tongue; and freezing fear
Crept to her heart 'midst the appalling noise.

XXXII.
They stood entwined together. With a shock
The thunder ceased, and, like a parted rock,
The darkness split asunder: a huge mouth
Seemed to be yawning wide, with grin uncouth;
It was a deep and roaring grave of fire!
She heard a sudden crash, she felt him start,
And thought he gasped a groan; she drew him nigher,
And fierce with horror pressed against his heart.

XXXIII.
It throbbed but slowly; now it seemed to stay
Its faultering beat—quickly she turned away,
And hushed her breathing, but she heard no sound,
She felt no fluttering of his breath around.
His arms froze stiff about her—when she spoke
He answered not again; she tried to shriek,
And started back; he fell against the oak,
And never soothed her, or essayed to speak.

XXXIV.
She bent her ear close to him on the ground,
And strained with pain to listen—there's no sound.
She whispered, he replied not; wildly bold
She clasped his hand, but it was clammy cold;
Nerveless it dropped upon his upward side;
She pressed with both her arms his silent head;
Some fiendish tongue close in her hearing cried,
With death-like accent, 'Mourn for Albert dead!'

XXXV.
With terror-stricken eyes she looks behind.
Is't fiendish laughter that bestrides the wind?
And, hark again! a wild and fearful knell,
Another dismal, superhuman yell!
She turns; a sea of faces meet her view,
Foaming distorted features far and near,
Lolling their tongues that reek with sulphur blue,
Into her melting eyes with gibes they peer.

XXXVI.
She feels her forehead glow, her bosom burn.
Unhappy lovely one! and where to turn
She knows not; for her eyes, before so bright,
Are dimmed and dazzled at the wizard sight.
She felt her quivering heart with pain grow sick,
It withered in her breast and died away;
Her throat was clogged and her breath came thick;
She tottered down and by her lover lay.

XXXVII.
Next morn the bridesmaids found the hapless pair,
She met them first, and with an idiot stare
Gazed on them, and rushed on; then gambolled back
To lead them swiftly through the well-known track.
They passed along the valley, o'er the hill,
After her beck—but not a word she spoke.
She brought them to the island, there stood still,
And pointed wildly to the scathed oak.

XXXVIII.
Looking that way, she burst into a roar
Of hideous laughter, then they hurried o'er,
And saw amongst the scorched and uptorn grass
A shapeless, black, and incoherent mass.
The tree was one huge cinder; from it broke,
With suffocating stench and threatening flare,
Up to the sky, a pillar of thick smoke,
Which wreathed around and clouded all the air.

XXXIX.
While they stood, dumbly wondering at the sight
Of death and horror, onward came the white
And woe-worn Emily–with vacant face
That loathsome lump she hastened to embrace,
And pressed it to her bosom, and then hid
Her soft cheek under it, and, madly gay,
She called it love, and with quick accent chid
The lifeless matter for its voiceless play.

XL.
She cast some fading blossoms on the spot,
And muttered words which ears received not;
Her eyes were fixed upon the empty air,
And at some well-known face appeared to stare.
But recollection struck her, and she threw
A woeful glance upon the awe-struck group,
And, with a noiseless footstep onward flew
Into the woods, with a discordant whoop.

XLI.
They bore the wreck of Albert to a grave,
O'er which the graceful willows sadly wave,
And with their dewy tears each evening weep
Upon the lovely form that lies asleep,
But she, sad wanderer, amidst the grove
Built a poor bower, and laid her throbbing head
Upon the grave, calling upon her love,
All motionless and ghastly as the dead.

XLII.
In the bright summer evenings she would lie
Basking in light, and with a melting eye
Look for her Albert, welcoming the air,
Thinking she felt his spirit glowing there;
Then to the light caresses of the wind
She bared her breast, and pouted lips to kiss
The downy breeze; it pleased her mourning mind,
So would she wanton in her simple bliss.

XLIII.
Thus lived she all her summer months away,
In useless wailings and fantastic play;
No noxious thing crawled near her loveliness;
The little birds too pitied her distress,
And sung to her, and innocently crept,
To her warm bosom. In a narrow way
A hind benighted, whilst all others slept,
Saw 'midst the trees her face, and heard her lay.

EMILY'S PLAINT.

Oh! why art thou gone, love?
Oh! why art thou gone?
Thou hast left me alone, love,
Broken-hearted, alone.

My heart is grief frozen,
My bosom's in pain;
Dost thou wish, love, to cure it?
Oh come back again.

Thou sworest, a fond lover,
Here ever to stay,
Three months are past over,
Yet still thou'rt away.

I've pulled thee some flowers,
I've spread thee some heath,
I'll deck thee, return'd, with
A rosy-red wreath.

But ah! the wind whispers,
The murmuring wind,
'Thine Albert is dead, and
Has left thee behind.'

Return for an instant,
Mine Albert, I pray,
And lap me in glory
And bear me away.

XLIV.
In autumn she grew speechless; no light shone
In her dead eye, her memory was gone.
Some of the peasants fed her, like a tame
And hungry robin, every day she came
To the kind hand that gave her food; at last
She kissed it timidly, and gently smiled;
A quivering tear across her paleness passed,
And she sobbed dumbly, like a voiceless child.

XLV.
One chill September morning she was found
Silently kneeling on her lover's mound;
The passers thought she slept, but when they tried,
Her lifted hands fell coldly by her side.
Her eyelids were half closed, her bloodless pair
Of open lips seemed gratefully to bless,
As if stern death had heard her simple prayer,
And kissed her beauty into stoniness.

XLVI.
They laid her underneath the self-same grass,
In her dead Albert's bosom; they who pass,
In summer evenings, hear unearthly sighs,
Dazzled by glimpses of concealed eyes.
A thornless rose and lily mark the grave,
That grew spontaneous from the buried pair,
And ever, while in zephyr's sighs they wave,
A downy perfume whispers in the air.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net