Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE BASQUE GIRL AND HENRI QUATRE, by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Love! Summer flower, how soon thou art decay'd Last Line: Had seal'd love's sacrifice! Alternate Author Name(s): L. E. L.; Maclean, Letitia | ||||||||
Love! summer flower, how soon thou art decay'd! Opening amid a paradise of sweets, Dying with wither'd leaves and canker'd stem! The very memory of thy happiness Departed with thy beauty; breath and bloom Gone, and the trusting heart which thou hadst made So green, so lovely, for thy dwelling-place, Left but a desolation. 'TWAS one of those sweet spots which seem just made For lovers' meeting, or for minstrel haunt; The maiden's blush would look so beautiful By those white roses, and the poet's dream Would be so soothing, lull'd by the low notes The birds sing to the leaves, whose soft reply Is murmur'd by the wind: the grass beneath Is full of wild flowers, and the cypress boughs Have twined o'erhead, graceful and close as love. The sun is shining cheerfully; though scarce His rays may pierce through the dim shade, yet still Some golden hues are glancing o'er the trees, And the blue flood is gliding by, as bright As Hope's first smile. All, lingering, stay'd to gaze Upon this Eden of the painter's art, And, looking on its loveliness, forgot The crowded world around them! -- But a spell Stronger than the green landscape fix'd the eye -- The spell of woman's beauty! -- By a beech Whose long dark shadow fell upon the stream, There stood a radiant girl! -- her chestnut hair -- One bright gold tint was on it -- loosely fell In large rich curls upon a neck whose snow And grace were like the swan's; she wore the garb Of her own village, and her small white feet And slender ankles, delicate as carved From Indian ivory, were bare, -- the turf Seem'd scarce to feel their pressure. There she stood! Her head leant on her arm, the beech's trunk Supporting her slight figure, and one hand Prest to her heart, as if to still its throbs! -- Ye never might forget that face, -- so young, So fair, yet traced with such deep characters Of inward wretchedness! The eyes were dim With tears on the dark lashes; still the lip Could not quite lose its own accustom'd smile, Even by that pale cheek it kept its arch And tender playfulness: you look'd and said, What can have shadow'd such a sunny brow? There is so much of natural happiness In that bright countenance, it seems but form'd For spring's light sunbeams, or yet lighter dews. You turn'd away -- then came -- and look'd again, Watching the pale and silent loveliness, Till even sleep was haunted by that image. There was a sever'd chain upon the ground -- Ah! love is even more fragile than its gifts! A tress of raven hair: -- oh! only those Whose souls have felt this one idolatry, Can tell how precious is the slightest thing Affection gives and hallows! A dead flower Will long be kept, remembrancer of looks That made each leaf a treasure. And the tree Had two slight words graven upon its stem -- The broken heart's last record of its faith -- "ADIEU, HENRI!" .... ... I learnt the history of the lovely picture: It was a peasant girl's, whose soul was given To one as far above her as the pine Towers o'er the lowly violet: yet still She loved, and was beloved again -- ere yet The many trammels of the world were flung Around a heart whose first and latest pulse Throbb'd but for beauty: him, the young, the brave, Chivalrous prince, whose name in after-years A nation was to worship -- that young heart Beat with its first wild passion -- that pure feeling Life only once may know. I will not dwell On how Affection's bark was launch'd and lost: -- Love, thou hast hopes like summers short and bright, Moments of ecstacy, and maddening dreams, Intense, delicious throbs! But happiness Is not for thee. If ever thou hast known Quiet, yet deep, enjoyment, 'tis or ere Thy presence is confess'd; but, once reveal'd, We bow us down in passionate devotion Vow'd to thy altar, then the serpents wake That coil around thy votaries -- hopes that make Fears burning arrows -- lingering jealousy, And last, worst poison of thy cup -- neglect! ... ... It matters little how she was forgotten, Or what she felt -- a woman can but weep. She pray'd her lover but to say farewell -- To meet her by the river where such hours Of happiness had pass'd, and said she knew How much she was beneath him; but she pray'd That he would look upon her face once more! ... He sought the spot -- upon the beechen tree "ADIEU, HENRI!" was graven, and his heart Felt cold within him! He turn'd to the wave, And there the beautiful peasant floated -- Death Had seal'd Love's sacrifice! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FELICIA HEMANS by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE FACTORY; 'TIS AN ACCURSED THING! by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE FEMALE CONVICT by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE MARRIAGE VOW by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON A CHILD SCREENING A DOVE FROM A HAWK, BY STEWARDSON by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON A COMPARISON by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON A GIRL AT HER DEVOTIONS, BY NEWTON by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON A HISTORY OF THE LYRE by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON A LADY'S BEAUTY by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON |
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