The Troubadour. Canto 3 B (Death)

I saw her!—on the ground she lay,
    The life blood ebbing fast away;
    But almost as she could not die
    Without my hand to close her eye!
    When to my bosom press'd, she raised
    Her heavy lids, and feebly gazed,

    And her lip moved: I caught its breath,
    Its last, it was the gasp of death!
    I leant her head upon my breast,
    As I but soothed her into rest;—
    I do not know what time might be
    Past in this stony misery,
    When I was waken'd from my dream
    By my forgotten infant's scream.
    Then first I thought upon my child.
    I took it from its bed, it smiled,
    And its red cheek was flush'd with sleep:
    Why had it not the sense to weep?
    I laid its mother on the bed,
    O'er her pale brow a mantle spread,
    And left the wood. Calm, stern, and cold,
    The tale of blood and death I told;
    Gave my child to my brother's care
    As his, not mine were this despair.
    I flung me on my steed again,
    I urged him with the spur and rein,—
    I left him at the usual tree,
    But left him there at liberty.

        With madd'ning step I sought the place,
    I raised the mantle from her face,
    And knelt me down beside, to gaze
    On all the mockery death displays,
    Until it seem'd but sleep to me.
    Death,—oh, no! death it could not be.

        The cold grey light the dawn had shed,
    Changed gradual into melting red;
    I watch'd the morning colour streak
    With crimson dye her marble cheek;
    The freshness of the stirring air
    Lifted her curls of raven hair;
    Her head lay pillow'd on her arm,
    Sweetly, as if with life yet warm;--
    I kiss'd her lips: oh, God, the chill!
    My heart is frozen with it still:—
    It was as suddenly on me
    Open'd my depths of misery.
    I flung me on the ground, and raved,
    And of the wind that past me craved
    One breath of poison, till my blood
    From lip and brow gush'd in one flood.
    I watch'd the warm stream of my veins
    Mix with the death wounds clotted stains;
    Oh! how I pray'd that I might pour
    My heart's tide, and her life restore!

        And night came on:—with what dim fear
    I mark'd the darkling hours appear,—
    I could not gaze on the dear brow,
    And seeing was all left me now.
    I grasp'd the cold hand in mine own,
    Till both alike seem'd turn'd to stone.
    Night, morn, and noontide pass'd away,
    Then came the tokens of decay.

        'Twas the third night that I had kept
    My watch, and, like a child, had wept
    Sorrow to sleep, and in my dream
    I saw her as she once could seem,
    Fair as an angel: there she bent
    As if sprung from the element,
    The bright clear fountain, whose pure wave
    Her soft and shadowy image gave.
    Methought that conscious beauty threw
    Upon her cheek its own sweet hue,
    Its loveliness of morning red;
    I woke, and gazed upon the dead.
    I mark'd the fearful stains which now
    Were dark'ning o'er the once white brow,
    The livid colours that declare
    The soul no longer dwelleth there.
    The gaze of even my fond eye,
    Seem'd almost like impiety,
    As it were sin for looks to be
    On what the earth alone should see.
    I thought upon the loathsome doom
    Of the grave's cold, corrupted gloom;—
    Oh, never shall the vile worm rest
    A lover on thy lip and breast!
    Oh, never shall a careless tread
    Soil with its step thy sacred bed!
    Never shall leaf or blossom bloom
    With vainest mockery o'er thy tomb!

        And forth I went, and raised a shrine
    Of the dried branches of the pine,—
    I laid her there, and o'er her flung
    The wild flowers that around her sprung;
    I tore them up, and root and all,
    I bade them wait her funeral,
    With a strange joy that each fair thing
    Should, like herself, be withering.
    I lit the pyre,—the evening skies
    Rain'd tears upon the sacrifice;
    How did its wild and awful light
    Struggle with the fierce winds of night;
    Red was the battle, but in vain
    Hiss'd the hot embers with the rain.
    It wasted to a single spark;
    That faded, and all round was dark:
    Then, like a madman who has burst
    The chain which made him doubly curst,
    I fled away. I may not tell
    The agony that on me fell:—
    I fled away, for fiends were near,
    My brain was fire, my heart was fear!

        I was borne on an eagle's wing,
    Till with the noon-sun perishing;
    Then I stood in a world alone,
    From which all other life was gone,
    Whence warmth, and breath, and light were fled,
    A world o'er which a curse was said:
    The trees stood leafless all, and bare,
    The sky spread, but no sun was there:
    Night came, no stars were on her way,
    Morn came without a look of day,—
    As night and day shared one pale shroud,
    Without a colour or a cloud.
    And there were rivers, but they stood
    Without a murmur on the flood,
    Waveless and dark, their task was o'er,—
    The sea lay silent on the shore,
    Without a sign upon its breast
    Save of interminable rest:
    And there were palaces and halls,
    But silence reign'd amid their walls,
    Though crowds yet fill'd them; for no sound
    Rose from the thousands gather'd round;
    All wore the same white, bloodless hue,
    All the same eyes of glassy blue,
    Meaningless, cold, corpse-like as those
    No gentle hand was near to close.
    And all seem'd, as they look'd on me,
    In wonder that I yet could be
    A moving shape of warmth and breath
    Alone amid a world of death.