The Troubadour. Canto 4 B (Adeline)



And where was RAYMOND , where was he?
Borne homeward o'er the rapid sea,
While sunny days and favouring gales
Brought welcome speed to the white sails,—
With bended knee, and upraised hand,
He stood upon his native land,
With all that happiness can be
When resting on futurity.
On, on he went, and o'er the plain
He rode an armed knight again;
He urged his steed with hand and heel,
It bounded concious of the steel,
And never yet to RAYMOND'S eye
Spread such an earth, shone such a sky,
Blew such sweet breezes o'er his brow,
As those his native land had now.

    He thought upon young EVA'S name,
And felt that she was still the same;
He thought on AMIRALD , his child
Had surely his dark cares beguiled;
He thought upon the welcome sweet
It would be his so soon to meet:
And never had the star of hope
Shone on a lovelier horoscope.

    And evening shades were on the hour
When RAYMOND rode beneath the tower
Remember'd well, for ADELINE
Had there been his heart's summer queen.
Could this be it?—he knew the heath
Which, lake-like, spread its walls beneath,—
He saw the dark old chesnut wood
Which had for ages by it stood;
And but for these the place had been
As one that he had never seen.
The walls were rent, the gates were gone,
No red light from the watch tower shone.
He enter'd, and the hall was bare,
It show'd the spoiler had been there;
Even upon the very hearth
The green grass found a place of birth.
Oh, vanity! that the stone wall
May sooner than a blossom fall;
The tower in its strength may be
Laid low before the willow tree.
There stood the wood, subject to all
The autumn wind, the winter fall,—
There stood the castle which the rain
And wind had buffetted in vain,—
But one in ruins stood beside
The other green in its spring pride.

    And RAYMOND paced the lonely hall
As if he feared his own footfall.
It is the very worst, the gloom
Of a deserted banquet-room,
To see the spider's web outvie
The torn and faded tapestry,—
To shudder at the cold damp air,
Then think how once were burning there
The incense vase with odour glowing,
The silver lamp its softness throwing
O'er cheeks as beautiful and bright
As roses bathed in summer light,—
How through the portals sweeping came
Proud cavalier and high-born dame,
With gems like stars 'mid raven curls,
And snow-white plumes and wreathed pearls—
Gold cups, whose lighted flames made dim
The sparkling stones around the brim;—
Soft voices answering to the lute,
The swelling harp, the sigh-waked flute,—
The glancing lightness of the dance,—
Then, starting sudden from thy trance,
Gaze round the lonely place and see
Its silence and obscurity:
Then commune with thine heart, and say
These are the foot-prints of decay,—
And I, even thus shall pass away.

    And RAYMOND turn'd him to depart,
With darken'd brow and heavy heart.
Can outrage or can time remove
The sting, the scar of slighted love?
He could not look upon the scene
And not remember ADELINE,
Fair queen of gone festivity,—
Oh, where was it, and where was she!

    At distance short a village lay,
And thither RAYMOND took his way,
And in its hostel shelter found,
While the dark night was closing round.
It was a cheerful scene, the hearth
Was bright with wood-fire and with mirth,
And in the midst a harper bent
O'er his companion instrument:
'Twas an old man, his hair was grey,—
For winter tracks in snow its way,—
But yet his dark, keen eye was bright,
With somewhat of its youthful light;
Like one whose path of life had made
Its course through mingled sheen and shade,
But one whose buoyant spirit still
Pass'd lightly on through good or ill,—
One reckless if borne o'er the sea
In storm or in tranquillity;
The same to him, as if content
Were his peculiar element.
'Tis strange how the heart can create
Or colour from itself its fate;
We make ourselves our own distress,
We are ourselves our happiness.

    And many a song and many a lay,
Had pass'd the cheerful hour away,
When one pray'd that he would relate,
His tale of the proud ladye's fate,—
The lady ADELINE ;—the name
Like lightning upon RAYMOND came!
And swept the harper o'er his chords
As that he paused for minstrel words,
Or stay'd till silence should prevail,
When thus the old man told the tale.

THE PROUD LADYE.

OH , what could the ladye's beauty match,
    An it were not the ladye's pride;
An hundred knights from far and near
    Woo'd at that ladye's side.

The rose of the summer slept on her cheek,
    Its lily upon her breast,
And her eye shone forth like the glorious star
    That rises the first in the west.

There were some that woo'd for her land and gold,
    And some for her noble name,
And more that woo'd for her loveliness;
    But her answer was still the same.

"There is a steep and lofty wall,
    Where my warders trembling stand,
He who at speed shall ride round its height,
    For him shall be my hand."

Many turn'd away from the deed,
    The hope of their wooing o'er;
But many a young knight mounted the steed
    He never mounted more.

At last there came a youthful knight,
    From a strange and far countrie,
The steed that he rode was white as the foam
    Upon a stormy sea.

And she who had scorn'd the name of love,
    Now bow'd before its might,
And the ladye grew meek as if disdain
    Were not made for that stranger knight.

She sought at first to steal his soul
    By dance, song, and festival;
At length on bended knee she pray'd
    He would not ride the wall.

But gaily the young knight laugh'd at her fears,
    And flung him on his steed,—
There was not a saint in the calendar
    That she pray'd not to in her need.

She dared not raise her eyes to see
    If heaven had granted her prayer,
Till she heard a light step bound to her side,—
    The gallant knight stood there!

And took the ladye ADELINE
    From her hair a jewell'd band,
But the knight repell'd the offer'd gift,
    And turn'd from the offer'd hand.

And deemest thou that I dared this deed,
    Ladye, for love of thee;
The honour that guides the soldier's lance
    Is mistress enough for me.

Enough for me to ride the ring,
    The victor's crown to wear;
But not in honour of the eyes
    Of any ladye there.

I had a brother whom I lost
    Through thy proud crueltie,
And far more was to me his love,
    Than woman's love can be.

I came to triumph o'er the pride
    Through which that brother fell,
I laugh to scorn thy love and thee,
    And now, proud dame, farewell!

And from that hour the ladye pined,
    For love was in her heart,
And on her slumber there came dreams
    She could not bid depart.

Her eye lost all its starry light,
    Her cheek grew wan and pale,
Till she hid her faded loveliness
    Beneath the sacred veil.

And she cut off her long dark hair,
    And bade the world farewell,
And she now dwells a veiled nun
    In Saint Marie's cell.

                     ————
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Submitted by Madeleine Quinn on September 01, 2016

Modified on March 05, 2023

6:30 min read
140

Quick analysis:

Scheme Text too long
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 6,681
Words 1,258
Stanzas 26
Stanza Lengths 16, 8, 26, 27, 8, 24, 10, 1, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Letitia Elizabeth Landon was an English poet. Born 14th August 1802 at 25 Hans Place, Chelsea, she lived through the most productive period of her life nearby, at No.22. A precocious child with a natural gift for poetry, she was driven by the financial needs of her family to become a professional writer and thus a target for malicious gossip (although her three children by William Jerdan were successfully hidden from the public). In 1838, she married George Maclean, governor of Cape Coast Castle on the Gold Coast, whence she travelled, only to die a few months later (15th October) of a fatal heart condition. Behind her post-Romantic style of sentimentality lie preoccupations with art, decay and loss that give her poetry its characteristic intensity and in this vein she attempted to reinterpret some of the great male texts from a woman’s perspective. Her originality rapidly led to her being one of the most read authors of her day and her influence, commencing with Tennyson in England and Poe in America, was long-lasting. However, Victorian attitudes led to her poetry being misrepresented and she became excluded from the canon of English literature, where she belongs. more…

All Letitia Elizabeth Landon poems | Letitia Elizabeth Landon Books

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