Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1822.pdf/52



That was a sacrifice upon the shrine Itself had reared! I will begin it now, Like an old tale:—There was a Princess once, More beautiful than Spring, when the warm look Of Summer calls the blush upon her cheek, The matchless of Portugal. She moved in beauty, and where'er she went Some heart did homage to her loveliness.— But there was one—a youth of lowly birth— Who worshipped her!—I have heard many say Love lives on hope; they knew not what they said: Hope is Love's happiness, but not its life;— How many hearts have nourished a vain flame In silence and in secret, though they knew They fed the scorching fire that would consume them! Young loved in veriest hopelessness!— He saw the lady once at matin time,— Saw her when bent in meek humility Before the altar; she was then unveiled, And gazed upon the face which was Thenceforth the world to him! Awhile he looked Upon the white hands clasped gracefully; The rose-bud lips, moving in silent prayer; The raven hair, that hung as a dark cloud On the white brow of morning! She arose, And as she moved, her slender figure waved Like the light cypress, when the breeze of Spring Wakes music in its boughs. As knelt It chanced her eyes met his, and all his soul Maddened in that slight glance! She left the place; Yet still her shape seemed visible, and still He felt the light through the long eyelash steal And melt within his heart!----