Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1835.pdf/28



(Brackenberg returns, says that there has been a tumult in the town, and proposes to go. Clara does not attempt to detain him—but, withdrawing the hand which he attempts to take, leaves the room with her mother.) I scarcely meant to go so soon away— I felt my heart swell when she said no word That might induce my stay. Unhappy one! The perils darkening o'er thy father land Affect not thee. No general sympathy Stirs generous anger in thy laggard veins. Spaniard, or countryman—the same to thee— I had a nobler spirit as a boy; My very school-task roused its youthful wrath At the oppressor's name. But now I hang Devotedly upon a maiden's look. I cannot leave her! Can she not love me? The gentle ties gathered by many years, Affections garnered since our first small words: These cannot be forgotten all—like dreams! Can she have cast me from her thoughts? Not quite— Yet half is worse than nothing. Oh! no more Can I endure this worst of misery—doubt! Can it be true—the whisper which I heard— That at this very door a cavalier Stands with the night, his cloak around his face; Aye enters? No! it is a false, base lie! Clara is innocent, as I am wretched; Yet time was when she loved, or seemed to love: Can I forget the happiness that pierced My heart like sudden pain—yet was so sweet. False hope! that in thy cruelty dost paint A perfect joy—a paradise far off. And that first kiss—that one—'t was here. (Laying his hand on the table.) Gentle she always was, and kind, and sweet, But there was softness in her eyes that night. I never read their light so close before. I know not how—but there my lip touched hers. My head was dizzy with the wild delight. Oh ! would that I had died! I think of death As if he were a friend—severe and cold— From whom I shrink—but yet my only friend. L. E. L.