# Landon in The Improvisatrice; and Other Poems/History

LORENZO'S HISTORY.
I was betrothed from earliest youth  To a fair orphan, who was left Beneath my father's roof and care.—
 Of every other friend bereft: An heiress, with her fertile vales,  Caskets of Indian gold and pearl; Yet meek as poverty itself,  And timid as a peasant girl:
A delicate, frail thing,—but made For spring sunshine, or summer shade;— A slender flower, unmeet to bear One April shower,—so slight, so fair.   I loved her as a brother loves  His favourite sister:—and when war First called me from our long-shared home  To bear my father's sword afar, I parted from her,—not as one  Whose life and soul are wrung by parting: With death-cold brow and throbbing pulse,  And burning tears like life-blood starting. Lost in war dreams, I scarcely heard  The prayer that bore my name above: The 'Farewell!' that kissed off her tears  Had more of pity than of love!
I thought of her not with that deep, Intensest memory love will keep More tenderly than life. To me  She was but as a dream of home,— One of those calm and pleasant thoughts  That o'er the soldier's spirit come; Remembering him, when battle lours, Of twilight walks and fireside hours.   I came to thy bright Florence when  The task of blood was done: I saw thee! Had I lived before?  Oh, no! my life but then begun. Ay, by that blush! the summer rose  Has not more luxury of light! Ay, by those eyes! whose language is  Like what the clear stars speak at night,
Thy first look was a fever spell!— Thy first word was an oracle Which seal'd my fate! I worshipped thee, My beautiful, bright deity! Worshipped thee as a sacred thing Of Genius' high imagining;— But loved thee for thy sweet revealing Of woman's own most gentle feeling. I might have broken from the chain  Thy power, thy glory round me flung! But never might forget thy blush—  The smile which on thy sweet lips hung! I lived but in thy sight! One night  From thy hair fell a myrtle blossom; It was a relic that breathed of thee:—  Look! it has withered in my bosom!
Yet I was wretched, though I dwelt  In the sweet sight of Paradise: A curse lay on me. But not now,  Thus smiled upon by those dear eyes, Will I think over thoughts of pain.  I'll only tell thee that the line That ever told Love's misery,  Ne'er told of misery like mine! I wedded.—I could not have borne  To see the young Ianthe blighted By that worst blight the spring can know—  Trusting affection ill requited! Oh, was it that she was too fair,  Too innocent for this damp earth; And that her native star above  Reclaimed again its gentle birth?
She faded. Oh, my peerless queen,  I need not pray thee pardon me For owning that my heart then felt  For any other than for thee! I bore her to those azure isles,  Where health dwells by the side of spring; And deemed their green and sunny vales,  And calm and fragrant airs, might bring Warmth to the cheek, light to the eye, Of her who was too young to die. It was in vain!—and, day by day The gentle creature died away. As parts the odour from the rose,— As fades the sky at twilight's close,— She past so tender and so fair;  So patient; though she knew each breath
Might be her last; her own mild smile  Parted her placid lips in death. Her grave is under southern skies; Green turf and flowers o'er it rise. Oh! nothing but a pale spring wreath Would fade o'er her who lies beneath! I gave her prayers—I gave her tears—  I staid awhile beside her grave; Then led by Hope, and led by Love,  Again I cut the azure wave. What have I more to say, my life!  But just to pray one smile of thine, Telling I have not loved in vain—  That thou dost join these hopes of mine? Yes, smile, sweet love! our life will be  As radiant as a fairy tale!
Glad as the sky-lark's earliest song—  Sweet as the sigh of the spring gale! All, all that life will ever be, Shone o'er, divinest love! by thee.