# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Phantom Bride

Literary Gazette, 18th September, 1824, Pages 604
ORIGINAL POETRY. THE PHANTOM BRIDE. ————————
And over hill and over plain
He urged his steed with spur and rein,
Till the heat drops hung on his courser's hide, And the foam of his speed with blood was dyed.
He saw a bird cut through the sky, He longed for its wings as it fleeted by;
He looked on the mountain-river gushing,
He heard the wind of the forest rushing,
He saw a star from the heavens fall,
He thought on their swiftness, and envied them all.  Well the young warrior may fiercely ride,
For to-night he must woo, and must win his bride—
The maiden, whose colours his helmet has borne,
Whose picture has still next his heart been worn.
And then he thought on the myrtle grove,
Where the villa stood he had built for his Love:
With its pillars and marble colonnade,
Its bright fountain beneath the palm-tree's shade;
Fair statues and pictured porticos,
Where the air came sweet from the gardens of rose; Silver lamps; and vases filled
With perfumed waters, from odours distilled;
And the tapestry hung round each gorgeous room
Was the richest of Tyre's purple loom;
And all that his love, and all that his care,
Had had such pride in making fair:
And then he thought how life would glide,
In such a home, and with such a bride,
Like a glad tale told to the lute's soft tone,—
Never hath happiness dwelt alone.
And swifter he urged his courser's flight,
When he thought on who was waiting that night.
But once beneath a spreading shade,
 He stopped his panting steed for breath;
And as a flickering moon-beam played,
 He saw it was a place of death.
The lonely cypress-tree was keeping
The watch of its eternal weeping;
And at the head was a grey cross;
And scattered o'er the covering moss
Lay withered flower and faded wreath,
That told some maiden slept beneath.
The youth took one or two dried leaves—
Perhaps, thought he, some lover grieves
O'er her who rests, and now can know
No more of human joy or wo.
And answered to his thought a sound,
A murmur from the plaining ground—
He started! oh, it could but be
The wind that swept the cypress tree.
 And almost midnight's hour was come,
Ere he had reached his maiden's home.
All, saving one old slave, were sleeping—
Who, like some stealthy phantom creeping,
Silently and slowly led
The wondering stranger to his bed:
Just pointed to his supper fare,
And the piled wood, and left him there.
It was a large and darksome room,
With all the loneliness and gloom
That hang round the neglected walls
O'er which the spider's net-work falls;
And the murk air felt chill and damp,
And dimly burnt the one pale lamp;
And faint gleams from the embers broke
Thro' their dun covering of smoke,
And all felt desolate and drear —
And is this, he sighed, my welcome here?
“No—mine be thy welcome, from my lone home
To greet thee, and claim thee mine own, am I come.”
He heard no step, but still by his side
He saw her stand— his betrothed bride!
Her face was fair, but from it was fled
Every trace of its beautiful red;
And stains upon her bright hair lay
Like the dampness and earth-soil of clay;
Her sunken eyes gleamed with that pale blue light,
Seen when meteors are flitting at night;
And the flow of her shadowy garments' fall,
Was like the black sweep of a funeral pall.
 She sat her down by his side at the board,
And many a cup of the red wine poured;
And as the wine were inward light,
Her cheek grew red and her eye grew bright:—
"In my father's house no more I dwell,
But bid not, with them, to thee farewell.
They forced me to waste youth's hour of bloom
In a grated cell and a convent's gloom,
But there came a Spirit and set me free,
And had given me rest but for love of thee—
There was fire in my heart, and fire in my brain,
And mine eyes could not sleep till they saw thee again. Ah home is dark, my home is low, And cold the love I can offer now;
But give me one curl of thy raven hair,
And, by all thy hopes in heaven, swear
That, chance what may, thou wilt claim thy bride,
And thou to-morrow shall lie by my side."
 He gave the curl, and wildly press'd
Her cold brow to his throbbing breast;
And kiss'd the lips, as his would share
With hers their warmth and vital air,—
As kiss and passionate caress
Could warm, her wan chill loveliness.
And calm upon his bosom she lay,
Till the lark sang his morning hymn to the day;
And a sun-beam thro' the curtain shone,—
As passes a shadow—the maiden was gone!
That day the youth was told the tale,
How she had pined beneath the veil
And died, and then they show'd her grave—
He knew that cypress's green wave.—
That night, alone, he watched his bride—
The next they laid him by her side. L. E. L.