Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/Scene 1
70
Literary Gazette, 26th October, 1822, Pages 681-2
ORIGINAL POETRY.
DRAMATIC SCENES. — I.
The very life of love is confidence.
Agnes. Oh, never, never!
I am vowed to the grave:—I have loved once,
And woman's heart cannot again expand
Like flowers that close at eve, but to each sense
Unfold their charms.
Julian (disguised.) Oh, thou wilt break thy vow:
Thou art too young, too beautiful, to nurse
Memory's pale phantoms! Hope will suit thee better.
Trust me, fair girl, hope is the sun of spring.
Agnes. I do hope—hope most fondly, fervidly,
One last and only hope, that I shall die!
For there are starry homes, where faithful hearts
Shall mingle in their glory and their love.
I have oft roamed in the blue summer night,
And wept with joy to look upon the stars;
And as they shed their light upon me, felt
My Julian watched over his earthly love:
His voice has seemed to float upon the winds,
Summoning me to the immortal sky,—
And I have sought my pillow, and been happy
In the sweet dreams that visited my sleep.
Julian. These are sick fancies:—love has power to make
This earth as fair a paradise as ever
Was fashioned yet in slumber. I have brought
From afar treasures that a king would own.
That simple lute shall be new strung with gold,
And gems shall glisten on it; delicate pearls,
Like those that ruby lip conceals, shall braid
Those raven tresses; and the diamond,
Pure, bright as thou art, all shall grace my queen.
Agnes. Thy offerings are but offerings to the tomb;
A fruitless pomp, an empty vanity.
Why do I listen,—I can never feel
As I have felt before; yet still a spell
Is in thy voice that soothes: it has a tone
Like music long remembered—like a sound
Mine ear has treasured up most faithfully.
Julian (aside.) How true love's memory is!—
(To her.) The hunter turns not
Despairing from the chase because the deer
Flies from his pursuit: every obstacle
Becomes a pleasure. I will win thee yet,
If truest love can win; I'll watch each step
As the young mother watches her first child:
Your feet shall tread o'er roses, from whose stems
The thorns are cleared away; the air around
Shall be so sweet, that every breath you draw
Will be enjoyment; all your waking hours
Shall glide away like music; you shall sleep
To the soft lulling of the harp, your pillow
Upon a heart whose every beat is yours.—
This is your native village: is it dear?
Agnes. Oh, very, very dear! I know no more ,
Of the wide world than what we now can see,
Bounded by the blue sky; my heart has yet
Some things to cling to here: I do not feel
Quite desolate amid the many ties
Affection here has sanctified. Look where
The silent city of the dead arises,
Its sole inhabitants the cypresses,
Bending their weeping leaves to the black yews,
And one huge cedar rearing gloomily
His giant height, the monarch of the shades;
The venerable church stands in the midst—
The solemn temple, where the dead and living
Together meet; you cannot see the tombs,
So close the trees spread their green canopy;
But there my mother by my father's side
Sleeps sweetly—oh, most sweetly—for they died
Each in the other's arms! They never knew
That agony of soul which prays for death
But yet lives on. Oh, that my Julian’s grave
Had been by theirs, our ashes would have mixed!
But now
Julian. I will not let thee dwell upon thy grief.
Look to yon vine-clad hill: the setting sun
Streams in full glory on the radiant leaves
And topaz clusters,—the rill, that at noon-day
Is bright and colourless like crystal, now
Flows red with crimson light; just by that group
Of those old chesnuts will I build a bower—
A magic bower, my fairy, for thy home.
Agnes. Oh, no—oh, no—not there! My Julian said
If ever he returned to claim his bride,
Our nest of love and happiness should be
Beneath that shade.
Julian (aside.) Ah why suspect her truth
But one proof more, and I will lay aside
Disguise and pray forgiveness for my doubts,—
How sweet will be my pardon!—(To her.) I am come
From India, and I doubt if 'tis the grave
That holds your Julian from your arms.
Agnes. Oh, say
That he but lives, and I will worship you!
Julian. If he but lives! And have you then no fears?
In absence lovers vows are fragile things,
In India there are rich and lovely brides;—
He may not have your own fond constancy.
Agnes. I'll tell you what our love has been, and then
Ask you if I should doubt it:—Julian and I
Grew up together, and our love was hallowed
By our fond parents' blessing. I do count
Not on a lover's passionate vow at parting,
But on the gathered ties of many years:
Each tender and each honourable feeling
Will guard his heart. Oh, jealousy is but
A shadow cast from vanity, which lain
Would take the shape of love to hide its own
Selfish deformity!
Julian. Your confidence
Is most misplaced, for I was present when
Your Julian wedded.
Agnes. Gracious heaven, he lives!—
I never will be yours, then why traduce
The innocent—the absent. I confide
Securely in his faith.
Julian. I would have spared
This pang, but I must vindicate my truth;
He has sent back by me your farewell gifts—
Know you this silken curl—this emerald ring?
Agnes. It is my ring! The braid of hair I gave!—
All else but this, oh God! I could have borne.
Julian (discovering himself.)
Oh, my own Agnes, pardon me!—look up,
It is thy Julian calls! He has not swerved
Even in thought from thee—thou hast still been
His hope, his solace. Lie not thus, my Love,
Motionless on my bosom; but one look—
One word—to say you can forgive
A moment's doubt!
Agnes. Julian, I can die happy.
Julian. How pale she is! My life—my soul—revive!
Why did I try a faith I should have known
Spotless as the white dove. I cannot feel
The beating of her heart. I'll kiss the colour
Back to her cheek. Oh, God! her lip is ice—
There is no breath upon it!—
Agnes, thy Julian is thy murderer! L.E.L.