In the autumn of the year 1831, being weary of study, and the melancholy solitude of the vast streets and mighty commercial marts of our great Babel, and being fatigued with the ever-resounding thunder of the sea, with the din of a thousand self-moving engines, with the dissonant cries of all nations, kindreds, and tongues, congregated together in the gigantic emporium of commerce, of arts, of God-like wisdom, of boundless learning, and of superhuman knowledge; being dazzled with continually beholding the glory, the power, the riches, dominion, and radiant beauty of the city which sitteth like a queen upon the waters; in one word, being tired of Verdopolis and all its magnificence, I determined on a trip into the country.
Accordingly, the day after this resolution was formed, I rose with the sun, collected a few essential articles of dress, etc., packed them neatly in a light knapsack, arranged my apartment, partook of a wholesome repast, and then, after locking the door and delivering the key to my landlady, I set out with a light heart and joyous step.
After three days of continued travel I arrived on the banks of a wide and profound river winding through a vast valley embosomed in hills whose robe of rich and flowery verdure was broken only by the long shadow of groves, and here and there by clustering herds and flocks lying, white as snow, in the green hollows between the mountains. It was the evening of a calm summer day when I reached this enchanting spot. The only sounds now audible were the songs of shepherds, swelling and dying at intervals, and the murmur of gliding waves. I neither knew nor cared where I was. My bodily faculties of eye and ear were absorbed in the contemplation of this delightful scene, and, wandering unheedingly along, I left the guidance of the river and entered a wood, invited by the warbling of a hundred forest minstrels. Soon I perceived the narrow, tangled woodpath to widen, and gradually it assumed the appearance of a green shady alley. Occasionally bowers of roses and myrtles appeared by the pathside, with soft banks of moss for the weary to repose on. Notwithstanding these indications of individual property, curiosity and the allurements of music and cool shade led me forwards. At length I entered a glade in the wood, in the midst of which was a small but exquisitely beautiful marble edifice of pure and dazzling whiteness. On the broad steps of the portico two figures were reclining, at sight of whom I instantly stepped behind a low, wide-spreading fig-tree, where I could hear and see all that passed without fear of detection. One was a youth of lofty stature and remarkably graceful demeanour, attired in a rich purple vest and mantle, with closely fitting white pantaloons of white woven silk, displaying to advantage the magnificent proportions of his form. A richly adorned belt was girt tightly round his waist from which depended a scimitar whose golden hilt, and scabbard of the finest Damascus steel, glittered with gems of inestimable value. His steel-barred cap, crested with tall, snowy plumes, lay beside him, its absence revealing more clearly the rich curls of dark, glossy hair clustering round a countenance distinguished by the noble beauty of its features, but still more by the radiant fire of genius and intellect visible in the intense brightness of his large, dark, and lustrous eyes.
The other form was that of a very young and slender girl, whose complexion was delicately, almost transparently, fair. Her cheeks were tinted with a rich, soft crimson, her features moulded in the utmost perfection of loveliness; while the clear light of her brilliant hazel eyes, and the soft waving of her auburn ringlets, gave additional charms to what seemed already infinitely too beautiful for this earth. Her dress was a white robe of the finest texture the Indian loom can produce. The only ornaments she wore were a long chain which encircled her neck twice and hung lower than her waist, composed of alternate beads of the finest emeralds and gold; and a slight gold ring on the third finger of her left hand, which, together with a small crescent of pearls glistening on her forehead (which is always worn by the noble matrons of Verdopolis), betokened that she had entered the path of wedded life. With a sweet vivacity in her look and manner the young bride was addressing her lord thus when I first came in sight of the peerless pair:
‘No, no, my lord; if I sing the song you shall choose it. Now, once more, what shall I sing? The moon is risen, and, if your decision is not prompt, I will not sing at all!’
To this he answered: ‘Well, if I am threatened with the entire loss of the pleasure if I defer my choice, I will have that sweet song which I overheard you singing the evening before I left Scotland.’[*]
With a smiling blush she took a little ivory lyre, and, in a voice of the most touching melody, sang the following stanzas:—
He is gone, and all grandeur has fled from the mountain;
All beauty departed from stream and from fountain;
A dark veil is hung
O’er the bright sky of gladness,
And, where birds sweetly sung,
There’s a murmur of sadness;
The wind sings with a warning tone
Through many a shadowy tree;
I hear, in every passing moan,
The voice of destiny.
Then, O Lord of the Waters! the Great and All-seeing!
Preserve in Thy mercy his safety and being;
May he trust in Thy might
When the dark storm is howling,
And the blackness of night
Over Heaven is scowling;
But may the sea flow glidingly
With gentle summer waves;
And silent may all tempests lie
Chained in Æolian caves!
Yet, though ere he returnest long years will have vanished,
Sweet hope from my bosom shall never be banished:
I will think of the time
When his step, lightly bounding,
Shall be heard on the rock
Where the cataract is sounding;
When the banner of his father’s host
Shall be unfurled on high,
To welcome back the pride and boast
Of England’s chivalry!
Yet tears will flow forth while of hope I am singing;
Still despair her dark shadow is over me flinging;
But, when he’s far away,
I will pluck the wild flower
On bank and on brae
At the still, moonlight hour;
And I will twine for him a wreath
Low in the fairy’s dell;
Methought I heard the night-wind breathe
That solemn word: ‘Farewell!’[*]
When the lady had concluded her song I stepped from my place of concealment, and was instantly perceived by the noble youth (whom, of course, every reader will have recognised as the Marquis of Douro).
He gave me a courteous welcome, and invited me to proceed with him to his country palace, as it was now wearing late. I willingly accepted the invitation, and, in a short time, we arrived there.