Letitia Elizabeth Landon

“ GLADESMUIR. [1]
⁠"There is no home like the home of our infancy, no remembrances like those of our youth; the old trees whose topmost boughs we have climbed, the hedge containing that prize a bird's nest, the fairy tale we heard by the fireside, are things of deep and serious interest in maturity. The heart, crushed or hardened by its intercourse with the world, turns with affectionate delight to its early dreams. How I pity those whose childhood has been unhappy! to them one of the sweetest springs of feeling has been utterly denied, the most green and beautiful part of life laid waste. ”

“ Know love is woman's happiness.
Come, love, we'll rest us from our wanderings:
The violets are fresh among the moss,
The dew is not yet on their purple leaves,
Warm with the sun's last kiss—sit here, dear love!
This chesnut be our canopy. Look up
Towards the beautiful heaven! the fair Moon
Is shining timidly, like a young Queen
Who fears to claim her full authority:
The stars shine in her presence; o'er the sky
A few light clouds are wandering, like the fears
That even happy love must know ”

“ Like the light cypress, when the breeze of Spring
Wakes music in its boughs. As Juan knelt
It chanced her eyes met his, and all his soul
Maddened in that slight glance! She left the place;
Yet still her shape seemed visible, and still
He felt the light through the long eyelash steal
And melt within his heart!⁠-⁠-⁠-⁠-
From that time life was one impassioned dream:
He lingered on the spot which she had made
So sacred by her presence, and he thought
It happiness to only breathe the air
Her sigh had perfumed—but to press the floor
Her faery step had hallowed. ”

“ And Fernand bent with so much tenderness
To catch the music of the timid voice,
Which dared not breathe its love-vow audibly.
Hermione rushed thence, as if her step
Had been upon the serpent's lair. That night
She brooded o'er her wrongs, and bitterly
Prayed for revenge! - - - And this is Woman's fate:
All her affections are called into life
By winning flatteries, and then thrown back
Upon themselves to perish, and her heart,
Her trusting heart, filled with weak tenderness,
Is left to bleed or break! ”

“ 'Tis one of those bright fictions that have made
The name of Greece only another word
For love and poetry; with a green earth—
Groves of the graceful myrtle—summer skies,
Whose stars are mirror'd in ten thousand streams—
Winds that move but in perfume and in music,
And, more than all, the gift of woman's beauty.
What marvel that the earth, the sky, the sea,
Were filled with all those fine imaginings
That love creates, and that the lyre preserves! ”

“ Of the heart's intercourse, our own fireside!
I do remember in my early youth
I parted from its circle; how I pined
With happy recollections, they to me
Were sickness and deep sorrow; how I thought
Of the strange tale, the laugh, the gentle smile
Breathing of love, that wiled the night away.
The hour of absence past, I was again
With those who loved me. What a beauty dwelt
In each accustomed face! what music hung
On each familiar voice! We circled in
Our meeting ring of happiness. ”

“ The palms have not to him the majesty
Of his own land's green oaks, the roses here
Are not so sweet as those wild ones that grow
In his own valley; he would rather have
One pale blue violet than all the buds
That Indian suns have kist: his heart is full
Of gentle recollections, and those thoughts
Which can but hold communion with themselves,
The heart's best dreaming. When the wanderer
Calls up those tender memories which are
So precious to absence, those dear links
That distance cannot sunder—come there not
Such visionings, young Evelin, o'er thy soul? ”

“ There are dark yew-trees gathered round, beneath
Are the white tombstones, and the green grass sods;
No other sounds are heard, save the low voice
Of a brook wandering by, or the wild song
Of the sweet red-breast plaining o'er the graves.
There is one tomb, distinguished from the rest
By wild flowers braided round in curious wreathes
Of April beauty; the blue violet
Bending with dewdrops, like to maiden tears,
Falling for love betrayed; the primrose wan,
As sick with hope deceived ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Prest to her heart, as if to still its throbs!—
You never might forget that face,—so young,
So fair, yet traced with such deep characters
Of inward wretchedness! The eyes were dim,
With tears on the dark lashes; still the lip
Could not quite lose its own accustomed smile,
Even by that pale cheek it kept its arch
And tender playfulness: you looked and said,
What can have shadowed such a sunny brow?
There is so much of natural happiness
In that bright countenance, it seems but formed
For Spring's light sunbeams, or yet lighter dews. ”

“ She leant upon her harp, and thousands looked
On her in love and wonder—thousands knelt
And worshipp'd in her presence—burning tears,
And words that died in utterance, and a pause
Of breathless, agitated eagerness,
First gave the full heart's homage: then came forth
A shout that rose to heaven; and the hills,
The distant valleys, all rang with the name
Of the Æolian Sappho—every heart
Found in itself some echo to her song. ”

“ Dark with hot climates, and gashed o'er with scars,
Told of the toiling march, the battle-rush,
Where sabres flashed, the red shots flew, and not
One ball or blow but did destruction's work:
But then his heart was high, and his pulse beat
Proudly and fearlessly:— now he was worn
With many a long day's suffering,— and death's
A fearful thing when we must count its steps! ”

“ But my heart has ne'er wandered, Eglæ, from thee.—
And, Greece, my own, my glorious land!
I will take no laurel but from thy hand.
What is the light of a Poet's name,
If it is not his country that hallows his fame? ”

“ With feelings deep, eternal as our own,
And yet to know that we must quell those feelings
With phantom shapes of prudence, worldly care—
For two who live but in each other's life,
Whose only star in this dark world is love! ”

“ When the clock of the village is tolling one;
Let no look be turned, no word be said,
And lay the rose-leaves under your head;
Your sleep will be light, and pleasant your rest,
For your visions will be of the youth you love best. ”

“ Then gaze not on other eyes, Love;
Breathe not other sighs, Love;
You may find many a brighter one
Than your own rose, but there are none
So true to thee, Love.
All thine own, mid gladness, Love ”

“ The white hand which almost unconsciously
In melody is wandering: that fair hand
Is not more snowy than the cheek it presses;
That cheek does tell the history of the heart—
Tells, that across the bright May hours of youth
Bleak clouds have past, and left behind a trace
Bordering on sadness, but withal so sweet
You scarce might call it sorrow; and that smile
But speaks of patient mild endurance, soft
And kind and gentle thoughts, which well become
A breaking heart, whose throbs will soon be still
In the so lonely but so quiet grave. ”

“ The rose trees were all dead, the unpruned vine
Was trailing on the ground, the thick-grown weeds
Gave signs of desolation; one poor dove
Sat by a broken casement, while her wail
Was echo'd mournfully from the lone roof—
Love, Oh fond Love! betraying, beautiful,
How can we trust the hope of life to thee? ”

“ Oh! that such pleasure should have charms for him
And by his side a girl, whose blue eyes, bent
On the seducer, looked too innocent
For passion's madness;—but love's soul was there—
And for young Love what will not woman dare! ”

“ Soft leaves, some white as foam-flakes of the sea,
Some veined with pink; but more than all there glows
The hue-like maiden's cheek, when love calls forth the rose.—
Above the blossoms hung an airy form,
Upborne by pinions of an azure dye,
Playing around like light ”

“ Its touch upon the gentle strings,
Music 'wakened in that heart
Will not but with life depart—
Even in its latest sigh
Breathes that native melody.
Love is woman's life, the whole
Hope, pride, harmony of soul! ”

“ This season of young passion's happiness!
The spirit revels in delicious dreams;
The future is so beautiful, for hope
Is then all powerful. They would often sit
For hours by their bright hearth, and tell old tales
Of love, true as their own—or talk of days
Of quiet joy to come. ”

“ A sigh scarce heard, a blush scarce visible,
Alone may give it utterance. Love is
A beautiful feeling in a woman's heart,
When felt as only woman love can feel;
Pure as the snowfall, when its latest shower
Sinks on spring flowers ”

“ POETIC SKETCHES.
(Sketch the First "A woman’s whole life is
a history of the affections. The heart is her
world. She sends forth her sympathies in
adventure; she embarks her whole soul in the
traffic of love, and, if shipwrecked, her case
is hopeless; it is bankruptcy of the heart.") ”

“ Far from her country, far from her home;
And all she had left for her friends to keep
Was a name to hide, and a memory to weep!
And her future held forth but the felon's lot,
To live forsaken—to die forgot! ”

“ When flowers, like our hopes, lie dead,
And each rejoicing song is fled,
When there is nought on earth or sky
To charm the ear or win the eye,
When all is dead around, above—
Then think upon thy absent love. ”

“ A blossom full of promise is Life's Joy,
That never comes to fruit; hope for a time
Suns the young floweret in its gladsome light,
And it looks flourishing—a little while,
‘Tis past, we knew not whither, but 'tis gone—
Some canker has consumed it, or some blight
Has nipt it unawares, some worm has preyed
Upon its life, or else some unkind blast
Has torn it from the stem; ”

“ A nation was to worship—that young heart
Beat with its first wild passion—that pure feeling
Life only once may know. I will not dwell
On how Affection's bark was launched and lost:—
Love, thou hast hopes like summers, short and bright,
Moments of ecstasy, and maddening dreams,
Intense delicious throbs! But happiness
Is not for thee. ”

“ And to lay his bones on his own loved shore;
To think that the friends of his youth might weep
O'er the green grass turf of the soldier's sleep!
The bugles ceased their wailing sound
As the coffin was lowered into the ground;
A volley was fired, a blessing said,
One moment's pause—and they left the dead!—
I saw a poor and an aged man,
His step was feeble, his lip was wan:
He knelt him down on the new-raised mound,
His face was bowed on the cold damp ground,
He raised his head, his tears were done,—
The father had prayed o'er his only Son! ”

“ So very faithful!—without hope to cheer,
Or tenderness to soothe, her love yet will
Continue unto death. Clytie dwelt
On that once cherished memory; she would gaze
For hours upon the sky, and watch the sun ”

“ And hopes that in his heart's warm summer clime
Flourished, were quickly withered in the cold
And dull realities of life; - - - he was
Too proud, too visionary for this world,
And feelings which, like waters unconfined,
Had carried with them freshness and green beauty,
Thrown back upon themselves, spread desolation
On their own banks. ”

“ I know them not—I deeply swore
No lip should sigh where mine before
Had sealed its vow, no heart should rest
Upon the bosom mine had prest.
Life had no ill I would not brave
To claim him, even in the grave! ”

“ The lines were fill'd with many a tender thing,
All the impassion'd heart's fond communing.
I took the scroll: I could not brook
An eye to gaze on it save mine;
I could not bear another's look
Should dwell upon one thought of thine. ”

“ But lovely things are fleeting—blushes, sighs,
The hours of youth, smiles, hopes, and minstrel dreams,
Spring days and blossoms, music's tones, are all
Most fugitive; and swifter still than these
Will love dissolve into forgetfulness. ”

“ Can trifle, in cold vanity, with all
The warm soul's precious throbs, to whom it is
A triumph that a fond devoted heart
Is breaking for them,—who can bear to call
Young flowers into beauty, and then crush them! ”

“ 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 ”

“ There is no colour in the stone;
It might have graced a diadem,
But now its hue and light are gone!
Take back your gift, and give me mine—
The kiss that sealed our last love vow;
Ah, other lips have been on thine,—
My kiss is lost and sullied now!
The gem is pale, the kiss forgot,
And, more than either, you are changed;
But my true love has altered not,
My heart is broken—not estranged! ⁠L. E. L.
↑ This poem appears in The improvisatrice and Other Poems (1824) , as 'The Ring. ”

“ And poured her wild complainings to the groves,
And Echo answered—Echo, that, like her,
Had pined with ill-starred love! Oh never, never
Had love a temple like a woman's heart!
She will serve so devotedly, will give
Youth, beauty, health, in sacrifice ”

“ IV. - Arion. [1]
The winds are high, the clouds are dark,
But stay not thou for storm, my bark;
What is the song of love to me,
Unheard, my sweet Eglæ, by thee?
Fair lips may smile, and eyes may shine ”