Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Stanzas 2
Literary Gazette, 5th June, 1824, Page 364
ORIGINAL POETRY.
STANZAS.
"I too am changed, I scarce know why,
Can feel each flagging pulse decay.
And youth and health and visions high
Melt like a wreath of snow away.
Time cannot, sure, have wrought the ill,
Tho’ worn in this world's sickening strife;
In soul, in form, I linger still
In the first summer month of life.
Yet journey on my path below,
Ah, how unlike ten years ago!"
A. A. W.—Blackwood’s May.
The moon is shining o'er the lake
We used to rove beside.
And, as they're wont to do, the swans
Are sailing o'er the tide.
And there, beneath the willow tree,
Our little boat is laid;
How pleasantly the moonbeam falls
Upon its quiet shade.
And there, too, is the red rose tree
Bending in its sweet grace,
A beauty o'er her mirror bowed,
Reading her own fair face.
The deer are crouching on the sward,
Save two white fawns at play,
As they had not enough of mirth
In the long summer day.
There are our silver pheasants too,
I see their gleaming wings;
And there the peacock to the moon
Spreads wide his glittering rings.
There is no change upon the lake,
No change on leaf or flower;
There the same deer, there the same birds,
The same moonlighted hour;
As the last time when here we stood,
And looked our first farewell,
Looked as if things inanimate
Each inmost thought could tell.
E'en then my eyes with tears were wet,
But they were pleasant tears—
An offering to the memory
Of many happy years.
My heart was light with Hopes, and these
Are Birds which never sing
With the same sweet familiar song
They utter in our Spring.
Blessed privilege of youth, to look
On time without regret;
To think that which has past was fair,
That to come fairer yet.
‘Tis well for us there is no gift
Of prophecy on earth,
Or how would every pleasure be
A rose crushed in the birth.
How would my inmost heart have shrank,
If then I could have known,
Pass a few years, and I should stand
Beside that lake alone!
That I—so cherished, loved, carest—
Must learn to live apart,
Bear with unkindness, wrong, and all
That breaks a woman's heart.
I should have died; and would that then
It had been mine to die!
I should have been but as the lute,
Broken by its first sigh.—
I sought the world, and for a while
Mine was a splendid dream—
Of lighted halls, of palaces.
Of music, bloom, and beam.
My soul was sick, my ear grew pal'ed;
I felt that pleasure’s gem
Could not be found in courtly scenes,
The heart was not with them.
But I had yet the worst to learn:
There was one dream that still
Held empire o'er my soul, that seemed
Above all chance of ill.
I thought it—as I thought the stars
All earthly change above;
When that I say that dream was false,
I scarce need say—'twas love.
And thus could change avail to rend
Affection's early band;
Ah! she who builds her hope on love,
Has built indeed on sand.
But see—the wind has swept a leaf
From yonder willow tree.
And it is sailing down the lake;
Let that the emblem be.
As well you might hope that slight leaf,
With its white flower, would sail
In safety down, as trust to love;—
Love's bark is yet more frail.
That flower will sink, and will not mark
A trace on wave or wind;
But when love disappears, it leaves
A broken heart behind. L. E. L.