For works with similar titles, see Life.

Literary Gazette, 20th May, 1826, Page 316


LIFE.

                                     It is in vain—
The heart must struggle with its destiny.
Alas! the idols which its faith sets up—
They are Chaldean ones, half gold, half clay.
We trust, we are deceived—we hope, we fear,
Alike without foundation: day by day,
Some new illusion vanishes, and Life
Gets cold and colder on towards its close—
Just like the years which make it: some are check'd
By sudden blights in spring; some are dried up
By fiery summers; others waste away
In calm monotony of quiet skies,
And peradventure these may be the best—
They know no hurricanes, no floods that burst
As the destroying angel rode each wave;
But then they have no ruby fruits, no flowers
Shining in purple, and no lighted mines
Of gold and diamond. Which is the best,
Beauty and glory in a passionate clime,
Mingled with thunder, tempest;—or the calm
Of skies that scarcely change—which, at the least,
If much of shine they have not, have no storms?
I know not which is best: but I do know
Which I would choose; give me the earth, the sky,
Of even, self-consuming loveliness—
Though the too radiant sun and fertile soil,
In their luxuriance, run themselves to waste,
And the green valley and the silver stream
Become a sandy desert. Oh! the heart
Too passionate in lighted energies
May read its fate in sunny Araby—
How every Eastern tale recalls its beauty,
Its growth of spices, and its groves of balm.
It is exhausted—and what is it now?
A wild and burning wilderness—Alas!
For the similitude!L. E. L.