Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/79

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Literary Gazette, 28th June 1823, Page 412

Praise! light and dew of the sweet leaves
    Around the Poet's temples hung,
How turned to gall, and how profaned
    By envious or by idle tongue!

Given by vapid fools, who laud
    Only if others do the same;
Forgotten even while the breath
    Is on the air that bears your name.

And He! what was his fate, the bard,
    He of the Desert Harp, whose song
Flowed freely, wildly, as the wind
    That bore him and his harp along?

That fate which waits the gifted one,
    To pine, each finer impulse check'd;
At length to sink, and die beneath
    The shade and silence of neglect.

And this the polished age, that springs
    The Phoenix from dark years gone by,
That blames and mourns the past, yet leaves
    Her warrior and her bard to die.

To die in poverty and pride,
    The light of hope and genius past,
Each feeling wrung, until the heart
    Could bear no more, so broke at last.

Thus withering amid the wreck
    Of sweet hopes, high imaginings,
What can the Minstrel do, but die,
    Cursing his too beloved strings!—L. E. L.