Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/85

The lake was covered o'er with weeds,
    Choked was our little rill,
There was no sign of corn or grass,
    The cushat's song was still:

Burnt to the dust, an ashy heap
    Was every cottage round;—
I listened, but I could not hear
    One single human sound;

I spoke, and only my own words
    Were echoed from the hill;
I sat me down to weep, and curse
    The hand that wrought this ill.

We met again by miracle:
    Thou wert another one
Saved from this work of sin and death,—
    I was not quite alone.

And then I heard the evil tale
    Of guilt and suffering,
Till I prayed the curse of God might fall
    On the false-hearted king.

I will not think on this,—for thou
    Art saved, and saved for me!
And gallantly my little bark
    Cuts through the moonlight sea.

There's not a shadow in the sky,
    The waves are bright below;
I must not, on so sweet a night,
    Think upon dark Glencoe.

If thought were vengeance, then its thought
    A ceaseless fire should be,
Burning by day, burning by night,
    Kept like a thought of thee.

But I am powerless and must flee;—
    That e'er a time should come,
When we should shun our own sweet land,
    And seek another home!

This must not be,—yon soft moonlight
    Falls on my heart like balm;
The waves are still, the air is hushed,
    And I too will be calm.

Away! we seek another land
    Of hope, stars, flowers, sunshine;
I shall forget the dark green hills
    Of that which once was mine! ⁠L. E. L.