When her hair was bound with flowers,
And her spirits fresh like them,
Ere she had bartered happiness
For the heartless diadem.
I entered next a mossy bower;
And there two lovers leant,
As if their destiny were clear
As the moonlit element.
A moment passed, and all was dark,
For the lover's blood was shed;
And his wan mistress lay beside—
Her life with his had fled.
I saw a minstrel's lofty brow,
Green with his laurel crown;
But I saw, too, that high pale brow
Was bowed in sorrow down:
For blighted hope was at his heart,
And he had found that fame
(The fame he had thought more than life)
Was nothing but a name.
I saw the sun like glory rise
On the warrior's snow-white plume;
And stern and stately was his step,
But his lip and eye were gloom:
I saw him look towards the field
He had covered with the slain,—
I knew his soul was on the friends
He should not see again.
I then the crowded city sought—
There was hurrying to and fro;
I asked if in it might be rest?
And tumult answered, no.
I called the traveller wind, oh! where
Peace may the weary crave?
And the deep voice of death replied—
But only in the grave. L. E. L.
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Literary Gazette, 30th April, 1825, Page 284