Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1826.pdf/39

He took that path; and many a sign was there
    In sweet shrub planted, and in lithe flower train’d,
Of gentle nursing and of gentle care;
    And dear thoughts entrance in his bosom gain'd:—
Was it for his sake it had won such share
   Of her fond culture? had she then retain'd
Such deep, true memory of Love's early scene,
As to make all a shrine where it had been?

He enter'd now the garden, and a fall
    Of singing, voice and lute, sank on his ear:
At first it seem'd thrice sweet and musical,
    But it grew sadder as he came more near.
He heard soft tones, he could distinguish all,
    But not the one voice that he sought to hear.
Dark was the castle, save one red-drear glare
From the chief hall:—what might such light mean there?

He rush'd in, and his step seem'd harshly loud,
    And jarr'd his ear—so still was all around:
Maidens were there with faces downwards bow'd,
    And tears had stopp'd their dirge; as if spellbound
He stood, he saw the coffin and the shroud,
    The pale flowers scatter'd o'er the sacred ground;
He rush'd, and raised the pall—his young, his fair
He knew the dead, and knew his own despair.

His heart was wreck'd for ever; for a while
    He staid to watch his father's dying bed;
But never more knew he a tear or smile—
    Their sources, fears and hopes, were with the dead.
Then—not that fame had aught that could beguile,
But for its fate—sought he the warfare red,
And died in battle.
IOLE.