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The Golden Violet with its Tales of Romance and Chivalry and Other Poems/Lolotte’s Song

For works with similar titles, see Song (Letitia Elizabeth Landon).

"Well changed, fair lady," laughing said
    A girl beside, whose chestnut hair
Was wreathed with the wild vine leaves spread,
    As if that she some wood nymph were;
And darker were her brow and cheek,
And richer in their crimson break,
Than those of the fair ring beside.
In sooth, Lolotte had often tried

The influence of the wind and sun,
That loved the cheek they dwelt upon
Too well, to leave it without trace
They had known such sweet dwelling-place.
And her bright eyes seem'd as they had won
The radiance which the summer sun
Brought to her valleys lone and wild,
Where she had dwelt. And now half child,
Half woman, in the gay excess
Of all youth's morning happiness,
She came to the Lady of Isaure's towers,
As fresh and as sweet as the forest bowers
Where the gladness had pass'd of her earliest hours.
"Now harken thee, Lady Isabelle,
See if aright I read thy spell,
And the rule of thy charm'd sway, to keep
Watch over Love's enchanted sleep."


Where, oh! where's the chain to fling,
One that will bind Cupid's wing,
One that will have longer power
Than the April sun or shower?
Form it not of Eastern gold,
All too weighty it to hold;
Form it neither all of bloom,
Never does Love find a tomb
Sudden, soon, as when he meets
Death amid unchanging sweets:
But if you would fling a chain,
And not fling it all in vain,
Like a fairy form a spell
Of all that is changeable,
Take the purple tints that deck,
Meteor-like, the peacock's neck;

Take the many hues that play
On the rainbow's colour'd way;
Never let a hope appear
Without its companion fear;
Only smile to sigh, and then
Change into a smile again;
Be to-day as sad, as pale,
As minstrel with his lovelorn tale;
But to-morrow gay as all
Life had been one festival.
If a woman would secure
All that makes her reign endure,
And, alas! her reign must be
Ever most in phantasy,
Never let an envious eye
Gaze upon the heart too nigh;

Never let the veil be thrown
Quite aside, as all were known
Of delight and tenderness,
In the spirit's last recess;
And, one spell all spells above,
Never let her own her love.