Page:Frederic Rowton on Landon.pdf/6

428

Silence, forgetfulness and rust. Lute, are for thee; And such my lot; neglect, the grave, These are for me!

The same sad desolate tone pervades nearly all her compositions: but it invariably becomes intensest when she speaks of herself. We always see a shadow on her heart. The following lines beautifully illustrate this tendency:

Silent and dark is the source of yon river, Whose birth-place we know not, and seek not to know, Though mild as the flight of the shaft from yon quiver, Is the course of its waves as in music they flow.

Oh, my heart, and my song, which is as my heart's flowing, Read thy fate in yon river, for such is thine own! 'Mid those the chief praise on thy music bestowing, Who cares for the lips from whence issue the tone?

Dark as its birth-place, so dark is my spirit, Whence yet the sweet waters of melody come: 'T is the long after-course, not the source, will inherit The beauty and glory of sunshine and fame.

And nothing seems able to "make a sunshine in this shady place." No burst of cheerfulness ever displays relief. Amidst every kind of scenery and circumstance the darkness is the same. Her pensiveness is her familiar spirit. She delights in it:

"Call it madness, call it folly, You cannot drive her gloom away, There's such a charm in melancholy, She would not if she could be gay."

Sorrow must have been at the core of her heart, or she never could have written like this: