Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1832.pdf/75

Rh

48

Groweth not one ancient tree Here; the eye can only see Broken mass of cold gray stone; Never yet was place so lone! Yet the heart hath many a mood That would seek such solitude, When the summer earth and sky Mock those who but pine to die. Wherefore should the flowers be bright, When they yield us no delight? What avails the gladsome spring! Misery is a selfish thing; And the wretched one would fain That all nature shared his pain. Then, the piled and riven rock, Of earth's agony the sign, And the lone and barren place, Seem like sorrow's fitting shrine. Gloomy vale! if thou couldst be Haunt for human misery, Half our life were spent with thee.