Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1837.pdf/70

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knight, that broidered cloak undo, And break that golden chain in two; Take from your hand its jewels fair, Shear those bright curls of sunny hair, And offer up at yonder shrine All vanities that once were thine.

No more the victor of the ring, Thy triumphs will the minstrel sing; No more upon thy helm the glove Will ask of fame to sanction love. The saraband untrod must be, The lists, the dance are closed for thee.

Look to the past—if present there Be visible one great despair: Look to the future—if it give Nothing which charmeth thee to live. Then come—the present knows its doom; Thy heart already is a tomb.

Thy cheek is pale—thy brow is worn— Thy lip is bitter in its scorn. I read in them the signs that tell The heart’s impassioned chronicle. ’Tis past!—and Malta’s iron vow To thee is less than nothing now.