Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1839.pdf/67

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Soon our valleys knew his singing— Singing that was half divine; From all fair things round him bringing Tribute for his lovely line. There he paid the rose sweet duty, Linking love with every leaf; And again the lily’s beauty Lived, that else had been so brief.

And he sang of others’ sorrows, Till his own each sorrow seemed: Strange how soon the poet borrows All of which he has but dreamed! Yet it is this gift inspires him In that holy shrine, the heart; And the general love endears him For in all love he hath part.

But such gift is bought too dearly By a heart too prone to melt, Griefs and troubles touch too nearly, Where another scarce had felt. And alas! too much dominion Has a passing look and word; Rude the empire of opinion O’er the soul’s too fine-touched chord.

Soon he perished—weary-hearted, From the cold and the unkind; Yet what gifts hath the departed Left a world he loved behind, Lofty thought, and soft emotion— Fancies exquisite as new; And a generous devotion To the beautiful and true.

Let the wild flowers droop above him Let the dews of twilight weep— They are fitting things to love him, They are comrades for his sleep; Human tears were unavailing, Grief were an unsuiting guest. Death against the world prevailing, Hath but given him to rest.