Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1840.pdf/16

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Or was it some wild dream of love That filled the summer noon, And saw but one sweet face above, What time the maiden moon Looked on a fairy world beneath, And waked the hawthorn's sweetest breath, The fountain's softest tune? For young love, living on a smile, Makes its own Eden for a while.

The ancient hall, when winter came, Gave fantasies to night, Light by some old lamp's flickering flame, Or the red embers' light. The shadows, that have little power Upon the sunshine's cheerful hour, Then master mind and sight; The visionary world appears Girt with fantastic shapes and fears.

Such was his childhood, suited well To fashion such a mind; The feudal sword—the gothic cell, Their influence combined. The old oak-wood—the forest stream, And love soon wakened from the dream It never quite resigned. His life contained no after hour O'er which his boyhood had no power.

Be after scenes with after years— Here only we recall Whatever soothes, subdues, endears, In his ancestral hall. The deep enchantment we have felt, When every thought and feeling dwelt Beneath his spirit's thrall. Sad, softened, are the hearts that come To gaze around his boyish home.L. E. L.