Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1841.pdf/11

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But the poet lit the darkness With a gentle light, Calling forth such beauty As the morn from night

In y'on twilight grotto Might the queen complain Of the heart’s affection, Given—and in vain. As she mourned will many mourn. Why is it the poet’s sorrow Touches many a heart? ’Tis the general knowledge Claiming each their part.

Empire still has followed The revolving sun; Earth’s great onward progress In the East begun— Ruins, deserts, now are there. Downfall waits on triumph: Is such fate in store For our glorious islands? Will our English shore

L. E. L.