Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1822.pdf/17



Two once dwelt here, a Mother and her Child: She was a widow, and had deeply drank The cup of bitterness. But woman bears The storm man shrinks from unrepiningly. At length the one to whom her love had been A light mid darkness died, and she was left In coldness and unkindness: but one link Still bound her to this earth; there was a smile Bore gladness to her wounded heart, a voice Of joy and consolation, one who made Life very precious to her—the young bird, Her own sweet nestling, yet too young to know What clouds hung o'er him.—Quiet came at last; The mourner found a little lone retreat Where she might rest her weary feet—this isle Became her home. Her child grew up A hope and blessing to her:—she was proud To hear that when he joined his young compeers, No foot was fleet as his, no hand could send The arrow so unerringly, and none So lightly and so fearlessly could scale The height whereon the eagle dwelt; and, more Than all, to feel how she was loved! He seemed To live but for her. When with boyish pride He dared the venturous path the others feared, If chance he saw his mother's cheek grow pale, The meed was left unwon. One morn he went In his light skiff, and promised to return As evening fell; but when the sun sank down The air was thick with clouds, and the fierce wind Poured in its anger o'er the waters; loud The thunder rolled, and the red lightnings hurled Their fiery warnings. High upon a rock She raised a fire:—the lightning struck the pile, She marked it not—the rain beat on her head, It was unfelt—but with the agony Of hope expiring, still she fed the flame. Day rolled the clouds away, and, sick at heart, She looked towards the shore—he floated there, Her own beloved Child!—With one wild shriek She threw herself towards him, and the waves Close on them undivided! - -  - L. E. L.