Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1822.pdf/28



Upon the sweet creation, and not feel Its influence on the heart? Now listen, love, I’ll tell thee of her history: she was Amid those lovely ones that walk the earth Like visions all of heaven, or but made The more divine by earthly tenderness; One of the maiden choir, that every morn, From lips of dew and odours, to the sun Hymned early welcome. 'Twas one summer eve, And the white columns and the marble floor In the proud temple of Day's deity Were flooded o'er with crimson, and the air Was rich with scents; it was turn To watch the perfumed flame; she sat and waked Her silver lute with one of those sweet songs Breathed by young poets when their mistress' kiss Has been their inspiration. Suddenly Some other music echoed her own, Faint, but most exquisite, like those low tones That winds of summer sigh in the sea shells; It died in melting cadences, but still bent to hear it—Could it be A dream, a strange wild dream? There stood a Youth More beautiful than summer by her side! His bright hair floated down like Indian gold, A light played in his curls, and his dark eyes Flashed splendour too intense for human gaze; A wreath of laurel was upon the lyre His graceful hand sustained, and by his side The sparkling arrows hung. It was the god That guides the sun's blue race, the god of light, Of song, who left his native heaven for one More precious far—the heaven of woman's love. - -