Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1822.pdf/7



Her bright-hued pigeons, feeding from her hand; And still she threw fresh flowers upon the cage, Where two white doves were cooing; and then ran Light as the rose leaves falling, to her Sire, To greet him, and to give a kind Good morrow.— A blossom full of promise is Life's Joy, That never comes to fruit; hope for a time Suns the young floweret in its gladsome light, And it looks flourishing—a little while, ‘Tis past, we knew not whither, but 'tis gone— Some canker has consumed it, or some blight Has nipt it unawares, some worm has preyed Upon its life, or else some unkind blast Has torn it from the stem; and those who loved, Who fondly cultured it, are left to weep Over the ruins of their cherished flower.— I passed by that sweet cottage; it was changed; The rose trees were all dead, the unpruned vine Was trailing on the ground, the thick-grown weeds Gave signs of desolation; one poor dove Sat by a broken casement, while her wail Was echo'd mournfully from the lone roof— Love, Oh fond Love! betraying, beautiful, How can we trust the hope of life to thee? Is it not building on the sands? Fair girl,— It was the darkness of thy destiny! She loved one all unworthy of her love. Alas, that still devoted confidence Should lead but unto ruin! He beguil'd Her steps from home and happiness; and when She trusted but to him, his heart no more Answered the beat of her's—then he could leave The fond deceiv'd one lone and desolate! She turned her to her Father, whom she left, And knelt, and pray'd forgiveness: he might not Look on her pale cheek, thin and wasted form, And not weep o'er her kind and pardoning tears. Her heart was broken—and familiar scenes Of happier days and childhood brought no charm To one whose hope was past away—She died. Nov. L. E. L.