Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1822.pdf/73



Agnes. Oh, very, very dear! I know no more , Of the wide world than what we now can see, Bounded by the blue sky; my heart has yet Some things to cling to here: I do not feel Quite desolate amid the many ties Affection here has sanctified. Look where The silent city of the dead arises, Its sole inhabitants the cypresses, Bending their weeping leaves to the black yews, And one huge cedar rearing gloomily His giant height, the monarch of the shades; The venerable church stands in the midst— The solemn temple, where the dead and living Together meet; you cannot see the tombs, So close the trees spread their green canopy; But there my mother by my father's side Sleeps sweetly—oh, most sweetly—for they died Each in the other's arms! They never knew That agony of soul which prays for death But yet lives on. Oh, that my grave Had been by theirs, our ashes would have mixed! But now Julian. I will not let thee dwell upon thy grief. Look to yon vine-clad hill: the setting sun Streams in full glory on the radiant leaves And topaz clusters,—the rill, that at noon-day Is bright and colourless like crystal, now Flows red with crimson light; just by that group Of those old chesnuts will I build a bower— A magic bower, my fairy, for thy home. Agnes. Oh, no—oh, no—not there! My said If ever he returned to claim his bride, Our nest of love and happiness should be Beneath that shade. Julian  (aside.) Ah why suspect her truth But one proof more, and I will lay aside Disguise and pray forgiveness for my doubts,— How sweet will be my pardon!—(To her.) I am come From India, and I doubt if 'tis the grave That holds your from your arms.