Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/142



There sat one, by a grave whose weeded turf Shewed more than common care, his face bent down, A fine and manly brow, though sun and wind Had darkened it, and that a shade of grief Seemed natural from long habit; by his side A little laughing child, with clear blue eyes, Cheek like a dimpled rose, and sunny curls, Was gathering blossoms, gathering but to crush, Till the sod was all colours with the leaves. Even in childhood's innocence of pleasure Lives that destroying spirit, which in time Will waste, then want, the best of happiness. I marked the boy's companion: he was yet In life's first summer; and he seemed to watch With such sad tenderness the child, which came When tired to nestle in his bosom, sure That it was welcome. And the grave was kept So fresh, so green, so covered with sweet flowers, I deemed 'twas some young widower, whose love Had pass'd away, or ever it had known One sting of sorrow or one cloud of care,— Pass'd in its first delicious confidence Of vowed affection;—'twas the grave, I thought, Of his young wife, and that the child was left A dear memorial of that cherished one. I read his history wrong. In early youth, When hopes and pleasures flit like butterflies Around our pleasant spring, had loved, And sought in 's deep blue eyes his world,— Loved with the truth, the fervour of first love, That delicate bloom which can come o'er the soul But only once. All other thoughts and feelings The heart may know again, but first love never! Its hopes, bright as the azure flower that springs Where'er the radiance of the rainbow falls; Its fears, soft as the leaves that shade the lily, Its fairy-land romance, its tenderness, Its timid, yet so passionate devotion—