Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/144



In the delicious feeling. And around, All seemed the home and atmosphere of love: The air sweet with the woodbine and the rose; The rich red light of evening; the far sea, So still, so calm; the vale, with its cornfields Shooting their green spears 'mid the scarlet banners Of the wild poppies; meadows with the hay Scattered in fragrance, clover yet uncut; And in the distance a small wood, where oaks And elms threw giant shadows; and a river Winding, now hidden and now visible, Till close beside their bower it held its course, And fed a little waterfall, the harp That answered to the woodlark's twilight hymn Their last, last evening. Ah, the many vows That and his  pledged! She took A golden ring and broke it, hid one half Next her own heart, then cut a shining curl, As bright as the bright gift, and round his neck Fastened the silken braid, and bade him keep The ring and hair for 's sake. They talked Of pleasant hopes, of 's quick return With treasure gathered on the stormy deep, And how they then would build a little cot; They chose the very place; and the bright moon Shone in her midnight, ere their schemes Were half complete. They parted. The next morn With the day-blush had sought that bower Alone, and watched upon the distant sea A ship just visible to those long looks With which love gazes. - - - How most sweet it is To bare one lonely treasure, which the heart Can feed upon in secret, which can be A star in sorrow, and a flower in joy; A thought to which all other thoughts refer; A hope, from whence all other hopes arise, Nurs'd in the solitude of happiness! Love, passionate young Love, how sweet it is To have the bosom made a paradise By thee, life lighted by thy rainbow smile!—