Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/150



It was a place of birds and flowers, Of green leaves and sunshine: I do hope I shall find no change, Sweet Isle! in aught of thine.

I'll seek again where the pink boughs Of the accacia wave,— My cradle was beneath their shade, And so shall be my grave.

My spirit could not pass away In yon great city's air, Even my last sigh would be false, For all things are false there.

I have let fall my red rose wreath, Scattered upon the deep,— The flowers I had such joy to cull, I wished so much to keep.

There, they are floating far away, Over the starlit sea; Is it not thus pleasures and hopes Have pass'd away from me?

Well, let them pass; I have a home Where pink accacias wave, And sweetly will it guard my sleep Within the quiet grave!

‘Twas even so: they made the Maiden's grave Beneath the lone accacia, which became A shrine by lovers sought to breathe their vows; And a pale lily or a violet Gathered from off that tomb, was a love-gift Beyond all prize, and one that every youth Offered his mistress, when a blush first owned She loved him. L. E. L.