Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/84

83 Literary Gazette, 12th July 1823, Page 443

ORIGINAL POETRY. GLENCOE.

Lay by the harp, sing not that song, Though very sweet it be; It is a song of other years, Unfit for thee and me.

Thy head is pillowed on my arm, Thy heart beats close to mine; Methinks it were unjust to heaven, If we should now repine.

I must not weep, you must not sing That thrilling song again,— I dare not think upon the time When last I heard that strain.

It was a silent summer eve: We stood by the hill side, And we could see my ship afar Breasting the ocean tide.

Around us grew the graceful larch, A calm blue sky above, Beneath were little cottages, The homes of peace and love.

Thy harp was by thee then, as now, One hand in mine was laid; The other, wandering 'mid the chords, A soothing music made;

Just two or three sweet chords, that seemed An echo of thy tone,— The cushat's song was on the wind And mingled with thine own.

I looked upon the vale beneath, I looked on thy sweet face, I thought how dear, this voyage o'er, Would be my resting place.

We parted; but I kept thy kiss,— Thy last one,—and its sigh— As safely as the stars are kept In yonder azure sky.

Again I stood by that hill side, And scarce I knew the place, For fire, and blood, and death, had left On every thing their trace.