Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/85



The lake was covered o'er with weeds, Choked was our little rill, There was no sign of corn or grass, The cushat's song was still:

Burnt to the dust, an ashy heap Was every cottage round;— I listened, but I could not hear One single human sound;

I spoke, and only my own words Were echoed from the hill; I sat me down to weep, and curse The hand that wrought this ill.

We met again by miracle: Thou wert another one Saved from this work of sin and death,— I was not quite alone.

And then I heard the evil tale Of guilt and suffering, Till I prayed the curse of God might fall On the false-hearted king.

I will not think on this,—for thou Art saved, and saved for me! And gallantly my little bark Cuts through the moonlight sea.

There's not a shadow in the sky, The waves are bright below; I must not, on so sweet a night, Think upon dark Glencoe.

If thought were vengeance, then its thought A ceaseless fire should be, Burning by day, burning by night, Kept like a thought of thee.

But I am powerless and must flee;— That e'er a time should come, When we should shun our own sweet land, And seek another home!

This must not be,—yon soft moonlight Falls on my heart like balm; The waves are still, the air is hushed, And I too will be calm.

Away! we seek another land Of hope, stars, flowers, sunshine; I shall forget the dark green hills Of that which once was mine! L. E. L.