Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1824.pdf/32



Or she had sacred kept the bower, The temple of our parting kiss, For well love cherishes each thing That has a memory of its bliss.

I stood beneath the old oak tree, My harp was on my shoulder slung, When suddenly a plaining breeze, Like to a dirge, across it rung.

And almost, as in mockery, Answered a light and cheerful sound— Young voices singing to the flute, And distant bells that pealed around.

I saw bright torches, and I went To gaze upon the gay parade— It was a bridal pageantry, And the bride was my faithless !

Oh, worse than death! I had not thought That such a thing could be; too well My heart had loved, to deem that aught Like falsehood could be possible.

Farewell then,, with that farewell To all that bears a woman's name: Heart, harp, and sword, were vowed to thee, They'll never know another's claim.

I take thy white scarf from my heart, And fling its fragments on the air; Thy bright curl—no, I cannot part With this one pledge—thy silken hair.

My heart is seared—I have lost all My dreams of bliss, my golden store; For, what is life when love is gone? And what is love when hope is o'er?L. E. L.