Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1824.pdf/33

32 Literary Gazette, 27th March, 1824, Pages 203-204

ORIGINAL POETRY. It is a lovely lake, with waves as blue As e'er were lighted by the morning ray To topaz—crowded with an hundred isles, Each named from some peculiar flower it bears: There is the Isle of Violets, whose leaves, Thick in their azure beauty, fill the air With most voluptuous breathings; the Primrose Gives name to one: the Lilies of the Valley, Like wreath'd pearls, to another; Cowslips glow, Ringing with golden bells the fragrant peal Which the bees love so, in a fourth. How sweet Upon a summer evening, when the lake Lies half in shadow, half in crimson light, Like hope and fear holding within the heart Divided empire, with a light slack sail To steer your little boat amid the isles, Now gazing in the clouds like fiery halls, Till head and eye are filled with gorgeous thoughts Of golden palaces in fairyland; Or, looking through the clear, yet purple wave, See the white pebbles, shining like the hearts Pure and bright even in this darksome world; There is one gloomy isle, quite overgrown With weeping willows, green, yet pensively Sweep the long branches down to the tall grass; And in the very middle of the place There stands a large old yew—beneath its shade I would my grave might be: the tremulous light, Breaking at intervals through the sad boughs, Yet without power to warm the ground below, Would be so like the mockery of hope. No flowers grow there—they would not suit my tomb: It should be only strewed with withered leaves; And on a willow, near, my harp might hang, Forgotten and forsaken, yet at times Sending sweet music o'er the lake.