Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1824.pdf/57

56 Literary Gazette, 19th June, 1824, Pages 395-396

ORIGINAL POETRY. STANZAS. Is this the harp you used to wake, The harp of other days? Or is it that another hand Amid its music strays?

No! the same harp to the same hand Yields up its melody— The song, too, is the very same, Yet they are changed for me.

They are the same—but; oh! how changed Since last I heard their tone; The change I vainly seek in them Is in my heart alone.

Nay, fling not back thy cloud of hair, Its roses are unbound: See,, see thy carelessness, They're scattered o'er the ground.

Yet, but an hour, when first the dew Fell from the twilight star, How tenderly these flowers were culled, And now how crushed they are:

And must I in those roses read What my heart's fate will be? That when the prize is once possest, How slight its worth to thee.

Oh, all in vain thy small snow hand Awakes its wildering strain: Thy dark eyes breathe the soul of song, To me they turn in vain.

I heard thee wake the deep harp chords For other ears than mine, I saw the light of thy soft eyes Upon another shine.

The heart must speak or ever words My depth of love can tell; But eyes, hand, heart, must be all mine, Or else, farewell, farewell!