Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1824.pdf/82



The Lake. The last pale light was on the sky, That comes when summer sunbeams die; An amber wave, with just a surge Of crimson on its utmost verge; And, spread beneath, like a green ocean, With not one single wave in motion, Stood a thick wood; then far away, Dark outlined in the sky's clear gray, Rose mountain-heights, till, to the eye, They gloomed like storm-clouds piled on high. Upon the other eastern shore Grew, in light groups, the sycamore— Gay with the bright tints that recall How autumn and ambition fall; Alike departing in their hour, Of riches, pride, and pomp, and power. And in their shadow the red deer Grazed as they had no hour of fear; As never here a bow was drawn, Nor hunter's cry rose with the dawn. Near, like a wilderness of bloom, Waved the gold banners of the broom— Light as the graceful maiden's shape, And sunny as the curls that 'scape From the blue snood with which her care Has had such pride to braid her hair. The Lake was that deep blue, which night Wears in the zenith moon's full light; With pebbles shining thro', like gems Lighting sultana's diadems: A little isle laid on its breast, A fairy gift in its sweet rest. There stood a convent once—bright eyes Wasted their light, soft lips their sighs. Oh! who can say how much each cell Has known of youth and hope's farewell— Of midnight's vigil, when each prayer Laid all the burning bosom bare, Of those who bowed not down to sleep, Of those whom they alone saw weep? Or it might tell of those who sought The peacefulness of holy thought— The broken heart, the bleeding breast, That turned them to a place of rest. All is forgotten: There is not More than trace to mark the spot So holy once; just a stained stone, Broken, and with gray moss o'ergrown; A fragment of a shattered wall; One fallen arch; and these are all. Wild roses, with their summer glow, Are tenants of the island now; Perhaps thus springing fresh and fair Upon the graves of those who were Once lovely as themselves. L. E. L.