Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1825.pdf/44



I will kneel down and worship it, when night Comes in the deep religion of repose, Silence and darkness, and the heart, opprest In its own feelings, seeks some other world To which it may confide the cares of this, And sends up prayers from instinct more than duty. Then, thou sweet saint! when the pale moonlight fills Thine eyes with light as they were animate With life and pity, I will kneel to thee there. There was one once on earth, tho' now in heaven, So very like thee, I can well believe In praying thee I pray a guardian spirit— Mine own ! mine, now that the grave, Saving thy memory, has all of thee. Will not thine influence be on the heart That would have chastened feelings, holy thoughts, Only that it may share thy heaven with thee? - - - - - The garden is a wilderness, and filled With trees degenerate from their cultured growth, And covered with white snowdrops, like a shrowd: The only flower remaining, cold and pale And without scent, as a heart without hope. In the midst is a fountain choked with weeds, The fallen crucifix there lies concealed— I'd rear it up again and clear the fount, And set the waters flowing, and would dig My grave beside, for it would be like sleep To die soothed by the lulling of their fall: It would not be such utter solitude In my last hour, if I could pass away In hearing of their sweet familiar sound.