Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1825.pdf/49

48 Literary Gazette, 17th December, 1825, Page 812

----I have a gush Of wild and passionate thoughts upon my heart, For which words have no sound; and can it be That these fine impulses, these lovely dreams, Burning with their own beauty, are but given To make me the low slave of vanity! Heartless and humbled, oh! my own sweet power, Surely thy songs were made for more than this! What a worst waste of feeling and of life Have been the imprints on my roll of time— Too long, too much! To what use have I turned The golden gifts, in which I pride myself? They are profaned;—with their pure ore I've made An idol, whose sway is but in the breath Of passing worshippers. Alas! that ever Praise should have been what it has been to me! The opiate of my heart, which has annulled The happiness that sought but for itself. It is in vain; the wretchedness that clings Upon me like a curse, is in myself. Spirit of Fame, what hast thou been to me, But the destroyer of life's calm content? I feel so more than ever, now thy power Is weakened over me: once I could find A deep and dangerous delight in thee; But that is over. I am too much awake; Light—but not morning's light, has burst upon me; Such light as will burst in upon the tomb When all but judgment's over. Oh! my heart. My once sweet Paradise of hope and thought, How changed thou art! What is the gift of mind But as a barrier to so much that makes Our life endurable, companionship, Meeker affections, calm and gentle thoughts, Till the vexed spirit seals with discontent, A league of sorrow and of vanity, Built on that future which will never be. I would resign the words of praise which now Make my cheek crimson and my pulses beat, Could I but deem that when my heart is cold And my lip passionless, my songs would be Numbered 'mid the young minstrels' first delights, And murmured by the lover when his suit Calls upon poetry to breathe of love.L. E. L.