Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1825.pdf/55



He starts! a low soft sigh stole on his ear; He turned to whence its living music came, And saw her by the open casement near, So that the fresh air fanned the crimson flame That fed upon her cheek—a single tear Lay like a gem upon it—sudden shame Made the young artist farther shrink away, As dazzled by a sudden burst of day.

It was a face, with nothing but the blush To mark it from the sculptured features round: As perfect in its beauty; but the flush Of earthly warmth and earthly feeling crowned The master-piece of nature;—that rich gush Was from the heart, which thus a language found, The eloquence of truth and silence ever:— Words, sighs, and smiles deceive, but blushes never.

Yet grief would till the eye that watched that face: The blue mine of the forehead, showed its wealth Of azure veins too clearly, and the trace Of early hidden grief was there:—by stealth The tears stole from their starry dwelling-place; The cheek was morning's colour, not its health. And yet there was a beautiful repose, Like the last softened shade of sorrow's close.

Upon her arm, as dreamingly she leant, While the clear sky was mirror'd in her eyes, Her spirit mingling with its element, Flinging off all the baser of life's ties; Bound but by those whose earthliness is blent With finer essence, gentle sympathies, And pure affections;—all that makes the earth Recall the Eden of its early birth.