Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1826.pdf/24

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is in vain— The heart must struggle with its destiny. Alas! the idols which its faith sets up— They are Chaldean ones, half gold, half clay. We trust, we are deceived—we hope, we fear, Alike without foundation: day by day, Some new illusion vanishes, and Life Gets cold and colder on towards its close— Just like the years which make it: some are check'd By sudden blights in spring; some are dried up By fiery summers; others waste away In calm monotony of quiet skies, And peradventure these may be the best— They know no hurricanes, no floods that burst As the destroying angel rode each wave; But then they have no ruby fruits, no flowers Shining in purple, and no lighted mines Of gold and diamond. Which is the best, Beauty and glory in a passionate clime, Mingled with thunder, tempest;—or the calm Of skies that scarcely change—which, at the least, If much of shine they have not, have no storms? I know not which is best: but I do know Which I would choose; give me the earth, the sky, Of even, self-consuming loveliness— Though the too radiant sun and fertile soil, In their luxuriance, run themselves to waste, And the green valley and the silver stream Become a sandy desert. Oh! the heart Too passionate in lighted energies May read its fate in sunny Araby— How every Eastern tale recalls its beauty, Its growth of spices, and its groves of balm. It is exhausted—and what is it now? A wild and burning wilderness—Alas! For the similitude!L. E. L.