Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1826.pdf/5

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, oh, where's the chain to fling, One that will chain Cupid's wing— One that will have longer power Than the April sun or shower? Form it not of eastern gold— Golden fetters never hold; They may chain, but not confine, Not allure—but only shine. Neither form it all of bloom— Never does Love find his tomb Sudden, soon, as when he meets Death amid unvarying sweets. But if you would fling a chain, And not fling it quite in vain, Like a fairy, form a spell Of all that is changeable; Like the purple tints that deck The gay peacock's sunny neck; Or the many hues that play In the colouring morning's ray. Never let a hope appear Without its companion, fear; Only smile to sigh, and then Change into a smile again. Be to-day as sad and pale As minstrel with his lovelorn tale; But to-morrow gay as all Your life had been a festival. If a woman would secure All that makes her reign endure— And, alas! her reign must be Ever most in fantasy— Never let a curious eye Gaze upon the heart too nigh— Never let the veil be thrown Quite aside, as all were known, Of delight and tenderness In the spirit's last recess; And one spell—all spells above— Never let her own her love. L. E. L.