Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1828.pdf/5

 2 Literary Gazette, 16th February, 1828, Page 107

, take the lute—the lute I loved, 'Tis all I have to offer thee; And may it be less fatal gift Than it has ever been to me.

My sigh yet lingers on the strings, The strings I have not heart to break: Wilt thou not, dearest! keep the lute For my—for the departed's sake?

But pray thee do not wake that lute; Leave it upon the cypress tree: I would have crushed its charmed chords, But they so oft were strung to thee.

The minstrel-lute! oh, touch it not, Or weary destiny is thine; Thy life a twilight's haunted dream— Thou, victim at an idol's shrine.

Thy breath but lives on others' lips— Thy hope, a thing beyond the grave— Thy heart, bare to the vulture's beak— Thyself, a bound and barter'd slave.

And yet a dangerous charm o'er all, A bright but ignis-fatuus flame, Luring thee with a show of power, Dazzling thee with a blaze of fame.

It is to waste on careless hearts The throbbing music of thine own; To speak love's burning words, yet be    Alone—ay, utterly alone.

I sought to fling my laurel wreath Away upon the autumn wind: In vain,—'twas like those poison'd crowns Thou mayst not from the brow unbind.