Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1829.pdf/4

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The shadow of the church falls o'er the ground, Hallowing its place of rest; and here the dead Slumber, where all religious impulses, And sad and holy feelings, angel like, Make the spot sacred with themselves, and wake Those sorrowful emotions in the heart Which purify it, like a temple meet For an unearthly presence. Life, vain Life, The bitter and the worthless, wherefore here Do thy remembrances intrude?

willow shade is on the ground, A green and solitary shade; And many a wild flower on that mound Its pleasant summer home has made.

And every breath that waves a leaf Flings down upon the lonely flowers A moment's sunshine, bright and brief— A blessing looked by passing hours.

Those sweet, vague sounds are on the air. Half sleep, half song—half false, half true, As if the wind that brought them there Had touched them with its music too.

It is the very place to dream Away a twilight's idle rest; Where Thought floats down a starry stream, Without a shadow on its breast.

Where Wealth, the fairy gift, 's our own, Without its low and petty cares; Where Pleasure some new veil has thrown To hide the weary face she wears.

Where hopes are high, yet cares come not, Those fellow-waves of life's drear sea, Its froth and depth—where Love is what Love only in a dream can be.