Page:Landon in The New Monthly 1836.pdf/16

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These fair visions have departed, Like a poet's dream, Leaving us pale and faint-hearted By life's common stream, Whence all lovelier light hath fled. Not so: they have left behind Memory to the kindling mind, With bright fantasies combined. Still the poet's dream is fed By the beauty of Aspasia, The bright Athenian bride.

 

It was hidden in a wild wood Of the larch and pine; It had been unto his childhood Solitude and shrine,— There he dream'd the hours away. On the boughs the wood-dove hover'd    With her mournful song; And the ground with moss was cover'd,    Where a small brook danced along Like a fairy child at play. Thither did Rienzi bring The loved and lovely one; There was the stately Nina woo'd,    There was she won.

Reeds and water-flags were growing By the green morass; While the fresh wild flowers were blowing In the pleasant grass, Cool and sweet, and very fair. Though the wild wind planted them With a careless wing, Yet kind Nature granted them All the gifts of Spring. Nought they needed human care. They grew lovelier in the looks Of that lovely one; While the Roman maid was woo'd,    While she was won.

In the pines, a soft bewailing Stirr'd the fringed leaves, Like a lute whose song is failing, Loving, while it grieves So to die upon the wind. Ivy garlanded the laurel, Drooping mournfully; Poet—warrior—read the moral Of the victor's tree, Lonely still amid its kind! 