Letitia Elizabeth Landon quotes - page 23
Statues but known from shapes of the earth,
By being too lovely for mortal birth;
Paintings whose colours of life were caught
From the fairy tints in the rainbow wrought;
Music whose sighs had a spell like those
That float on the sea at the evening's close
Language so silvery, that every word
Was like the lute's awakening chord.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
It must be worth a life of toil and care,-
Worth those dark chains the wearied one must bear
Who toils up fortune's steep,-all that can wring
The worn-out bosom with lone-suffering,-
Worth restlessness, oppression, goading fears,
And long-deferred hopes of many years,-
To reach again that little quiet spot,
So well loved once, and never quite forgot;-
To trace again the steps of infancy,
And catch their freshness from their memory!
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Yet gazed MANDALLA on the square
As she he sought still glided there,-
Oh that fond look, whose eyeballs' strain,
And will not know its look is vain!
At length he turned,-his silent mood
Sought that impassioned solitude,
The Eden of young hearts, when first
Love in its loneliness is nurst.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
AND the muffled drum rolled on the air,
Warriors with stately step were there;
On every arm was the black crape bound,
Every carbine was turned to the ground:
Solemn the sound of their measured tread,
As silent and slow they followed the dead.
The riderless horse was led in the rear,
There were white plumes waving over the bier:
Helmet and sword were laid on the pall,
For it was a soldier's funeral.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
The day is past, and the moonbeams weep
O'er the many that rest in their last cold sleep;
Near to the gashed and the nerveless hand
Is the pointless spear and the broken brand;
The archer lies like an arrow spent,
His shafts all loose and his bow unbent;
Many a white plume torn and red,
Bright curls rent from the graceful head,
Helmet and breast-plate scattered around,
Lie a fearful show on the well-fought ground;
While the crow and the raven flock overhead
To feed on the hearts of the helpless dead,
Save when scared by the glaring eye
Of some wretch in his last death agony.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Alas! for him whose youthful fire
Is vowed and wasted on the lyre,-
Alas! for him who shall essay,
The laurel's long and dreary way!
Mocking will greet, neglect will chill
His spirit's gush, his bosom's thrill;
And, worst of all, that heartless praise
Echoed from what another says.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
