Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Stanzas 3
Literary Gazette, 12th June, 1824, Pages 378-379
ORIGINAL POETRY.
STANZAS.
Race of the rainbow wing, the deep blue eye
Whose palace was the bosom of a flower;
Who rode upon the breathing of the rose;
Drank from the harebell; made the moon the queen
Of their gay revels; and whose trumpets were
The pink-veined honeysuckle; and who rode
Upon the summer butterfly: who slept
Lulled in the sweetness of the violet's leaves,—
Where are ye now? And ye of eastern tale,
With your bright palaces, your emerald halls;
Gardens whose fountains were of liquid gold;
Trees with their ruby fruit and silver leaves,—
Where are ye now?
Alas! alas! the times are fled
Of magic gift or spell;
No Fairy aids true lovers now,
Let them love ne'er so well.
In vain the moon, in vain the stars,
Shine on the haunted ring;
In vain the glow-worm's lamp—it lights
No elfin revelling.
And even from their eastern halls
The mystic race of yore
Have fled; they build their palaces,
Give their rich gifts no more.
Would some kind Spirit would arise,
And lead me to the shrine
Where is Aladdin's lamp, and make
The spell of power mine!
I would not bid its genii rear
Their glorious hall again;
Oh, marble walls and jewelled throne
Make but a gilded chain.
But I would have a little ship,
In which I'd cross the sea;
How pleasant it would be, to sail
In storm, or shine, with thee!
And we should hear the silver tides
Make music to the moon,
And see the waters turned to gold
Beneath the summer noon.
Then we would have an island made
Of Summer and of Spring,
And every flower from east and west
My Spirits there should bring.
The tulip should spring up beside
The purple violet,
The carmalata's crimson bloom
Round the pale primrose set.
The pine should grow beside the palm;
And our sweet home should be
Where jasmine the green temple wreathed
Of a Banana tree.
And there should be the Indian birds,
With wings like their own sky;
And English songsters join with them
The music of their sigh.
And we would have a fountain tuned
As if a lute were there,
And yielding forth, in sound, the sweets
Caught from the rose-filled air.
And there should be a coral cave
Close by the ocean side,
Lighted with spar, and just a home
For some young sea-god's bride.
Here we would pass the noon: each shell
Upon the sea-beach thrown
Should send forth music, and each one
Should have a differing tone.
And we would sometimes see the world—
Just see enough to bless,
Amid its tumult, strife, and wrong,
Our own calm happiness.
But this is very vain to dream
Of what may never be;
I have enow or spells, when Love
Has thrown his spell round me.
In truth, dear love! there's but one spell
That has a thought of mine—
That of affection's gentlest charm,
To make and keep me thine. L. E. L.