Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/St John

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Poems (1822)
by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Fragments in Rhyme. X. The Eve of St. John.
2239118PoemsFragments in Rhyme. X. The Eve of St. John.1822Letitia Elizabeth Landon

101

Literary Gazette, 28th December, 1822, Page 825


ORIGINAL POETRY.


FRAGMENTS IN RHYME.

X. - The Eve of St. John.

There is a flower, a magical flower,
On which love hath laid a fairy power;
Gather it on the eve of St. John,
When the clock of the village is tolling one;
Let no look be turned, no word be said,
And lay the rose-leaves under your head;
Your sleep will be light, and pleasant your rest,
For your visions will be of the youth you love best.
Four days I had not my own Love seen,—
Where, sighed I, can my wanderer have been?
I thought I would gather the magical flower,
And see him at least in my sleeping hour!—
St. John's Eve came: to the garden I flew,
Where the white roses shone with the silver dew;
The nightingale sang as I passed along—
I started to hear even her sweet song;
The sky was bright with moon and star-shine,
And the wind was sweet as a whisper of thine,
Dear love! for whose sake I stripped the tree-rose,
And softly and silently stole to repose.
No look I turned, and no word I said,
But laid the white roses under my head.
Oh, sweet was the dream that came to me then!
I dreamt of a lonely and lovely glen;
There was a clear and beautiful sky,
Such as is seen in the blue July;
To the north was a forest of darkling pine;
To the south were hills all green with the vine,
Where the ruby clusters sparkled like gems
Seen upon princely diadems;
On the rocks were goats as white as snow,
And the sheep-bell was heard in the valley below;

And like a nest in the chesnut's shade,
As just for love and contentment made,
A little cottage stood, and the tree
Shadowed it over most gracefully;
A white rose grew up beside the door,
The porch with the blossoms was covered o'er;
Methought it was your's—you were standing by:
You welcomed me, and I felt your sigh
Warm on my cheek, and our lips met,—
On mine the touch is thrilling yet!
But, alas! I awakened, and all I can do
Is to tell the sweet dream, my own Love, to you![1]

  1. Signature follows next poem