Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Bijou, 1829/Tivoli
THE CASCADE OF TIVOLI.
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TIVOLI.
BY L. E. L.
Rushing, like uncurbed passion, thro' the rocks
Which it has riven with a giant's strength
Down came the gushing waters, heaped with foam,
Like melted pearl, and filling the dark woods
With thunder tuned to music.
When last I gazed, fair Tivoli,
Upon those falls of thine,
Another step was by my side,
Another hand in mine:
And, mirrored in those gentle eyes,
To me thou wert a paradise.
I've smiled to see her sweet lips move,
Yet not one accent hear,
Lost in thy mighty waterfall,
Altho' we were so near,
My breath was fragrant with the air
The rose-wreath gave she wont to wear.
How often have we past the noon
Beneath thy pine-trees' shade,
When arching bough, and dark green leaf,
A natural temple made;
Haunt of some young divinity,
And more than such she seemed to me.
So very fair, oh! how I blest
The gentle southern clime,
That to the beauty of her cheek
Had brought back summer time.
Alas! 'twas but a little while,—
The promise of an April smile.
Again her clear brow turned too clear;
Her bright cheek turned too bright;
And her eyes, but for tenderness,
Had been too full of light.
It was as if her beauty grew
More heavenly as it heavenward drew.
Long years have past, and toil and care
Have sometimes been to me,
What in my earliest despair
I dream't not they could be;
But here the past comes back again,
Oh! why so utterly in vain?
I stood here in my happy days,
And every thing was fair;
I stand now in my altered mood,
And marvel what they were.
Fair Tivoli, to me the scene
No longer is what it has been.
There is a change come o'er thy hills,
A shadow o'er thy sky;
The shadow is from my own heart,
The change in my own eye:
It is our feelings give their tone
To whatsoe'er we gaze upon.
Back to the stirring world again,
Its tumult and its toil;
Better to tread the roughest path,
Than such a haunted soil:
Oh! wherefore should I break the sleep
Of thoughts whose waking is to weep.
Yes, thou art lovely, but alas!
Not lovely as of yore,
And of thy beauty I but ask;
To look on it no more.
Earth does not hold a spot for me
So sad as thou, fair Tivoli.