Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Finden’s Gallery of the Graces (1834)/The Young Olympia
The Young Olympia
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THE YOUNG OLYMPIA.
BY MISS LANDON.
The young Olympia!—On her face the dyes
Were yet warm with the dance's exercise,
The laugh upon her full red lip yet hung,
And, arrow-like, flash'd light words from her tongue.
She had more loveliness than beauty; hers
Was that enchantment which the heart confers;
A mouth sweet from its smiles, a glancing eye,
Which had o'er all expression mastery:
Laughing its orb, but the long dark lash made
Somewhat of sadness with its twilight shade,
And suiting well the upcast look which seem'd
At times as it of melancholy dream'd;
Her cheek was as a rainbow, it so chang'd,
As each emotion on its surface rang’d;
And every word had its companion blush,
But evanescent as the crimson flush
That tints the day-break; and her step was light
As the gale passing o'er the leaves at night;
In truth those snow feet were too like the wind,
Too slight to leave a single trace behind.
She lean'd against a pillar, and one hand
Smooth'd back the curls that had escap'd the band
Of wreath'd white pearls—a soft and fitting chain
In bondage such bright prisoners to retain.
The other was from the white marble known
But by the clasping of its emerald zone;
And lighted up her brow, and flash'd her eye,
As many that were wandering careless by
Caught but a sound, and paus'd to hear what more
Her lip might utter of its honey store.
She had that sparkling wit which is like light,
Making all things touch'd with its radiance bright;
And a sweet voice, whose words would chain all round,
Although they had no other charm than sound.
And many nam'd her name, and each with praise;
Some with her passionate beauty fill'd their gaze,
Some mark'd her graceful step, and others spoke
Of the so many hearts that own'd the yoke
Of her bewildering smile; meantime, her own
Seem'd as that it no other love had known
Than its sweet love of Nature, music, song,
Which as by right to woman's world belong,
And make it lovely for Love's dwelling place.
Alas! that he should leave his fiery trace!
But this bright creature's brow seem'd all too fair,
Too gay, for Love to be a dweller there;
For Love brings sorrow; yet you might descry
A troubled flashing in that brilliant eye,
A troubled colour on that varying cheek,
A hurry in the tremulous lip to speak,
Avoidance of sad topics, as to shun
Somewhat the spirit dar'd not rest upon;
An unquiet feverishness, a change of place,
A pretty pettishness, if on her face
A look dwelt as in scrutiny to seek
What hidden meanings from its change might break.
[FROM "THE VENETIAN BRACELET."]
The reader will perceive a slight alteration in one of the above lines. It has been made by the pen of the fair writer.