# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Wells

Literary Gazette, 28th February, 1824, Page 139
ORIGINAL POETRY. METRICAL TALES.
1.—THE THREE WELLS—A Fairy Tale.
"J'ai grand regret à la fairie”— Marmontel.
There 's an island which the sea
Keeps in lone tranquillity;
Filled with flowers which the sun
Never yet hath looked upon,—
Flowers lighted with the light
Left by fairy feet at night;
Worshippers of the sweet moon,
Veiled from the eye of noon,
For, by daylight, bud nor bloom
Smiles amid the island gloom.
All is desolate and drear,
As no spring were in the year:
But beneath night's shadowy wing
Violets and roses spring;
Perfume floats upon the air,
Myrtle boughs are waving there;
Stars shine in their beauty forth,
Meteors glisten from the north,
Rode by radiant shapes that seem
Creatures made of bloom and beam,
With their hair and plumes' gay dyes
Glorious as the morning skies.
Seldom hath a mortal eye
Looked upon their revelry;
Yet sometimes, for what is there
Love in young hearts will not dare,
Lover's step has dared to press
That ground's haunted loveliness.
When the moon in her blue hall
Lights her zenith coronal,
On each mystic leaf and flower
Lies a spell of true love power:
Often have they borne away
Rosy leaf and scented spray;
Next the heart the charm have worn,
Long as true love faith was borne.
But as old tradition tells,
There are other, deeper, spells
In the lone and mystic wells—
Spells of strange wild augury
Few have had the heart to try.—
 She came, or ever the dawning bright
Banished in blushes the grey twilight;
Like a spirit she seemed to float,
As the morning star guided her lonely boat;
With her golden hair, like a sunny sail
Spread by hope for a favouring gale;
With a cheek like the rose, when first the spring
Wakes its life of scented languishing;
And eyes, to whose dazzling beauty were given
The blue and the light of a summer heaven—
She sat alone in the boat, as it went
Calm thro' the sleep-hushed element.
Now joy thee, Astarte, thy voyage is done,
The day is unbroken, the island is won.—
She passed thro' a drear and desolate track.
Seen dim in the shadow of glimmering rack;
A silence and stillness weighed in the air,
And the trees in their age stood gaunt and bare;
There was not a flower or a leaf on the ground
Till she came where some cypresses gathered around;
She entered the funeral shade of the dell,
And looked on the depth of each haunted well.
Thickly around did the tall grass wave,
Like the green dank growth that springs on the grave— There it was that the charm must be done.
To hide the wells from the beam of the sun,
She took the webs of silvery white
Herself had wove in the lone moonlight,
And threw them o'er, so that not one ray
Could lighten their depths with a glimpse of day;
And with silent lip, tho' with beating heart,
She watched the hours of sunlight depart.
The moon rose up, and with it a sound
Of low sweet music breathed around;
There came a gushing of perfume, For the earth was now covered with bud and bloom. The maiden unveiled each mystic well,
And as the light of the moonbeam fell,
Sparkled and shone each darkling stream,
Like molten silver or diamond gleam.
Then down the maiden knelt and prayed
At the first well, for its lady's aid,
And there up rose a sparkling chain
As chanted a soft voice the magic strain:—
First Fairy's Song.
Here are burning brighter gems
 Than on kingly diadems;
 Rubies, like the crimson light
 Seen upon a winter night;
 Pearls, the whitest that can be
 Hidden in the deep blue sea;
 Emeralds, let summer show
 Greener light; like winter snow
 Virgin silver, pure and white;
 Gold, red as the morning light.
 For the service thou hast done,
 Shading me from the hot sun,
 Stores from every Indian mine
 And Afric river shall be thine.
Oh, this is not what my boon shall be,
Gold and gems have no charms for me.
 Then turned the maid to the second well,
And waited the fate of her next tried spell;
And up from the water, on air, there played,
Of a thousand colours, a mingled braid.
Second Fairy's Song.
I have caught the tints that deck
 The proud peacock's tail and neck;
 I have caught the many rays
 Of the opal's changeful blaze;
 I have mixed a thousand hues
 From the rainbow's arch of dews;
 Here is blent each changeful thing
 For the wild heart's wandering:
 For thy cool and pleasant shade,
 This shall be thy meed, young maid.
Oh! not for me, oh! not for me
Is the heartless spell of inconstancy.
 There yet is a well; one trial more,
Sure, that has a better prize in store.
She knelt again, and on the well
A simple wreath was visible.
Third Fairy's Song.
I have been to the low dell,
 Where the sweetest violets dwell;
 I have been to the lone vale,
 Where there droops the lily pale:
 Sweet and pure, they are bound
 With a myrtle bough around—
 Myrtle, for its leaves are seen
 Even in the winter green:
 If true love be sought by thee,
 Maiden, this thy meed shall be.
My spell is done, my prize is won;
True love! thou hast equal none;
True love! who could choose for thee
Gold or gems or vanity?
Where is the spell whose charm will prove,
Like the spell of thy charm, true love?L. E. L.