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# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Retreat

Literary Gazette, 8th May, 1824, Page 299
THE POET'S RETREAT.
Oh! not in stately halls, or gilded rooms,
Or crowded city, would I dwell with thee!
But in a lowly cottage, not so high
But that the jessamine could reach the roof, And in a lonely valley, paint thee, love!
A small white dwelling, in a paradise
Of many-coloured flowers: at the door
Should be a little porch of honeysuckle;
The lattices should have no other blinds
Than branches of red roses. In the room
A lute be placed, whose music should be heard
Together with the woodlark's evening song;
Fresh flowers in green rush baskets; and some books,
O'er which the Spirit of sweet Poesy
Had shed his soul of beauty and of passion;
And landscapes on the walls—landscapes that gave
The skies of other nations—rock, and storm,
And mountain-torrent—and black woods, where dwell
The dark banditti; so that we might prize
Still more the quiet of our own calm home.
Our garden should be beautiful—but ours
The only hands that made it beautiful.
We would be proud of it. Our crocuses
(Those golden promisers of April's wealth)
Should be the first in Spring, and ours the rose
That bloomed the last in autumn. In the shade
Of an old ash, whose boughs hung o'er a bed
Of purple violets, we'd place our hive
Of bees, and plant a sweetbriar by the stand.
Around, the country should be pleasant fields,
Corn and green meadows, and their hedges rich
With the luxuriant May and wilding rose;
And in the summer time wood strawberries,
Mixed with the azure bird's-eye at their roots.
Away, yet still the village should be seen
Visible, peeping from the tall elm trees,
With its white church and sunset-gilded spire.
And there should be a little brook, o'erhung
With graceful willows, and the water lily
Upon its calm cold surface; and at noon
Its ripple would come musical and low, Mixed with the wood-dove's plaining to her mate.
I could be happy any where with thee!
But this, dear love!—this would be Paradise!
L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Song 10

Literary Gazette, 24th April, 1824, Page 268
SONG.
I cannot bear to look on thee,
 And think on all that thou hast given
Of happiness and misery,—
 Alternately a hell! a heaven!
How can the merchant bear to gaze
 Upon the deep blue ocean wave?
The sea, in which his wealth was lost,
 At first its source and then its grave!
My every hope is wrecked for thee,
 My life is clouded for thy sake;
You taught my heart love's richest store,
 Must its next lesson be to break?L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Song 11

Literary Gazette, 26th June, 1824, Page 411
SONG.
This is enough! this broken heart
 Is fitting gift for me;
I would it had the voice to speak
 All it should say to thee.
Last year I sent the brightest gems
 To hail thy natal day;
They told my love,—this broken heart
 May speak as much as they.
And when it shall be thrown aside,
 Unprized by thee or thine,
You will but only waste this heart,
 As you have wasted mine! L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Song 1

Literary Gazette, 3rd January, 1824, Page 10
SONG.
Oh meet me once, but once again,
 Beside that old oak tree;
It is not much, of all thy vows,
 To ask but this of thee.
Oh meet me when the evening star
 Shines on the twilight grey,
Just while the lark sings his last song,—
 I have not much to say.
I know that when to-morrow's sun
 Lights up the vale again,
You'll lead your fair Bride to the church,
 And cannot meet me then.
But this last evening is your own,—
 Come to our old oak tree;
Surely, dear love, you cannot fear
 Aught like reproach from me.
No, dearest mine! then pray thee come,
 When that star lights the sky;
I do but ask to pardon thee,  To kiss thy lips, and die!L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Song 14

Literary Gazette, 23rd October, 1824, Pages 684
ORIGINAL POETRY. SONG.
Farewell to all! I shall not gaze
 Again on the blue sea:
As flits the shadow o'er the wave,
 So flits my life from me.
Farewell, then, to the glorious main,
 The beauty of yon sky;
The memory of the orange groves,
 Where dream like time pass'd by,
I bid farewell to each, to all—
 But bid it not to thee—
Oh! surely even in the tomb
 Some sign of love may be.
When thou art mourning o'er my grave,
 My spirit may be near;
Come on the breeze to catch thy sigh,
 To kiss away the tear.
And should another ever claim
 The heart once only mine;
What comfort! that the heart is still
 Which could but beat to thine.L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Reverse

Literary Gazette, 10th April, 1824, Page 236
THE REVERSE.
Farewell, farewell, thou heartless one!
 I marvel now how it could be,
That my heart's deepest tenderness
 Was vowed so utterly to Thee.
Marvel, ah, no! I must not look
 Upon that darkly arching brow,—
I must not meet that liquid eye,
 Nor gaze upon that neck of snow.
Or I shall marvel at my hope,
 My wish, my will, to break thy chain—
Watch thy surpassing loveliness,
 And be thy spell-bound slave again.
I could have pardoned Thee, if love—
 Some other love—had thwarted mine;
I know too well his wildest power,
 Not to have felt for it, if thine.
But thou art all of vanity,
 And I may not forgive—forget
That my heart's deepest pulse has been
 Trifled with by a light coquette. L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Romance

Literary Gazette, 7th February, 1824, Page 91
ROMANCE.
Maiden, listen! thy hunter's horn—
Thrice has the wind its echo borne;
Should not this our moment of meeting be?
Hast thou no answer, maiden, for me?
 Ah, yes, I can hear thy silvery feet,
Like the lute's music, light and sweet;
Soft on the air comes the breath of thy sigh,
As the odours that tell when the Spring hours are nigh.
Invisible, still I should feel thou wert near,
Be conscious that something was by me most dear.
Oh, haste thee, beloved, I've built thee a bower,
Not like the halls of thy father's tower—
Where the banners are sweeping o'er helm and o'er plume,
And crimson and gold clothe each stately room—
Where censers are burning with incense and light—
Where winecups of silver are foaming and bright—
Where an hundred minstrels sing thee to sleep—
While an hundred knights watch o'er those slumbers keep—
But my bower is built by an old oak tree,
With an ivy and woodbine canopy;
And the turf beneath is thickly set
With primrose, lily, and violet.
The nightingale, love, shall thy minstrel be;
And my two dark hounds shall be guards for thee;
And for crystal vases of eastern perfume,
The wild rose in the freshness of morning shall bloom; And more than all, thou shalt have for thy slave
A heart that will beat for thee till in the grave.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Song 13

Literary Gazette, 4th September, 1824, Pages 572
Oh! no, no, this love is not love for me;
 This life and death love is too grave:
Be mine like the flight of yon sea bird, whose wings  Just skim, but sink not in, the wave.
If but for one moment a chain I could bear,
 It must be as light as the day;
Oh! form it of opals, which change with the sky,
 A fresh colour for every ray. L. E. L.
# Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 1/Chapter 5

CHAPTER V.
NEXT morning Haralal walked straight to Brahmananda's house. When he got there, without stopping he went and peeped into the kitchen. Rohini was there busy in cooking. She pretended not to see him even when he stepped up and stood near her. "Look at me, Rohini, the pot won't crack," said Haralal.
Rohini looked up with a smile.
"Have you got it?" he asked.
She made no answer, but went and brought him what he wanted. Haralal knew at a glance that it was his father's will. A sinister smile was on his face. "How did you get it?" he asked.
Rohini began her story. She invented one; and she took the will from his hand to show how it lay between two boxes, which stood upon the chest of drawers. When she had finished speaking she left him abruptly. Haralal, not seeing the will in her hand when she returned, asked, "Where is the will?"
"I have kept it," said Rohini.
"I want to be going now. I must have it," said Haralal.
"Why, I think there is no haste."
"I cannot afford to wait. I must be off."
"Well, if you must, I will not detain you," said Rohini.
"The will? Let me have the will. Don't keep me waiting for it."
"You may leave it with me," said Rohini.
"Nonsense, I must have it."
"Whether it is with you or me, it is all the same."
"How? Why did you steal it if you will not give it to me?"
"When you have married a widow I will give it to your wife."
Haralal pretended not to see what she was driving at, and only said, "Don't ​detain me any longer, You want money, I can see. Let me know what sum will satisfy you."
"I don't want money; you know what I want," she said quietly, and evidently fighting against shyness.
"I am sorry I cannot comply with your wish," said Haralal. "If I have forged, I have done it for my own good. You stole; can you say why you did it?"
Rohini was astounded.
"Whatever I am" continued Haralal, "still I am Krishnakanta Roy's son. I cannot take to wife one who stole."
His words cut her like a whip. She rose to her feet abruptly; and pushing back her veil, and flinging an angry and scornful look at him, said, "Who told me to steal? Who put the temptation before me? Who was so silky and smooth in order to deceive a poor woman by taking advantage of her simplicity? Can there be anything more wicked and dishonourable than this? And you plume yourself on being the son of Krishnakanta Roy! Shame on you. Had you been a woman I wouldn't have spared the broom. But a wretch as you are, I allow you to depart in peace."
Haralal was cowed by her sudden and very bold attack. A malicious smile was on his face, and he withdrew without uttering a word.
# Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 2/Chapter 1

KRISHNAKANTA'S WILL By Bankim Chandra Chatterjee (All rights reserved) Part the Second. CHAPTER I.
IN due course Gobindalal wrote to Haridragram to his dewan to inform him of their safe arrival in Benares. Afterwards he wrote occasionally to this officer; but he never cared to send a line to his wife, which she naturally took very much to heart.
The last letter addressed to the dewan was from Gobindalal's mother. This was to inform him that Gobindalal had recently left Benares.
When Bhramar heard this she thought she must keep her eye on Rohini, for she could not but feel some concern at this piece of intelligence. As for Rohini, she kept at home and attended to her household work as usual except when she went out to the Baruni tank to bathe and fetch ​their drinking water from there. One day, however, Bhramar came to hear that Rohini was troubled with colic, in consequence of which her uncle was obliged to do the cooking for himself.
A few days after she heard again that Rohini had made up her mind to visit the shrine of Tarakeswara. People afflicted with troublesome and obstinate diseases go there to find relief, and Rohini's purpose to take a trip to the place was to seek divine aid in order to be cured of her complaint.
News reached Bhramar one day that Rohini had gone to Tarakeswara. When she heard it she regarded her conduct as very suspicious. "Who knows," said she to herself, "that her illness is not feigned, and her going to Tarakeswara is not a mere pretext for getting away from home and her lawful guardian?"
On leaving Rohini had told her uncle that she could possibly be not away longer than a week at most. Months passed away, but nothing was heard of her. Neither had Bhramar had any tidings of her husband since he left Benares. Her anxiety for him preyed on her mind night and day. She wept and wept till it was feared it would seriously affect her health. At her request her sister-in-law wrote to ask her mother if she had got any letter from her brother. She wrote back to say that Gobindalal had been travelling over Joypur, Agra and other places, and had lately gone over to Delhi where he had said he would make a few days' stay before he left to go elsewhere.
Days passed, and Bhramar went to her father's house, thinking she might not feel very lonely and miserable there. But she soon found she was mistaken; and she returned to her father-in-law's again. After a time she had a letter sent again to her mother-in-law. In reply she told her that she knew nothing of her son's whereabouts, for he had not long written to her. Bhramar's continual anxiety for her husband had already begun to tell upon her health. Before the end of a year her health gave way, and she became confined to her bed.
# Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 2/Chapter 10

CHAPTER X.
Murder, though it be committed in a secluded place, and under cover of the darkness of night, will out, and the public will hear of it. The village watchman, having come to know that a murder had ​been committed at the 'old factory house', as it was called, hurried on the same night to inform the officer in charge of the police station of it. The police station was about twelve miles distant from Prosadpur; so this officer did not turn up until nine o'clock the next morning. On his arrival he examined the dead body. Then after securing the pistol he held an inquiry into the case, and sent his report to the higher authorities. He next had the dead body sent on, sheeted and bound up, in a cart in charge of the watchman to the nearest hospital for post mortem examination. Afterwards, having eaten his meal, he earnestly set to search for a clue that might lead to the discovery of the murderer.
Immediately after Gobindalal had committed the murder he threw down the pistol and escaped by a secret door at the back of the house without being seen by any one. He travelled the whole night and the day next to put many miles of distance between himself and Prosadpur. In the village of Prosadpur he had assumed the name of Chunilal Dutt. His servants knew not what his real name was, neither where he had come from. The sub-inspector in charge of the police station, having gone about for a time in vain to find a clew, gave up the search, and sent a report, saying that the culprit had absconded.
A few days afterwards a very capable detective inspector was sent up from Jessore to investigate the case. Fichel Khan, for that was the name of the inspector, searched the house thoroughly and found some letters, from which he came to know the criminal's native village and his real name, and the name also of the woman who lived with him. He went in disguise in search of him to Haridragram, but in vain, for Gobindalal had never gone there.
Leaving Rohini to her fate Nishakar returned that night very quickly to Madhabinath, who had taken up their lodgings at a shop in the bazar at Prosadpur. He told his friend what be had done. "You have not acted wisely," said Madhabinath, "for Gobindalal might be induced to commit something desperate, for which he would be certainly arraigned in court."
But what had been done could not be recalled. They, however, passed the night in great anxiety. And what were their surprise and alarm when they heard the next morning that a man named Chunilal Dutt, who had lived for nearly two years at the 'old factory house', had murdered his wife for reasons not known to any one and decamped. They were very sorry to think of Rohini's fate, but they were a great deal more afraid and concerned for Gobindalal, whom, they feared, the police would be sure to find out. From that day forward they began to live in the bazar very cautiously; and when they knew that the police had failed to find out any clue, they felt a bit easy in mind and returned to Calcutta.
# Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 1/Chapter 6

CHAPTER VI.
Brahmananda had no servants in his house because he was a poor man. Whether to have servants is a blessing or no blessing we do not know; but of this we are sure that in a house where there are no servants there are no such things as lying and backbiting and quarrel. There is very often a scene in a family where there are a number of female servants. They can never agree, and whenever they can get an opportunity they fail not to break the peace of the house by quarrelling, and accusing and abusing one another.
Brahmananda had no servants, and therefore there was peace in his house. As for female members he had none except his niece, Rohini. She kept the house scrupulously clean. She cooked food, drew water, scoured the plates and performed every other household work quietly and without a murmur. Their drinking water she fetched in a pot every day from a particular tank, called the Baruni tank, which was at a little distance from their house. This was the best and largest tank in their village. The water of it was good enough for drinking purposes, and it was so clear that one could see to the bottom.
On the day following the one on which she had an altercation with Haralal she was going to the tank to fetch water as usual, and she looked so sad and disappointed. It was the time of spring, and nature wore a smiling look. Everywhere the trees were in blossom, and the air was laden with a sweet perfume. There were the koels whose loud clear calls were heard from time to time. On other days their notes made no impression on her mind, but on this day when she heard them a strange feeling came over her. She thought as if she had lost something; as if something was wanting; as if her life was a blank. She thought of her late husband, and of her lonely state of a widow of her age, and of widow-marriage, which she had heard was not forbidden by the shastras. "Why should I not," she said to herself, "enjoy my spring of life? What great sin have I committed that I should be doomed thus to suffer? There is Gobindalal's wife. How happy she is. She has got such a nice young husband. And here am I, a hapless woman, destined to toil and go without a single comfort in life."
As she was thus musing a thrilling sonorous coo-oo burst forth from among the trees near by, which made her look around with a start. "Hold your tongue, you rascally knave; you awaken painful feelings in me," she said. These words were addressed to the poor bird, which of course meant no offence.
In a little time Rohini reached the tank; but she felt so miserable that she sat down to weep.
# Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 1/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII.
The Baruni tank with its double border, one of grass, whose growth was regularly kept in check by the mowers, and the other next, of a garden on its embankment, looked, as it lay, like a mirror with the trees beautifully reflected on its clear waters. The tank, and the garden enclosed with a wall belonged to Krishnakanta Roy. Rohini was weeping, sitting on one of the landing stairs. The sun was near its setting. From among the trees on the embankment somebody was watching her. ​It was Gobindalal. He wondered why she was weeping. His conjecture, however, was that she might have quarrelled with somebody. How was he to know what actually the cause of her sorrow was? However, he felt pity for her. He thought he would go and inquire.
The sun was down. The cattle were being driven home from the field, the lowing herd moving on at a quick pace, kicking up the dust with their feet. By and by the shades of evening closed in. The waters of the tank looked black, and the birds took shelter among the trees. Then the moon rose, shedding its silvery beams upon the earth. But Rohini—she was still there and weeping, her head leaning on her right hand. "Why, I think I will ask why she is weeping," said Gobindalal to himself. He rose to go to her.
"Rohini," said he, going down very quietly to her, "why are you weeping? What is the matter with you?"
Rohini started and looked up. Knowing at a glance who the speaker was, she quickly rose to her feet and stood, holding her head down, and without saying a word.
"What's your trouble, Rohini?" he continued. "Let me know it. I may be of service to you."
She was still silent.
Gobindalal was somewhat grave and reserved. He was not given to flirting, nor was he ever known to talk lightly to any woman. Among the young people of the village he was more respected and held in greater esteem than his cousins. Besides he was a very handsome young man. Rohini respected him. This day, however, when he spoke to her she loved him she knew not why, and thought she could die for him.
"Well," said Gobindalal again after a pause, "if it is anything you cannot say yourself, let me know it through my wife or any other woman belonging to our house. I give you the assurance that if in anything you require my help you shall have it."
Rohini spoke now and said, "I will tell you, but not to-day. I will tell you all, and it is my earnest request that you will be pleased to listen to me."
Gobindalal readily complied, and left her.
Rohini filled her pot, and went home with a lighter heart.
# Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 1/Chapter 8

CHAPTER VIII.
On getting home Rohini engaged herself in preparing the evening meal. This day she managed to get it ready earlier than usual. Brahmananda had his meal, but Rohini touched no food, for she had no inclination for it. She shut herself up in her room, not to go to bed but to consider what should be done regarding the will.
We have two counsellors, one, our conscience, which always tells us to do what is right, and the other, the devil in us, that delights in leading us astray.
Rohini's conscience said, "It was very wicked of you to steal the will."
"How?" said she or rather the devil in her. "I haven't given it to Haralal."
"You must return it to Krishnakanta," said her conscience.
"Bah!" said she, "when he demands how I got the will or how came the false will in his drawer, what shall I say? Would you have me be handed over to the police?"
"Then why don't you," said her conscience, "go to Gobindalal and own everything to him? He is a kind man. If you fall on your knees before him and ask his protection he will not refuse it you."
"But Gobindalal," said she, "will have to tell all to Krishnakanta. And if Krishnakanta hand me over to the police, how can Gobindalal protect me? I think it is better to keep quiet now. When the old man is dead I will give the will to Gobindalal. And I will throw myself at his feet and ask his pardon."
"Of what avail would it then be?" said her conscience. "The will that will be found in Krishnakanta's house will of course be taken as genuine. If Gobindalal produce his uncle's will, it won't stand, and he will be accused of forgery."
"Well, I know better what to do," she said. "I will keep quiet about it; and that is, I think, the best and safest course to adopt under the circumstances."
So she set light by the dictates of her conscience, and resolved in her mind to keep quiet about the will. Then her thoughts glided spontaneously to Gobindalal. How very gentle and obliging and handsome he was! How she loved and admired him! What would she not give to win his love? Her imagination painted him as beautiful as a rainbow. She thought of him and wept and thought and wept ​again. Thus she passed the night, and she had not so much as a wink of sleep.