# Letitia Landon's poems in the Forget Me Not, 1824

Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Forget Me Not, 1824 compiled from contemporary reviews by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* Ellen
* Lines on the Mausoleum of the Princess Charlotte, at Claremont
Forget Me Not; a Christmas and New Year's Present for 1824. London. 12mo. pp.390. Ackerman.
. . . . to its German archetypes. It contains several beautiful pieces of poetry from the pens of Montgomery, Bernard Barton, and some anonymous contributors. One of these last we will extract:
Ellen. A Fragment.
Is she not beautiful, although so pale?
The first May flowers are not more colourless
Than her white cheek; yet I recal the time When she was called the rosebud of our village.
There was a blush, half modesty, half health,
Upon her cheek, fresh as the summer morn
With which she rose. A cloud of chesnut curls,
Like twilight, darkened o’er her blue-veined brow;
And through their hazel curtains, eyes, whose light
Was like the violet’s, when April skies
Have given their own pure colour to the leaves,
Shone sweet and silent, as the twilight star.
And she was happy—innocence and hope
Make the young heart a paradise for love.
And she loved, and was loved. The youth was one
That dwelled on the waters. He had been
Where sweeps the blue Atlantic, a wide world— Had seen the sun light up the flowers, like gems,
In the bright Indian isles—had breathed the air
When sweet with cinnamon, and gum, and spice.
But he said that no air brought health, or balm,
Like that on his own hills, when it had swept
O'er orchards in their bloom, or hedges, where
Blossomed the hawthorn and the honeysuckle;
That, but one voyage more, and he would come
To his dear Ellen and her cottage home—
Dwell there in love and peace. And then he kissed
Her tears away, talked of the pleasant years
Which they should pass together—of the pride
He would take in his constancy. Oh, hope
Is very eloquent! and as the hours
Pass’d by their ﬁreside in calm cheerfulness,
Ellen forgot to weep.
At length the time
Of parting came; ’twas the first month of Spring.
Like a green fan spread the horse-chesnut’s leaves,
A shower of yellow bloom was on the elm,
The daisies shone like silver, and the boughs
Were covered with their blossoms, and the sky
Was like an augury of hope, so clear,
So beautifully blue. Love! oh young love!
Why hast thou not security? Thou art
Like a bright river, on whose course the weeds
Are thick and heavy; briers are on its banks,
And jagged stones and rocks are mid its waves.
Conscious of its own beauty, it will rush
Over its many obstacles, and pant
For some green valley, as its quiet home.
Alas! either it rushes with a desperate leap
Over its barriers, foaming passionate,
But prisoned still; or winding languidly,
Becomes dark, like oblivion, or else wastes
Itself away—This is love‘s history.
 They parted one spring evening; the green sea
Had scarce a curl upon its wave; the ship
Rode like a queen of ocean. Ellen wept,
But not disconsolate, for she had hope.
She knew not then the bitterness of tears.
But night closed in; and with the night there came
Tempest upon the wind, the beacon light
Glared like a funeral pile; all else was black
And terrible as death. We heard a sound
Come from the ocean—one lone signal gun,
Asking for help in vain—followed by shrieks,
Mocked by the ravening gale; then deepest silence.
Some gallant souls had perished. With the first
Dim light of morn, they sought the beach; and there
Lay fragments of a ship, and human shapes,
Ghastly and gashed. But the worst sight of all—
The sight of living misery, met their gaze.
Seated upon a rock, drenched by the rain,
Her hair torn by the wind, there Ellen sat,
Pale, motionless. How could love guide her there?
A corpse lay by her; in her arms its head
Found a fond pillow, and o‘er it she watched,
As the young mother watches her first child.
It was her lover— L. E. L.
Contextual image of plate from Forget Me Not
* E. F. Burney del.W. T. Fry sculp.
* Ellen.
Forget Me not; a Christmas and New Year's Present for 1824. London. R. Ackermann.
Our own delightful minstrel, L. E. L. has been kind enough to enrich this annual gift with two voluntary offerings, to which the publisher has paid the merited compliment of having plates engraved from their subjects. Though many have gone before her on the theme, we quote the following exquisitely natural and poetical tribute on the Mausoleum of the Princess Charlotte at Claremont—
Lines on the Mausoleum of the Princess Charlotte,
at Claremont.
Alas! how many storm-clouds hang O'er every sunny day below!
How many flowers die as they bloom!
How many more before they blow!
But fall the blight, or lour the blast,
O'er every other pleasure here If they would leave untouched that one Of all earth's joys most pure and dear!
Young Love! how well thy smile can cheer
All other ills that wring the heart? All other sorrows may we bear,
But those in which thyself hast part.
And is not this thy worst, of griefs—
Thine uttermost despair—to see
The grave close over the fond heart
Just wakened into life by thee?
To watch the blight steal o'er the rose,
Yews spring where myrtles wont to be—
And for the bridal wreath to wear One gathered from the cypress-tree?
Look on yon grove, where a white fane
Grows whiter as the moonbeams fall;
There is a bust upon its shrine,
Wearing a white rose coronal:
It is the monument where Hope
And youthful Love sleep side by side,
Raised by the mourner to the name
Of her—his lost, but worshipp'd Bride.
Contextual images of plates from Forget Me Not: (1) exterior
* A. Pugin del.H. le Keux sculp.
* MAUSOLEUM OF PRINCESS CHARLOTTE
* EXTERIOR
* Pub. by R. Ackermann, London 1824
* C. Moore del.H. le Keux sculp.
* MAUSOLEUM OF PRINCESS CHARLOTTE
* INTERIOR
* ↑ This reviewer was probably still unaware of L. E. L.'s identity.
* ↑ From what we know now, it seems more likely that Landon was responding to pre-existing plates.