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# Poems in The Court Journal during the year 1835 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)/Former Times

The Court Journal, 19th September 1835, page 625
FORMER TIMES. By L. E. L.
We meet not in the valley
 Where we were wont to meet:
Where the little brook was flowing,
 And the birds were singing sweet.
Our treasures were the lilies
 That open in the spring,
Or the purple feathers falling
 From off the peacock's wing.
We were young, and we were happy,
 The present was our own,
The past was not remembered,
 The future was unknown.
The music of the river,
 The dear blue sky above,
Filled the inmost heart within us
 With happiness and love.
We had a thousand fancies,
 And we had not a care—
Life's hours were stealing round us,
 While dreaming what they were.
We read old tales of fairies
 And half believed them true,
The fortune of our future
 Had, at least, enough to do.
Youth's clear and far horizon
 Affords such ample scope,
And we too, had our fairy,
 The early fairy–Hope.
We had some thought of changes
 Whene'er that future came;
But it was still, in changing,
 To find our hearts the same.
I linger o'er those moments
 With a true and fond regret—
As we watch the last faint colours
 Of a sun that long has set.
No friendships are unselfish
 As those which first we knew;
So linked by pleasant memories—
 So generous and so true.
The best of those affections
 We form in after hours,
Are the faint and chilling perfume
 Of the after-growth of flowers.
We have fallen from each other,
 Have changed and disagreed;
Our lips are closed and careless,
 Of love we have no need.
The world has entered in us,
 We doubt where once we dreamed;
We have learnt the bitter lesson,
 There is nothing what it seemed.
Oh, lone and silent valley,
 Thy loveliness is o'er:
For youth, hope, and affection,
 Return to thee no more.
# Poems in The Court Journal during the year 1835 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)/Little Red Riding Hood

The Court Journal, 8th August 1835, pages 497-498
LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.
LINES SUGGESTED BY THE ENGRAVING OF LANDSEER’S PICTURE. BY L. E. L.
Come back, come back together,
 All ye fancies of the past,
Ye days of April weather,
 Ye shadows that are cast
By the haunted hours before!
 Come back, come back, my childhood;
Thou art summoned by a spell
 From the green leaves of the wild wood,
From beside the charmed well!
 'Tis Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
 The flower of fairy lore.
The fields were covered over
 With colours, as she went;
Daisy, buttercup, and clover,
 Below her footsteps bent.
Summer shed its shining store,
 She was happy as she prest them
Beneath her little feet;
 She plucked them and caress'd them,
They were so very sweet—
 They had never seemed so sweet before,
To Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
 The flower of fairy lore.
How the heart of childhood dances
 Upon a sunny day!
It has its own romances,
 And a wide, wide world have they! A world where phantasie is king,
 Made all of eager dreaming;
When once grown up and tall,
 Now is the time for scheming,
Then we shall do them all!
 Do such pleasant fancies spring
For Red Riding-Hood the darling,
 The flower of fairy lore?
She seems like an ideal love,—  The poetry of childhood shown,
And yet loved with a real love,
 As if she were our own;
A younger sister for the heart;
Like the young pheasant,
 Her hair is brown and bright,
And her smile is pleasant—
 With its rosy light.
Never can the memory part,
With red Riding-Hood the darling,
 The flower of fairy lore.
Did the painter, dreaming
 In a morning hour,
Catch the fairy seeming
 Of this fairy flower?
Winning it with eager eyes—
From the old enchanted stories,
 Lingering with a long delight
On the unforgotten glories
 Of the infant sight?
Giving us a sweet surprise
In red Riding-Hood the darling,
The flower of fairy lore?
Too long in the meadow staying,
 Where the cowslip bends,
With the buttercups delaying
 As with early friends,
Did the little maiden stay.
Sorrowful the tale for us—
 We too loiter mid life's flowers,
A little while so glorious,
 So soon lost in darker hours.
All love lingering on their way,
Like red Riding-Hood the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
# Poems in The Court Journal during the year 1835 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)/The Phantom

The Court Journal, 19th September 1835, page 645
THE PHANTOM, By L. E. L.
[The following fanciful production is from the 'Drawing Scrap Book,' which we partially noticed a fortnight ago. Its treasures cannot yet be so far familiarized and fixed in the memory, as to preclude us from the advantage of filling one of our columns with the verses of L. E. L.. The plates of this year's volume are as various and well executed as usual; and the poetry more than reflects their beauty and variety. The poem we here copy is remarkable for the ease, grace, and melody of its versification.]
I come from my home in the depth of the sea,
I come that thy dreams may be haunted by me;
Not as we parted, the rose on my brow,
But shadowy, silent, I visit thee now.
The time of our parting was when the moon shone,
Of all heaven's daughters the loveliest one;
No cloud in her presence, no star at her side,
She smiled on her mirror and vassal, the tide.
Unbroken its silver, undreamed of its swell,
There was hope, and not fear, in our midnight farewell;
While drooping around were the wings white and wild,
Of the ship that was sleeping, as slumbers a child.
I turned to look from it, to look on the bower,
Which thou hast been training in sunshine or shower—
So thick were the green leaves, the sun and the rain
Sought to pierce through the shelter from summer in vain.
It was not the ash-tree, the home of the wren, And the haunt of the bee, I was thinking of then;
Nor yet of the violets, sweet on the air,
But I thought of the true love who planted them there.
I come to thee now, my long hair on the gale,
It is wreathed with no red rose, is bound with no veil;
It is dark with the sea damps, and wet with the spray–-
The gold of its auburn has long past away.
And dark is the cavern wherein I have slept;—
There the seal and the dolphin their vigil have kept;
And the roof is encrusted with white coral cells,
Wherein the strange insect that buildeth them dwells.
There is life in the shells that are strewed o'er the sands,
Not filled, but with music, as on our own strands;
Around me are whitening the bones of the dead,
And a starfish has grown to the rock overhead.
Sometimes a vast shadow goes darkly along,
The shark or the sword-fish, the fearful and strong;
There is fear in the eyes that are glaring around,
As they pass, like the spectres of death, without sound:
Over rocks without summer, the dull sea-weeds trail,
And the blossoms that spring there are scentless and pale;
Amid their dark garlands the water-snake glides,
And the sponge, like the moss, gathers thick at their sides.
Oh! would that the sunshine could fall on my grave—
That the wild-flower and willow could over it wave;
Oh! would that the daisies grew over my sleep,
That the tears of the morning could over me weep.
Thou art pale mid thy dreams—I shall trouble no more,
The sorrow that kept me from slumber is o'er:
To the depths of the ocean in peace I depart,
For I still have a grove greener far in thy heart!
# Poems in The Court Journal during the year 1835 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)/The Portrait of L. E. L.

The Court Journal, 7th November 1835, pages 705-706
ON FIRST SEEING THE PORTRAIT OF L. E. L.
"Is this the face that fired a thousand ships,
And burned the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen!"Marlowe
Ah! no, not Helen; Hel—e—n
 Of old—but L. E. L.;
Those letters which the spell-bound pen
 Have vainly sought to spell.
Not Helen, who so long ago
 Set Paris in a blaze,
But one who laid proud London low,
 And lit up later days.
Is this your meaning, mystic Three!
 Handwriting on Fame's wall!
Ye thrice fair letters, can ye be
 A lady, after all!
How have I wondered what ye meant,
 Ye alphabetic Graces!
And so you really represent
 One of dear Nature's faces!
Well, how I've guessed! your meaning rare
 No guessing seemed to touch;
Ye riddles! the weird-sisters ne'er
 Be-witched me half so much.
One knows the power of D. C. L.,
 The grandeur of K. G.;
And F. R. S. will science spell,
 And valour, G. C. B.
The sage, the schoolboy, both can tell
 The worth of L. S. D.
But then the worth of L. E. L.!
 All letters told in three!
In vain. I've sought to illustrate
 Each letter with a word;
’T was only trying to translate
 The language of a bird.
I've read ye, L. E. L., quite bare;
 Thus—Logic, Ethics, Lays:
Lines, Episodes, and Lyrics fair–
 I've guessed away my days.
One wild young fancy was the sire
 Of fifty following aſter—
Like these—Love, Eden, and the Lyre,
 Light, Elegance, and Laughter.
I've drawn from all the stars that shine,
 Interpretations silly;
From flowers:—the Lily, Eglantine—
And what?–oh! then, more Lily!
Now fancy's dead—no thought can strike,
 No guess, solution, stricture;
For L. E. L. is—simply like
 This dainty little picture.
Life to her Lays! However fame
 'Mongst brightest names may set hers,
Those Three Initials (nameless name!)
 Will never be—dead letters! ††
# Poems (Tynan)/The Oak said to the Eagle

CUCKOO SONGS
# Poems (Toke)/Psalm LXXIX

February 9, 1834,
# Poems (Toke)/Psalm II

October 9, 1852.
# Poems (Toke)/Psalm LX

October 8, 1852.
# Poems (Toke)/Psalm CXXXIX

August, 1831.
# Poems (Toke)/Psalm I

January 13, 1839.
# Poems (Toke)/Psalm III

January 13, 1839.
# Poems (Toke)/Psalm CXXXVII

October 22, 1832.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1825/Ballad - Over the land, and over the sea

Also from the review in The Literary Gazette, 6th November 1824, pages 710-712
BALLAD.
Over the land, and over the sea,
Youth of my heart! will I follow thee.
See, I have doff'd my silken train,
My lace 'kerchief, and golden chain;
For cap and plume I've chang’d my veil,
And my pearl-wreath'd braid of the lily pale;
And for satin slippers, a buskin tied,
Made of the red deer's stiffen'd hide;
And my heavy length of yellow hair,—
Look on the river— 'tis floating there.
Last night, I stood in my father's hall,
With broider'd robe, and Indian shawl:
Lovers caught each breath of my sigh,
And vassals watch'd the turn of mine eye;
A sandal-wood lute was in my hand,
And my step was the first in the saraband.
Tonight I stand in the hunter's dress,
Belying my weak loneliness.
Instead of music, and dance, and song,
And serviteurs, and a courtly throng,
Is the quiet shade of the greenwood tree;
And for many false hearts, a true one in thee.
And I am happy. Oh! love should live
But for the sweet life itself can give.
Where are gems like the lily, wet
With tears it has kiss'd from the violet?
Where is the lamp in a lady's bower,
Like the first pale star of the twilight hour?
What hand ever waked from the lute a tone
Like the nightingale's voice, when she sings alone?
Not to the dark city, not to the false court,
Will health, and truth, and love, resort:
Their dwelling is made with the leaf and the flower,
Amid summer sunshine and April shower;
They live by the brook and the forest tree,
In a wild sweet home, such as ours will be.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1825/Home

From The Pocket Magazine, 1830, Volume II, page 37-38 James Robins & Co., London
* Painted by T. Stothard R.A.Engraved by Chas. Heath
* HOME.
* Published July 1 1830 by James Robins & Co. Ivy Lane London
HOME.
Aye, here, dear love, is just a home,
 Like what our home should be;
A home of peace—a home of love—
 As made for thee and me.
A cottage with its roof of thatch,
 Its porch of the red rose,
Its white walls hidden by the wreath
 The bridal jasmine throws.
The rooms are dark, for the green vines
 Have twin'd each lattice round;
Where, veil'd by leaves, the wild wind harp  Breathes forth its lonely sound.
And round are many landscapes hung,
 Each of some foreign shore,
Of rock, and storm, to make us prize
 Our own calm home the more.
A green turf lies before the door,
 A fairy carpet spread
With silver daisies—pearls of dew,
 Meet for the Elf-queen's tread.
About are beds of many flowers,
 Sweet shrubs, and blossom'd trees;
Beside that elm the dove-cote's plac'd,
 Beneath that ash, the bees.
And there the little green-house stands,
 A refuge for the spring ;
Where, even in the winter time,
 The rose is flourishing.
There is a murmur on the wind,
 Of the far billow's sweep:
Come on this mount of scented plants,
 And you can see the deep.
Look to the east, where the grey wave
 Is blent with the grey sky,
To where the setting sun has left
 It's purple pageantry.
How pleasant, in another hour,
 Our wand'ring there will be!
When the dim ships, like shadows, ride
 Over the star-lit sea.
When sailing in the deep blue heav'n,
 The moon, like a young bride,
Comes timid, as she fear'd to claim
 Her empire o'er the tide.
Then, to return from the white cliffs,
 Where winds and waters beat,
How shall we love the leaves and flowers
 Of our own calm retreat!
We should be happy;— yet let all
 Sweet dreams, like these, depart:
It matters not whate'er his lot,—
 Love's home is in the heart.L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1826

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
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Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1826
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* Hindoo Girl, by an Urn
* Raphael's Death-Bed
* The Emigrants
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship's Offering, 1836

Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1836
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Boon
* The Festival
* The Black Seal
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1825

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1825 compiled as far as possible from contemporary sources by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Suicide's Grave
* Home
* Ballad—Over the land, and over the sea
* The Sailor
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1826/Hindoo Girl, By an Urn, from a Group, by Westmacott

* Drawn by H. Corbould.Engraved by J. Thomson.
* HINDOO GIRL.
* FROM A GROUP BY WESTMACOTT.
HINDOO GIRL, BY AN URN.
FROM A GROUP, BY WESTMACOTT.
BY L. E. L.
She leant beneath an alma tree, which flung A shower of leaves and blossoms o'er her head,— But faded all of them: this made the place A fitting temple for her; like her joys, The fresh sweet flowers grew far above her reach; But, like her griefs, the withered ones were strewed Beneath her feet, and mingled with her hair, Her long black hair, which swept round like a cloud, And had no other wreath than those sad leaves. Her brow was bowed upon a marble urn, Pale as its cold, white pillow; on her cheek Lingered the grace which beauty ever leaves, Although herself be gone; her large dark eye Was as a picture's, fixed and motionless, With only one expression.—There are griefs That hunt, like hounds, our happiness away; And cares that, ivy-like, fix on our hopes. But these are nothing—though they waste the heart— To when one single sorrow, like the rod, The serpent rod, has swallowed up the rest.
 Her history was on every lip; they told,
At first, a common tale;—she loved, was loved, And love was destiny and happiness. But red war was abroad; and there are charms In the bright sabre, flashing to the sun, The banner, crimson as the morning sky It seems to meet, the thunder of the drum, The clashing atabal, the haughty steed Impatient for the battle, and the ranks, Glittering and glorious in their armed array: Aye, these have charms—but not for woman's dreams. The youth went to the warfare, where he fell, Unknown, unnamed, unmissed;—it is the fate Of thousands, swept away like autumn leaves, Young, brave, with heart and hand, and all that makes The hero,—but in vain. And where is she, His lovely, lonely one? Not in her bower, Not in her father's hall; no more they see Her white veil floating on the evening air, The moon-light shining on the mystic bark She watched so anxiously. Again she came; But not the same, as when, with summer flowers And scented lamp, she sought the river side; But pale and silent, like a shadowy thing That has looked on the other world, and known The secrets of the grave, but forced, awhile, To linger on the earth it loathes. She held Within her arms an urn; beneath the shade Of the tree which had been the favourite haunt Of her young lover, at the twilight hour— For then they met—she placed her treasure down.
It was a tale of wonder, and soon spread. She had been to the distant battle field, And wandered 'mid the dying and the dead, Gazing on many a ghastly face; at last, She found her lover, and this was his urn.— And leaning on that urn is her employ: And still, at the lone hour, when the first star Rises o'er the blue Ganges, will she sing A low and plaining melancholy song. At other times, she leans beside the urn, As she were but a statue placed by grief In memory of love!
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1826/Raphael's Death-Bed

* Bergeret pinxW.T.Fry sculpt
* THE HONORS PAID TO RAPHAEL AFTER HIS DEATH.
RAPHAEL'S DEATH-BED.
BY L. E. L.
How can the grave be terrible to those Whose spirits walk the earth, even after death, And have an influence on humanity, In their undying glory.L. E. L.
'Twas a twilight of Italy and spring, With those pale colours that the sunsets fling, Of shadowy rose,—or ever they are bright With the rich purple of their summer light! A vaulted chamber was it,—where the day Lingered, as it were loth to pass away, Fainter and fainter falling, till the glare Of taper, torch, and lamp, alone, were there, Shining o'er glorious pictures, which were fraught With all the immortality of thought,— And o'er a couch's canopy, where gold Broidered and clasped the curtain's purple fold.
And is that silken pillow thus bespread For those who cannot feel its down—the dead!
Around that couch gathers a princely train, And swells the holy anthem's funeral strain; Sweeps the rich incense round it, like a cloud, While the arch prelate's hand uplifts the shroud,— Flings, from the silver cup, the sacred wave,
Which sains and smooths the passage to the grave.
Aye, one sleeps there,—if sleep it can be named, By which one half of waking life is shamed. Is that death, where the spirit stays behind, With much as ever influence on its kind! How can he die,—he who has left his soul On the rich canvass, or the breathing scroll! What is our life—our being—but the spirit, All of our native heaven we inherit! How can we die,—yet leave behind us all The intellect that lit our earthly thrall! That seems like death, which leaves behind it nought; No void in nature,—no remembering thought; Or, but the tenderness affection keeps, Frail as itself—forgetting while it weeps! That seems like death, the many thousands die, Their sole memorials, a tear—a sigh! But thus it is not to the mighty name, Whose death was as the seal affixed to fame;— And he who sleeps there, dust returned to dust, Paler and colder than the marble bust Beside—now strangely like the face of death, As rigid as itself, unwarmed by breath,—
It hath death's semblance;—but, how can depart The soul, yet leave its influence on the heart!
No! when the timid prayer for heaven's grace Shall warm its zeal no more, at the sweet face Of thy Madonnas; nor the patient tear Shall fall before thy Magdalen, with less fear; When never more a saint's pure brow shall speak Hope to the trembling,—mercy to the weak; When the last hue is from thy canvass fled, Their memory past,—then, Raphael, thou art dead!
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship's Offering, 1828

Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1828 compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Banner of Five Byzants
* Venus taking the Bow from a Sleeping Cupid
* The First Ball
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse