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# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1831/The Legacy

* THE LEGACY
* Painted by J. InskippEngraved by J. Stewart
THE LEGACY.
There, 'mid the many vanities of youth,
The picture lay; I knew her gentle face;
The eyes recalled the likeness, though the bloom
Of the sweet season which the portrait wore, Had long been past away.
The same, yet not the same—her face
 Has still that Grecian line;
The sculptured perfectness whose grace
 Has long been held divine.
But all beside is changed: that face
 Has spring upon its rose;
The eyes—the daylight's earliest break
 Has sunshine such as those.
The very painter's hues have caught
 The spirit from within,
The light with which young life is fraught,
 Ere care and cloud begin.
That time so breathless and so brief,
 The false, and yet the true,
When hope writes on a red rose leaf
 The beautiful and new.
The morning lights each hour makes less
 Dance o'er the morning tide;
And we believe in happiness,
 Because as yet untried.
Now shine and storm alike are past—
 Thy future is with those
Whose earthly grief and trouble cast,
 On heaven and hope repose.
Flung carelessly, 'mid robe and plume,
 'Mid chaplet, and 'mid chain,
This trophy of thy early bloom!—
 It does not speak in vain:
For I am taught how much the heart
 Has with itself to strive—
How it subdues its weaker part,
 While faith is kept alive!
For thou hast struggled with despair,
 And kept thy steadfast way,
Though all that seemed so bright, so fair,
 Scattered around thee lay.
And your reward is peace; for heaven,
 Whose better part you chose,
Already to your life has given
 The blessing of repose.
Sweet friend, the world is yet with me,
 Its vanity, its care;
Vain hopes for things that may not be,
 Regrets for those that are!
This cannot last! I will believe
 That I shall learn to know
A hope that will not all deceive,
 A trust not placed below.
I needs must weep—I fain would pray
 For light athwart the gloom;
One promise of that holier day
 Whose morning is the tomb! L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1831/The Offering

THE OFFERING.
BY L. E. L.
There is a beauty vanishes away
From earth, and from earth's loveliest; we can see
The moonlight falling on the silvered lake,
The rose unfolding the deep crimson leaves
Where love-thoughts once were writ, the quiet stars
Like angels glorifying the still night.
They do not wear the light that once they wore,
Their poetry is gone—for that which made
The spirit of their beauty was in us
And from ourselves, and we are wholly changed,
And look on things with cold and altered eyes;
For the grave casts its darkness long before
We stand upon its brink!
I see them fading round me,
The beautiful, the bright,
As the rose-red lights that darken
At the falling of the night.
I had a lute, whose music
Made sweet the summer wind,
But the broken strings have vanished And no song remains behind.
I had a lonely garden,
Fruit and flowers on every bough,
But the frost came too severely—
'Tis decayed and blighted now.
That lute is like my spirits—
They have lost their buoyant tone;
Crushed and shattered, they've forgotten
The glad notes once their own.
And my mind is like that garden— It has spent its early store;
And wearied and exhausted,
It has no strength for more.
I will look on them as warnings,
Sent less in wrath than love,
To call the being homeward—
To its other home above.
As the Lesbian in false worship
Hung her harp upon the shrine,
When the world lost its attraction,
So will I offer mine:—
But in another spirit,
With a higher hope and aim,
And in a holier temple,
And to a holier name.
I offer up affections,
Void, violent, and vain;
I offer years of sorrow
Of the mind, and body's pain:
I offer up my memory—
'Tis a drear and darkened page,
Where experience has been bitter,
And whose youth has been like age.
I offer hopes, whose folly
Only after-thoughts can know,
For instead of seeking heaven
They were chained to earth below!
Saying, wrong and grief have brought me
To thy altar as a home;
I am sad and broken-hearted,
And therefore am I come.
Let the incense of my sorrow,
Be on high, a sacrifice;
The worn and contrite spirit
Thou alone wouldst not despise!
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1832

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 The Amulet, 1832
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Greek Girl
* Venice
* Corinne at the Cape of Misena
* Moonlight
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1833

Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1833
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Youthful Mariners
* Agatha
* Lines on the Bust of a Lady
* The Evening Star
* The Gentle Student
* The Lute
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
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1832/The Greek Girl

* THE GREEK GIRL
* Painted by H. W. PickersgillEngraved by Charles Fox
THE GREEK GIRL.
BY L. E. L.
Oh! not as I could once have sung, not as I once could sing—
Alas! my heart has lost a pulse, my lute has lost a string!
There was a time this pictured scroll had bodied forth to me
A thousand fair and fairy thoughts that never more can be.
I once had read beneath the lash of that blue down-cast eye,
Whose depths are love's own azure world—its world of phantasy—
A thousand dreams, the fanciful of youth's enchanted hour,
When the heart, begirt with dreams, is like an early rose in flower,
With its colours and its odours, the beautiful and frail,
These fading, and those borne away by every passing gale:
How like the hopes and vanities that fill the human heart,
Thus opening, in the sweet spring-time—but only to depart!
I turn on life's imaginings an eye too calm and cold,
Such dreams for aye have lost on me their fascinating hold;
My few glad years in fairy-land are gone beyond control,
And graver thoughts, I cannot check, are rising in my soul.
For even as the crimson tints that perish as the day
In grey and solemn colouring to midnight fades away,
E'en so the mind, as years fleet by, doth take a deeper tone,
And, by my own sad heart, fair Greek, I learn to read thine own.
Thou art pausing, gentle maiden, in the task which thou hast made,
To wreathe the curls of thy bright hair into a sunny braid:
There is sadness on thy thoughtful lip, and shadow on thy brow,
Thou "delicate Ionian," what art thou dreaming now?
Fair gifts are flung around thee—the chain, the flower, the gem—
Dost thou think of him who gave the gifts, or only but of them?
But no; thou hast too pale a cheek, and far too tranquil eye
For a dream of love or vanity, to be that passing by.
Thou art thinking of thy childish days, and of thy childish home,
When thy step was as the mountain-roe, as fleet, as free to roam;
When the air around was musical with thine own happy song;
When summer leaves were overhead, and summer days were long.
Bride of a stately warrior, whose heart is as thy shrine,
Who pours the wealth of east and west to win a smile of thine;
Bride, too, of him thou lovest!—yet tears are in thine eyes,
For memory of thy native earth, and of thy native skies.
Ah! guard them well, those memories!—too soon the heart, around
The crust of luxury's selfishness, the harsh and hard is found;
Then keep the thoughts of earlier days—the guileless and the kind,
When the heart, with its sweet impulses, held empire o'er the mind.
These words, I know, are fanciful; yet who would not but trace
A history of gentle thoughts upon that lovely face!
For, if not all reality, at least, such well may seem,
And, even with our own actual life, what is it but a dream?
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1831

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 The Amulet, 1831
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Offering
* The Legacy
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1832/Moonlight

MOONLIGHT.
BY L. E. L.
There are no stars: thou lovely moon,
 Thou art alone amid the sky;
Methinks thou must be sad to hold
 Such solitary watch on high!
'Tis but a tale of the old time—  When all of feeling or of thought,
And all the mysteries of the heart,
 Around them some fine fiction wrought—
Which said that thou didst turn to earth
 Thy radiant eyes, to watch and weep
Over the rest thou could'st not break—
 Endymion's passion-haunted sleep.
Beneath this moonlight fable's guise,
 They pictured the immortal mind,
Which seeks upon this weary earth
 The love that it may never find.
For, though upon an eagle's wing
 The spirit for a while may roam,
The pinions need some gentler tie,
 The heavenward wanderer asks a home;
And deems the heart can be that home,
 Deems that affection is that tie,
And gives its likeness to its hope—
 The pure, the beautiful, the high.
Fair queen, this fable of thy love
 Is but the doom Fate sets apart
For earth's imaginative child,
 Who makes a temple of the heart!
* Painted by W. BoxallEngraved by C. Marr
# Poems of Cheer/Half Fledged

I feel the stirrings in me of great things. New half-fledged thoughts rise up and beat their wings, And tremble on the margin of their nest, Then flutter back, and hide within my breast.
Beholding space, they doubt their untried strength. Beholding men, they fear them. But at length, Grown all too great and active for the heart That broods them with such tender mother art, Forgetting fear, and men, and all, that hour, Save the impelling consciousness of power That stirs within them--they shall soar away Up to the very portals of the Day.
Oh, what exultant rapture thrills me through When I contemplate all those thoughts may do; Like snow-white eagles penetrating space, They may explore full many an unknown place, And build their nests on mountain heights unseen, Whereon doth lie that dreamed-of rest serene. Stay thou a little longer in my breast, Till my fond heart shall push thee from the nest Anxious to see thee soar to heights divine - Oh, beautiful but half-fledged thoughts of mine.
# Poems of Cheer/Foes

Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear  As valued friends. He cannot know The zest of life who runneth here  His earthly race without a foe.
I saw a prize. "Run," cried my friend;  "'Tis thine to claim without a doubt." But ere I half-way reached the end,  I felt my strength was giving out.
My foe looked on the while I ran;  A scornful triumph lit his eyes. With that perverseness born in man,  I nerved myself, and won the prize.
All blinded by the crimson glow  Of sin's disguise, I tempted Fate. "I knew thy weakness!" sneered my foe,  I saved myself, and balked his hate.
For half my blessings, half my gain,  I needs must thank my trusty foe; Despite his envy and disdain,  He serves me well where'er I go.
So may I keep him to the end,  Nor may his enmity abate: More faithful than the fondest friend,  He guards me ever with his hate.
# Poems of Cheer/Guerdon

Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year  I saw a tear. Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow  So soon a sorrow. Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame:  The tear became A wondrous diamond sparkling in the light -  A beauteous sight.
Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss,  I said, "The Cross Is grievous for a life as young as mine."  Just then, like wine, God's sunlight shone from His high Heavens down;  And lo! a crown Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden -  My sorrow's guerdon.
# Poems of Cheer/Comrades

I and my Soul are alone to-day,  All in the shining weather; We were sick of the world, and put it away,  So we could rejoice together.
Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky  Is mixing a rare, sweet wine, In the burnished gold of this cup on high,  For me, and this Soul of mine.
We find it a safe and royal drink,  And a cure for every pain; It helps us to love, and helps us to think,  And strengthens body and brain.
And sitting here, with my Soul alone,  Where the yellow sun-rays fall, Of all the friends I have ever known  I find it the BEST of all.
We rarely meet when the world is near,  For the World hath a pleasing art And brings me so much that is bright and dear  That my Soul it keepeth apart.
But when I grow weary of mirth and glee,  Of glitter, glow, and splendour, Like a tried old friend it comes to me,  With a smile that is sad and tender.
And we walk together as two friends may,  And laugh and drink God's wine. Oh, a royal comrade any day  I find this Soul of mine.
# Poems of Cheer/Helena

Last night I saw Helena. She whose praise  Of late all men have sounded. She for whom  Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb Rather than live without her all his days.
Wise men go mad who look upon her long,  She is so ripe with dangers. Yet meanwhile  I find no fascination in her smile, Although I make her theme of this poor song.
"Her golden tresses?" yes, they may be fair,  And yet to me each shining silken tress  Seems robbed of beauty and all lustreless - Too many hands have stroked Helena's hair.
(I know a little maiden so demure  She will not let her one true lover's hands  In playful fondness touch her soft brown bands So dainty-minded is she, and so pure.)
"Her great dark eyes that flash like gems at night?  Large, long-lashed eyes and lustrous?" that may be,  And yet they are not beautiful to me. Too many hearts have sunned in their delight.
(I mind me of two tender blue eyes, hid  So underneath white curtains, and so veiled  That I have sometimes plead for hours, and failed To see more than the shyly lifted lid.)
"Her perfect mouth so liked a carved kiss?"  "Her honeyed-mouth, where hearts do, fly-like, drown?"  I would not taste its sweetness for a crown; Too many lips have drank its nectared bliss.
(I know a mouth whose virgin dew, undried,  Lies like a young grape's bloom, untouched and sweet,  And though I plead in passion at her feet, She would not let me brush it if I died.)
In vain, Helena! though wise men may vie  For thy rare smile, or die from loss of it,  Armoured by my sweet lady's trust, I sit, And know thou are not worth her faintest sigh.
# Poems of Cheer/Fleeing away

My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar,  Higher and higher on soul-lent wings; But ever and often, and more and more  They are dragged down earthward by little things, By little troubles and little needs, As a lark might be tangled among the weeds.
My purpose is not what it ought to be,  Steady and fixed, like a star on high, But more like a fisherman's light at sea;  Hither and thither it seems to fly - Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright, Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night.
My life is far from my dream of life -  Calmly contented, serenely glad; But, vexed and worried by daily strife,  It is always troubled, and ofttimes sad - And the heights I had thought I should reach one day Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away.
My heart finds never the longed-for rest;  Its worldly striving, its greed for gold, Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest,  Who sometimes sought me in days of old; And ever fleeing away from me Is the higher self that I long to be.
# Poems of Cheer/Ghosts

There are ghosts in the room. As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there  They come out of the gloom, And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.
 There's the ghost of a Hope That lighted my days with a fanciful glow.  In her hand is the rope That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago.
 But her ghost comes to-night, With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes,  And it stands in the light, And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs.
 There's the ghost of a Joy, A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much,  And the hands that destroy Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch.
 There's the ghost of a Love, Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest,  But he towers above All the others--this ghost: yet a ghost at the best.
 I am weary, and fain Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host  Make my struggle in vain, In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost.
# Poems of Cheer/Hidden Gems

We know not what lies in us, till we seek;  Men dive for pearls--they are not found on shore, The hillsides most unpromising and bleak  Do sometimes hide the ore.
Go, dive in the vast ocean of thy mind,  O man! far down below the noisy waves, Down in the depths and silence thou mayst find  Rare pearls and coral caves.
Sink thou a shaft into the mine of thought;  Be patient, like the seekers after gold; Under the rocks and rubbish lieth what  May bring thee wealth untold.
Reflected from the vastly Infinite,  However dulled by earth, each human mind Holds somewhere gems of beauty and of light  Which, seeking, thou shalt find.
# Poems of Cheer/Five Kisses

I--THE MOTHER'S KISS
Love breathed a secret to her listening heart,  And said "Be silent." Though she guarded it, And dwelt as one within a world apart,  Yet sun and star seemed by that secret lit. And where she passed, each whispering wind ablow,  And every little blossom in the sod, Called joyously to her, "We know, we know,  For are we not the intimates of God?" Life grew so radiant, and so opulent,  That when her fragile body and her brain By mortal throes of agony were rent,  She felt a curious rapture in her pain. Then, after anguish, came the supreme bliss - They brought the little baby, for her kiss!
II--THE BETROTHAL
There was a little pause between the dances;  Without, somewhere, a tinkling fountain played. The dusky path was lit by ardent glances  As forth they fared, a lover and a maid. He chose a nook, from curious eyes well hidden -  All redolent with sweet midsummer charm, And by the great primeval instinct bidden,  He drew her in the shelter of his arm. The words that long deep in his heart had trembled Found sudden utterance; she at first dissembled,  Refused her lips, and half withdrew her hand, Then murmured "Yes," and yielded, woman fashion, Her virgin mouth to young love's kiss of passion.
III--THE BRIDAL KISS
As fleecy clouds trail back across the skies,  Showing the sweet young moon in azure space,  The lifted veil revealed her shining face - A sudden wonder to his eager eyes. In that familiar beauty lurked surprise:  For now the wife stood in the maiden's place -  With conscious dignity, and woman's grace, And love's large pride grown trebly fair and wise.
The world receded, leaving them alone.  The universe was theirs, from sphere to sphere, And life assumed new meaning, and new worth. Love held no privilege they did not own,  And when they kissed each other without fear, They understood why God had made the earth.
IV--DOMESTIC BLISS
Sequestered in their calm domestic bower,  They sat together. He in manhood's prime And she a matron in her fullest flower.  The mantel clock gave forth a warning chime. She put her work aside; his bright cigar  Grew pale, and crumbled in an ashen heap. The lights went out, save one remaining star  That watched beside the children in their sleep. She hummed a little song and nestled near,  As side by side they went to their repose. His arm about her waist, he whispered "Dear,"  And pressed his lips upon her mouth's full rose - The sacred sweetness of their wedded life  Breathed in that kiss of husband and of wife.
V--OLD AGE
The young see heaven--but to the old who wait  The final call, the hills of youth arise  More beautiful than shores of Paradise. Beside a glowing and voracious grate  A dozing couple dream of yesterday; The islands of a vanished past appear, Bringing forgotten names and faces near;  While lost in mist, the present fades away. The fragrant winds of tender memories blow  Across the gardens of the "Used-to-be!"  They smile into each other's eyes, and see The bride and bridegroom of the long ago.  And tremulous lips, pressed close to faded cheek  Love's silent tale of deathless passion speak.
# Poems of Cheer/Friendship

Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving  Thy strong regard for me, Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving;  Let thy faith speak for thee.
Swear not to me that nothing can divide us -  So little such oaths mean. But when distrust and envy creep beside us  Let them not come between.
Say not to me the depths of thy devotion  Are deeper than the sea; But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion  Embitter them for me.
Vow not to love me ever and for ever,  Words are such idle things; But when we differ in opinions, never  Hurt me by little stings.
I'm sick of words: they are so lightly spoken,  And spoken, are but air. I'd rather feel thy trust in me unbroken  Than list thy words so fair.
If all the little proofs of trust are heeded,  If thou art always kind, No sacrifice, no promise will be needed  To satisfy my mind.
# Poems (Greenwell)/Pencil-marks in a Book of Devotion

PENCIL-MARKS IN A BOOK OF DEVOTION.
"It happened one day, about noon, I was exceedingly surprised with the print of a man's naked foot on the shore, which was very plain to be seen in the sand."
# Poems (Greenwell)/Reconciliation

RECONCILIATION.
"But when in the other world, love meets love, it will not be like Joseph and his brethren, who lay upon one another's necks weeping: it will be loving and rejoicing, not loving and sorrowing."—Baxter's Saints' Everlasting Rest.