# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Forget Me Not, 1825/Second Sight

In the absence of a historical internet source, the text for this first poem has been transcribed from F. J. Sypher. This is for completeness’ sake: hopefully, in the future, a contemporary source will become readily available.
​ SECOND SIGHT. A Dramatic Scene.
Ronald—Ellen
Ellen.—Oh! I will chide thee, truant! Look how fair, Like to love’s promises, the heavens appear! The blue Night has put on her wreath of stars— A bright queen in her proud regality! The young Moon is arisen, and the waves Have welcomed her in music, while the winds Bear her their song, mixed with the breath of flowers Our island yields, like to sweet incense given In homage to her beauty!—All is still Save the melodious language of the leaves; And yonder star, our own pale signal star, Has reached the dark hill’s point unmarked by thee, Nay, turn not thus away—speak, mine own love!  Ronald.—My own, my gentle treasure! I could gaze On those blue eyes, and quite forget that shades Are gathering on their brightness. Alas! dear love, An evil circle is fast closing round. I have not hidden from thee my fatal gift To look upon the future, and to feel Like present things those which are yet to come— And on me now is consciousness of ill.  Ellen.—Nay, I must smile this gloomy mood away: Come, I will sing the words which thou didst frame Like flowers in a fair wreath.—I heard to-day A wild sad air, just fit for them, ’tis one Of those sweet spells whose power is more upon The heart than even the ear.  Ronald.— No, no; not now! I cannot bear to see thee smile, yet know Thy step is on a precipice; that I Shall lead thee to the brink—and lead to perish.  Ellen.—This of thyself, false prophet! Ronald, no; Oh, I will not believe thee. Come, be gay: You’re a dull lover for a lady’s bower. You do not love me.
Ronald.—Not love thee! By that cheek Now beautiful with blushes—by those eyes, Like a blue harebell, when a sunshine plays Upon its dewy leaves—by that white brow Crown’d with gold curls, and by that eloquent smile— I love thee tenderly as exiles love Remembrance of their own country; dear As home, as infancy, as happiness; Precious as hope.  Ellen.—Ah, these are honeyed words, but . . . I believe them.  Ronald.—Alas! my trusting love, I’ve other words— Dark, fearful words—for thee. We must forget That we have ever loved; our vows must be Shadows long past.  Ellen.—Oh Ronald, cruel, cruel— Love may not learn forgetfulness. I can Be silent as the grave; can school my tears To fall in secret; let my cheek grow pale; And my heart waste away in solitude;— But I cannot forget thee.  Ronald.—Time has been When pardon to the mourner were less sweet Than are those words to me; but now thy love To me is as despair: I’ll tell thee all, All my dark auguries. E’en from a child There was a strange power on me; I have sought The mountain brow, when veiled in thunder clouds; I roamed the forest when night wrapped me round, The meteor flames my guide; I lay beside The foaming waterfall, and I have held Unblest communion with the dead, and seen And talked with spirits, and have looked on sights Which sent the frozen life-blood from my cheek! I did not seek companionship with man; I lived in a proud solitude; but you Softened my gloomy mood, and then my pride Bowed to a woman’s power: life was no more A stern and gloomy pathway: but it grew A paradise of hope, and I forgot My dreary visions.
Ellen.— Oh forget them still! My heart beats quick with fear——What is that sound? How sad, how wildly, has the night-wind swept Over my harp!  Ronald.—Ah, those prophetic notes! Death is upon their tones; ’tis the same dirge That rang last night within my ear:—I stood Beneath an oak whose blasted stem was rent By the fierce lightning; it yet smoked; the fire Was red upon it, while the falling rain Hissed on the scorched leaves. I heard the voice Of spirits on the wind, and saw strange forms: The clouds were black as death; my only light Was the pale herald of the thunder-peal! Then rose the vision on my soul: first came Those melancholy sounds; then I beheld Myself and thee—I saw the dagger gleam Red in my hand—’twas dripping with thy gore— I saw thy death-wound, saw thee cold and pale And knew myself thy murderer!  Ellen.— Oh, Ronald, leave This most unholy interchange with things Forbidden and concealed. Ask thine own heart; It will proclaim their falsehood. Ask that heart Which I most truly do believe is mine, If it could injure me.  Ronald.— Dear Ellen, no; It cannot be that I who love thee, thus Could harm thee, love: the turf, on which thy step Has left its fairy trace, is unto me A sainted spot; the very air thou breathest Is precious; more I prize the slightest leaf Wreath’d with thy sunny hair, than the rich gems That burn in Indian mines. It cannot be That I could harm thee!  Ellen.— Oh, I do not fear. Come, pray thee, smile at thine own prophecy.  Ronald.—For once, Ellen, I’ll bid thee not believe me!  *************
It is a lovely shade, but shun the place— Mark what a red taint is upon the heath! The very harebells have caught that one hue: Look how they gleam beneath the pale moonlight! Oh, blood is on their bloom—a crimson dye— Which has been and which will be there for years. Those larches, with their graceful sweep, once made A gentle maiden’s bower, and ’tis her blood That gives the flowers their unnatural stain. ’Tis a sad history:—The maid was slain By one who was her lover; for his heart Was dark with jealousy: and then he fled To the fierce battle, as if outward strife Could kill the strife within; yet home he came At last—death spares the wretched—then he heard How innocent, how true, his Ellen was. He sought the spot where she was murdered, made Atonement with his blood; and it is told, When the moon lights the midnight, comes a sound Of melancholy music, and a shape Like that poor maiden, with the golden hair Stain’d from the bosom’s wound; and by its side, Another phantom of a dark-brow’d chief, Who seems, with bended head and outstretch’d arms, To ask forgiveness; these flit o’er the turf, And make the place so fearful.