Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG (2), by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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First Line: My heart is like the failing hearth
Last Line: As suffer deep seek mirth in vain.
Alternate Author Name(s): L. E. L.; Maclean, Letitia


MY heart is like the failing hearth
Now by my side,
One by one its bursts of flame
Have burnt and died.
There are none to watch the sinking blaze,
And none to care,
Or if it kindle into strength,
Or waste in air.
My fate is as yon faded wreath
Of summer flowers;
They've spent their store of fragrant health
On sunny hours,
Which reck'd them not, which heeded not
When they were dead:
Other flowers, unwarn'd by them,
Will spring instead.
And my own heart is as the lute
I now am waking;
Wound to too fine and high a pitch,
They both are breaking.
And of their song what memory
Will stay behind?
An echo, like a passing thought,
Upon the wind.
Silence, forgetfulness, and rust,
Lute, are for thee:
And such my lot; neglect, the grave,
These are for me.

"Now take the harp, Eulalia mine,
For thy sad song;" and at the sign
Came forth a maiden. She was fair
And young; yet thus can spring-time wear
The traces of far other hour
Than should be on such gentle flower.
Her eyes were downcast, as to keep
Their secret, for they shamed to weep;
Her cheek was pale, but that was lost,
So often the bright blushes cross'd;
And seem'd her mouth so sweet the while,
As if its nature were to smile;
Her very birthright hope, -- but earth
Keeps not the promise of its birth.
'Twas whisper'd, that young maiden's breast
Had harbour'd wild and dangerous guest;
Love had been there, -- in that is said
All that of doom the heart can dread.
Oh! born of Beauty in those isles
Which far 'mid Grecian seas arise,
They call'd thy mother queen of smiles,
But, Love, they only gave thee sighs.
She woke the harp: at first her touch
Seem'd as it sought some lighter strain
But the heart breathes itself, and such
As suffer deep seek mirth in vain.





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