 | Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] |  |
45
ELEGY TO L. E. L.
I
Scarce had the wind, which rocked thine ocean bed,Borne thee, oh! Landon, to a far-off strand:
Ere tears are falling o'er the minstrel dead,
And sounds of woe are wafted o'er the land.
II
Queen of the tuneful lyre!—those tears are thine—Long will thy fatherland thy mem'ry keep;
The laurel which thy minstrel lute did twine,
Wreathed with the cypress, o'er thy tomb will weep.
III
Ah! 'tis thy legacy—thou ne'er mayst wakeIts silvery strings to charm the list'ning throng;
Hushed is the heart which could such music make,
Shivered the chords, and silent is the song.
IV
Thou wast too full of passion—and the shell,Worn by the spirit, all too frail and weak;
The parting hour was as thy funeral knell,
Thou could'st not bear another home to seek.
46
V
To leave thy hearthstone, and thine early friends;To burst the bonds which nature flings around
Sweet friendship's footsteps, and to life still lends
A hallowing charm, wherewith our hearts are bound.
VI
Alas! to lose thee thus! to hear no moreTh' enchanting echo of thine haunting song;
To know that, resting on a foreign shore,
To stranger hands thine obsequies belong.
VII
Ah! who will honour thine abandoned urn!Will one fond hand strew roses o'er thy bier?
In vain, bright flowers await thy loved return;
In vain, we weep for one, alas! so dear.
VII
Bright is the sun, with rays of burning light,The stars with silver radiance gild the sky;
Still, as of yore, the silent queen of night
Sheds a pale lustre from her throne on high.
IX
All—all endure, but where is now our boast?The poet of all hearts—our pride is dead;
Wake—wake, sweet music o'er that far off coast;
Fling—fling sweet garlands o'er her lowly head.
| Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] | |