To L. E. L.
Lady! for thee a holier key shall harmonise the chord —
In Heaven's defence Omnipotence drew an avenging sword;
But when the bolt had crush'd revolt, one angel, fair though frail,
Retain'd his lute, fond attribute! to charm that gloomy vale.
The lyre he kept his wild hand swept; the music he'd awaken
Would sweetly thrill from the lonely hill where he sat apart forsaken;
There he'd lament his banishment, his thoughts to grief abandon,
And weep his full. 'Twas pitiful to see him weep, fair Landon!
He wept his fault! Hell's gloomy vault grew vocal with his song;
But all throughout derision's shout burst from the guilty throng:
God pitying view'd his fortitude in that unhallow'd den;
Free'd him from hell, but bade dwell amid the sons of men.
Lady! for us, an exile thus, immortal Poesy
Came upon earth, and lutes gave birth to sweetest minstrelsy;
And poets wrought their spellwords, taught by that angelic mind,
And music lent soft blandishment to fascinate mankind.
Religion rose! man sought repose in the shadow of her wings;
Music for her walked harbinger, and Genius touch'd the strings:
Tears from the tree of Araby cast on her altar burn'd,
But earth and wave most fragrance gave where Poetry sojourn'd.
Vainly, with hate inveterate, hell labour'd in its rage,
To persecute that angel's lute, and cross his pilgrimage;
Unmov'd and calm, his songs pour'd balm on sorrow all the while;
Vice he unmask'd, but virtue bask'd in the radiance of his smile.
O where, among the fair and young, or in what kingly court,
In what gay path where Pleasure hath her favourite resort,
Where hast thou gone, angelic one? Back to thy native skies?
Or dost thou dwell in cloister'd cell, in pensive hermit's guise?
Methinks I ken a denizen of this our island — nay,
Leave me to guess, fair poetess! queen of the matchless lay!
The thrilling line, lady! is thine; the spirit pure and free;
And England views that angel muse, Landon! reveal'd in THEE !
Lady! for thee a holier key shall harmonise the chord —
In Heaven's defence Omnipotence drew an avenging sword;
But when the bolt had crush'd revolt, one angel, fair though frail,
Retain'd his lute, fond attribute! to charm that gloomy vale.
The lyre he kept his wild hand swept; the music he'd awaken
Would sweetly thrill from the lonely hill where he sat apart forsaken;
There he'd lament his banishment, his thoughts to grief abandon,
And weep his full. 'Twas pitiful to see him weep, fair Landon!
He wept his fault! Hell's gloomy vault grew vocal with his song;
But all throughout derision's shout burst from the guilty throng:
God pitying view'd his fortitude in that unhallow'd den;
Free'd him from hell, but bade dwell amid the sons of men.
Lady! for us, an exile thus, immortal Poesy
Came upon earth, and lutes gave birth to sweetest minstrelsy;
And poets wrought their spellwords, taught by that angelic mind,
And music lent soft blandishment to fascinate mankind.
Religion rose! man sought repose in the shadow of her wings;
Music for her walked harbinger, and Genius touch'd the strings:
Tears from the tree of Araby cast on her altar burn'd,
But earth and wave most fragrance gave where Poetry sojourn'd.
Vainly, with hate inveterate, hell labour'd in its rage,
To persecute that angel's lute, and cross his pilgrimage;
Unmov'd and calm, his songs pour'd balm on sorrow all the while;
Vice he unmask'd, but virtue bask'd in the radiance of his smile.
O where, among the fair and young, or in what kingly court,
In what gay path where Pleasure hath her favourite resort,
Where hast thou gone, angelic one? Back to thy native skies?
Or dost thou dwell in cloister'd cell, in pensive hermit's guise?
Methinks I ken a denizen of this our island — nay,
Leave me to guess, fair poetess! queen of the matchless lay!
The thrilling line, lady! is thine; the spirit pure and free;
And England views that angel muse, Landon! reveal'd in THEE !