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LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON..

LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON was born in Old Brompton, one of the suburbs of London, in 1802. She is said to have written rhymes at the age of thirteen, and at the age of eighteen she published in the Literary Gazette several short poems under the signature of "L. E. L." These attracted some attention, and she became a regular contributor of both prose and poetry. Her father died poor when she was a child, and as soon as she could earn money by writing she became the chief support of the destitute family. Her first volume, “The Fate of Adelaide, and Other Poems," was published in 1821. "The Improvisatrice," which is generally considered her best, appeared in 1824. Four or five other volumes of verse succeeded these within a dozen years, and she also published four novels.

Miss Landon's poetry all lies within that zone

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of romance through which we pass at about the age of eighteen. It is pure, fanciful, melodious, and true to life as life appears at that age. It is one of those things in literature which it is pleasant to have read, but which we are certain to outgrow.

In June, 1838, Miss Landon was married to George Maclean, Governor of Cape Coast Castle, in West Africa, and soon after sailed with him for that place. On October 15th, of the same year, she was found dead on the floor of her chamber. Investigation showed that she had died from an overdose of prussic acid, which she had been accustomed to take medicinally in small quantities. There was no good reason to consider her death as other than accidental. A volume of posthumous poems was published in 1839, and in 1841 Laman Blanchard edited the "Life and Literary Remains of L. E. L."

Long has been the cry of faithful love's imploring;

Long has hope been watching with soft eyes fixed above;

When will the fates, the life of life restoring, Own themselves vanquished by much-enduring love?

When will he awaken? Asks the midnight's weary queen.

Beautiful the sleep that she has watched untiring,

Lighted up with visions from yonder radiant sky,

Full of an immortal's glorious inspiring, Softened by the woman's meek and loving sigh.

When will he awaken?

He has been dreaming of old heroic stories, And the poet's passionate world has entered in his soul;

He has grown conscious of life's ancestral glories,

When sages and when kings first upheld the mind's control.

When will he awaken? Asks the midnight's stately queen.

Lo, the appointed midnight! the present hour is fated!

It is Endymion's planet that rises on the air;

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| By each dark wave around the vessel sweeping, Farther am I from old dear friends removed; Till the lone vigil that I now am keeping,

I did not know how much you were beloved.
How many acts of kindness little heeded,
Kind looks, kind words, rise half reproachful
now!

Hurried and anxious, my vexèd life has speeded,
And memory wears a soft accusing brow.
My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you?

The very stars are strangers, as I catch them
Athwart the shadowy sails that swell above;
I cannot hope that other eyes will watch them
At the same moment with a mutual love.
They shine not there, as here they now are shin-
ing;

The very hours are changed.-Ah, do ye
sleep?

O'er each home pillow midnight is decliningMay some kind dream at least my image keep!

My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you?

Yesterday has a charm, To-day could never Fling o'er the mind, which knows not till it parts

How it turns back with tenderest endeavor
To fix the past within the heart of hearts.
Absence is full of memory; it teaches

The value of all old familiar things;
The strengthener of affection, while it reaches
O'er the dark parting, with an angel's wings.
My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you?

The world, with one vast element omitted—
Man's own especial element, the earth;
Yet, o'er the waters is his rule transmitted
By that great knowledge whence has power

its birth.

How oft on some strange loveliness while gazing

Have I wished for you-beautiful as new, The purple waves like some wild army raising Their snowy banners as the ship cuts through. My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you!

Bearing upon its wings the hues of morning,
Up springs the flying fish like life's false joy,
Which of the sunshine asks that frail adorning
Whose very light is fated to destroy.
Ah, so doth genius on its rainbow pinion

Spring from the depths of an unkindly world; So spring sweet fancies from the heart's dominion

Too soon in death the scorched-up wing is

furled.

My friends, my absent friends!

Whate'er I see is linked with thoughts of

you.

No life is in the air, but in the waters

Are creatures, huge, and terrible, and strong; The sword-fish and the shark pursue their slaughters,

War universal reigns these depths along.

LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.

207

Like some new island on the ocean springing,
Floats on the surface some gigantic whale,
From its vast head a silver fountain flinging,
Bright as the fountain in a fairy tale.
My friends, my absent friends!

I read such fairy legends while with you.

Light is amid the gloomy canvas spreading,
The moon is whitening the dusky sails,
From the thick bank of clouds she masters, shed-
ding

The softest influence that o'er night prevails. Pale is she like a young queen pale with splendor, Haunted with passionate thoughts too fond, too deep;

The very glory that she wears is tender,

The eyes that watch her beauty fain would

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LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.

COME back, come back together,

All ye fancies of the past, Ye days of April weather,

Ye shadows that are cast

By the haunted hours before! Come back, come back, my childhood; Thou art summoned by a spell From the green leaves of the wildwood, From beside the charmèd well, For Red Riding Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore!

The fields were covered over
With colors as she went;
Daisy, buttercup, and clover,
Below her footsteps bent;

Summer shed its shining store;
She was happy as she pressed them
Beneath her little feet;

She plucked them and caressed them;
They were so very sweet,

They had never seemed so sweet before, To Red Riding Hood, the darling,

The flower of fairy lore.

How the heart of childhood dances
Upon a sunny day!

It has its own romances,

And a wide, wide world have they! A world where Phantasie is king, Made all of eager dreaming: When once grown up and tallNow is the time for schemingThen we shall do them all!

Do such pleasant fancies spring For Red Riding Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore?

She seems like an ideal love,

The poetry of childhood shown,
And yet loved with a real love,
As if she were our own-

A younger sister for the heart;
Like the woodland pheasant,
Her hair is brown and bright;
And her smile is pleasant,
With its rosy light.

Never can the memory part With Red Riding Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore.

Did the painter, dreaming
In a morning hour,
Catch the fairy seeming
Of this fairy flower?

Winning it with eager eyes
From the old enchanted stories,
Lingering with a long delight
On the unforgotten glories
Of the infant sight?

Giving us a sweet surprise In Red Riding Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore?

Too long in the meadow staying, Where the cowslip bends,

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