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    The Poetry Of Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Volume 1
    The Poetry Of Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Volume 1
    The Poetry Of Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Volume 1
    Ebook128 pages1 hour

    The Poetry Of Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Volume 1

    By Letitia Elizabeth Landon

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    About this ebook

    Letitia Elizabeth Landon was born on 14 August 1802 in Chelsea, London. A precocious child she had her first poem published is 1820 using the single ‘L’ as her marker. The following year her first volume appeared and sold well. She published a further two poems that same year with just the initials ‘L.E.L.” It provided the basis for much intrigue. She became the chief reviewer of the Gazette and published her second collection, The Improvisatrice, in 1824. By 1826, rumours began to circulate that she had had affairs. For several years they continued to circulate until she broke off an engagement when her betrothed, upon further investigation, found them to be unfounded. Her words reflect the lack of trust she felt “The mere suspicion is dreadful as death”. On June 7th 1838 she married George Maclean, initially in secret, and a month later they sailed to Cape Coast. However the marriage proved to be short lived as on October 15th Letitia was found dead, a bottle of prussic acid in her hand. Her reputation as a poet diminished until fairly recently; her work felt to be simplistic and too simply constructed. However when put into context it is more rightly seen as working on many levels and meanings as was needed for those more moral times.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateJan 17, 2014
    ISBN9781783948147
    The Poetry Of Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Volume 1

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      Book preview

      The Poetry Of Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Volume 1 - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

      The Poetry Of Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Volume 1

      Letitia Elizabeth Landon was born on 14 August 1802 in Chelsea, London.  A precocious child she had her first poem published is 1820 using the single ‘L’ as her marker.  The following year her first volume appeared and sold well.  She published a further two poems that same year with just the initials ‘L.E.L."  It provided the basis for much intrigue.

      She became the chief reviewer of the Gazette and published her second collection, The Improvisatrice, in 1824.

      By 1826, rumours began to circulate that she had had affairs.  For several years they continued to circulate until she broke off an engagement when her betrothed, upon further investigation, found them to be unfounded.  Her words reflect the lack of trust she felt  The mere suspicion is dreadful as death

      On June 7th 1838 she married George Maclean, initially in secret, and a month later they sailed to Cape Coast.  However the marriage proved to be short lived as on October 15th Letitia was found dead, a bottle of prussic acid in her hand.

      Her reputation as a poet diminished until fairly recently; her work felt to be simplistic and too simply constructed.  However when put into context it is more rightly seen as working on many levels and meanings as was needed for those more moral times.

      Index Of Poems

      Scenes In London I – Piccadilly

      Scenes In London II - Oxford Street

      Scenes In London III - The Savoyard In Grosvenor Square

      Scenes In London IV - The City Churchyard

      Revenge by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

      On An Engraving Of Hindoo Temples

      Amelioration and the Future, Man's Noble Tasks

      The Nizam’s Daughter

      The Orphan

      The Pilgrim

      The Poor

      The Power of Words

      The Reply Of The Fountain

      The Record

      The Sea-Shore

      The Soldier's Funeral

      Change

      The Song. Extract from The Zenana

      Children

      Long Years Have Past Since Last I Stood

      Secrets

      The Country Retreat

      The Funeral

      A Legend Of Tintagel Castle

      Cafes In Damascus

      Furness Abbey

      Girl At Her Devotions

      Hannibal's Oath

      The African Prince

      The Crusader

      The Minister

      Sir Walter Scott

      The Power of Words

      The Record

      The Reply Of The Fountain

      The Ruined Cottage

      The Soldier's Grave

      The Shepherd Boy

      Thoughts Of Christmas-Day In India

      To Olinthus Gregory, On Hearing Of The Death Of His Eldest Son, Who Was Drowned As He Was Returning By Water To His Father’s House At Woolrich

      The Sultana's Remonstrance

      The Fairy Queen Sleeping

      Fountain’s Abbey

      Love Nursed By Solitude

      Nymph And Zephyr: A Statuary Group

      Juliet After The Masquerade

      Kate Kearney

      Hebe

      Cupid And Swallows Flying From Winter

      Fairies On The Sea Shore. By Howard

      The Battle Field

      The Female Convict

      Song Of The Hunter’s Bride

      Love

      When Should Lovers Breathe Their Vows?

      The Lost Star

      Glencoe

      The Change

      Can You Forget Me?

      Expectation

      The Lake Of Como

      The Pirate’s Song

      The Widow’s Mite

      Cottage Courtship

      The Phantom

      Dirge

      The Legacy Of The Lute

      Scenes In London I – Piccadilly by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

      The sun is on the crowded street, 

      It kindles those old towers;

      Where England's noblest memories meet,

      Of old historic hours.

      Vast, shadowy, dark, and indistinct,

      Tradition's giant fane,

      Whereto a thousand years are linked,

      In one electric chain.

      So stands it when the morning light

      First steals upon the skies;

      And shadow'd by the fallen night,

      The sleeping city lies.

      It stands with darkness round it cast,

      Touched by the first cold shine;

      Vast, vague, and mighty as the past,

      Of which it is the shrine.

      'Tis lovely when the moonlight falls

      Around the sculptured stone

      Giving a softness to the walls,

      Like love that mourns the gone.

      Then comes the gentlest influence

      The human heart can know,

      The mourning over those gone hence

      To the still dust below.

      The smoke, the noise, the dust of day,

      Have vanished from the scene;

      The pale lamps gleam with spirit ray

      O'er the park's sweeping green.

      Sad shining on her lonely path,

      The moon's calm smile above,

      Seems as it lulled life's toil and wrath

      With universal love.

      Past that still hour, and its pale moon,

      The city is alive;

      It is the busy hour of noon,

      When man must seek and strive.

      The pressure of our actual life

      Is on the waking brow; 

      Labour and care, endurance, strife,

      These are around him now.

      How wonderful the common street,

      Its tumult and its throng,

      The hurrying of the thousand feet

      That bear life's cares along.

      How strongly is the present felt,

      With such a scene beside;

      All sounds in one vast murmur melt

      The thunder of the tide.

      All hurry on—none pause to look

      Upon another's face:

      The present is an open book

      None read, yet all must trace.

      The poor man hurries on his race,

      His daily bread to find;

      The rich man has yet wearier chase,

      For pleasure's hard to bind.

      All hurry, though it is to pass

      For which they live so fast—

      What doth the present but amass,

      The wealth that makes the past.

      The past is round us—those old spires

      That glimmer o'er our head;

      Not from the present is their fires,

      Their light is from the dead.

      But for the past, the present's powers

      Were waste of toil and mind;

      But for those long and glorious hours

      Which leave themselves behind. 

      Scenes In London II - Oxford Street

      Life in its many shapes was there,

      The busy and the gay;

      Faces that seemed too young and fair

      To ever know decay.

      Wealth, with its waste, its pomp, and pride,

      Led forth its glittering train;

      And poverty's pale face beside

      Asked aid, and asked in vain.

      The shops were filled from many lands,

      Toys, silks, and gems, and flowers;

      The patient work of many hands,

      The hope of many hours.

      Yet, mid life's myriad shapes around

      There was a sigh of death;

      There rose a melancholy sound,

      The bugle's wailing breath.

      They played a mournful Scottish air,

      That on its native hill

      Had caught the notes the night-winds bear

      From weeping leaf and rill.

      'Twas strange to hear that sad wild strain

      Its warning music shed,

      Rising above life's busy train,

      In memory of the dead.

      There came a slow and silent band

      In sad procession by:

      Reversed the musket in each hand,

      And downcast every eye.

      They bore the soldier to his grave;

      The sympathyzing crowd

      Divided like a parted wave

      By some

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