Letitia Elizabeth Landon Quotes

Blue hyacinths!
Oh, do not show them me; they fill my eyes
With tears too soft for such a scene as this.

It was his last, his only field:
They brought him back upon his shield,
But victory was won.
I cannot weep when I recall
Thy land has cause to bless thy fall.

Methinks adieu
Is cold, when uttered with aught else but tears.

Love is a pearl of purest hue,
But stormy waves are round it;
And dearly may a woman rue,
The hour that she found it.

Curious it is that every hour of our day is repeated from myriad chimes; and yet how rarely do we attend to the clock striking! Alas! how emblematic is this of the way in which we neglect the many signs of time! How terrible, when we think of what time may achieve, is the manner in which we waste it! At the end of every man's life, at least three-quarters of the mighty element of which that life was composed will be found void—lost—nay, utterly forgotten! And yet that time, laboured and husbanded, might have built palaces, gathered wealth, and, still greater, made an imperishable name.

There must be some deep-rooted anti-social principle in every man's nature, so dearly does he love aught that separates him from his kind ; or is it but one of the many shapes taken by that mental kaleidoscope, vanity, the varying and the glittering, the desire of distinction, sinking into that of notice?

Oh, what am I, and what are they ?
Masquers but striving to deceive
Themselves and others ; and believe
It is enough, if none shall know
The covered mass of care below.

The field is fought—who walketh there?—
The shadow victory casts—Despair!

But the passion of jealousy cannot exist without the passion of love, and is like its parent, creative, impetuous, and credulous.

Thrice venomed is the wound when 'tis Love's hand
Inflicts the blow.

Violets! — deep-blue violets!
April's loveliest coronets!
There are no flowers grow in the vale,
Kiss'd by the dew, wooed by the gale, —
None by the dew of the twilight wet,
So sweet as the deep-blue violet!

Black (for such the quarries yield
Where the sun hath never shone,
Which night only rests upon,
Was the marble floor, which gave
Mirror like some clear dark wave.

Death came like a friend to restore thee
To those who had died before thee:
Father, mother,
Sister, brother—
There were none of these to mourn o'er thee.
But now that Death has found thee,
Thy kindred and friends are round thee ;
In their rest they are laid
In the dark yew shade,
And cold sleep like their own has bound thee.

No one makes the heart of a little home circle entirely their own, without some very sweet gifts of nature — we must love to be beloved.

He sung,—the notes at first were low,
Like the whispers of love, or the breathings of woe:
The waters were hushed, and the winds were stay'd,
As he sang his farewell to his Lesbian maid!