Felicia Hemans

“ Till the deep love that not with thee shall die
Hath grown too full for utterance—can it be?
And is this pomp of death prepared for thee?
Young, royal Conradin! who should'st have known
Of life as yet the sunny smile alone!
Oh! who can view thee, in the pride and bloom
Of youth, array'd thus richly for the tomb,
Nor feel, deep-swelling in his inmost soul,
Emotions tyranny may ne'er control?
Bright victim! to ambition's altar led,
Crown'd with all flowers that heaven on earth can shed,
Who, from th' oppressor towering in his pride,
May hope for mercy—if to thee denied? ”

“ Thou weary man! wilt thou here find rest?
Away! for thy thoughts from the scene have fled,
And the love of thy spirit is with the dead!
Thou art but more lone midst the sounds of mirth—
—Back to thy silent hearth!
Ring, joyous chords!—ring forth again!
A swifter still, and a wilder strain!
—But thou, though a reckless mien be thine,
And thy cup be crown'd with the foaming wine,
By the fitful bursts of thy laughter loud,
By thine eye's quick flash through its troubled cloud,
I know thee!—it is but the wakeful fear
Of a haunted bosom that brings thee here! ”

“ Thou shouldst be looked on when the starlight falls
Through the blue stillness of the summer air;
Not by the torch-fire wavering on the walls,
It hath too fitful and too wild a glare;—
And thou—thy rest, the soft, the lovely, seems
To ask light steps which will not break its dreams.
Flowers are upon thy brow, for so the dead
Were crowned of old, with pale spring-flowers like these;
Sleep on, thine eye hath sunk, yet softly shed,
As from the wing of some faint southern breeze;
And the pine-boughs o'ershadow thee with gloom
Which of the grove seems breathing—not the tomb. ”

“ The warm and living spirit of mankind,
Her influence breathes, and bids the blighted heart,
To life and hope from desolation start!
She with a look dissolves the captive's chain,
Peopling with beauty widow'd homes again;
Around the mother, in her closing years,
Gathering her sons once more, and from the tears
Of the dim past but winning purer light,
To make the present more serenely bright.
Nor rests that influence here. From clime to clime,
In silence gliding with the stream of time,
Still doth it spread, borne onwards, as a breeze
With healing on its wings, o'er isles and seas. ”

“ Bursts from the heart of the ship on high?
What light through the heavens, in a sudden spire,
Shoots from the deck up? Fire! 'tis fire!
There are wild forms hurrying to and fro,
Seen darkly clear on that lurid glow;
There are shout, and signal-gun, and call,
And the dashing of water, but fruitless all!
Man may not fetter, nor ocean tame
The might and wrath of the rushing flame!
It hath twined the mast like a glittering snake,
That coils up a tree from a dusky brake;
It hath touch'd the sails, and their canvass rolls
Away from its breath into shrivell'd scrolls ”

“ There were seventy thousand knights array'd,
All white as the snow on Nevada's steep,
And they came like the foam of a roaring deep;
—'Twas a sight of fear and awe!
And the crested form of a warrior tall,
With a sword of fire, went before them all;
With a sword of fire, and a banner pale,
And a blood-red cross on his shadowy mail,
He rode in the battle's van!
There was fear in the path of his dim white horse,
There was death in the Giant-warrior's course! ”

“ One beam of splendor to your native shore,
And her sad scenes of lost renown illume,
As the bright Sunset gilds some Hero's tomb.
Oh! ne'er, in other climes, tho' many an eye,
Dwelt on your charms in beaming ecstasy;
Ne'er was it yours to bid the soul expand
With thoughts so mighty, dreams so boldly grand,
As in that realm, where each faint breeze's moan,
Seems a low dirge for glorious ages gone;
Where 'midst the ruin'd shrines of many a vale,
E'en Desolation tells a haughty tale,
And scarce a fountain flows, a rock ascends,
But its proud name with song eternal blends! ”

“ Never again wilt thou find in its flow
The peace it could once on thy heart bestow.
"Thou wilt visit the scenes of thy childhood's glee,
With the breath of the world on thy spirit free;
Passion and sorrow its depths will have stirr'd,
And the singing of waters be vainly heard.
"Thou wilt bear in our gladsome laugh no part;
What should it do for a burning heart?
Thou wilt bring to the banks of our freshest rill,
Thirst which no fountain on earth may still!
"Farewell!—when thou comest again to thine own,
Thou wilt miss from our music its loveliest tone! ”

“ What is this bound that keeps thee from thine own?
Breathe it away!
I wait thee—I adjure thee! hast thou known
How I have loved thee? couldst thou dream it all?
Am I not here, with night and death alone,
And fearing not? and hath my spirit's call
O'er thine no sway?
Thou canst not come! or thus I should not weep!
Thy love is deathless—but no longer free!
Soon would its wing triumphantly o'ersweep
The viewless barrier, if such power might be,
Soon, soon, and fast!
But I shall come to thee! our souls' deep dreams,
Our young affections, have not gush'd in vain ”

“ Each vow that binds the souls of men,
Sworn on the cross, and deeply seal'd
By rites that may not be reveal'd?
—A breeze's breath, an echo's tone,
A passing sound, forgot when gone!
Nay, shrink not from me—I would fly,
That he by other hands may die!
What! think'st thou I would live to trace,
Abhorrence in that angel-face?
Beside thee should the lover stand,
The father's life-blood on his brand?
No! I have bade my home adieu,
For other scenes mine eyes must view;
Look on me, love! now all is known,
O Ella! must I fly alone? ”

“ Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh, Death!
We know when moons shall wane,
When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea,
When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain—
But who shall teach us when to look for thee?
Is it when spring's first gale
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale?
They have one season—all are ours to die!
Thou art where billows foam,
Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth—and thou art there! ”

“ Thou art come to a home whence the smile hath pass'd,
With the merry voice of song.
For the sunny glance and the bounding heart,
Thou wilt seek—but all are gone;
They are parted ev'n as waters part,
To meet in the deep alone!
And thou—from thy lip is fled the glow,
From thine eye the light of morn;
And the shades of thought o'erhang thy brow,
And thy cheek with life is worn.
Say what hast thou brought from the distant shore,
For thy wasted youth to pay?
Hast thou treasure to bring thee joys once more?
Hast thou vassals to smooth thy way? ”

“ Tame down the swelling heart—the bridal rose,
⁠And the rich myrtle's flow'r,
Have veil'd the sword!—Red wines have sparkled fast
From venom'd goblets, and soft breezes pass'd
With fatal perfume through the revel's bow'r,
⁠Twine the young glowing wreath!
But pour not all your spirit in the song,
Which through the sky’s deep azure floats along,
⁠Like summer's quickening breath!
The ground is hollow in the path of mirth,
Oh! far too daring seems the joy of earth,
So darkly press'd and girdled in by death! ”

“ And the soft sounds that thro' the foliage sigh,
But woo thee still to slumber and to die.
Mysterious danger lurks, a Syren, there,
Not robed in terrors, or announced in gloom,
But stealing o'er thee in the scented air,
And veiled in flowers, that smile to deck thy tomb:
How may we deem, amidst their bright array,
That heaven and earth but flatter to betray?
Sunshine, and bloom, and verdure! can it be,
That these but charm us with destructive wiles?
Where shall we turn, O Nature! if in thee
Danger is masked in beauty—death in smiles? ”

“ Why swells dread Alaric's name on air?
A sterner conqueror hath been there!
A conqueror—yet his paths are peace,
He comes to bring the world's release;
He of the sword that knows no sheath,
Th' avenger, the deliverer—Death!
Is then that daring spirit fled?
Doth Alaric slumber with the dead?
Tamed are the warrior's pride and strength,
And he and earth are calm at length.
The land where heaven unclouded shines,
Where sleep the sunbeams on the vines;
The land by conquest made his own,
Can yield him now—a grave alone. ”

“ The rush of whose pinion bears onward the storms;
Like the sweep of the white-rolling wave was their motion—
I felt their dim presence, but knew not their forms!
I saw them—the mighty of ages departed—
The dead were around me that night on the hill:
From their eyes, as they pass'd, a cold radiance they darted,—
There was light on my soul, but my heart's blood was chill.
I saw what man looks on, and dies—but my spirit
Was strong, and triumphantly lived through that hour;
And, as from the grave, I awoke to inherit
A flame all immortal, a voice, and a power! ”