The Poetical Works of Mrs. Felicia Hemans

II.

Was it a dream? so sudden and so dread
That awful fiat o'er our senses came!
So loved, so blest, is that young spirit fled,
Whose early grandeur promised years of fame?
Oh! when hath life possessed, or death destroyed
More lovely hopes, more cloudlessly that smiled?
When hath the spoiler left so dark a void!
For all is lost-the mother and her child!
Our morning-star hath vanished, and the tomb
Throws its deep-lengthened shade o'er distant years

to come.

III.

Angel of Death! did no presaging sign
Announce thy coming, and thy way prepare?
No warning voice, no harbinger was thine,
Danger and fear seemed past—but thou wert there!
Prophetic sounds along the earthquake's path
Foretell the hour of Nature's awful throes;
And the volcano, ere it burst in wrath,
Sends forth some herald from its dread repose:
But thou, dark Spirit! swift and unforeseen,

One hope still bloomed-one vista still was fair;
And when the tempest swept the troubled sky,
She was our dayspring-all was cloudless there;
And oh! how lovely broke on England's gaze,
E'en through the mist and storm, the light of dis-
tant days.

VII.

Now hath one moment darkened future years,
And changed the track of ages yet to be!--
Yet, mortal! 'midst the bitterness of tears,
Kneel, and adore th' inscrutable decree!
Oh! while the clear perspective smiled in light,
Wisdom should then have tempered hope's excess,
And, lost One! when we saw thy lot so bright,
We might have trembled at its loveliness:
Joy is no earthly flower-nor framed to bear,
In its exotic bloom, life's cold, ungenial air.

VIII.

All smiled around thee-Youth, and Love, and
Praise,

Hearts all devotion and all truth were thine!

Cam'st like the lightning's flash, when heaven is On thee was riveted a nation's gaze,

all serene.

.IV.

And she is gone-the royal and the young,
In soul commanding and in heart benign;
Who from a race of Kings and Heroes sprung,
Glowed with a spirit lofty as her line.

Now may the voice she loved on earth so well,
Breathe forth her name, unheeded and in vain;
Nor can those eyes on which her own would dwell,
Wake from that breast one sympathy again:
The ardent heart, the towering mind are fled,
Yet shall undying love still linger with the dead.

As on some radiant and unsullied shrine.
Heiress of empires! thou art passed away,
Like some fair vision, that arose to throw,
O'er one brief hour of life, a fleeting ray,
Then leave the rest to solitude and wo!
Oh! who shall dare to woo such dreams again!
Who hath not wept to know, that tears for thee
were vain ?

IX.

Yet there is one who loved thee-and whose soul
With mild affections nature formed to melt;
His mind hath bowed beneath the stern control
Of many a grief-but this shall be unfelt!
Years have gone by-and given his honoured head
A diadem of snow-his eye is dim-
Around him Heaven a solemn cloud hath spread,
The past, the future, are a dream to him!
Yet in the darkness of his fate, alone
He dwells on earth, while thou, in life's full pride,
art gone!

Oh! many a bright existence we have seen
Quenched in the glow and fulness of its prime;
And many a cherished flower, ere now, hath been
Cropt, ere its leaves were breathed upon by time.
We have lost Heroes in their noon of pride,
Whose fields of triumph gave them but a bier;
And we have wept when soaring Genius died,
Checked in the glory of his mid career!
But here our hopes were centred—all is o'er,
All thought in this absorbed—she was-and is no But not repine-for many a storm hath past,
more!

VI.

We watched her childhood from its earliest hour,
From every word and look blest omens caught;
While that young mind developed all its power,
And rose to energies of loftiest thought.
On her was fixed the Patriot's ardent eye,

The Chastener's hand is on us-we may weep,

And, pillowed on her own majestic deep,
Hath England slept, unshaken by the blast!
And war hath raged o'er many a distant plain,
Trampling the vine and olive in his path;
While she, that regal daughter of the main,
Smiled, in serene defiance of his wrath!
As some proud summit, mingling with the sky,
Hears calmly far below the thur lers roll and die.

XI.

Her voice hath been th' awakener—and her name,
The gathering word of nations-in her might
And all the awful beauty of her fame,
Apart she dwelt, in solitary light.

High on her cliffs, alone and firm she stood,
Fixing the torch upon her beacon-tower;
That torch, whose flame, far streaming o'er the
flood,

Hath guided Europe through her darkest hour!—
Away, vain dreams of glory!—in the dust
Be humbled, ocean-queen! and own thy sentence
just!

XII.

A cloud hangs o'er us-"the bright day is done,"*
And with a father's hopes, a nation's fled.
And he, the chosen of thy youthful breast,
Whose soul with thine had mingled every thought;
He, with thine early, fond affections blest,
Lord of a mind with all things lovely fraught;
What but a desert to his eye, that earth,
Which but retains of thee the memory of thy
worth?

XVI.

Whose first rude shock but stupefies the soul;
Oh! there are griefs for nature too intense,
Nor hath the fragile and o'erlaboured sense
Strength e'en to feel at once their dread control.
But when 't is past, that still and speechless hour

Hark! 't was the death-bell's note! which, full and Of the sealed bosom, and the tearless eye,

deep,

Unmixed with aught of less majestic tone,
While all the murmurs of existence sleep,
Swells on the stillness of the air alone!
Silent the throngs that fill the darkened street,
Silent the slumbering Thames, the lonely mart;
And all is still, where countless thousands meet,
Save the full throbbing of the awe-struck heart!
All deeply, strangely, fearfully serene,

Then the roused mind awakes, with tenfold power,
To grasp the fulness of its agony!

Its death-like torpor vanished-and its doom,
To cast its own dark hues o'er life and nature's
bloom.

XVII

And such his lot, whom thou hast loved and left,
Spirit! thus early to thy home recalled!

As in each ravaged home th' avenging one had So sinks the heart, of hope and thee bereft,

been.

XIII.

The sun goes down in beauty-his farewell,
Unlike the world he leaves, is calmly bright;
And his last mellowed rays around us dwell,
Lingering, as if on scenes of young delight.
They smile and fade-but, when the day is o'er,
What slow procession moves, with measured
tread?-

A warrior's heart! by danger ne'er appalled.
Years may pass on-and, as they roll along,
Mellow those pangs which now his bosom rend;
And he once more, with life's unheeding throng,
May, though alone in soul, in seeming blend;
Yet still, the guardian-angel of his mind,
Shall thy loved image dwell, in Memory's temple
shrined.

XVIII.

Lo! those who weep, with her who weeps no Yet must the days be long ere time shall steal

more,

A solemn train-the mourners and the dead!
While, throned on high, the moon's untroubled ray
Looks down, as earthly hopes are passing thus

away.

XIV.

But other light is in that holy pile,
Where, in the house of silence, kings repose;
There, through the dim arcade, and pillared aisle,

The funeral-torch its deep-red radiance throws.
There pall, and canopy and sacred strain,
And all around the stamp of wo may bear;
But Grief, to whose full heart those forms are vain,
Grief unexpressed, unsoothed by them--is there.
No darker hour hath Fate for him who mourns,
Than when the all he loved, as dust to dust, re-

turns.

XV.

We mourn-but not thy fate, departed One!
We pity--but the living, not the dead;

Aught from his grief, whose spirit dwells with
thee;

Once deeply bruised, the heart at length may heal,
But all it was-oh! never more shall be-
The flower, the leaf, o'erwhelmed by winter-snow,
Shall spring again, when beams and showers re-
turn;

The faded cheek again with health may glow,
And the dim eye with life's warm radiance burn;
But the pure freshness of the mind's young bloom,
Once lost, revives alone in worlds beyond the tomb.
XIX.

But thou-thine hour of agony is o'er,

And thy brief race in brilliance hath been run,
While Faith, that bids fond nature grieve no more,
Tells that thy crown-though not on earth-is

won.

"The bright day is done,
And we are for the dark."

Shakspeare.

Thou, of the world so early left, hast known Nought but the bloom and sunshine-and for thee, Child of propitious stars! for thee alene,

The course of love ran smooth,* and brightly free

Not long such bliss to mortal could be given, It is enough for earth, to catch one glimpse of heaven.

XX.

What though, ere yet the noonday of thy fame
Rose in its glory on thine England's eye,
The grave's deep shadows o'er thy spirit came?
Ours is that loss-and thou wert blest to die!
Thou might'st have lived to dark and evil years,
To mourn thy people changed, thy skies o'ercast;
But thy spring-morn was all undimmed by tears,
And thou wert loved and cherished to the last!
And thy young name, ne'er breathed in ruder tone,
Thus dying, thou hast left to love and grief alone.
XXI.

Daughter of Kings! from that high sphere look down,

Where still in hope, affection's thoughts may rise;
Where dimly shines to thee that mortal crown,
Which earth displayed to claim thee from the skies.
Look down! and if thy spirit yet retain
Memory of aught that once was fondly dear,
Soothe, though unseen, the hearts that mourn in
vain,

And, in their hours of loneliness-be near!

Blest was thy lot e'en here-and one faint sigh, Oh! tell those hearts, hath made that bliss eternity! Nov. 23, 1817.

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.t

'T WAS night in Babylon: yet many a beam, Of lamps far-glittering from her domes on high, Shone, brightly mingling in Euphrates' stream, With the clear stars of that Chaldean sky, Whose azure knows no cloud :-each whispered sigh

Of the soft night-breeze through her terrace

bowers

Bore deepening tones of joy and melody, O'er an illumined wilderness of flowers; And the glad city's voice went up from all her

towers.

But prouder mirth was in the kingly hall, Where, 'midst adoring slaves, a gorgeous band! High at the stately midnight festival, Belshazzar sat enthroned.-There Luxury's hand

"The course of true love never did run smooth." Shakspeare.

† Originally published in Mrs. Joanna Baillie's collection of Poems from living Authors.

Had showered around all treasures that expand Beneath the burning East;-all gems that pour The sunbeams back;-all sweets of many a land, Whose gales waft incense from their spicy shore; -But mortal pride looked on, and still demanded

Inore.

With richer zest the banquet may be fraught, A loftier theme may swell th' exulting strain! The Lord of nations spoke,—and forth were brought

The spoils of Salem's devastated fane: Thrice holy vessels!-pure from earthly stain, And set apart, and sanctified to Him, Who deigned within the oracle to reign, Revealed, yet shadowed; making noon-day dim, To that most glorious cloud between the Cheru

bim.

They came, and louder pealed the voice of song, And pride flashed brighter from the kindling

eye,

And He who sleeps not heard th' elated throng, In mirth that plays with thunderbolts, defy The Rock of Zion!-Fill the nectar high, High in the cups of consecrated gold! And crown the bowl with garlands, ere they die, And bid the censers of the Temple hold Offerings to Babel's gods, the mighty ones of old!

Peace!-is it but a phantom of the brain,
Thus shadowed forth the senses to appal,
Yon fearful vision?-Who shall gaze again
To search its cause?-Along the illumined wall,
Startling, yet riveting the eyes of all,
Darkly it moves,-a hand, a hunan hand,
O'er the bright lamps of that resplendent hall
In silence tracing, as a mystic wand,
Words all unknown, the tongue of some far dis-
tant land.

There are pale cheeks around the regal board,
And quivering lips and whispers deep and low,
And fitful starts!-the wine in triumph poured,
Untasted foams, the song hath ceased to flow.
The waving censer drops to earth-and lo!
The King of Men, the Ruler, girt with might,
Trembles before a shadow!-Say not so!
-The child of dust, with guilt's foreboding
sight,

Shrinks from the Dread Unknown, th' avenging
Infinite!

But haste ye!-bring Chaldea's gifted seers,
The men of prescience!-haply to their eyes,
Which track the future through the rolling
spheres,

Yon mystic sign may speak in prophecies.
They come the readers of the midnight skies,
They that give voice to visions-but in vain!
Still wrapt in clouds the awful secret lies,

It hath no language 'midst the starry train, Earth has no gifted tongue Heaven's mysteries to explain.

Then stood forth one, a child of other sires,
And other inspiration!—One of those
Who on the willows hung their captive lyres,
And sat, and wept, where Babel's river flows.
His eye was bright, and yet the deep repose
Of his pale features half o'erawed the mind,
And imaged forth a soul, whose joys and woes
Were of a loftier stamp than aught assigned

To earth; a being sealed and severed from mankind.

Yes!-what was earth to him, whose spirit passed

Time's utmost bounds?-on whose unshrinking sight

Ten thousand shapes of burning glory cast Their full resplendence ?-Majesty and might, Were in his dreams;-for him the veil of light Shrouding heaven's inmost sanctuary and throne, The curtain of th' unutterably bright

Was raised!-to him, in fearful splendour shown, Ancient of days! e'en thou mad'st thy dread presence known.

He spoke the shadows of the things to come
Passed o'er his soul:-"O King, elate in pride!
God hath sent forth the writing of thy doom,
The one, the living God, by thee defied!
He in whose balance earthly lords are tried,
Hath weighed, and found thee wanting. 'Tis
decreed

The conqueror's hands thy kingdom shall divide, The stranger to thy throne of power succeed! The days are full, they come;-the Persian and the Mede!"

There fell a moment's thrilling silence round,
A breathless pause! the hush of hearts that beat
And abs that quiver:-is there not a sound,
A gathering cry, a tread of hurrying feet?
-T was but some echo, in the crowded street,
Of far-heard revelry; the shout, the song,
The measured dance to music wildly sweet,
That speeds the stars their joyous course
along;-

Away! not let a dream disturb the festal throng!
Peace yet again!-Hark! steps in tumult flying,
Steeds rushing on as o'er a battle-field!
The shout of hosts exulting or defying,
The press of multitudes that strive or yield!
And the loud, startling clash of spear and shield,
Sudden as earthquake's burst!--and, blent with
these,

The last wild shriek of those whose doom is sealed

And nearer yet the trumpet's blast is swelling,
Loud, shrill, and savage, drowning every cry!
And lo! the spoiler in the regal dwelling,
Death bursting on the halls of revelry!
Ere on their brows one fragile rose-leaf die,
The sword hath raged through joy's devoted
train,

Ere one bright star be faded from the sky,

Red flames, like banners, wave from dome and

fane,

Empire is lost and won, Belshazzar with the slain.

Fallen is the golden city! in the dust

Spoiled of her crown, dismantled of her state, She that hath made the Strength of Towers her trust,

Weeps by her dead, supremely desolate!
She that beheld the nations at her gate,
Thronging in homage, shall be called no more
Lady of kingdoms!-Who shall mourn her
fate?

Her guilt is full, her march of triumph o'er;-What widowed land shall now her widowhood deplore?

Sit thou in silence! Thou that wert enthroned On many waters! thou whose augurs read, The language of the planets, and disowned The mighty name it blazons!—Veil thy head, Daughter of Babylon! the sword is red From thy destroyers' harvest, and the yoke Is on thee, O most proud!--for thou hast said, "I am, and none beside!"-Th' Eternal spoke, Thy glory was a spoil, thine idol-gods were broke.

But go thou forth, O Israel! wake! rejoice! Be clothed with strength, as in thine ancient day!

Renew the sound of harps, th' exulting voice, The mirth of timbrels!-loose the chain, and

say

God hath redeemed his people!-from decay The silent and the trampled shall arise; -Awake; put on thy beautiful array, Oh long-forsaken Zion! to the skies Send up on every wind thy choral melodies!

And lift thy head!-Behold thy sons returning, Redeemed from exile, ransomed from the chain! Light hath revisited the house of mourning; She that on Judah's mountains wept in vain Because her children were not-dwells again. Girt with the lovely!-through thy streets once

more,

City of God! shall pass the bridal train,
And the bright lamps their festive radiance

pour,

In their full mirth!-all deepening on the breeze, And the triumphal hymns the joy of youth reAs the long stormy roar of far-advancing seas!

store!

THE CHIEFTAIN'S SON.

YES, it is ours!--the field is won,
A dark and evil field!

Lift from the ground my noble son,
And bear him homewards on his bloody shield!

Let me not hear your trumpets ring,

Swell not the battle-horn! Thoughts far too sad those notes will bring, When to the grave my glorious flower is borne!

Speak not of victory!-in the name

There is too much of wo!

Hushed be the empty voice of Fame-
Call me back his whose graceful head is low.

Speak not of victory!-from my halls

The sunny hour is gone!

The ancient banner on my walls

Must sink ere long-I had but him-but one!

Within the dwelling of my sires

The hearths will soon be cold,

With me must die the beacon-fires

That streamed at midnight from the mountainhold.

And let them fade, since this must be,

My lovely and my brave!

Was thy bright blood poured forth for me, And is there but for stately youth a grave?

Speak to me once again, my boy!

Wilt thou not hear my call? Thou wert so full of life and joy,

I had not dreampt of this-that thou couldst fall!

Thy mother watches from the steep

For thy returning plume;

How shall I tell her that thy sleep

Is of the silent house, th' untimely tomb?

Thou didst not seem as one to die,

With all thy young renown! -Ye saw his falchion's flash on high,

In the mid-fight, when spears and crests went down!

Slow be your march!-the field is won!

A dark and evil field!

Lift from the ground my noble son,

And bear him homewards on his bloody shield.

THE TOMBS OF PLATÆA.

FROM A PAINTING BY WILLIAMS.

AND there they sleep!--the men who stood In arms before th' exulting sun,

And bathed their spears in Persian blood,

They sleep!-th' Olympic wreaths are dead, Th' Athenian lyres are hushed and gone; The Dorian voice of song is fled-Slumber, ye mighty! slumber deeply on!

They sleep, and seems not all around
As hallowed unto glory's tomb?
Silence is on the battle ground,

The heavens are loaded with a breathless gloom.

And stars are watching on their height,
But dimly seen through mist and cloud,
And still and solemn is the light

Which folds the plain, as with a glimmering shroud.

And thou, pale night-queen! here thy beams
Are not as those the shepherd loves,
Nor look they down on shining streams,
By Naiads haunted, in their laurel groves:

Thou seest no pastoral hamlet sleep,
In shadowy quiet, 'midst its vines;
No temple gleaming from the steep,
'Midst the gray olives, or the mountain pines:
But o'er a dim and boundless waste,
Thy rays, e'en like a tomb-lamp's, brood,
Where man's departed steps are traced

But by his dust, amidst the solitude.

And be it thus !-What slave shall tread
O'er freedom's ancient battle-plains?
Let deserts wrap the glorious dead,

When their bright land sits weeping o'er her chains:

Here, where the Persian clarion rung,

And where the Spartan sword flashed high,
And where the Pæan strains were sung,

From year to year swelled on by liberty!

Here should no voice, no sound, be heard,
Until the bonds of Greece be riven,
Save of the leader's charging word,

Or the shrill trumpet, pealing up through heaven!

Rest in your silent homes, ye brave!
No vines festoon your lonely tree!*

No harvest o'er your war-fields wave.
Till rushing winds proclaim--the land is free!

THE VIEW FROM CASTRI.

FROM A PAINTING BY WILLIAMS.

THERE have been bright and glorious pageants here,

Where now gray stones and moss-grown columns lie;

And taught the earth how freedom might be won. ture.

A single tree appears in Mr. Williams's impressive pic

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Libros

The Poetical Works of Mrs. Felicia Hemans: Complete in One Volume