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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

Hath ever, in its place of silence, been A trouble and a shadow, tinging thought With hues too deep for joy! I never look’d On my fair children, in their buoyant mirth Or sunny sleep, when all the gentle air Seem’d glowing with their quiet blessedness, But o’er my soul there came a shuddering sense Of earth, and its pale changes; e’en like that Which vaguely mingles with our glorious dreams-- A restless and disturbing consciousness That the bright things must fade! How have I shrunk From the dull murmur of th’ unquiet voice, With its low tokens of mortality, Till my heart fainted midst their smiles!--their smiles! Where are those glad looks now?--Could they go down With all their joyous light, that seem’d not earth’s, To the cold grave? My children!--righteous heaven! There floats a dark remembrance o’er my brain Of one who told me, with relentless eye, That _this_ should be the hour! Ximena _enters_. _Xim._ They are gone forth Unto the rescue!--strong in heart and hope, Faithful, though few!--My mother, let thy prayers Call on the land’s good saints to lift once more The sword and cross that sweep the field for Spain, As in old battle; so thine arms e’en yet May clasp thy sons! For me, my part is done! The flame which dimly might have linger’d yet A little while, hath gather’d all its rays Brightly to sink at once. And it is well! The shadows are around me: to thy heart Fold me, that I may die. _Elm._ My child! what dream Is on thy soul? Even now thine aspect wears Life’s brightest inspiration! _Xim._ Death’s! _Elm._ Away! Thine eye hath starry clearness; and thy cheek Doth glow beneath it with a richer hue, Than tinged its earliest flower! _Xim._ It well may be! There are far deeper and far warmer hues Than those which draw their colouring from the founts Of youth, or health, or hope. _Elm._ Nay, speak not thus! There’s that about thee shining which would send E’en through _my_ heart a sunny glow of joy, Were’t not for these sad words. The dim cold air And solemn light, which wrap these tombs and shrines As a pale gleaming shroud, seem kindled up With a young spirit of ethereal hope Caught from thy mien!--Oh no! this is not death! _Xim._ Why should not He, whose touch dissolves our chain, Put on his robes of beauty when he comes As a deliverer? He hath many forms-- They should not all be fearful! If his call Be but our gathering to that distant land, For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst, Why should not its prophetic sense be borne Into the heart’s deep stillness, with a breath Of summer-winds, a voice of melody, Solemn, yet lovely! Mother, I depart!-- Be it thy comfort, in the after-days, That thou hast seen me thus! _Elm._ Distract me not With such wild fears! Can I bear on with life When thou art gone?--thy voice, thy step, thy smile, Pass’d from my path! Alas! even now thine eye Is changed--thy cheek is fading! _Xim._ Ay, the clouds Of the dim hour are gathering o’er my sight; And yet I fear not, for the God of Help Comes in that quiet darkness! It may soothe Thy woes, my mother! if I tell thee now With what glad calmness I behold the veil Falling between me and the world, wherein My heart so ill hath rested. _Elm._ Thine! _Xim._ Rejoice For her that, when the garland of her life Was blighted, and the springs of hope were dried, Received her summons hence; and had no time, Bearing the canker at th’ impatient heart, To wither; sorrowing for that gift of heaven, Which lent one moment of existence light That dimm’d the rest for ever! _Elm._ How is this? My child, what mean’st thou? _Xim._ Mother! I have loved, And been beloved! The sunbeam of an hour, Which gave life’s hidden treasures to mine eye, As they lay shining in their secret founts, Went out and left them colourless. ’Tis past-- And what remains on earth? The rainbow mist Through which I gazed, hath melted, and my sight Is clear’d to look on all things as they are!-- But this is far too mournful! Life’s dark gift Hath fall’n too early and too cold upon me!-- Therefore I would go hence! _Elm._ And thou hast loved Unknown---- _Xim._ Oh! pardon, pardon that I veil’d My thoughts from thee! But thou hadst woes enough, And mine came o’er me when thy soul had need Of more than mortal strength! For I had scarce Given the deep consciousness that I was loved A treasure’s place within my secret heart, When earth’s brief joy went from me! ’Twas at morn I saw the warriors to their field go forth, And he--my chosen--was there amongst the rest, With his young, glorious brow! I look’d again: The strife grew dark beneath me--but his plume Waved free above the lances. Yet again-- It had gone down! and steeds were trampling o’er The spot to which mine eyes were riveted, Till blinded by th’ intenseness of their gaze!-- And then--at last--I hurried to the gate, And met him there!--I met him!--on his shield, And with his cloven helm, and shiver’d sword, And dark hair steep’d in blood! They bore him past: Mother!--I saw his face! Oh! such a death Works fearful changes on the fair of earth, The pride of woman’s eye! _Elm._ Sweet daughter, peace! Wake not the dark remembrance; for thy frame-- _Xim._ There will be peace ere long. I shut my heart, Even as a tomb, o’er that lone silent grief, That I might spare it thee!--But now the hour Is come, when that, which would have pierced thy soul, Shall be its healing balm. Oh! weep thou not, Save with a gentle sorrow! _Elm._ Must it be? Art thou indeed to leave me? _Xim._ (_exultingly._) Be thou glad! I say, rejoice above thy favour’d child! Joy, for the soldier when his field is fought, Joy, for the peasant when his vintage-task Is closed at eve!--But most of all for her, Who, when her life had changed its glittering robes For the dull garb of sorrow, which doth cling So heavily around the journeyers on, Cast down its weight--and slept! _Elm._ Alas! thine eye Is wandering--yet how brightly! Is this death! Or some high wondrous vision? Speak, my child! How is it with thee now? _Xim._ (_wildly._) I see it still! ’Tis floating, like a glorious cloud on high, My father’s banner! Hear’st thou not a sound? The trumpet of Castile! Praise, praise to heaven! --Now may the weary rest!--Be still!--Who calls The night so fearful?---- [_She dies._ _Elm._ No! she is not dead! Ximena!--speak to me! Oh yet a tone From that sweet voice, that I may gather in One more remembrance of its lovely sound, Ere the deep silence fall! What, is all hush’d?-- No, no!--it cannot be! How should we bear The dark misgivings of our souls, if heaven Left not such beings with us? But is this Her wonted look?--too sad a quiet lies On its dim fearful beauty! Speak, Ximena! Speak! My heart dies within me! She is gone, With all her blessed smiles! My child! my child! Where art thou?--Where is that which answer’d me, From thy soft-shining eyes?--Hush! doth she move? One light lock seem’d to tremble on her brow, As a pulse throbb’d beneath;--’twas but the voice Of my despair that stirr’d it! She is gone! [_She throws herself on the body._ Gonzalez _enters wounded_. _Elm._ (_rising as he approaches._) I must not now be scorn’d!--No, not a look. A whisper of reproach! Behold my woe!-- Thou canst not scorn me now! _Gon._ Hast thou heard _all_? _Elm._ Thy daughter on my bosom laid her head, And pass’d away to rest! Behold her there, Even such as death hath made her![283] _Gon._ (_bending over_ Ximena’s _body_.) Thou art gone A little while before me, O my child! Why should the traveller weep to part with those, That scarce an hour will reach their promised land, Ere he too cast his pilgrim staff away, And spread his couch beside them? _Elm._ Must it be Henceforth enough that _once_ a thing so fair Had its bright place amongst us! Is this all Left for the years to come? We will not stay! Earth’s chain each hour grows weaker. _Gon._ (_still gazing upon_ Ximena.) And thou’rt laid To slumber in the shadow, blessed child! Of a yet stainless altar, and beside A sainted warrior’s tomb! Oh, fitting place For thee to yield thy pure heroic soul Back unto him that gave it! And thy cheek Yet smiles in its bright paleness! _Elm._ Hadst thou seen The look with which she pass’d! _Gon._ (_still bending over her._) Why, ’tis almost Like joy to view thy beautiful repose! The faded image of that perfect calm Floats, e’en as long-forgotten music, back Into my weary heart! No dark wild spot On _thy_ clear brow doth tell of bloody hands That quench’d young life by violence! We’ve seen Too much of horror, in one crowded hour, To weep for aught so gently gather’d hence! --Oh! _man_ leaves other traces! _Elm._ (_suddenly starting._) It returns On my bewilder’d soul? Went ye not forth Unto the rescue? And thou’rt here alone! --Where are my sons? _Gon._ (_solemnly._) We were too late! _Elm._ Too late! Hast thou naught else to tell me? _Gon._ I brought back From that last field the banner of my sires, And my own death-wound. _Elm._ Thine! _Gon._ Another hour Shall hush its throbs for ever. I go hence, And with me---- _Elm._ No! Man _could_ not lift his hands-- Where hast thou left thy sons? _Gon._ I _have_ no sons. _Elm._ What hast thou said? _Gon._ That now there lives not one To wear the glory of mine ancient house, When I am gone to rest. _Elm._ (_throwing herself on the ground, and speaking in a low hurried voice._) In one brief hour, all gone!--and _such_ a death! I see their blood gush forth!--their graceful heads! --Take the dark vision from me, O my God! And such a death for _them_! I was not there! They were but mine in beauty and in joy, Not in that mortal anguish! All, all gone!-- Why should I struggle more?--What _is_ this Power, Against whose might, on all sides pressing us, We strive with fierce impatience, which but lays Our own frail spirits prostrate? (_After a long pause._) Now I know Thy hand, my God!--and they are soonest crush’d That most withstand it! I resist no more. [_She rises._ A light, a light springs up from grief and death, Which with its solemn radiance doth reveal Why we have thus been tried! _Gon._ Then I may still Fix my last look on thee, in holy love, Parting, but yet with hope! _Elm._ (_falling at his feet._) Canst thou forgive? Oh, I have driven the arrow to thy heart, That should have buried it within mine own, And borne the pang in silence! I have cast Thy life’s fair honour, in my wild despair, As an unvalued gem upon the waves,