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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

Forth from the dark revolving urn, And we must tempt the gloomy deep, Whence exiles ne’er return. TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. BOOK III., ODE XIII. Oh! worthy fragrant gifts of flowers and wine, Bandusian fount, than crystal far more bright! To-morrow shall a sportive kid be thine, Whose forehead swells with horns of infant might: Ev’n now of love and war he dreams in vain, Doom’d with his blood thy gelid wave to stain. Let the red dog-star burn!--his scorching beam Fierce in resplendence shall molest not thee! Still shelter’d from his rays, thy banks, fair stream! To the wild flock around thee wandering free, And the tired oxen from the furrow’d field, The genial freshness of their breath shall yield. And thou, bright fount! ennobled and renown’d Shalt by thy poet’s votive song be made; Thou and the oak with deathless verdure crown’d, Whose boughs, a pendant canopy, o’ershade Those hollow rocks, whence, murmuring many a tale, Thy chiming waters pour upon the vale. TO FAUNUS. BOOK III., ODE XVIII. Faunus! who lovest the flying nymphs to chase, Oh, let thy steps with genial influence tread My sunny fields, and be thy fostering grace Soft on my nursling groves and borders shed; If, at the mellow closing of the year, A tender kid in sacrifice be thine, Nor fail the liberal bowls to Venus dear, Nor clouds of incense to thine antique shrine. Joyous each flock in meadow herbage plays, When the December feast returns to thee; Calmly the ox along the pasture strays, With festal villagers from toil set free. Then from the wolf no more the lambs retreat, Then shower the woods to thee their foliage round; And the glad labourer triumphs that his feet In triple dance have struck the hated ground. DE CHATILLON; OR, THE CRUSADERS. A TRAGEDY.[288] [“About this time, Mrs Hemans was engaged in the composition of another tragedy, entitled ‘_De Chatillon, or, The Crusaders_;’ in which, with that deference to _fair_ criticism which she was always ready to avow, and to act upon, she made it her purpose to attempt a more compressed style of writing, avoiding that redundancy of poetic diction which had been censured as the prevailing fault of ‘The Vespers.’ It may possibly be thought that in the composition in question she has fallen into the opposite extreme of want of elaboration; yet, in its present state, it is, perhaps, scarcely amenable to criticism--for, by some strange accident, the fair copy transcribed by herself was either destroyed or mislaid in some of her subsequent removals, and the piece was long considered as utterly lost. Nearly two years after her death, the original rough MS., with all its hieroglyphical blots and erasures, was discovered amongst a mass of forgotten papers; and it has been a task of no small difficulty to decipher it, and complete the copy now first given to the world. Allowances must, therefore, be made for the disadvantages under which it appears,--thus deprived of her own finishing touches, and with no means of ascertaining how far it may differ from the copy so unaccountably missing.”--_Memoir_, p. 80-1.] [288] First published in Edition of Collected Works, vol. iv. 1840. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Rainier de Chatillon, _A French Baron_. Aymer, _His Brother_. Melech, _A Saracen Emir_. Herman, } _Knights_. Du Mornay,} Gaston, _A Vassal of Rainier’s_. Urban, _A Priest_. Sadi. Moraima, _Daughter of Melech_. _Knights_, _Arabs_, _Citizens_, _&c._ ACT I. SCENE I.--_Before the gates of a city in Palestine._ Urban, Priests, Citizens, _at the gates. Others looking from the walls above._ _Urb._ (_to a_ Citizen _on the walls above_.) You see their lances glistening? You can tell The way they take? _Cit._ Not yet. Their march is slow; They have not reach’d the jutting cliff, where first The mountain path divides. _Urb._ And now? _Cit._ The wood Shuts o’er their track. Now spears are flashing out-- It is the banner of De Chatillon. (_Very slow and mournful military music without._) This way! they come this way! _Urb._ All holy saints Grant that they pass us not! Those martial sounds Have a strange tone of sadness! Hark, they swell Proudly, yet full of sorrow. Rainier de Chatillon _enters with knights, soldiers, &c._ Welcome, knights! Ye bring us timely aid! men’s hearts were full Of doubt and terror. Brave De Chatillon! True soldier of the Cross! I welcome thee; I greet thee with all blessing! Where thou art There is deliverance! _Rai._ (_bending to receive the Priest’s blessing._) Holy man, I come From a lost battle. _Urb._ And thou bring’st the heart Whose spirit yields not to defeat. _Rai._ I bring My father’s bier. _Urb._ His bier! I marvel not To see your brow thus darken’d! And he died, As he had lived, in arms? _Rai._ (_gloomily._) Not, not in arms-- His war-cry had been silenced. Have ye place Amidst your ancient knightly sepulchres For a warrior with his sword? He bade me bear His dust to slumber here. _Urb._ And it shall sleep Beside our noblest, while we yet can call One holy place our own! Heard you, my lord, That the fierce Kaled’s host is on its march Against our city? _Rai._ (_with sudden exultation._) That were joy to know! That were proud joy!--Who told it?--there’s a weight That must be heaved from off my troubled heart By the strong tide of battle! Kaled!--ay, A gallant name! How heard you? _Urb._ Nay, it seem’d As if a breeze first bore the rumour in. I know not how it rose; but now it comes Like fearful truth, and we were sad, thus left Hopeless of aid or counsel--till we saw---- _Rai._ (_hastily._) You have my brother here? _Urb._ (_with embarrassment._) We have; but he---- _Rai._ But he--but he!--Aymer de Chatillon! The fiery knight--the very soul o’ the field-- Rushing on danger with the joyous step Of a hunter o’er the hills!--is _that_ a tone Wherewith to speak of _him_? I heard a tale-- If it be true--nay, tell me! _Urb._ He is here: Ask _him_ to tell thee. _Rai._ If that tale be true---- (_He turns suddenly to his companions._) --Follow me, give the noble dead his rites, And we will have our day of vengeance yet, Soldiers and friends! [_Exeunt omnes._ Scene II.--_A Hall of Oriental architecture, opening upon gardens. A fountain in the centre._ Aymer de Chatillon, Moraima. _Mor._ (_bending over a couch on which her brother is sleeping._) He sleeps so calmly now; the soft wind here Brings in such lulling sounds! Nay, think you not This slumber will restore him? See you not His cheek’s faint glow? _Aym._ (_turning away._) It was _my_ sword which gave The wound he dies from! _Mor._ Dies from! say not so! The brother of my childhood and my youth, My heart’s first friend!--Oh! I have been too weak, I have delay’d too long! _He_ could not sue, He bade _me_ urge the prayer he would not speak, And I withheld it! Christian, set us free! You have been gentle with us! ’tis the weight, The bitter feeling, of captivity Which preys upon his life! _Aym._ You would go hence? _Mor._ For _his_ sake! _Aym._ You would leave me! ’Tis too late! You see it not--you know not, that your voice Hath power in its low mournfulness to shake Mine inmost soul?--that you but look on me, With the soft darkness of your earnest eyes, And bid the world fade from me, and call up A thousand passionate dreams, which wrap my life As with a troubled cloud? The very sound Of your light step hath made my heart o’erflow, Even unto aching, with the sudden gush Of its deep tenderness! You know it not? --Moraima!--speak to me! _Mor._ (_covering herself with her veil._) I can but weep! Is it even so?--this love was born for tears! Aymer! I can but weep! (_going to leave him, he detains her._) _Aym._ Hear me, yet hear me! I was rear’d in arms; And the proud blast of trumpets, and the shouts Of banner’d armies--these were joy to me, Enough of joy! Till you!--I look’d on you-- We met where swords were flashing, and the light Of burning towers glared wildly on the slain-- And then---- _Mor._ (_hurriedly._) Yes! then you saved me! _Aym._ Then I knew, At once, what springs of deeper happiness Lay far within my soul; and they burst forth Troubled and dash’d with fear--yet sweet! I loved! Moraima! leave me not! _Mor._ For _us_ to love! Oh! is’t not taking sorrow to our hearts, Binding her there? I know not what I say! How shall I look upon my brother? Hark! Did he not call? (_she goes up to the couch._) _Aym._ Am I beloved? She wept With a full heart! I am! and such deep joy Is found on earth! If I should lose her now! If aught---- [_an attendant enters._ (_To attendant._) You seek me!--why is this? _Att._ My lord, Your brother and his knights---- _Aym._ Here! are they here? The knights--my brother, saidst thou? _Att._ Yes, my lord, And he would speak with you. _Aym._ I see--I know-- (_To attendant._) Leave me! I know why he is come: ’tis vain, They shall not part us! (_Looking back on Moraima as he goes out._) What a silent grace Floats round her form! They shall not part us! no! [_Exit--Scene closes._ Scene III.--_A square of the city--a church in the background._ Rainier de Chatillon. _Rai._ (_walking to and fro impatiently._) And now, too! now! My father unavenged, Our holy places threaten’d, every heart Task’d to its strength! A knight of Palestine _Now_ to turn dreamer, to melt down his soul In love-lorn sighs; and for an infidel! --Will he lift up his eyes to look on mine? Will he not----hush! Aymer _enters_. (_They look on each other for a moment without speaking._) _Rai._ (_suppressing his emotion._) So brothers meet! You know Wherefore I come? _Aym._ It cannot be; ’tis vain. Tell me not of it! _Rai._ How! you have not heard? (_Turning from him._) He hath so shut the world out with his dreams, The tidings have not reach’d him! or perchance Have been forgotten! You have captives here? _Aym._ (_hurriedly._) Yes, mine! my own--won by the right of arms! You dare not question it. _Rai._ A prince, they say, And his fair sister:--_is_ the maid so fair? _Aym._ (_turning suddenly upon him._) What, _you_ would see her! _Rai._ (_scornfully._) I!--oh, yes! to quell My soul’s deep yearnings! Let _me_ look on swords. Boy, boy! recall yourself!--I come to you With the last blessing of our father! _Aym._ Last! His last!--how mean you? Is he---- _Rai._ Dead?--yes! dead. He died upon my breast. _Aym._ (_with the deepest emotion._) And I was _here_! Dead!--and upon _your_ breast! _You_ closed his eyes-- While I--he spoke of me?