The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Far in their sultry southern azure spread, Glowing with joy, but silent!--still they smiled, Yet sent down no reprieve for earth’s poor trembling child. XLV. Alas! that earth had all too strong a hold, Too fast, sweet Inez! on thy heart, whose bloom Was given to early love, nor knew how cold The hours which follow. There was one, with whom, Young as thou wert, and gentle, and untried, Thou mightst, perchance, unshrinkingly have died: But he was far away; and with thy doom Thus gathering, life grew so intensely dear, That all thy slight frame shook with its cold mortal fear! XLVI. No aid!--thou too didst pass!--and all had pass’d, The fearful--and the desperate--and the strong! Some like the bark that rushes with the blast, Some like the leaf swept shiveringly along; And some as men that have but one more field To fight, and then may slumber on their shield,-- Therefore they arm in hope. But now the throng Roll’d on, and bore me with their living tide, Even as a bark wherein is left no power to guide. XLVII. Wave swept on wave. We reach’d a stately square, Deck’d for the rites. An altar stood on high, And gorgeous, in the midst: a place for prayer, And praise, and offering. Could the earth supply No fruits, no flowers for sacrifice, of all Which on her sunny lap unheeded fall? No fair young firstling of the flock to die, As when before their God the patriarchs stood?-- Look down! man brings thee, heaven! his brother’s guiltless blood! XLVIII. Hear its voice, hear!--a cry goes up to thee, From the stain’d sod; make thou thy judgment known On him the shedder!--let his portion be The fear that walks at midnight--give the moan In the wind haunting him, a power to say, “Where is thy brother?”--and the stars a ray To search and shake his spirit, when alone With the dread splendour of their burning eyes! So shall earth own thy will--Mercy, not sacrifice! XLIX. Sounds of triumphant praise! the mass was sung-- Voices that die not might have pour’d such strains! Through Salem’s towers might that proud chant have rung When the Most High, on Syria’s palmy plains, Had quell’d her foes!--so full it swept, a sea Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free! --Oft when the wind, as through resounding fanes, Hath fill’d the choral forests with its power, Some deep tone brings me back the music of that hour. L. It died away;--the incense-cloud was driven Before the breeze--the words of doom were said; And the sun faded mournfully from heaven: He faded mournfully, and dimly red, Parting in clouds from those that look’d their last, And sigh’d--“Farewell, thou sun!” Eve glow’d and pass’d; Night--midnight and the moon--came forth and shed Sleep, even as dew, on glen, wood, peopled spot-- Save one--a place of death--and there men slumber’d not. LI. ’Twas not within the city--[294] but in sight Of the snow-crown’d sierras, freely sweeping, With many an eagle’s eyrie on the height, And hunter’s cabin, by the torrent peeping Far off: and vales between, and vineyards lay, With sound and gleam of waters on their way, And chestnut woods, that girt the happy sleeping In many a peasant home!--the midnight sky Brought softly that rich world round those who came to die. LII. The darkly glorious midnight sky of Spain, Burning with stars! What had the torches’ glare To do beneath that temple, and profane Its holy radiance? By their wavering flare, I saw beside the pyres--I see thee _now_, O bright Theresa! with thy lifted brow, And thy clasp’d hands, and dark eyes fill’d with prayer! And thee, sad Inez! bowing thy fair head, And mantling up thy face, all colourless with dread! LIII. And Alvar, Alvar!--I beheld thee too, Pale, steadfast, kingly: till thy clear glance fell On that young sister; then perturb’d it grew, And all thy labouring bosom seem’d to swell With painful tenderness. Why came I there, That troubled image of my friend to bear Thence, for my after-years?--a thing to dwell In my heart’s core, and on the darkness rise, Disquieting my dreams with its bright mournful eyes? LIV. Why came I?--oh! the heart’s deep mystery!--Why In man’s last hour doth vain affection’s gaze Fix itself down on struggling agony, To the dimm’d eyeballs freezing as they glaze? It might be--yet the power to will seem’d o’er-- That my soul yearn’d to hear his voice once more! But mine was fetter’d!--mute in strong amaze, I watch’d his features as the night-wind blew, And torch-light or the moon’s pass’d o’er their marble hue. LV. The trampling of a steed! A tall white steed, Rending his fiery way the crowds among-- A storm’s way through a forest--came at speed, And a wild voice cried “Inez!” Swift she flung The mantle from her face, and gazed around, With a faint shriek at that familiar sound; And from his seat a breathless rider sprung. And dash’d off fiercely those who came to part, And rush’d to that pale girl, and clasp’d her to his heart. LVI. And for a moment all around gave way To that full burst of passion! On his breast, Like a bird panting yet from fear, she lay, But blest--in misery’s very lap--yet blest! O love, love, strong as death!--from such an hour Pressing out joy by thine immortal power; Holy and fervent love! had earth but rest For thee and thine, this world were all too fair How could we thence be wean’d to die without despair? LVII. But she--as falls a willow from the storm, O’er its own river streaming--thus reclined On the youth’s bosom hung her fragile form, And clasping arms, so passionately twined Around his neck--with such a trusting fold, A full deep sense of safety in their hold, As if naught earthly might th’ embrace unbind! Alas! a child’s fond faith, believing still Its mother’s breast beyond the lightning’s reach to kill? LVIII. Brief rest! upon the turning billow’s height A strange sweet moment of some heavenly strain, Floating between the savage gusts of night, That sweep the seas to foam! Soon dark again The hour--the scene; th’ intensely present rush’d Back on her spirit, and her large tears gush’d Like blood-drops from a victim--with swift rain Bathing the bosom where she lean’d that hour, As if her life would melt into th’ o’erswelling shower. LIX. But he whose arm sustain’d her!--oh, I knew ’Twas vain!--and yet he hoped--he fondly strove Back from her faith her sinking soul to woo, As life might yet be hers! A dream of love Which could not look upon so fair a thing, Remembering how like hope, like joy, like spring, Her smile was wont to glance, her step to move, And deem that men indeed, in very truth, _Could_ mean the sting of death for her soft flowering youth! LX. He woo’d her back to life. “Sweet Inez, live! My blessed Inez!--visions have beguiled Thy heart; abjure them! thou wert form’d to give And to find joy; and hath not sunshine smiled Around thee ever? Leave me not, mine own! Or earth will grow too dark!--for thee alone, Thee have I loved, thou gentlest! from a child, And borne thine image with me o’er the sea, Thy soft voice in my soul. Speak! Oh! yet live for me!” LXI. She look’d up wildly; there were anxious eyes Waiting that look--sad eyes of troubled thought, Alvar’s--Theresa’s! Did her childhood rise, With all its pure and home-affections fraught, In the brief glance? She clasp’d her hands--the strife Of love, faith, fear, and that vain dream of life, Within her woman’s breast so deeply wrought, It seem’d as if a reed so slight and weak _Must_, in the rending storm not quiver only--break! LXII. And thus it was. The young cheek flush’d and faded, As the swift blood in currents came and went, And hues of death the marble brow o’ershaded, And the sunk eye a watery lustre sent Through its white fluttering lids. Then tremblings pass’d O’er the frail form, that shook it as the blast Shakes the sere leaf, until the spirit rent Its way to peace--the fearful way unknown. Pale in love’s arms she lay--_she_!--what had loved was gone! LXIII. Joy for thee, trembler!--thou redeem’d one, joy! Young dove set free!--earth, ashes, soulless clay, Remain’d for baffled vengeance to destroy. _Thy_ chain was riven! Nor hadst thou cast away Thy hope in thy last hour!--though love was there Striving to wring thy troubled soul from prayer, And life seem’d robed in beautiful array, Too fair to leave!--but this might be forgiven, Thou wert so richly crown’d with precious gifts of heaven! LXIV. But woe for him who felt the heart grow still, Which, with its weight of agony, had lain Breaking on his! Scarce could the mortal chill Of the hush’d bosom, ne’er to heave again, And all the silence curdling round the eye, Bring home the stern belief that she could die-- That she indeed could die!--for, wild and vain As hope might be, his soul _had_ hoped: ’twas o’er-- Slowly his failing arms dropp’d from the form they bore. LXV. They forced him from that spot. It might be well, That the fierce reckless words by anguish wrung From his torn breast, all aimless as they fell, Like spray-drops from the strife of torrents flung, Were mark’d as guilt. There are who note these things Against the smitten heart; its breaking strings --On whose low thrills once gentle music hung-- With a rude hand of touch unholy trying, And numbering then as crimes, the deep, strange tones replying. LXVI. But ye in solemn joy, O faithful pair! Stood gazing on your parted sister’s dust; I saw your features by the torch’s glare, And they were brightening with a heavenward trust! I saw the doubt, the anguish, the dismay, Melt from my Alvar’s glorious mien away; And peace was there--the calmness of the just! And, bending down the slumb’rer’s brow to kiss, “Thy rest is won,” he said, “sweet sister! Praise for this!” LXVII. I started as from sleep;--yes!--he had spoken-- A breeze had troubled memory’s hidden source! At once the torpor of my soul was broken-- Thought, feeling, passion, woke in tenfold force. There are soft breathings in the southern wind, That so your ice-chains, O ye streams! unbind, And free the foaming swiftness of your course! I burst from those that held me back, and fell Even on his neck, and cried--“Friend! brother! fare thee well!” LXVIII. Did _he_ not say “Farewell?” Alas! no breath Came to mine ear. Hoarse murmurs from the throng Told that the mysteries in the face of death Had from their eager sight been veil’d too long. And we were parted as the surge might part Those that would die together, true of heart. _His_ hour was come--but in mine anguish strong, Like a fierce swimmer through the midnight sea, Blindly I rush’d away from that which was to be. LXIX. Away--away I rush’d; but swift and high The arrowy pillars of the firelight grew, Till the transparent darkness of the sky Flush’d to a blood-red mantle in their hue;