The Poems of Felicia Hemans
Where its lone smile makes tremulously bright
The thousand streams!--I could but gaze through tears.
Oh! what a sight is heaven, thus first beheld for years!
XVIII.
The rolling clouds!--they have the whole blue space
Above to sail in--all the dome of sky!
My soul shot with them in their breezy race
O’er star and gloom; but I had yet to fly,
As flies the hunted wolf. A secret spot
And strange, I knew--the sunbeam knew it not,--
Wildest of all the savage glens that lie
In far sierras, hiding their deep springs,
And traversed but by storms, or sounding eagles’ wings.
XIX.
Ay, and I met the storm there! I had gain’d
The covert’s heart with swift and stealthy tread:
A moan went past me, and the dark trees rain’d
Their autumn foliage rustling on my head;
A moan--a hollow gust--and there I stood
Girt with majestic night, and ancient wood,
And foaming water.--Thither might have fled
The mountain Christian with his faith of yore,
When Afric’s tambour shook the ringing western shore!
XX.
But through the black ravine the storm came swelling:
--Mighty thou art amidst the hills, thou blast!
In thy lone course the kingly cedars felling,
Like plumes upon the path of battle cast!
A rent oak thunder’d down beside my cave,
Booming it rush’d, as booms a deep sea wave;
A falcon soar’d; a startled wild-deer pass’d;
A far-off bell toll’d faintly through the roar.
How my glad spirit swept forth with the winds once more!
XXI.
And with the arrowy lightnings!--for they flash’d,
Smiting the branches in their fitful play,
And brightly shivering where the torrents dash’d
Up, even to crag and eagle’s nest, their spray!
And there to stand amidst the pealing strife,
The strong pines groaning with tempestuous life,
And all the mountain-voices on their way,--
Was it not joy? ’Twas joy in rushing might,
After those years that wove but one long dead of night!
XXII.
There came a softer hour, a lovelier moon,
And lit me to my home of youth again,
Through the dim chestnut shade, where oft at noon,
By the fount’s flashing burst, my head had lain
In gentle sleep. But now I pass’d as one
That may not pause where wood-streams whispering run,
Or light sprays tremble to a bird’s wild strain;
Because th’ avenger’s voice is in the wind,
The foe’s quick, rustling step close on the leaves behind.
XXIII.
My home of youth! Oh! if indeed to part
With the soul’s loved ones be a mournful thing,
When we go forth in buoyancy of heart,
And bearing all the glories of our spring
For life to breathe on,--is it less to meet,
When these are faded?--who shall call it sweet?
Even though love’s mingling tears may haply bring
Balm as they fall, too well their heavy showers
Teach us how much is lost of all that once was ours!
XXIV.
Not by the sunshine, with its golden glow,
Nor the green earth, nor yet the laughing sky,
Nor the fair flower-scents,[302] as they come and go
In the soft air, like music wandering by;
--Oh! not by these, th’ unfailing, are we taught
How time and sorrow on our frames have wrought;
But by the sadden’d eye, the darken’d brow
Of kindred aspect, and the long dim gaze,
Which tells us _we_ are changed--how changed from other days!
XXV.
Before my father, in my place of birth,
I stood an alien. On the very floor
Which oft had trembled to my boyish mirth,
The love that rear’d me knew my face no more!
There hung the antique armour, helm and crest,
Whose every stain woke childhood in my breast;
There droop’d the banner, with the marks it bore
Of Paynim spears; and I, the worn in frame
And heart, what there was I?--another and the same!
XXVI.
Then bounded in a boy, with clear, dark eye--
How should _he_ know his father? When we parted,
From the soft cloud which mantles infancy,
His soul, just wakening into wonder, darted
Its first looks round. Him follow’d one, the bride
Of my young days, the wife how loved and tried!
Her glance met mine--I could not speak--she started
With a bewilder’d gaze--until there came
Tears to my burning eyes, and from my lips her name.
XXVII.
She knew me then! I murmur’d “_Leonor!_”
And her heart answer’d! Oh! the voice is known
First from all else, and swiftest to restore
Love’s buried images, with one low tone
That strikes like lightning, when the cheek is faded,
And the brow heavily with thought o’ershaded,
And all the brightness from the aspect gone!
--Upon my breast she sunk, when doubt was fled,
Weeping as those may weep, that meet in woe and dread.
XXVIII.
For there we might not rest. Alas! to leave
Those native towers, and know that they must fall
By slow decay, and none remain to grieve
When the weeds cluster’d on the lonely wall!
We were the last--my boy and I--the last
Of a long line which brightly thence had pass’d!
My father bless’d me as I left his hall--
With his deep tones and sweet, though full of years,
He bless’d me there, and bathed my child’s young head with tears.
XXIX.
I had brought sorrow on his gray hairs down,
And cast the darkness of my branded name
(For so _he_ deem’d it) on the clear renown,
My own ancestral heritage of fame.
And yet he bless’d me! Father! if the dust
Lie on those lips benign, my spirit’s trust
Is to behold thee yet, where grief and shame
Dim the bright day no more; and thou wilt know
That not through guilt thy son thus bow’d thine age with woe!
XXX.
And thou, my Leonor! that unrepining,
If sad in soul, didst quit all else for me,
When stars, the stars that earliest rise, are shining,
How their soft glance unseals each thought of thee!
For on our flight they smiled; their dewy rays,
Through the last olives, lit thy tearful gaze
Back to the home we never more might see.
So pass’d we on, like earth’s first exiles, turning
Fond looks where hung the sword above their Eden burning.
XXXI.
It was a woe to say, “Farewell, my Spain!
The sunny and the vintage land, farewell!”
--I could have died upon the battle-plain
For thee, my country! but I might not dwell
In thy sweet vales, at peace. The voice of song
Breathes, with the myrtle scent, thy hills along;
The citron’s glow is caught from shade and dell:
But what are these? upon thy flowery sod
I might not kneel, and pour my free thoughts out to God!
XXXII.
O’er the blue deep I fled, the chainless deep!
Strange heart of man! that e’en midst woe swells high,
When through the foam he sees his proud bark sweep,
Flinging out joyous gleams to wave and sky!
Yes! it swells high, whate’er he leaves behind,
His spirit rises with the rising wind;
For, wedded to the far futurity,
On, on, it bears him ever, and the main
Seems rushing, like his hope, some happier shore to gain.
XXXIII.
Not thus is woman. Closely _her_ still heart
Doth twine itself with e’en each lifeless thing
Which, long remember’d, seem’d to bear its part
In her calm joys. For ever would she cling,
A brooding dove, to that sole spot of earth
Where she hath loved, and given her children birth,
And heard their first sweet voices. There may spring
Array no path, renew no flower, no leaf,
But hath its breath of home, its claim to farewell grief.
XXXIV.
I look’d on Leonor,--and if there seem’d
A cloud of more than pensiveness to rise
In the faint smiles that o’er her features gleam’d,
And the soft darkness of her serious eyes,
Misty with tender gloom, I call’d it naught
But the fond exile’s pang, a lingering thought
Of her own vale, with all its melodies
And living light of streams. Her soul would rest
Beneath your shades, I said, bowers of the gorgeous West!
XXXV.
Oh, could we live in visions! could we hold
Delusion faster, longer, to our breast,
When it shuts from us, with its mantle’s fold,
That which we see not, and are therefore blest!
But they, our loved and loving--they to whom
We have spread out our souls in joy and gloom,
_Their_ looks and accents, unto ours address’d,
Have been a language of familiar tone
Too long to breathe, at last, dark sayings and unknown.
XXXVI.
I told my heart, ’twas but the exile’s woe
Which press’d on that sweet bosom; I deceived
My heart but half: a whisper, faint and low,
Haunting it ever, and at times believed,
Spoke of some deeper cause. How oft we seem
Like those that dream, and _know_ the while they dream--
Midst the soft falls of airy voices grieved
And troubled, while bright phantoms round them play,
By a dim sense that all will float and fade away!
XXXVII.
Yet, as if chasing joy, I woo’d the breeze
To speed me onward with the wings of morn.
Oh! far amidst the solitary seas,
Which were not made for man, what man hath borne,
Answering their moan with his!--what _thou_ didst bear,
My lost and loveliest! while that secret care
Grew terror, and thy gentle spirit, worn
By its dull brooding weight, gave way at last,
Beholding me as one from hope for ever cast!
XXXVIII.
For unto thee, as through all change, reveal’d
Mine inward being lay. In other eyes
I had to bow me yet, and make a shield,
To fence my burning bosom, of disguise;
By the still hope sustain’d, ere long to win
Some sanctuary, whose green retreats within
My thoughts unfetter’d to their source might rise,
Like songs and scents of morn. But thou didst look
Through all my soul, and thine e’en unto fainting shook.
XXXIX.
Fallen, fallen, I seem’d--yet, oh! not less beloved,
Though from thy love was pluck’d the early pride,
And harshly by a gloomy faith reproved,
And sear’d with shame! Though each young flower had died,
There was the root,--strong, living, not the less
That all it yielded now was bitterness;
Yet still such love as quits not misery’s side,
Nor drops from guilt its ivy-like embrace,
Nor turns away from death’s its pale heroic face.
XL.
Yes! thou hadst follow’d me through fear and flight!
Thou wouldst have follow’d had my pathway led
E’en to the scaffold; had the flashing light
Of the raised axe made strong men shrink with dread,
Thou, midst the hush of thousands, wouldst have been
With thy clasp’d hands beside me kneeling seen,
And meekly bowing to the shame thy head--
The shame!--oh! making beautiful to view
The might of human love--fair thing! so bravely true!
XLI.
There was thine agony--to love so well
Where fear made love life’s chastener. Heretofore,
Whate’er of earth’s disquiet round thee fell,
Thy soul, o’erpassing its dim bounds, could soar
Away to sunshine, and thy clear eye speak
Most of the skies when grief most touch’d thy cheek.
Now, that far brightness faded, never more
Could thou lift heavenwards for its hope thy heart,
Since at heaven’s gate it seem’d that thou and I must part.
XLII.
Alas! and life hath moments when a glance--
(If thought to sudden watchfulness be stirr’d)--
A flush--a fading of the cheek, perchance--
A word--less, less--the _cadence_ of a word,
Lets in our gaze the mind’s dim veil beneath,
Thence to bring haply knowledge fraught with death!