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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

Even thus, what never from thy lip was heard Broke on my soul. I knew that in thy sight I stood, howe’er beloved, a recreant from the light. XLIII. Thy sad, sweet hymn, at eve, the seas along,-- Oh! the deep soul it breathed!--the love, the woe, The fervour, pour’d in that full gush of song, As it went floating through the fiery glow Of the rich sunset!--bringing thoughts of Spain, With all their vesper voices, o’er the main, Which seem’d responsive in its murmuring flow. “_Ave sanctissima!_”--how oft that lay Hath melted from my heart the martyr strength away! Ave, sanctissima! ’Tis nightfall on the sea; Ora pro nobis! Our souls rise to thee! Watch us, while shadows lie O’er the dim waters spread; Hear the heart’s lonely sigh-- _Thine_ too hath bled! Thou that hast look’d on death, Aid us when death is near! Whisper of heaven to faith; Sweet Mother, hear! Ora pro nobis! The wave must rock our sleep, Ora, Mater, ora! Thou star of the deep! XLIV. “_Ora pro nobis, Mater!_”--What a spell Was in those notes, with day’s last glory dying On the flush’d waters--seem’d they not to swell From the far dust wherein my sires were lying With crucifix and sword? Oh! yet how clear Comes their reproachful sweetness to mine ear! “_Ora_”--with all the purple waves replying, All my youth’s visions rising in the strain-- And I had thought it much to bear the rack and chain! XLV. Torture! the sorrow of affections eye, Fixing its meekness on the spirit’s core, Deeper, and teaching more of agony, May pierce than many swords!--and this I bore With a mute pang. Since I had vainly striven From its free springs to pour the truth of heaven Into thy trembling soul, my Leonor! Silence rose up where hearts no hope could share: Alas! for those that love, and may not blend in prayer! XLVI. _We_ could not pray together midst the deep, Which, like a floor of sapphire, round us lay, Through days of splendour, nights too bright for sleep, Soft, solemn, holy! We were on our way Unto the mighty Cordillera land, With men whom tales of that world’s golden strand Had lured to leave their vines. Oh! who shall say What thoughts rose in us, when the tropic sky Touch’d all its molten seas with sunset’s alchemy! XLVII. Thoughts no more mingled! Then came night--th’ intense Dark blue--the burning stars! I saw _thee_ shine Once more, in thy serene magnificence, O Southern Cross![303] as when thy radiant sign First drew my gaze of youth. No, not as then; I had been stricken by the darts of men Since those fresh days; and now thy light divine Look’d on mine anguish, while within me strove The still small voice against the might of suffering love. XLVIII. But thou, the clear, the glorious! thou wert pouring Brilliance and joy upon the crystal wave, While she that met thy ray with eyes adoring, Stood in the lengthening shadow of the grave! Alas! I watch’d her dark religious glance, As it still sought thee through the heaven’s expanse, Bright Cross! and knew not that I watch’d what gave But passing lustre--shrouded soon to be-- A soft light found no more--no more on earth or sea! XLIX. I knew not all--yet something of unrest Sat on my heart. Wake, ocean-wind! I said; Waft us to land, in leafy freshness drest, Where, through rich clouds of foliage o’er her head, Sweet day may steal, and rills unseen go by, Like singing voices, and the green earth lie Starry with flowers, beneath her graceful tread! But the calm bound us midst the glassy main: Ne’er was her step to bend earth’s living flowers again. L. Yes! as if heaven upon the waves were sleeping, Vexing my soul with quiet, there they lay, All moveless, through their blue transparence keeping The shadows of our sails, from day to day; While she----oh! strongest is the strong heart’s woe-- And yet I live! I feel the sunshine’s glow-- And I am he that look’d, and saw decay Steal o’er the fair of earth, th’ adored too much!-- It is a fearful thing to love what death may touch. LI. A fearful thing that love and death may dwell In the same world! She faded on--and I, Blind to the last, there needed death to tell My trusting soul that she _could_ fade to die! Yet, ere she parted, I had mark’d a change; But it breathed hope--’twas beautiful, though strange: Something of gladness in the melody Of her low voice, and in her words a flight Of airy thought--alas! too perilously bright! LII. And a clear sparkle in her glance, yet wild, And quick, and eager, like the flashing gaze Of some all-wondering and awakening child, That first the glories of the earth surveys. How could it thus deceive me? She had worn Around her, like the dewy mists of morn, A pensive tenderness through happiest days; And a soft world of dreams had seem’d to lie Still in her dark, and deep, and spiritual eye. LIII. And I could hope in that strange fire!--she died, She died, with all its lustre on her mien! The day was melting from the waters wide, And through its long bright hours her thoughts had been, It seem’d, with restless and unwonted yearning, To Spain’s blue skies and dark sierras turning; For her fond words were all of vintage-scene, And flowering myrtle, and sweet citron’s breath: Oh! with what vivid hues life comes back oft on death! LIV. And from her lips the mountain-songs of old, In wild, faint snatches, fitfully had sprung; Songs of the orange bower, the Moorish hold, The “_Rio verde_,”[304] on her soul that hung, And thence flow’d forth. But now the sun was low, And watching by my side its last red glow, That ever stills the heart, once more she sung Her own soft “_Ora, Mater!_” and the sound Was e’en like love’s farewell--so mournfully profound. LV. The boy had dropp’d to slumber at our feet; “And I have lull’d him to his smiling rest Once more!” she said. I raised him--it was sweet, Yet sad, to see the perfect calm, which bless’d His look that hour: for now her voice grew weak, And on the flowery crimson of his cheek, With her white lips, a long, long kiss she press’d, Yet light, to wake him not. Then sank her head Against my bursting heart. What did I clasp?--The dead! LVI. I call’d! To call what answers not our cries-- By what we loved to stand unseen, unheard-- With the loud passion of our tears and sighs, To see but some cold glittering ringlet stirr’d; And in the quench’d eye’s fixedness to gaze, All vainly searching for the parted rays-- This is what waits us! Dead!--with that chill word To link our bosom-names! For this we pour Our souls upon the dust--nor tremble to adore! LVII. But the true parting came! I look’d my last On the sad beauty of that slumbering face: How could I think the lovely spirit pass’d Which there had left so tenderly its trace? Yet a dim awfulness was on the brow-- No! not like sleep to look upon art thou, Death, Death! She lay, a thing for earth’s embrace, To cover with spring-wreaths. For earth’s?--the wave That gives the bier no flowers, makes moan above her grave! LVIII. On the mid-seas a knell!--for man was there, Anguish and love--the mourner with his dead! A long, low-rolling knell--a voice of prayer-- Dark glassy waters, like a desert spread-- And the pale-shining Southern Cross on high, Its faint stars fading from a solemn sky, Where mighty clouds before the dawn grew red: Were these things round me? Such o’er memory sweep Wildly, when aught brings back that burial of the deep. LIX. Then the broad, lonely sunrise!--and the plash Into the sounding waves![305] Around her head They parted, with a glancing moment’s flash, Then shut--and all was still. And now thy bed Is of their secrets, gentlest Leonor! Once fairest of young brides!--and never more, Loved as thou wert, may human tear be shed Above thy rest! No mark the proud seas keep, To show where he that wept may pause again to weep! LX. So the depths took thee! Oh! the sullen sense Of desolation in that hour compress’d! Dust going down, a speck, amidst th’ immense And gloomy waters, leaving on their breast The trace a weed might leave there! Dust!--the thing Which to the heart was as a living spring Of joy, with fearfulness of love possess’d, Thus sinking! Love, joy, fear, all crush’d to this-- And the wide heaven so far--so fathomless th’ abyss! LXI. Where the line sounds not, where the wrecks lie low, What shall wake thence the dead? Blest, blest, are they That earth to earth entrust, for they may know And tend the dwelling whence the slumberer’s clay Shall rise at last; and bid the young flowers bloom That waft a breath of hope around the tomb; And kneel upon the dewy turf to pray! But thou, what cave hath dimly chamber’d _thee_? Vain dreams!--oh! art thou not where there is no more sea?[306] LXII. The wind rose free and singing: when for ever, O’er that sole spot of all the watery plain, I could have bent my sight with fond endeavour Down, where its treasure was, its glance to strain Then rose the reckless wind! Before our prow The white foam flash’d--ay, joyously, and thou Wert left with all the solitary main Around thee--and thy beauty in my heart, And thy meek, sorrowing love--oh! where could _that_ depart? LXIII. I will not speak of woe; I may not tell-- Friend tells not such to friends--the thoughts which rent My fainting spirit, when its wild farewell Across the billows to thy grave was sent, Thou, there most lonely! He that sits above, In his calm glory, will forgive the love His creatures bear each other, even if blent With a vain worship; for its close is dim Ever with grief which leads the wrung soul back to Him! LXIV. And with a milder pang if now I bear To think of thee in thy forsaken rest, If from my heart be lifted the despair, The sharp remorse with healing influence press’d, If the soft eyes that visit me in sleep Look not reproach, though still they seem to weep; It is that He my sacrifice hath bless’d, And fill’d my bosom, through its inmost cell, With a deep chastening sense that all at last is well. LXV. Yes! thou art now----Oh! wherefore doth the thought Of the wave dashing o’er thy long bright hair, The sea-weed into its dark tresses wrought, The sand thy pillow--thou that wert so fair! Come o’er me still! Earth, earth!--it is the hold Earth ever keeps on that of earthly mould! But thou art breathing now in purer air, I well believe, and freed from all of error, Which blighted here the root of thy sweet life with terror. LXVI. And if the love, which here was passing light, Went with what died not--oh! that _this_ we knew, But this!--that through the silence of the night, Some voice, of all the lost ones and the true, Would speak, and say, if in their far repose, We are yet aught of what we were to those We call the dead! Their passionate adieu,