The Poems of Felicia Hemans

distance he descried a vessel. Hiring a fisherman to take him on board, he discovered, to his grief, on hailing it, that it was not the French ship charged with his Arabella; in despair and confusion he found another ship from Newcastle, which for a large sum altered its course, and landed him in Flanders.” Arabella, meantime, whilst imploring her attendants to linger, and earnestly looking out for the expected boat of her husband, was overtaken in Calais Roads by a vessel in the king’s service, and brought back to a captivity, under the suffering of which her mind and constitution gradually sank. “What passed in that dreadful imprisonment cannot perhaps be recovered for authentic history, but enough is known--that her mind grew impaired, that she finally lost her reason, and, if the duration of her imprisonment was short, that it was only terminated by her death. Some effusions, often begun and never ended, written and erased, incoherent and rational, yet remain among her papers.”--D’Israeli’s _Curiosities of Literature_. The following poem, meant as some record of her fate, and the imagined fluctuations of her thoughts and feelings, is supposed to commence during the time of her first imprisonment, whilst her mind was yet buoyed up by the consciousness of Seymour’s affection, and the cherished hope of eventual deliverance.] “And is not love in vain Torture enough without a living tomb?” Byron. “Fermossi al fin il cor che balzo tanto.” Pindemonte. I. Twas but a dream! I saw the stag leap free, Under the boughs where early birds were singing; I stood o’ershadow’d by the greenwood tree, And heard, it seem’d, a sudden bugle ringing Far through a royal forest. Then the fawn Shot, like a gleam of light, from grassy lawn To secret covert; and the smooth turf shook, And lilies quiver’d by the glade’s lone brook, And young leaves trembled, as, in fleet career, A princely band, with horn, and hound, and spear, Like a rich masque swept forth. I saw the dance Of their white plumes, that bore a silvery glance Into the deep wood’s heart; and all pass’d by Save one--I met the smile of _one_ clear eye, Flashing out joy to mine. Yes, _thou_ wert there, Seymour! A soft wind blew the clustering hair Back from thy gallant brow, as thou didst rein Thy courser, turning from that gorgeous train, And fling, methought, thy hunting spear away, And, lightly graceful in thy green array, Bound to my side. And we, that met and parted Ever in dread of some dark watchful power, Won back to childhood’s trust, and fearless-hearted, Blent the glad fulness of our thoughts that hour Even like the mingling of sweet streams, beneath Dim woven leaves, and midst the floating breath Of hidden forest-flowers. II. ’Tis past! I wake, A captive, and alone, and far from thee, My love and friend! Yet fostering, for thy sake, A quenchless hope of happiness to be; And feeling still my woman-spirit strong, In the deep faith which lifts from earthly wrong A heavenward glance. I know, I know our love Shall yet call gentle angels from above, By its undying fervour, and prevail-- Sending a breath, as of the spring’s first gale, Through hearts now cold; and, raising its bright face, With a free gush of sunny tears, erase The characters of anguish. In this trust, I bear, I strive, I bow not to the dust, That I may bring thee back no faded form, No bosom chill’d and blighted by the storm, But all my youth’s first treasures, when we meet, Making past sorrow, by communion, sweet. III. And thou too art in bonds! Yet droop thou not, O my beloved! there is _one_ hopeless lot, But one, and that not ours. Beside the dead _There_ sits the grief that mantles up its head, Loathing the laughter and proud pomp of light, When darkness, from the vainly doting sight Covers its beautiful![342] If thou wert gone To the grave’s bosom, with thy radiant brow-- If thy deep-thrilling voice, with that low tone Of earnest tenderness, which now, even now Seems floating through my soul, were music taken For ever from this world--oh! thus forsaken Could I bear on? Thou livest, thou livest, thou’rt mine! With this glad thought I make my heart a shrine, And by the lamp which quenchless there shall burn, Sit a lone watcher for the day’s return. IV. And lo! the joy that cometh with the morning, Brightly victorious o’er the hours of care! I have not watch’d in vain, serenely scorning The wild and busy whispers of despair! Thou hast sent tidings, as of heaven--I wait The hour, the sign, for blessed flight to thee. Oh! for the skylark’s wing that seeks its mate As a star shoots!--but on the breezy sea We shall meet soon. To think of such an hour! Will not my heart, o’erburden’d by its bliss, Faint and give way within me, as a flower Borne down and perishing by noontide’s kiss? Yet shall I _fear_ that lot--the perfect rest, The full deep joy of dying on thy breast, After long suffering won? So rich a close Too seldom crowns with peace affection’s woes. V. Sunset! I tell each moment. From the skies The last red splendour floats along my wall, Like a king’s banner! Now it melts, it dies! I see one star--I hear--’twas not the call, Th’ expected voice; my quick heart throbb’d too soon. I must keep vigil till yon rising moon Shower down less golden light. Beneath her beam Through my lone lattice pour’d, I sit and dream Of summer lands afar, where holy love, Under the vine or in the citron grove, May breathe from terror. Now the night grows deep, And silent as its clouds, and full of sleep. I hear my veins beat. Hark! a bell’s slow chime! My heart strikes with it. Yet again--’tis time! A step!--a voice!--or but a rising breeze? Hark!--haste!--I come to meet thee on the seas! VI. Now never more, oh! never, in the worth Of its pure cause, let sorrowing love on earth Trust fondly--never more! The hope is crush’d That lit my life, the voice within me hush’d That spoke sweet oracles; and I return To lay my youth, as in a burial urn, Where sunshine may not find it. All is lost! No tempest met our barks--no billow toss’d; Yet were they sever’d, even as we must be, That so have loved, so striven our hearts to free From their close-coiling fate! In vain--in vain! The dark links meet, and clasp themselves again, And press out life. Upon the deck I stood, And a white sail came gliding o’er the flood, Like some proud bird of ocean; then mine eye Strain’d out, one moment earlier to descry The form it ached for, and the bark’s career Seem’d slow to that fond yearning: it drew near, Fraught with our foes! What boots it to recall The strife, the tears? Once more a prison wall Shuts the green hills and woodlands from my sight, And joyous glance of waters to the light, And thee, my Seymour!--thee! I will not sink! Thou, _thou_ hast rent the heavy chain that bound thee! And this shall be my strength--the joy to think That _thou_ may’st wander with heaven’s breath around thee, And all the laughing sky! This thought shall yet Shine o’er my heart a radiant amulet, Guarding it from despair. Thy bonds are broken; And unto me, I know, thy true love’s token Shall one day be deliverance, though the years Lie dim between, o’erhung with mists of tears. VII. My friend! my friend! where art thou? Day by day, Gliding like some dark mournful stream away, My silent youth flows from me. Spring, the while, Comes and rains beauty on the kindling boughs Round hall and hamlet; summer with her smile Fills the green forest; young hearts breathe their vows; Brothers long parted meet; fair children rise Round the glad board; hope laughs from loving eyes: All this is in the world!--these joys lie sown, The dew of every path! On _one_ alone Their freshness may not fall--the stricken deer Dying of thirst with all the waters near. VIII. Ye are from dingle and fresh glade, ye flowers! By some kind hand to cheer my dungeon sent; O’er you the oak shed down the summer showers, And the lark’s nest was where your bright cups bent, Quivering to breeze and raindrop, like the sheen Of twilight stars. On you heaven’s eye hath been, Through the leaves pouring its dark sultry blue Into your glowing hearts; the bee to you Hath murmur’d, and the rill. My soul grows faint With passionate yearning, as its quick dreams paint Your haunts by dell and stream--the green, the free, The full of all sweet sound--the shut from me! IX. There went a swift bird singing past my cell---- O Love and Freedom! ye are lovely things! With you the peasant on the hills may dwell, And by the streams. But I--the blood of kings, A proud unmingling river, through my veins Flows in lone brightness, and its gifts are chains! Kings!--I had silent visions of deep bliss, Leaving their thrones far distant; and for this I am cast under their triumphal car, An insect to be crush’d! Oh! heaven is far-- Earth pitiless! Dost thou forget me, Seymour? I am proved So long, so sternly! Seymour, my beloved! There are such tales of holy marvels done By strong affection, of deliverance won Through its prevailing power! Are these things told Till the young weep with rapture, and the old Wonder, yet dare not doubt; and thou! oh, thou! Dost thou forget me in my hope’s decay?-- Thou canst not! Through the silent night, even now, I, that need prayer so much, awake and pray Still first for thee. O gentle, gentle friend! How shall I bear this anguish to the end? Aid!--comes there yet no aid? The voice of blood Passes heaven’s gate, even ere the crimson flood Sinks through the greensward! Is there not a cry From the wrung heart, of power, through agony, To pierce the clouds? Hear, Mercy!--hear me! None That bleed and weep beneath the smiling sun Have heavier cause! Yet hear!--my soul grows dark!---- Who hears the last shriek from the sinking bark On the mid seas, and with the storm alone, And bearing to the abyss, unseen, unknown, Its freight of human hearts? Th’ o’ermastering wave! Who shall tell how it rush’d--and none to save! Thou hast forsaken me! I feel, I know, There would be rescue if this were not so. Thou’rt at the chase, thou’rt at the festive board, Thou’rt where the red wine free and high is pour’d, Thou’rt where the dancers meet! A magic glass Is set within my soul, and proud shapes pass, Flushing it o’er with pomp from bower and hall: I see one shadow, stateliest there of all-- _Thine!_ What dost _thou_ amidst the bright and fair, Whispering light words, and mocking my despair? It is not well of thee! My love was more Than fiery song may breathe, deep thought explore; And there thou smilest, while my heart is dying, With all its blighted hopes around it lying: Even thou, on whom they hung their last green leaf---- Yet smile, smile on! too bright art thou for grief! Death! What! is death a lock’d and treasured thing,