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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

_Ed._ Yet hear! if thou hast known The tender sweetness of a mother’s voice-- If the true vigil of affection’s eye Hath watch’d thy childhood--if fond tears have e’er Been shower’d upon thy head--if parting words E’er pierced thy spirit with their tenderness-- Let me but look upon _his_ face once more, Let me but say--Farewell, my soul’s beloved! And I will bless thee still! _Gom._ (_aside._) Her soul may yield, Beholding him in fetters; woman’s faith Will bend to woman’s love. Thy prayer is heard; Follow, and I will guide thee to his cell. _Ed._ O stormy hour of agony and joy! But I shall see him--I shall hear his voice! [_They go out._ Scene II.--_Another part of the Prison._ Herbert, Edith. _Ed._ Herbert! my Herbert! is it thus we meet? _Her._ The voice of my own Edith! Can such joy Light up this place of death! And do I feel Thy breath of love once more upon my cheek, And the soft floating of thy gleamy hair, My blessed Edith? Oh, so pale! so changed! My flower, my blighted flower! thou that wert made For the kind fostering of sweet, summer airs, How hath the storm been with thee? Lay thy head On this true breast again, my gentle one! And tell me all. _Ed._ Yes! take me to thy heart, For I am weary, weary! Oh! that heart! The kind, the brave, the tender!--how my soul Hath sicken’d in vain yearnings for the balm Of rest on that warm heart!--full, deep repose! One draught of dewy stillness after storm! And God hath pitied me, and I am here-- Yet once before I die. _Her._ They _cannot_ slay One young, and meek, and beautiful as thou, My broken lily! Surely the long days Of the dark cell have been enough for _thee_! Oh! thou shalt live, and raise thy gracious head Yet in calm sunshine. _Ed._ Herbert! I have cast The snare of proferr’d mercy from my soul, This very hour. God to the weak hath given Victory o’er life and death. The tempter’s price Hath been rejected--Herbert, I must die. _Her._ O Edith! Edith! I, that led thee first From the old path wherein thy fathers trod-- I, that received it as an angel’s task, To pour the fresh light on thine ardent soul, Which drank it as a sunflower--_I_ have been Thy guide to death. _Ed._ To heaven! my guide to heaven, My noble and my blessed! Oh! look up, Be strong, rejoice, my Herbert! But for _thee_, How could my spirit have sprung up to God Through the dark cloud which o’er its vision hung, The night of fear and error?--thy dear hand First raised that veil, and show’d the glorious world My heritage beyond. Friend! love, and friend! It was as if thou gavest me mine own soul In those bright days! Yes! a new earth and heaven, And a new sense for all their splendours born-- These were thy gifts; and shall I not rejoice To die, upholding their immortal worth, Even for _thy_ sake? Yes! fill’d with nobler life By thy pure love, made holy to the truth, Lay me upon the altar of thy God, The first fruits of thy ministry below-- _Thy_ work, thine own! _Her._ My love, my sainted love! Oh! I _can_ almost yield thee unto heaven; Earth would but sully thee! Thou must depart, With the rich crown of thy celestial gifts Untainted by a breath. And yet, alas! Edith! what dreams of holy happiness, Even for _this_ world, were ours!--the low sweet home, The pastoral dwelling, with its ivied porch, And lattice gleaming through the leaves--and thou My life’s companion! Thou, beside my hearth, Sitting with thy meek eyes, or greeting me Back from brief absence with thy bounding step, In the green meadow-path, or by my side Kneeling--thy calm uplifted face to mine, In the sweet hush of prayer! And now--oh, now!-- How have we loved--how fervently! how long! And _this_ to be the close! _Ed._ Oh! bear me up Against the unutterable tenderness Of earthly love, my God!--in the sick hour Of dying human hope, forsake me not! Herbert, my Herbert! even from that sweet home Where it had been too much of Paradise To dwell with thee--even thence the oppressor’s hand Might soon have torn us; or the touch of death Might one day there have left a widow’d heart, Pining alone. We will go hence, beloved! To the bright country where the wicked cease From troubling, where the spoiler hath no sway; Where no harsh voice of worldliness disturbs The Sabbath-peace of love. We will go hence, Together with our wedded souls, to heaven: No solitary lingering, no cold void, No dying of the heart! Our lives have been Lovely through faithful love, and in our deaths We will not be divided. _Her_. Oh! the peace Of God is lying far within thine eyes, Far underneath the mist of human tears Lighting those blue, still depths, and sinking thence On my worn heart. Now am I girt with strength, Now I can bless thee, my true bride for heaven! _Ed._ And let me bless _thee_, Herbert!--in this hour Let my soul bless thee with prevailing might! Oh! thou hast loved me nobly! thou didst take An orphan to thy heart--a thing unprized And desolate; and thou didst guard her there, That lone and lowly creature, as a pearl Of richest price; and thou didst fill her soul With the high gifts of an immortal wealth. I bless, I bless thee! Never did thine eye Look on me but in glistening tenderness, My gentle Herbert! Never did thy voice But in affection’s deepest music speak To thy poor Edith! Never was thy heart Aught but the kindliest sheltering home to mine, My faithful, generous Herbert! Woman’s peace Ne’er on a breast so tender and so true Reposed before. Alas! thy showering tears Fall fast upon my cheek--forgive, forgive! I should not melt thy noble strength away In such an hour. _Her._ Sweet Edith, no! my heart Will fail no more. God bears me up through thee, And by thy words, and by thy heavenly light Shining around thee, through thy very tears, Will yet sustain me! Let us call on Him! Let us kneel down, as we have knelt so oft, Thy pure cheek touching mine, and call on Him, Th’ all-pitying One, to aid. [_They kneel._ Oh, look on us, Father above!--in tender mercy look On us, thy children!--through th’ o’ershadowing cloud Of sorrow and mortality, send aid-- Save, or we perish! We would pour our lives Forth as a joyous offering to thy truth; But we are weak--we, the bruised reeds of earth, Are sway’d by every gust. Forgive, O God! The blindness of our passionate desires, The fainting of our hearts, the lingering thoughts Which cleave to dust! Forgive the strife; accept The sacrifice, though dim with mortal tears, From mortal pangs wrung forth! And if our souls, In all the fervent dreams, the fond excess, Of their long-clasping love, have wander’d not, Holiest! from thee--oh! take them to thyself, After the fiery trial--take them home To dwell, in that imperishable bond Before thee link’d, for ever. Hear!--thro’ Him Who meekly drank the cup of agony, Who pass’d through death to victory, hear and save! Pity us, Father! we are girt with snares: Father in Heaven! we have no help but thee. [_They rise._ Is thy soul strengthen’d, my beloved one? O Edith! couldst thou lift up thy sweet voice, And sing me that old solemn-breathing hymn We loved in happier days--the strain which tells Of the dread conflict in the olive shade? Edith _sings_. He knelt, the Saviour knelt and pray’d, When but his Father’s eye Look’d through the lonely garden’s shade On that dread agony; The Lord of all above, beneath, Was bow’d with sorrow unto death. The sun set in a fearful hour, The stars might well grow dim, When this mortality had power So to o’ershadow Him! That He who gave man’s breath, might know The very depths of human woe. He proved them all!--the doubt, the strife, The faint perplexing dread, The mists that hang o’er parting life, All gather’d round his head; And the Deliverer knelt to pray-- Yet pass’d it not, that cup, away! It pass’d not--though the stormy wave Had sunk beneath his tread; It pass’d not--though to Him the grave Had yielded up its dead. But there was sent him from on High A gift of strength for man to die. And was the Sinless thus beset With anguish and dismay? How may _we_ meet our conflict yet, In the dark, narrow way? Through Him--through Him that path who trod. --Save, or we perish, Son of God! Hark, hark! the parting signal. [_Prison attendants enter._ Fare thee well! O thou unutterably loved, farewell! Let our hearts bow to God! _Her._ One last embrace-- On earth the last! We have eternity For love’s communion yet! Farewell!--farewell! [_She is led out._ ’Tis o’er!--the bitterness of death is past! FLOWERS AND MUSIC IN A ROOM OF SICKNESS. “Once when I look’d along the laughing earth, Up the blue heavens and through the middle air, Joyfully ringing with the skylark’s song, I wept! and thought how sad for one so young To bid farewell to so much happiness. But Christ hath call’d me from this lower world, Delightful though it be.” Wilson. _Apartment in an English country-house._--Lilian _reclining, as sleeping on a couch. Her mother watching beside her. Her sister enters with flowers._ _Mother._ Hush! lightly tread! Still tranquilly she sleeps, As when a babe I rock’d her on my heart. I’ve watch’d, suspending e’en my breath, in fear To break the heavenly spell. Move silently! And oh! those flowers! Dear Jessy! bear them hence-- Dost thou forget the passion of quick tears That shook her trembling frame, when last we brought The roses to her couch? Dost thou not know What sudden longings for the woods and hills, Where once her free steps moved so buoyantly, These leaves and odours with strange influence wake In her fast-kindled soul? _Jessy._ Oh! she would pine, Were the wild scents and glowing hues withheld, Mother! far more than _now_ her spirit yearns For the blue sky, the singing birds and brooks, And swell of breathing turf, whose lightsome spring Their blooms recall. _Lilian_, (_raising herself_.) Is that my Jessy’s voice It woke me not, sweet mother! I had lain Silently, visited by waking dreams, Yet conscious of thy brooding watchfulness, Long ere I heard the sound. Hath she brought flowers? Nay, fear not now thy fond child’s waywardness, My thoughtful mother!--in her chasten’d soul The passion-colour’d images of life, Which, with their sudden, startling flush, awoke So oft those burning tears, have died away; And night is there--still, solemn, holy night! With all her stars, and with the gentle tune Of many fountains, low and musical, By day unheard.