The Poems of Felicia Hemans
And all that Nature’s lavish hands dispense,
In gay luxuriance, charming every sense,
Ne’er in thy absence can delight my breast:
Nought, without thee, my weary soul beguiles:
And joy may beam; yet, midst her brightest smiles,
A secret grief is mine, that will not rest.
SONNET 186.
“Os olhos onde o casto Amor ardia.”
Those eyes, whence Love diffused his purest light,
Proud in such beaming orbs his reign to show;
That face, with tints of mingling lustre bright,
Where the rose mantled o’er the living snow;
The rich redundance of that golden hair,
Brighter than sunbeams of meridian day;
That form so graceful, and that hand so fair,
Where now those treasures?--mouldering into clay!
Thus, like some blossom prematurely torn,
Hath young Perfection wither’d in its morn,
Touch’d by the hand that gathers but to blight?
Oh, how could Love survive his bitter tears!
Shed, not for her, who mounts to happier spheres,
But for his own sad fate, thus wrapt in starless night!
SONNET 108.
“Brandas aguas do Tejo que passando.”
Fair Tajo! thou whose calmly-flowing tide
Bathes the fresh verdure of these lovely plains,
Enlivening all where’er thy waves may glide,
Flowers, herbage, flocks, and sylvan nymphs and swains.
Sweet stream! I know not when my steps again
Shall tread thy shores; and while to part I mourn,
I have no hope to meliorate my pain,
No dream that whispers--I may yet return!
My frowning destiny, whose watchful care
Forbids me blessings and ordains despair,
Commands me thus to leave thee, and repine
And I must vainly mourn the scenes I fly,
And breathe on other gales my plaintive sigh,
And blend my tears with other waves than thine!
SONNET 23.
TO A LADY WHO DIED AT SEA.
“Chara minha inimiga, em cuja mao.”
Thou to whose power my hopes, my joys I gave,
O fondly loved! my bosom’s dearest care!
Earth, which denied to lend thy form a grave,
Yields not one spell to soothe my deep despair!
Yes! the wild seas entomb those charms divine,
Dark o’er thy head th’ eternal billows roll;
But while one ray of life or thought is mine,
Still shalt thou live, the inmate of my soul.
And if the tones of my uncultured song
Have power the sad remembrance to prolong,
Of love so ardent, and of faith so pure;
Still shall my verse thine epitaph remain,
Still shall thy charms be deathless in my strain,
While Time, and Love, and Memory shall endure.
SONNET 19.
“Alma minha gentil, que te partiste.”
Spirit beloved! whose wing so soon hath flown
The joyless precincts of this earthly sphere,
How is yon Heaven eternally thine own,
Whilst I deplore thy loss, a captive here!
Oh! if allow’d in thy divine abode
Of aught on earth an image to retain,
Remember still the fervent love which glow’d
In my fond bosom, pure from every stain.
And if thou deem’d that all my faithful grief,
Caused by thy loss, and hopeless of relief,
Can merit thee, sweet native of the skies!
Oh! ask of Heaven, which call’d thee soon away,
That I may join thee in those realms of day,
Swiftly as _thou_ hast vanish’d from mine eyes.
“Que estranho caso de amor!”
How strange a fate in love is mine!
How dearly prized the pains I feel!
Pangs, that to rend my soul combine,
With avarice I conceal:
For did the world the tale divine,
My lot would then be deeper woe--
And mine is grief that none must know.
To mortal ears I may not dare
Unfold the cause, the pain I prove;
’Twould plunge in ruin and despair
Or me, or her I love.
My soul delights alone to bear
Her silent, unsuspected woe,
And none shall pity, none shall know.
Thus buried in my bosom’s urn,
Thus in my inmost heart conceal’d,
Let me alone the secret mourn,
In pangs unsoothed and unreveal’d.
For whether happiness or woe,
Or life or death its power bestow,
It is what none on earth must know.
SONNET 58.
“Se as penas com que Amor tao mal me trata.”
Should Love, the tyrant of my suffering heart
Yet long enough protract his votary’s days
To see the lustre from those eyes depart,
The lode-stars[56] now that fascinate my gaze;
To see rude Time the living roses blight
That o’er thy cheek their loveliness unfold,
And, all unpitying, change thy tresses bright
To silvery whiteness, from their native gold;
Oh! then thy heart an equal change will prove,
And mourn the coldness that repell’d my love,
When tears and penitence will all be vain;
And I shall see thee weep for days gone by,
And in thy deep regret and fruitless sigh,
Find amplest vengeance for my former pain.
[56] “Your eyes are lode-stars.”--Shakespeare.
SONNET 178.
“Já cantei, já chorei a dura guerra.”
Oft have I sung and mourn’d the bitter woes
Which love for years hath mingled with my fate,
While he the tale forbade me to disclose,
That taught his votaries their deluded state.
Nymphs! who dispense Castalia’s living stream,
Ye, who from Death oblivion’s mantle steal,
Grant me a strain in powerful tone supreme,
Each grief by love inflicted to reveal:
That those whose ardent hearts adore his sway,
May hear experience breathe a warning lay--
How false his smiles, his promises how vain!
Then, if ye deign this effort to inspire,
When the sad task is o’er, my plaintive lyre,
For ever hush’d, shall slumber in your fane.
SONNET 80.
“Como quando do mar tempestuoso.”
Saved from the perils of the stormy wave,
And faint with toil, the wanderer of the main,
But just escaped from shipwreck’s billowy grave,
Trembles to hear its horrors named again.
How warm his vow, that Ocean’s fairest mien
No more shall lure him from the smiles of home!
Yet soon, forgetting each terrific scene,
Once more he turns, o’er boundless deeps to roam.
Lady! thus I, who vainly oft in flight
Seek refuge from the dangers of thy sight,
Make the firm vow to shim thee and be free:
But my fond heart, devoted to its chain,
Still draws me back where countless perils reign,
And grief and ruin spread their snares for me.
SONNET 239.
FROM PSALM CXXXVII.
“Em Babylonia sobre os rios, quando.”
Beside the streams of Babylon, in tears
Of vain desire, we sat; remembering thee,
O hallow’d Sion! and the vanish’d years,
When Israel’s chosen sons were blest and free:
Our harps, neglected and untuned, we hung
Mute on the willows of the stranger’s land;
When songs, like those that in thy fanes we sung,
Our foes demanded from their captive band.
“How shall our voices, on a foreign shore,”
(We answer’d those whose chains the exile wore,)
“The songs of God, our sacred songs, renew?
If I forget, midst grief and wasting toil,
Thee, O Jerusalem! my native soil!
_May my right hand forget its cunning too!_”
SONNET 128.
“Huma admiravel herva se conhece.”
There blooms a plant, whose gaze from hour to hour
Still to the sun with fond devotion turns,
Wakes when Creation hails his dawning power,
And most expands when most her idol burns:
But when he seeks the bosom of the deep,
His faithful plant’s reflected charms decay;
Then fade her flowers, her leaves discolour’d weep,
Still fondly pining for the vanish’d ray.
Thou whom I love, the day-star of my sight!
When thy dear presence wakes me to delight,
Joy in my soul unfolds her fairest flower:
But in thy heaven of smiles alone it blooms,
And, of their light deprived, in grief consumes,
Born but to live within thine eye-beam’s power.
“Polomeu apartamento.”
Amidst the bitter tears that fell
In anguish at my last farewell,
Oh! who would dream that joy could dwell,
To make that moment bright?
Yet be my judge, each heart! and say,
Which then could most my bosom sway,
Affliction or delight?
It was when Hope, oppress’d with woes,
Seem’d her dim eyes in death to close,
That rapture’s brightest beam arose
In sorrow’s darkest night.
Thus, if my soul survive that hour,
’Tis that my fate o’ercame the power
Of anguish with delight.
For oh! her love, so long unknown,
She _then_ confess’d was all my own,
And in that parting hour alone
Reveal’d it to my sight.
And now what pangs will rend my soul,
Should fortune still, with stern control,
Forbid me this delight!
I know not if my bliss were vain,
For all the force of parting pain
Forbade suspicious doubts to reign,
When exiled from her sight:
Yet now what double woe for me,
Just at the close of eve, to see
The dayspring of delight!
SONNET 205.
“Quem diz que Amor he falso, o enganoso.”
He who proclaims that Love is light and vain,
Capricious, cruel, false in all his ways,
Ah! sure too well hath merited his pain,
Too justly finds him all he thus portrays:
For Love is pitying, Love is soft and kind.
Believe not him who dares the tale oppose;
Oh! deem him one whom stormy passions blind,
One to whom earth and heaven may well be foes.
If Love bring evils, view them all in me!
Here let the world his utmost rigour see,
His utmost power exerted to annoy:
But all his ire is still the ire of love;
And such delight in all his woes I prove,
I would not change their pangs for aught of other joy.
SONNET 133.
“Doces e claras aguas do Mondego.”
Waves of Mondego! brilliant and serene,
Haunts of my thought, where memory fondly strays,
Where hope allured me with perfidious mien,
Witching my soul, in long-departed days;
Yes, I forsake your banks! but still my heart
Shall bid remembrance all your charms restore,
And, suffering not one image to depart,
Find lengthening distance but endear you more.
Let Fortune’s will, through many a future day,
To distant realms this mortal frame convey,
Sport of each wind, and tost on every wave;
Yet my fond soul, to pensive memory true,
On thought’s light pinion still shall fly to you,
And still, bright waters! in your current lave.
SONNET 181.
“Onde acharei lugar taō apartado.”
Where shall I find some desert-scene so rude,
Where loneliness so undisturb’d may reign,
That not a step shall ever there intrude
Of roving man, or nature’s savage train--
Some tangled thicket, desolate and drear,
Or deep wild forest, silent as the tomb,
Boasting no verdure bright, no fountain clear,
But darkly suited to my spirit’s gloom?
That there, midst frowning rocks, alone with grief
Entomb’d in life, and hopeless of relief,
In lonely freedom I may breathe my woes.
For oh! since nought my sorrows can allay,
There shall my sadness cloud no festal day,
And days of gloom shall soothe me to repose.
SONNET 278.
“Eu vivia de lagrimas isento.”
Exempt from every grief,’twas mine to live
In dreams so sweet, enchantments so divine,
A thousand joys propitious Love can give
Were scarcely worth one rapturous pain of mine
Bound by soft spells, in dear illusions blest,
I breathed no sigh for fortune or for power;