The Poems of Felicia Hemans

For she was born beyond the stars to soar, And kindling at the source of life, adore; Thou couldst not, mortal! rivet to the earth Her eye, whose beam is of celestial birth; She dwells with those who leave her pinion free, And sheds the dews of heaven on all but thee. Yet few there are so lonely, so bereft, But some true heart, that beats to theirs, is left; And, haply, one whose strong affection’s power Unchanged may triumph through misfortune’s hour, Still with fond care supports thy languid head, And keeps unwearied vigils by thy bed. But thou whose thoughts have no blest home above, Captive of earth! and canst thou dare to _love_? To nurse such feelings as delight to rest Within that hallow’d shrine--a parent’s breast, To fix each hope, concentrate every tie, On one frail idol--destined but to die; Yet mock the faith that points to worlds of light, Where sever’d souls, made perfect, re-unite? Then tremble! cling to every passing joy, Twined with the life a moment may destroy! If there be sorrow in a parting tear, Still let “_for ever_” vibrate on thine ear! If some bright hour on rapture’s wing hath flown, Find more than anguish in the thought--’tis gone! Go! to a voice such magic influence give, Thou canst not lose its melody, and live; And make an eye the lode-star of thy soul, And let a glance the springs of thought control; Gaze on a mortal form with fond delight, Till the fair vision mingles with thy sight; There seek thy blessings, there repose thy trust, Lean on the willow, idolise the dust! Then, when thy treasure best repays thy care, Think on that dread “_for ever_”--and despair! And oh! no strange, unwonted storm there needs To wreck at once thy fragile ark of reeds. Watch well its course--explore with anxious eye Each little cloud that floats along the sky: Is the blue canopy serenely fair? Yet may the thunderbolt unseen be there, And the bark sink when peace and sunshine sleep On the smooth bosom of the waveless deep! Yes! ere a sound, a sign, announce thy fate, May the blow fall which makes thee desolate! Not always heaven’s destroying angel shrouds His awful form in tempests and in clouds; He fills the summer air with latent power, He hides his venom in the scented flower, He steals upon thee in the zephyr’s breath, And festal garlands veil the shafts of death! Where art thou _then_, who thus didst rashly cast Thine all upon the mercy of the blast, And vainly hope the tree of life to find Rooted in sands that flit before the wind? Is not that earth thy spirit loved so well, It wish’d not in a brighter sphere to dwell, Become a desert _now_, a vale of gloom, O’ershadow’d with the midnight of the tomb? Where shalt thou turn? It is not thine to raise To yon pure heaven thy calm confiding gaze-- No gleam reflected from that realm of rest Steals on the darkness of thy troubled breast; Not for thine eye shall Faith divinely shed Her glory round the image of the dead; And if, when slumber’s lonely couch is prest, The form departed be thy spirit’s guest, It bears no light from purer worlds to this; Thy future lends not e’en a dream of bliss. But who shall dare the gate of life to close, Or say, _thus far_ the stream of mercy flows? That fount unseal’d, whose boundless waves embrace Each distant isle, and visit every race, Pours from the throne of God its current free, Nor yet denies th’ immortal draught to thee. Oh! while the doom impends, not yet decreed, While yet th’ Atoner hath not ceased to plead-- While still, suspended by a single hair, The sharp bright sword hangs quivering in the air, Bow down thy heart to Him who will not break The bruisèd reed; e’en yet, awake, awake! Patient, because Eternal,[138] He may hear Thy prayer of agony with pitying ear, And send his chastening Spirit from above, O’er the deep chaos of thy soul to move. But seek thou mercy through his name alone, To whose unequall’d sorrows none was shown; Through Him, who here in mortal garb abode, As man to suffer, and to heal as God; And, born the sons of utmost time to bless, Endured all scorn, and aided all distress. Call thou on Him! for he, in human form, Hath walk’d the waves of life, and still’d the storm. He, when her hour of lingering grace was past, O’er Salem wept, relenting to the last-- Wept with such tears as Judah’s monarch pour’d O’er his lost child, ungrateful, yet deplored; And, offering guiltless blood that guilt might live, Taught from his Cross the lesson--to forgive! Call thou on Him! His prayer e’en then arose, Breathed in unpitied anguish for his foes. And haste!--ere bursts the lightning from on high, Fly to the City of thy Refuge, fly![139] So shall th’ Avenger turn his steps away, And sheath his falchion, baffled of its prey. Yet must long days roll on, ere peace shall brood, As the soft halcyon, o’er thy heart subdued; Ere yet the Dove of Heaven descend to shed Inspiring influence o’er thy fallen head. --He who hath pined in dungeons, midst the shade Of such deep night as man for man hath made, Through lingering years--if call’d at length to be Once more, by nature’s boundless charter, free Shrinks feebly back, the blaze of noon to shun, Fainting at day, and blasted by the sun. Thus, when the captive soul hath long remain’d In its own dread abyss of darkness chain’d, If the Deliverer, in his might at last, Its fetters, born of earth, to earth should cast, The beam of truth o’erpowers its dazzled sight, Trembling it sinks, and finds no joy in light. But this will pass away: that spark of mind, Within thy frame unquenchably enshrined, Shall live to triumph in its brightening ray, Born to be foster’d with ethereal day. Then wilt thou bless the hour when o’er thee pass’d, On wing of flame, the purifying blast, And sorrow’s voice, through paths before untrod, Like Sinai’s trumpet, call’d thee to thy God! But hopest thou, in thy panoply of pride, Heaven’s messenger, affliction, to deride? In thine own strength unaided to defy, With Stoic smile, the arrows of the sky? Torn by the vulture, fetter’d to the rock, Still, demigod! the tempest wilt thou mock? Alas! the tower that crests the mountain’s brow A thousand years may awe the vale below, Yet not the less be shatter’d on its height By one dread moment of the earthquake’s might! A thousand pangs thy bosom may have borne, In silent fortitude or haughty scorn, Till comes the one, the master-anguish, sent To break the mighty heart that ne’er was bent. Oh! what is nature’s strength? The vacant eye, By mind deserted, hath a dread reply! The wild delirious laughter of despair, The mirth of frenzy--seek an answer there! Turn not away, though pity’s cheek grow pale, Close not thine ear against their awful tale. They tell thee Reason, wandering from the ray Of Faith, the blazing pillar of her way, In the mid-darkness of the stormy wave Forsook the struggling soul she could not save! Weep not, sad moralist! o’er desert plains Strew’d with the wrecks of grandeur--mouldering fanes, Arches of triumph, long with weeds o’ergrown, And regal cities, now the serpent’s own: Earth has more awful ruins--one lost mind, Whose star is quench’d, hath lessons for mankind Of deeper import than each prostrate dome Mingling its marble with the dust of Rome. But who with eye unshrinking shall explore That waste, illumed by reason’s beam no more? Who pierce the deep mysterious clouds that roll Around the shatter’d temple of the soul, Curtain’d with midnight? Low its columns lie, And dark the chambers of its imagery;[140] Sunk are its idols now--and God alone May rear the fabric by their fall o’erthrown! Yet from its inmost shrine, by storms laid bare, Is heard an oracle that cries--“Beware! Child of the dust! but ransom’d of the skies! One breath of heaven, and thus thy glory dies! Haste, ere the hour of doom--draw nigh to Him Who dwells above, between the cherubim!” Spirit dethroned! and check’d in mid career-- Son of the morning! exiled from thy sphere, Tell us thy tale! Perchance thy race was run With science in the chariot of the sun; Free as the winds the paths of space to sweep, Traverse the untrodden kingdoms of the deep, And search the laws that nature’s springs control, There tracing all--save Him who guides the whole! Haply thine eye its ardent glance had cast Through the dim shades, the portals of the past; By the bright lamp of thought thy care had fed From the far beacon-lights of ages fled, The depths of time exploring, to retrace The glorious march of many a vanish’d race. Or did thy power pervade the living lyre Till its deep chords became instinct with fire, Silenced all meaner notes, and swell’d on high, Full and alone, their mighty harmony; While woke each passion from its cell profound, And nations started at th’ electric sound? Lord of th’ ascendant! what avails it now, Though bright the laurels waved upon thy brow? What though thy name, through distant empires heard, Bade the heart bound, as doth a battle-word? Was it for _this_ thy still unwearied eye Kept vigil with the watchfires of the sky, To make the secrets of all ages thine, And commune with majestic thoughts that shine O’er Time’s long shadowy pathway?--hath thy mind Sever’d its lone dominions from mankind, For _this_ to woo their homage! Thou hast sought All, save the wisdom with salvation fraught, Won every wreath--but that which will not die, Nor aught neglected--save eternity! And did all fail thee in the hour of wrath, When burst th’ o’erwhelming vials on thy path? Could not the voice of Fame inspire thee then, O spirit! sceptred by the sons of men, With an immortal’s courage, to sustain The transient agonies of earthly pain? --One, one there was, all-powerful to have saved When the loud fury of the billow raved; But him thou knew’st not--and the light he lent Hath vanish’d from its ruin’d tenement, But left thee breathing, moving, lingering yet, A thing we shrink from--vainly to forget! --Lift the dread veil no further! Hide, oh hide The bleeding form, the couch of suicide! The dagger, grasp’d in death--the brow, the eye, Lifeless, yet stamp’d with rage and agony; The soul’s dark traces left in many a line Graved on _his_ mein, who died--“and made no sign!” Approach not, gaze not--lest thy fever’d brain Too deep that image of despair retain. Angels of slumber! o’er the midnight hour Let not such visions claim unhallow’d power, Lest the mind sink with terror, and above See but th’ Avenger’s arm, forget th’ Atoner’s love! O Thou! th’ unseen, th’ all-seeing!--Thou whose ways, Mantled with darkness, mock all finite gaze, Before whose eyes the creatures of Thy hand, Seraph and man alike, in weakness stand, And countless ages, trampling into clay Earth’s empires on their march, are but a day;