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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

Dreaming of some wild legend, in the shade Of the dark laurel foliage, was enough Of happiness. How have these calm delights Fled from before one passion, as the dews, The delicate gems of morning, are exhaled By the great sun! [Raimond _enters_. Raimond! oh! now thou’rt come-- I read it in thy look--to say farewell For the last time--the last! _Raim._ No, best beloved! I come to tell thee there is now no power To part us but in death. _Con._ I have dreamt of joy, But never aught like this. Speak yet again! Say we shall part no more! _Raim._ No more--if love Can strive with darker spirits; and he is strong In his immortal nature! All is changed Since last we met. My father--keep the tale Secret from all, and most of all, my Constance, From Eribert--my father is return’d: I leave thee not. _Con._ Thy father! blessèd sound! Good angels be his guard! Oh! if he knew How my soul clings to thine, he could not hate Even a Provençal maid! Thy father!--now Thy soul will be at peace, and I shall see The sunny happiness of earlier days Look from thy brow once more! But how is this? Thine eye reflects not the glad soul of mine; And in thy look is that which ill befits A tale of joy. _Raim._ A dream is on my soul. I see a slumberer, crown’d with flowers, and smiling As in delighted visions, on the brink Of a dread chasm; and this strange fantasy Hath cast so deep a shadow o’er my thoughts, I cannot but be sad. _Con._ Why, let me sing One of the sweet wild strains you love so well, And this will banish it. _Raim._ It may not be. O gentle Constance! go not forth to-day: Such dreams are ominous. _Con._ Have you then forgot My brother’s nuptial feast? I must be one Of the gay train attending to the shrine His stately bride. In sooth, my step of joy Will print earth lightly now. What fear’st thou, love? Look all around! the blue transparent skies, And sunbeams pouring a more buoyant life Through each glad thrilling vein, will brightly chase All thought of evil. Why, the very air Breathes of delight! Through all its glowing realms Doth music blend with fragrance; and e’en here The city’s voice of jubilee is heard, Till each light leaf seems trembling unto sounds Of human joy! _Raim._ There lie far deeper things-- Things that may darken thought for life, beneath That city’s festive semblance. I have pass’d Through the glad multitudes, and I have mark’d A stern intelligence in meeting eyes, Which deem’d their flash unnoticed, and a quick, Suspicious vigilance, too intent to clothe Its mien with carelessness; and now and then, A hurrying start, a whisper, or a hand Pointing by stealth to some one, singled out Amidst the reckless throng. O’er all is spread A mantling flush of revelry, which may hide Much from unpractised eyes; but lighter signs Have been prophetic oft. _Con._ I tremble!--Raimond! What may these things portend? _Raim._ It was a day Of festival like this; the city sent Up through her sunny firmament a voice Joyous as now; when, scarcely heralded By one deep moan, forth from his cavernous depths The earthquake burst; and the wide splendid scene Became one chaos of all fearful things, Till the brain whirl’d, partaking the sick motion Of rocking palaces. _Con._ And then didst thou, My noble Raimond! through the dreadful paths Laid open by destruction, past the chasms, Whose fathomless clefts, a moment’s work, had given One burial unto thousands, rush to save Thy trembling Constance! she who lives to bless Thy generous love, that still the breath of heaven Wafts gladness to her soul! _Raim._ Heaven!--heaven is just! And being so, must guard thee, sweet one! still. Trust none beside. Oh! the omnipotent skies Make their wrath manifest, but insidious _man_ Doth compass those he hates with secret snares, Wherein lies fate. Know, danger walks abroad, Mask’d as a reveller. Constance! oh, by all Our tried affection, all the vows which bind Our hearts together, meet me in these bowers, Here, I adjure thee, meet me, when the bell Doth sound for vesper prayer! _Con._ And know’st thou not ’Twill be the bridal hour? _Raim._ It will not, love! That hour will bring no bridal! Naught of this To human ear; but speed thou hither--fly, When evening brings that signal. Dost thou heed? This is no meeting by a lover sought To breathe fond tales, and make the twilight groves And stars attest his vows; deem thou not so, Therefore denying it! I tell thee, Constance! If thou wouldst save me from such fierce despair As falls on man, beholding all he loves Perish before him, while his strength can but Strive with his agony--thou’lt meet me then. Look on me, love!--I am not oft so moved-- Thou’lt meet me? _Con._ Oh! what mean thy words? If then My steps are free,--I will. Be thou but calm. _Raim._ Be calm!--there is a cold and sullen calm, And, were my wild fears made realities, It might be mine; but, in this dread suspense-- This conflict of all terrible fantasies, There is no calm. Yet fear thou not, dear love! I will watch o’er thee still. And now, farewell Until that hour! _Con._ My Raimond, fare thee well. [_Exeunt._ Scene IV.--_Room in the Citadel of Palermo._ Alberti, De Couci. _De Cou._ Saidst thou this night? _Alb._ This very night--and lo! E’en now the sun declines. _De Cou._ What! are they arm’d? _Alb._ All arm’d, and strong in vengeance and despair. _De Cou._ Doubtful and strange the tale! Why was not this reveal’d before? _Alb._ Mistrust me not, my lord! That stern and jealous Procida hath kept O’er all my steps (as though he did suspect The purposes, which oft his eye hath sought To read in mine) a watch so vigilant I knew not how to warn thee, though for this Alone I mingled with his bands--to learn Their projects and their strength. Thou know’st my faith To Anjou’s house full well. _De Cou._ How may we now Avert the gathering storm? The viceroy holds His bridal feast, and all is revelry. ’Twas a true-boding heaviness of heart Which kept me from these nuptials. _Alb._ Thou thyself May’st yet escape, and haply of thy bands Rescue a part, ere long to wreak full vengeance Upon these rebels. ’Tis too late to dream Of saving Eribert. E’en shouldst thou rush Before him with the tidings, in his pride And confidence of soul, he would but laugh Thy tale to scorn. _De Cou._ He must not die unwarn’d, Though it be all in vain. But thou, Alberti, Rejoin thy comrades, lest thine absence wake Suspicion in their hearts. Thou hast done well, And shalt not pass unguerdon’d, should I live Through the deep horrors of th’ approaching night. _Alb._ Noble De Couci, trust me still. Anjou Commands no heart more faithful than Alberti’s. [_Exit_ Alberti. _De Cou._ The grovelling slave!--And yet he spoke too true! For Eribert, in blind elated joy, Will scorn the warning voice. The day wanes fast, And through the city, recklessly dispersed, Unarm’d and unprepared, my soldiers revel, E’en on the brink of fate. I must away. [_Exit_ De Couci. Scene V.--_A Banqueting Hall.--Provençal Nobles assembled._ _1st Noble._ Joy be to this fair meeting! Who hath seen The viceroy’s bride? _2d Noble._ I saw her as she pass’d The gazing throngs assembled in the city. ’Tis said she hath not left for years, till now, Her castle’s wood-girt solitude. ’Twill gall These proud Sicilians that her wide domains Should be the conqueror’s guerdon. _3d Noble._ ’Twas their boast With what fond faith she worshipp’d still the name Of the boy Conradin. How will the slaves Brook this new triumph of their lords? _2d Noble._ In sooth, It stings them to the quick. In the full streets They mix with our Provençals, and assume A guise of mirth, but it sits hardly on them. ’Twere worth a thousand festivals to see With what a bitter and unnatural effort They strive to smile! _1st Noble._ Is this Vittoria fair? _2d Noble._ Of a most noble mien; but yet her beauty Is wild and awful, and her large dark eye, In its unsettled glances, hath strange power, From which thou’lt shrink as I did. _1st Noble._ Hush! they come. _Enter_ Eribert, Vittoria, Constance, _and others_. _Eri._ Welcome, my noble friends!--there must not lower One clouded brow to-day in Sicily! --Behold my bride! _Nobles._ Receive our homage, lady! _Vit._ I bid all welcome. May the feast we offer Prove worthy of such guests! _Eri._ Look on her, friends! And say if that majestic brow is not Meet for a diadem? _Vit._ ’Tis well, my lord! When memory’s pictures fade--’tis kindly done To brighten their dimm’d hues! _1st Noble_ (_apart._) Mark’d you her glance? _2d Noble_ (_apart_.) What eloquent scorn was there? Yet he, th’ elate Of heart, perceives it not. _Eri._ Now to the feast! Constance, you look not joyous. I have said That all should smile to-day. _Con._ Forgive me, brother; The heart is wayward, and its garb of pomp At times oppresses it. _Eri._ Why, how is this? _Con._ Voices of woe, and prayers of agony, Unto my soul have risen, and left sad sounds There echoing still. Yet would I fain be gay, Since ’tis your wish. In truth, I should have been A village maid. _Eri._ But being as you are, Not thus ignobly free, command your looks (They may be taught obedience) to reflect The aspect of the time. _Vit._ And know, fair maid! That, if in this unskill’d, you stand alone Amidst our court of pleasure. _Eri._ To the feast! Now let the red wine foam!--There should be mirth When conquerors revel! Lords of this fair isle! Your good swords’ heritage, crown each bowl, and pledge The present and the future! for they both Look brightly on us. Dost thou smile, my bride? _Vit._ Yes, Eribert!--thy prophecies of joy Have taught e’en _me_ to smile. _Eri._ ’Tis well. To-day I have won a fair and almost _royal_ bride; To-morrow let the bright sun speed his course, To waft me happiness!--my proudest foes Must die; and then my slumber shall be laid On rose-leaves, with no envious fold to mar The luxury of its visions!--Fair Vittoria, Your looks are troubled! _Vit._ It is strange--but oft, Midst festal songs and garlands, o’er my soul Death comes, with some dull image! As you spoke Of those whose blood is claim’d, I thought for them Who, in a darkness thicker than the night E’er wove with all her clouds, have pined so long, How blessèd were the stroke which makes them things Of that invisible world, wherein, we trust, There is at least no bondage! But should _we_, From such a scene as this, where all earth’s joys