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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

--If thus, there yet were mercy! Father, father! Is thy heart human? _Pro._ Bear her hence, I say! Why must my soul be torn? Anselmo _enters holding a Crucifix_. _Ans._ Now, by this sign Of heaven’s prevailing love! ye shall not harm One ringlet of her head. How! is there not Enough of blood upon your burthen’d souls? Will not the visions of your midnight couch Be wild and dark enough, but ye must heap Crime upon crime? Be ye content: your dreams, Your councils, and your banquetings, will yet Be haunted by the voice which doth not sleep, E’en though this maid be spared! Constance, look up! Thou shalt not die. _Raim._ Oh! death e’en now hath veil’d The light of her soft beauty. Wake my love! Wake at my voice! _Pro._ Anselmo, lead her hence, And let her live, but never meet my sight. --Begone! my heart will burst. _Raim._ One last embrace! --Again life’s rose is opening on her cheek; Yet must we part. So love is crush’d on earth! But there are brighter worlds!--Farewell, farewell! [_He gives her to the care of_ Anselmo. _Con._ (_slowly recovering._) There was a voice which call’d me. Am I not A spirit freed from earth? Have I not pass’d The bitterness of death? _Ans._ Oh, haste away! _Con._ Yes! Raimond calls me. He too is released From his cold bondage. We are free at last, And all is well. Away! [_She is led out by_ Anselmo. _Raim._ The pang is o’er, And I have but to die. _Mon._ Now, Procida, Comes thy great task. Wake! summon to thine aid All thy deep soul’s commanding energies; For thou--a chief among us--must pronounce The sentence of thy son. It rests with thee. _Pro._ Ha! ha! Men’s hearts should be of softer mould Than in the elder time. Fathers could doom Their children _then_ with an unfaltering voice, And we must tremble thus! Is it not said That nature grows degenerate, earth being now So full of days? _Mon._ Rouse up thy mighty heart. _Pro._ Ay, thou say’st right. There yet are souls which tower As landmarks to mankind. Well, what’s the task? --There is a man to be condemn’d, you say? Is he then guilty? _All._ Thus we deem of him, With one accord. _Pro._ And hath he naught to plead? _Raim._ Naught but a soul unstain’d. _Pro._ Why, that is little. Stains on the soul are but as conscience deems them, And conscience may be sear’d. But for this sentence! --Was’t not the penalty imposed on man, E’en from creation’s dawn, that he must die? --It was: thus making guilt a sacrifice Unto eternal justice; and we but Obey heaven’s mandate when we cast dark souls To th’ elements from among us. Be it so! Such be _his_ doom! I have said. Ay, now my heart Is girt with adamant, whose cold weight doth press Its gaspings down. Off! let me breathe in freedom! --Mountains are on my breast! [_He sinks back._ _Mon._ Guards, bear the prisoner Back to his dungeon. _Raim._ Father! oh, look up; Thou art my father still! _Gui._ (_leaving the tribunal, throws himself on the neck of_ Raimond.) Oh! Raimond, Raimond! If it should be that I have wrong’d thee, say Thou dost forgive me. _Raim._ Friend of my young days, So may all-pitying heaven! [Raimond _is led out._ _Pro._ Whose voice was that? Where is he?--gone? Now I may breathe once more In the free air of heaven. Let us away. [_Exeunt omnes._ ACT V. Scene I.--_A Prison dimly lighted._ Raimond _sleeping_. Procida _enters_. _Pro._ (_gazing upon him earnestly._) Can he Then sleep? Th’ overshadowing night hath wrapt Earth at her stated hours; the stars have set Their burning watch; and all things hold their course Of wakefulness and rest; yet hath not sleep Sat on mine eyelids since--but this avails not! And thus _he_ slumbers! “Why, this mien doth seem As if its soul were but one lofty thought Of an immortal destiny!”--his brow Is calm as waves whereon the midnight heavens Are imaged silently. Wake, Raimond! wake! Thy rest is deep. _Raim._ (_starting up._) My father! Wherefore here? I am prepared to die, yet would I not Fall by _thy_ hand. _Pro._ ’Twas not for _this_ I came. _Raim._ Then wherefore? and upon thy lofty brow Why burns the troubled flush? _Pro._ Perchance ’tis shame. Yes, it may well be shame!--for I have striven With nature’s feebleness, and been o’erpower’d. --Howe’er it be, ’tis not for _thee_ to gaze, Noting it thus. Rise, let me loose thy chains. Arise, and follow me; but let thy step Fall without sound on earth: I have prepared The means for thy escape. _Raim._ What! _thou!_ the austere, The inflexible Procida! hast _thou_ done this, Deeming me guilty still! _Pro._ Upbraid me not! It is even so. There have been nobler deeds By Roman fathers done,--but I am weak. Therefore, again I say, arise! and haste, For the night wanes. Thy fugitive course must be To realms beyond the deep; so let us part In silence, and for ever. _Raim._ Let _him_ fly Who holds no deep asylum in his breast Wherein to shelter from the scoffs of men; --I can sleep calmly here. _Pro._ Art thou in love With death and infamy, that so thy choice Is made, lost boy! when freedom courts thy grasp? _Raim._ Father! to set th’ irrevocable seal Upon that shame wherewith ye have branded me, There needs but flight. What should I bear from this, My native land?--A blighted name, to rise And part me, with its dark remembrances, For ever from the sunshine! O’er my soul Bright shadowings of a nobler destiny Float in dim beauty through the gloom; but here On earth, my hopes are closed. _Pro._ _Thy_ hopes are closed! And what were they to mine?--Thou wilt not fly! Why, let all traitors flock to thee, and learn How proudly guilt can talk! Let fathers rear Their offspring henceforth, as the free wild birds Foster their young: when these can mount alone, Dissolving nature’s bonds, why should it not Be so with us? _Raim._ O father! now I feel What high prerogatives belong to Death. He hath a deep though voiceless eloquence, To which I leave my cause. “His solemn veil Doth with mysterious beauty clothe our virtues, And in its vast oblivious folds, for ever Give shelter to our faults.” When I am gone, The mists of passion which have dimm’d my name Will melt like day-dreams; and my memory then Will be--not what it should have been--for I Must pass without my fame--but yet unstain’d As a clear morning dewdrop. Oh! the grave Hath rights inviolate as a sanctuary’s, And they should be my own! _Pro._ Now, by just Heaven, I will not thus be tortured!--Were my heart But of thy guilt or innocence assured, I could be calm again. “But in this wild Suspense--this conflict and vicissitude Of opposite feelings and convictions----What! Hath it been mine to temper and to bend All spirits to my purpose? have I raised With a severe and passionless energy, From the dread mingling of their elements, Storms which have rock’d the earth?--and shall I now Thus fluctuate as a feeble reed, the scorn And plaything of the winds?” Look on me, boy! Guilt never dared to meet these eyes, and keep Its heart’s dark secret close.--O pitying Heaven! Speak to my soul with some dread oracle, And tell me which is truth. _Raim._ I will not plead. I will not call th’ Omnipotent to attest My innocence. No, father! in thy heart I know my birthright shall be soon restored; Therefore I look to death, and bid thee speed The great absolver. _Pro._ O my son! my son! We will not part in wrath! The sternest hearts, Within their proud and guarded fastnesses, Hide something still, round which their tendrils cling With a close grasp, unknown to those who dress Their love in smiles. And such wert thou to me! The all which taught me that my soul was cast In nature’s mould. And I must now hold on My desolate course alone! Why, be it thus! He that doth guide a nation’s star, should dwell High o’er the clouds, in regal solitude, Sufficient to himself. _Raim._ Yet, on the summit, When with her bright wings glory shadows thee, Forget not him who coldly sleeps beneath, Yet might have soar’d as high! _Pro._ No, fear thou not! Thou’lt be remember’d long. The canker-worm O’ th’ heart is ne’er forgotten. _Raim._ “Oh! not thus-- I would not _thus_ be thought of.” _Pro._ Let me deem Again that thou art base!--for thy bright looks, Thy glorious mien of fearlessness and truth, Then would not haunt me as the avenging powers Follow’d the parricide. Farewell, farewell! I have no tears. Oh! thus thy mother look’d, When, with a sad, yet half-triumphant smile, All radiant with deep meaning, from her deathbed She gave thee to my arms. _Raim._ Now death has lost His sting, since thou believ’st me innocent! _Pro._ (_wildly._) _Thou_ innocent!--Am I thy murderer, then? Away! I tell thee thou hast made my name A scorn to men! No! I will _not_ forgive thee; A traitor! What! the blood of Procida Filling a traitor’s veins? Let the earth drink it. _Thou_ wouldst receive our foes!--but they shall meet From thy perfidious lips a welcome, cold As death can make it. Go, prepare thy soul! _Raim._ Father! yet hear me! _Pro._ No! thou’rt skill’d to make E’en shame look fair. Why should I linger thus? [_Going to leave the prison, he turns back for a moment._ If there be aught--if aught--for which thou need’st Forgiveness--not of me, but that dread Power From whom no heart is veil’d--delay thou not Thy prayer,--time hurries on. _Raim._ I am prepared. _Pro._ ’Tis well. [_Exit_ Procida. _Raim._ Men talk of torture!--Can they wreak Upon the sensitive and shrinking frame, Half the mind bears--and lives? My spirit feels Bewilder’d; on its powers this twilight gloom Hangs like a weight of earth.--It should be morn; Why, then, perchance, a beam of heaven’s bright sun Hath pierced, ere now, the grating of my dungeon, Telling of hope and mercy! [_Exit into an inner cell._ Scene II.--_A Street of Palermo._ _Many Citizens assembled._ _1st Cit._ The morning breaks; his time is almost come: Will he be led this way? _2d Cit._ Ay, so ’tis said To die before that gate through which he purposed The foe should enter in! _3d Cit._ ’Twas a vile plot! And yet I would my hands were pure as his From the deep stain of blood. Didst hear the sounds I’ the air last night! _2d Cit._ Since the great work of slaughter, Who hath not heard them duly at those hours Which should be silent? _3d Cit._ Oh! the fearful mingling, The terrible mimicry of human voices, In every sound, which to the heart doth speak