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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

[_They begin to rally round him._ Ay, this is well!--Now, follow me, and charge! [_The Provençals rush in, but are repulsed by the Sicilians. _--_Exeunt._ Scene V.--_Part of the Field of Battle._ Montalba _enters wounded, and supported by_ Raimond, _whose face is concealed by his helmet_. _Raim._ Here rest thee, warrior. _Mon._ Rest! ay, death is rest, And such will soon be mine. But, thanks to _thee_, I shall not die a captive. Brave Sicilian! These lips are all unused to soothing words, Or I should bless the valour which hath won, For my last hour, the proud free solitude Wherewith my soul would gird itself. Thy name? _Raim._ ’Twill be no music to thine ear, Montalba. Gaze--read it thus! [_He lifts the visor of his helmet._ _Mon._ Raimond di Procida! _Raim._ Thou hast pursued me with a bitter hate: But fare thee well! Heaven’s peace be with thy soul! I must away. One glorious effort more, And this proud field is won. [_Exit_ Raimond. _Mon._ Am I thus humbled? How my heart sinks within me! But ’tis Death (And he can tame the mightiest) hath subdued My towering nature thus. Yet is he welcome! That youth--’twas in his pride he rescued me! I was his deadliest foe, and thus he proved His fearless scorn. Ha! ha! but he shall fail To melt me into womanish feebleness. _There_ I still baffle him--the grave shall seal My lips for ever--mortal shall not hear Montalba say--“_forgive!_” [_He dies._ Scene VI.--_Another part of the Field._ Procida, Guido, _and other Sicilians_. _Pro._ The day is ours; but he, the brave unknown, Who turn’d the tide of battle--he whose path Was victory--who hath seen him? Alberti _is brought in wounded and fettered_. _Alb._ Procida! _Pro._ Be silent, traitor! Bear him from my sight, Unto your deepest dungeons. _Alb._ In the grave A nearer home awaits me. Yet one word Ere my voice fail--thy son---- _Pro._ Speak, speak! _Alb._ Thy son Knows not a thought of guilt. That trait’rous plot Was mine alone. [_He is led away._ _Pro._ Attest it, earth and heaven! My son is guiltless! Hear it, Sicily! The blood of Procida is noble still! My son! He lives, he lives! His voice shall speak Forgiveness to his sire! His name shall cast Its brightness o’er my soul! _Gui._ O day of joy! The brother of my heart is worthy still The lofty name he bears! Anselmo _enters_. _Pro._ Anselmo, welcome! In a glad hour we meet; for know, my son Is guiltless. _Ans._ And victorious! By his arm All hath been rescued. _Pro._ How!--the unknown---- _Ans._ Was he! Thy noble Raimond!--by Vittoria’s hand Freed from his bondage, in that awful hour When all was flight and terror. _Pro._ Now my cup Of joy too brightly mantles! Let me press My warrior to a father’s heart--and die; For life hath naught beyond. Why comes he not? Anselmo, lead me to my valiant boy! _Ans._ Temper this proud delight. _Pro._ What means that look? He hath not fallen? _Ans._ He lives. _Pro._ Away, away! Bid the wide city with triumphal pomp Prepare to greet her victor. Let this hour Atone for all his wrongs! [_Exeunt._ Scene VII.--_Garden of a Convent._ Raimond _is led in wounded, leaning on Attendants_. _Raim._ Bear me to no dull couch, but let me die In the bright face of nature! Lift my helm, That I may look on heaven. _1st Att._ (_to 2d Attendant._) Lay him to rest On this green sunny bank, and I will call Some holy sister to his aid; but thou Return unto the field, for high-born men There need the peasant’s aid. [_Exit 2d Attendant._ (_To Raim._) Here gentle hands Shall tend thee, warrior; for, in these retreats, _They_ dwell, whose vows devote them to the care Of all that suffer. May’st thou live to bless them! [_Exit 1st Attendant._ _Raim._ Thus have I wish’d to die! ’Twas a proud strife! My father bless’d th’ unknown who rescued him, (Bless’d him, alas, because unknown!) and Guido, Beside him bravely struggling, call’d aloud, “Noble Sicilian, on!” Oh! had they deem’d ’Twas I who led that rescue, they had spurn’d Mine aid, though ’twas deliverance; and their looks Had fallen like blights upon me. There is one, Whose eye ne’er turn’d on mine but its blue light Grew softer, trembling through the dewy mist Raised by deep tenderness! Oh, might the soul, Set in that eye, shine on me ere I perish! --Is’t not her voice? Constance _enters speaking to a Nun, who turns into another path_. _Con._ Oh, happy they, kind sister! Whom thus ye tend; for it is theirs to fall With brave men side by side, when the roused heart Beats proudly to the last! There are high souls Whose hope was such a death, and ’tis denied! [_She approaches_ Raimond. Young warrior, is there aught----_Thou_ here, my Raimond! _Thou_ here--and thus! Oh! is this joy or woe? _Raim._ Joy, be it joy! my own, my blessed love! E’en on the grave’s dim verge. Yes! it _is_ joy! My Constance! victors have been crown’d ere now, With the green shining laurel, when their brows Wore death’s own impress--and it may be thus E’en yet, with me! They freed me, when the foe Had half prevail’d, and I have proudly earn’d, With my heart’s dearest blood, the meed to die Within thine arms. _Con._ Oh! speak not thus--to die! These wounds may yet be closed. [_She attempts to bind his wounds._ Look on me, love! Why, there is _more_ than life in thy glad mien-- ’Tis full of hope! and from thy kindled eye Breaks e’en unwonted light, whose ardent ray Seems born to be immortal! _Raim._ ’Tis e’en so! The parting soul doth gather all her fires Around her; all her glorious hopes, and dreams, And burning aspirations, to illume The shadowy dimness of the untrodden path Which lies before her; and encircled thus, Awhile she sits in dying eyes, and thence Sends forth her bright farewell. Thy gentle cares Are vain, and yet I bless them. _Con._ Say not vain; The dying look not thus. We shall not part! _Raim._ I have seen death ere now, and known him wear Full many a changeful aspect. _Con._ Oh! but none Radiant as thine, my warrior! Thou wilt live! Look round thee! all is sunshine. Is not this A smiling world? _Raim._ Ay, gentlest love! a world Of joyous beauty and magnificence, Almost too fair to leave! Yet must we tame Our ardent hearts to this! Oh, weep thou not! There is no home for liberty, or love, Beneath these festal skies! Be not deceived; My way lies far beyond! I shall be soon That viewless thing, which, with its mortal weeds Casting off meaner passions, yet, we trust, Forgets not how to love! _Con._ And must this be? Heaven, thou art merciful!--Oh! bid our souls Depart together! _Raim._ Constance! there is strength Within thy gentle heart, which hath been proved Nobly, for me: arouse it once again! Thy grief unmans me--and I fain would meet That which approaches, as a brave man yields With proud submission to a mightier foe. --It is upon me now! _Con._ I will be calm. Let thy head rest upon my bosom, Raimond, And I will so suppress its quick deep sobs, They shall but rock thee to thy rest. There is A world (ay, let us seek it!) where no blight Falls on the beautiful rose of youth, and there I shall be with thee soon! Procida _and_ Anselmo _enter_. Procida, _on seeing_ Raimond, _starts back_. _Ans._ Lift up thy head, Brave youth, excitingly! for lo! thine hour Of glory comes! Oh! doth it come too late? E’en now the false Alberti hath confess’d That guilty plot, for which thy life was doom’d To be th’ atonement. _Raim._ ’Tis enough! Rejoice, Rejoice, my Constance! for I leave a name O’er which thou may’st weep proudly! [_He sinks back._ To thy breast Fold me yet closer, for an icy dart Hath touch’d my veins. _Con._ And must thou leave me, Raimond? Alas! thine eye grows dim--its wandering glance Is full of dreams. _Raim._ Haste, haste, and tell my father I was no traitor! _Pro._ (_rushing forward._) To thy father’s heart Return, forgiving all thy wrongs--return! Speak to me, Raimond!--thou wert ever kind, And brave, and gentle! Say that all the past Shall be forgiven! That word from none but thee My lips e’er ask’d.--Speak to me once, my boy, My pride, my hope! And it is with thee thus? Look on me yet!--Oh! must this woe be borne? _Raim._ Off with this weight of chains! it is not meet For a crown’d conqueror!--Hark! the trumpet’s voice! [_A sound of triumphant music is heard gradually approaching._ Is’t not a thrilling call? What drowsy spell Benumbs me thus?--Hence! I am free again! Now swell your festal strains--the field is won! Sing to me glorious dreams. [_He dies._ _Ans._ The strife is past; There fled a noble spirit! _Con._ Hush! he sleeps-- Disturb him not! _Ans._ Alas! this is no sleep From which the eye doth radiantly unclose: Bow down thy soul, for earthly hope is o’er! [_The music continues approaching._ Guido _enters with Citizens and Soldiers_. _Gui._ The shrines are deck’d, the festive torches blaze-- Where is our brave deliverer? We are come To crown Palermo’s victor! _Ans._ Ye come too late. The voice of human praise doth send no echo Into the world of spirits. [_The music ceases._ _Pro._ (_after a pause._) Is this dust I look on--Raimond? ’Tis but a sleep!--a smile On his pale cheek sits proudly. Raimond, wake! Oh, God! and this was his triumphant day! My son, my injured son! _Con._ (_starting._) Art _thou_ his father! I know thee now.--Hence! with thy dark stern eye And thy cold heart! Thou canst not wake him now! Away! he will not answer but to me-- For none like me hath loved him! He is mine! Ye shall not rend him from me. _Pro._ Oh! he _knew_ Thy love, poor maid! Shrink from me now no more! He knew _thy_ heart--but who shall tell him now The depth, th’ intenseness, and the agony, Of my suppress’d affection? I have learn’d All his high worth in time to deck his grave. Is there not power in the strong spirit’s woe To force an answer from the viewless world Of the departed? Raimond!--speak!--forgive! Raimond! my victor, my deliverer! hear! --Why, what a world is this! Truth ever bursts On the dark soul too late: and glory crowns Th’ unconscious dead. There comes an hour to break The mightiest hearts!--My son! my son! is this