Read Ebook: Poems by Kemble Fanny

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Ebook has 277 lines and 21460 words, and 6 pages

TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.

Here's a health to thee, Bard of Erin! To the goblet's brim we will fill; For all that to life is endearing, Thy strains have made dearer still!

Wherever fond woman's eyes eclipse The midnight moon's soft ray; Whenever around dear woman's lips, The smiles of affection play:

We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin! To the goblet's brim we will fill, For all that to life is endearing, Thy strains have made dearer still!

Wherever the warrior's sword is bound With the laurel of victory, Wherever the patriot's brow is crowned With the halo of liberty:

We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin! To the goblet's brim we will fill; For all that to life is endearing Thy strains have made dearer still!

Wherever the voice of mirth hath rung, On the listening ear of night, Wherever the soul of wit hath flung Its flashes of vivid light:

We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin! To the goblet's brim we will fill; For all that to life is endearing, In thy strains is dearer still.

A WISH.

Oh! that I were a fairy sprite, to wander In forest paths, o'erarched with oak and beech; Where the sun's yellow light, in slanting rays, Sleeps on the dewy moss: what time the breath Of early morn stirs the white hawthorn boughs, And fills the air with showers of snowy blossoms. Or lie at sunset 'mid the purple heather, Listening the silver music that rings out From the pale mountain bells, swayed by the wind. Or sit in rocky clefts above the sea, While one by one the evening stars shine forth Among the gathering clouds, that strew the heavens Like floating purple wreaths of mournful nightshade!

THE MINSTREL'S GRAVE.

Oh let it be where the waters are meeting, In one crystal sheet, like the summer's sky bright! Oh let it be where the sun, when retreating, May throw the last glance of his vanishing light. Lay me there! lay me there! and upon my lone pillow Let the emerald moss in soft starry wreaths swell; Be my dirge the faint sob of the murmuring billow, And the burthen it sings to me, nought but "farewell!"

Oh let it be where soft slumber enticing, The cypress and myrtle have mingled their shade: Oh let it be where the moon at her rising, May throw the first night-glance that silvers the glade. Lay me there! lay me there! and upon the green willow Hang the harp that has cheered the lone minstrel so well, That the soft breath of heaven, as it sighs o'er my pillow, From its strings, now forsaken, may sound one farewell.

When we first met, dark wintry skies were glooming, And the wild winds sang requiem to the year; But thou, in all thy beauty's pride wert blooming, And my young heart knew hope without a fear.

When we last parted, summer suns were smiling, And the bright earth her flowery vesture wore; But thou hadst lost the power of beguiling, For my wrecked, wearied heart, could hope no more.

ON A FORGET-ME-NOT, Brought from Switzerland.

Flower of the mountain! by the wanderer's hand Robbed of thy beauty's short-lived sunny day; Didst thou but blow to gem the stranger's way, And bloom, to wither in the stranger's land? Hueless and scentless as thou art, How much that stirs the memory, How much, much more, that thrills the heart, Thou faded thing, yet lives in thee!

Where is thy beauty? in the grassy blade, There lives more fragrance, and more freshness now; Yet oh! not all the flowers that bloom and fade, Are half so dear to memory's eye as thou. The dew that on the mountain lies, The breeze that o'er the mountain sighs, Thy parent stem will nurse and nourish; But thou--not e'en those sunny eyes As bright, as blue, as thine own skies, Thou faded thing! can make thee flourish.

SONNET.

'Twas but a dream! and oh! what are they all, All the fond visions Hope's bright finger traces, All the fond visions Time's dark wing effaces, But very dreams! but morning buds, that fall Withered and blighted, long before the night: Strewing the paths they should have made more bright, With mournful wreaths, whose light hath past away, That can return to life and beauty never, And yet, of whom it was but yesterday, We deemed they'd bloom as fresh and fair for ever. Oh then, when hopes, that to thy heart are dearest, Over the future shed their sunniest beam, When round thy path their bright wings hover nearest, Trust not too fondly!--for 'tis but a dream!

SONNET.

Oh weary, weary world! how full thou art Of sin, of sorrow, and all evil things! In thy fierce turmoil, where shall the sad heart, Released from pain, fold its unrested wings? Peace hath no dwelling here, but evermore Loud discord, strife, and envy, fill the earth With fearful riot, whilst unhallowed mirth Shrieks frantic laughter forth, leading along, Whirling in dizzy trance the eager throng, Who bear aloft the overflowing cup, With tears, forbidden joys, and blood filled up, Quaffing long draughts of death; in lawless might, Drunk with soft harmonies, and dazzling light, So rush they down to the eternal night.

TO THE PICTURE OF A LADY.

Lady, sweet lady, I behold thee yet, With thy pale brow, brown eyes, and solemn air, And billowy tresses of thy golden hair, Which once to see, is never to forget! But for short space I gazed, with soul intent Upon thee; and the limner's art divine, Meantime, poured all thy spirit into mine. But once I gazed, then on my way I went: And thou art still before me. Like a dream Of what our soul has loved, and lost for ever, Thy vision dwells with me, and though I never May be so blest as to behold thee more, That one short look has stamped thee in my heart, Of my intensest life a living part, Which time, and death, shall never triumph o'er.

FRAGMENT.

Walking by moonlight on the golden margin That binds the silver sea, I fell to thinking Of all the wild imaginings that man Hath peopled heaven, and earth, and ocean with; Making fair nature's solitary haunts Alive with beings, beautiful and fearful. And as the chain of thought grew link by link, It seemed, as though the midnight heavens waxed brighter, The stars gazed fix'dly with their golden eyes, And a strange light played o'er each sleeping billow, That laid its head upon the sandy beach. Anon there came along the rocky shore A far-off sound of sweetest minstrelsy. From no one point of heaven, or earth, it came; But under, over, and about it breathed, Filling my soul with thrilling, fearful pleasure. It swelled, as though borne on the floating wings Of the midsummer breeze: it died away Towards heaven, as though it sank into the clouds, That one by one melted like flakes of snow In the moonbeams. Then came a rushing sound, Like countless wings of bees, or butterflies; And suddenly, as far as eye might view, The coast was peopled with a world of elves, Who in fantastic ringlets danced around, With antic gestures, and wild beckoning motion, Aimed at the moon. White was their snowy vesture, And shining as the Alps, when that the sun Gems their pale robes with diamonds. On their heads Were wreaths of crimson and of yellow foxglove. They were all fair, and light as dreams; anon The dance broke off; and sailing through the air, Some one way, and some other, they did each Alight upon some waving branch, or flower, That garlanded the rocks upon the shore. One, chiefly, did I mark, one tiny sprite, Who crept into an orange flower-bell, And there lay nestling, whilst his eager lips Drank from its virgin chalice the night dew, That glistened, like a pearl, in its white bosom.

SONNET.

Cover me with your everlasting arms, Ye guardian giants of this solitude! From the ill-sight of men, and from the rude, Tumultuous din of yon wide world's alarms! Oh, knit your mighty limbs around, above, And close me in for ever! let me dwell With the wood spirits, in the darkest cell That ever with your verdant locks ye wove. The air is full of countless voices, joined In one eternal hymn; the whispering wind, The shuddering leaves, the hidden water-springs, The work-song of the bees, whose honeyed wings Hang in the golden tresses of the lime, Or buried lie in purple beds of thyme.

WRITTEN ON CRAMOND BEACH.

Farewell, old playmate! on thy sandy shore My lingering feet will leave their print no more; To thy loved side I never may return. I pray thee, old companion, make due mourn For the wild spirit who so oft has stood Gazing in love and wonder on thy flood. The form is now departing far away, That half in anger oft, and half in play, Thou hast pursued with thy white showers of foam. Thy waters daily will besiege the home I loved among the rocks; but there will be No laughing cry, to hail thy victory, Such as was wont to greet thee, when I fled, With hurried footsteps, and averted head, Like fallen monarch, from my venturous stand, Chased by thy billows far along the sand. And when at eventide thy warm waves drink The amber clouds that in their bosom sink; When sober twilight over thee has spread Her purple pall, when the glad day is dead My voice no more will mingle with the dirge That rose in mighty moaning from thy surge, Filling with awful harmony the air, When thy vast soul and mine were joined in prayer.

SONNET.

Away, away! bear me away, away, Into the boundless void, thou mighty wind! That rushest on thy midnight way, And leav'st this weary world, far, far behind! Away, away! bear me away, away, To the wide strandless deep, Ye headlong waters! whose mad eddies leap From the pollution of your bed of clay! Away, away, bear me away, away, Into the fountains of eternal light, Ye rosy clouds! that to my longing sight Seem melting in the sun's devouring ray! Away, away! oh, for some mighty blast, To sweep this loathsome life into the past!

FRAGMENT.

SONNET.

Oft let me wander hand in hand with Thought, In woodland paths, and lone sequester'd shades, What time the sunny banks and mossy glades, With dewy wreaths of early violets wrought, Into the air their fragrant incense fling, To greet the triumph of the youthful Spring. Lo, where she comes! 'scaped from the icy lair Of hoary Winter; wanton, free, and fair! Now smile the heavens again upon the earth, Bright hill, and bosky dell, resound with mirth, And voices, full of laughter and wild glee, Shout through the air pregnant with harmony; And wake poor sobbing Echo, who replies With sleepy voice, that softly, slowly dies.

SONNET.

I would I knew the lady of thy heart! She whom thou lov'st perchance, as I love thee,-- She unto whom thy thoughts and wishes flee; Those thoughts, in which, alas! I bear no part. Oh, I have sat and sighed, thinking how fair, How passing beautiful, thy love must be; Of mind how high, of modesty how rare; And then I've wept, I've wept in agony! Oh, that I might but once behold those eyes, That to thy enamour'd gaze alone seem fair; Once hear that voice, whose music still replies To the fond vows thy passionate accents swear: Oh, that I might but know the truth and die, Nor live in this long dream of misery!

A PROMISE.

A PROMISE.

SONNET.

Spirit of all sweet sounds! who in mid air Sittest enthroned, vouchsafe to hear my prayer! Let all those instruments of music sweet, That in great nature's hymn bear burthen meet, Sing round this mossy pillow, where my head From the bright noontide sky is sheltered. Thou southern wind! wave, wave thy od'rous wings; O'er your smooth channels gush, ye crystal springs! Ye laughing elves! that through the rustling corn Run chattering; thou tawny-coated bee, Who at thy honey-work sing'st drowsily; And ye, oh ye! who greet the dewy morn, And fragrant eventide, with melody, Ye wild wood minstrels, sing my lullaby!

I would I might be with thee, when the year Begins to wane, and that thou walk'st alone Upon the rocky strand, whilst loud and clear, The autumn wind sings, from his cloudy throne, Wild requiems for the summer that is gone. Or when, in sad and contemplative mood, Thy feet explore the leafy-paven wood: I would my soul might reason then with thine, Upon those themes most solemn and most strange, Which every falling leaf and fading flower, Whisper unto us with a voice divine; Filling the brief space of one mortal hour, With fearful thoughts of death, decay, and change, And the high mystery of that after birth, That comes to us, as well as to the earth.

SONNET.

THE VISION OF LIFE.

Death and I, On a hill so high, Stood side by side: And we saw below, Running to and fro, All things that be in the world so wide.

Ten thousand cries From the gulf did rise, With a wild discordant sound; Laughter and wailing, Prayer and railing, As the ball spun round and round.

And over all Hung a floating pall Of dark and gory veils: 'Tis the blood of years, And the sighs and tears, Which this noisome marsh exhales.

All this did seem Like a fearful dream, Till Death cried with a joyful cry: "Look down! look down! It is all mine own, Here comes life's pageant by!"

Like to a masque in ancient revelries, With mingling sound of thousand harmonies, Soft lute and viol, trumpet-blast and gong, They came along, and still they came along! Thousands, and tens of thousands, all that e'er Peopled the earth, or ploughed th' unfathomed deep, All that now breathe the universal air, And all that in the womb of Time yet sleep.

Before this mighty host a woman came, With hurried feet, and oft-averted head; With accursed light Her eyes were bright, And with inviting hand them on she beckoned. Her followed close, with wild acclaim, Her servants three: Lust, with his eye of fire, And burning lips, that tremble with desire, Pale sunken cheek:--and as he staggered by, The trumpet-blast was hush'd, and there arose A melting strain of such soft melody, As breath'd into the soul love's ecstacies and woes. Loudly again the trumpet smote the air, The double drum did roll, and to the sky Bay'd War's bloodhounds, the deep artillery; And Glory, With feet all gory, And dazzling eyes, rushed by, Waving a flashing sword and laurel wreath, The pang, and the inheritance of death.

He pass'd like lightning--then ceased every sound Of war triumphant, and of love's sweet song, And all was silent--Creeping slow along, With eager eyes, that wandered round and round, Wild, haggard mien, and meagre, wasted frame, Bow'd to the earth, pale, starving Av'rice came: Clutching with palsied hands his golden god, And tottering in the path the others trod. These, one by one, Came and were gone: And after them followed the ceaseless stream Of worshippers, who, with mad shout and scream, Unhallow'd toil, and more unhallow'd mirth, Follow their mistress, Pleasure, through the earth. Death's eyeless sockets glared upon them all, And many in the train were seen to fall, Livid and cold, beneath his empty gaze; But not for this was stay'd the mighty throng, Nor ceased the warlike clang, or wanton lays, But still they rush'd--along--along--along!

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