Poems by Fanny Kemble Part 11

What was thine errand here?

To adorn anguish, and enn.o.ble death, And make infirmity A patient victory, And crown life's baseness with a glorious wreath, That fades not on thy bier, But fits, immortal soul! thy triumph still, In that bright world where thou art gone to dwell.

IMPROMPTU, Written among the ruins of the Sonnenberg.

Thou who within thyself dost not behold Ruins as great as these, though not as old, Can'st scarce through life have travelled many a year, Or lack'st the spirit of a pilgrim here.

Youth hath its walls of strength, its towers of pride; Love, its warm hearth-stones; Hope, its prospects wide; Life's fortress in thee, held these one, and all, And they have fallen to ruin, or shall fall.

LINES, Addressed to the Young Gentlemen leaving the Academy at Lenox, Ma.s.sachusetts.

Life is before ye--and while now ye stand Eager to spring upon the promised land, Fair smiles the way, where yet your feet have trod But few light steps, upon a flowery sod; Round ye are youth's green bowers, and to your eyes Th' horizon's line joins earth with the bright skies; Daring and triumph, pleasure, fame, and joy, Friendship unwavering, love without alloy, Brave thoughts of n.o.ble deeds, and glory won, Like angels, beckon ye to venture on.

And if o'er the bright scene some shadows rise, Far off they seem, at hand the sunshine lies; The distant clouds, which of ye pause to fear?

Shall not a brightness gild them when more near?

Dismay and doubt ye know not, for the power Of youth is strong within ye at this hour, And the great mortal conflict seems to ye Not so much strife as certain victory-- A glory ending in eternity.

Life is before ye--oh! if ye could look Into the secrets of that sealed book, Strong as ye are in youth, and hope, and faith, Ye should sink down, and falter, "Give us death!"

Could the dread Sphinx's lips but once disclose, And utter but a whisper of the woes Which must o'ertake ye, in your lifelong doom, Well might ye cry, "Our cradle be our tomb!"

Could ye foresee your spirit's broken wings, Earth's brightest triumphs what despised things, Friendship how feeble, love how fierce a flame, Your joy half sorrow, half your glory shame, Hollowness, weariness, and, worst of all, Self-scorn that pities not its own deep fall, Fast gathering darkness, and fast waning light,-- Oh could ye see it all, ye might, ye might Cower in the dust, unequal to the strife, And die, but in beholding what is life.

Life is before ye--from the fated road Ye cannot turn: then take ye up your load.

Not yours to tread, or leave the unknown way, Ye must go o'er it, meet ye what ye may.

Gird up your souls within ye to the deed, Angels, and fellow-spirits, bid ye speed!

What though the brightness dim, the pleasure fade, The glory wane,--oh! not of these is made The awful life that to your trust is given.

Children of G.o.d! inheritors of heaven!

Mourn not the perishing of each fair toy, Ye were ordained to do, not to enjoy, To suffer, which is n.o.bler than to dare; A sacred burthen is this life ye bear, Look on it, lift it, bear it solemnly, Stand up and walk beneath it steadfastly; Fail not for sorrow, falter not for sin, But onward, upward, till the goal ye win; G.o.d guard ye, and G.o.d guide ye on your way, Young pilgrim warriors who set forth to-day!

THE PRAYER OF A LONELY HEART.

I am alone--oh be thou near to me, Great G.o.d! from whom the meanest are not far.

Not in presumption of the daring spirit, Striving to find the secrets of itself, Make I my weeping prayer; in the deep want Of utter loneliness, my G.o.d! I seek thee; If the worm may creep up to thy fellowship, Or dust, instinct with yearning, rise towards thee.

I have no fellow, Father! of my kind; None that be kindred, none companion to me, And the vast love, and harmony, and brotherhood, Of the dumb creatures thou hast made below me, Vexes my soul with its own bitter lot.

Around me grow the trees, each by the other; Innumerable leaves, each like the other, Whisper and breathe, and live and move together.

Around me spring the flowers; each rosy cup Hath sisters, leaning their fair cheeks against it.

The birds fly all above me; not alone, But coupled in free fellowship, or mustering A joyous band, weeping in companies The wide blue fields between the clouds;--the clouds Troop in society, each on the other Shedding, like sympathy, reflected light.

The waves, a mult.i.tude, together run To the great breast of the receiving sea: Nothing but hath its kind, its company, Oh G.o.d! save I alone! then, let me come, Good Father! to thy feet, when even as now, Tears, that no human hand is near to wipe, O'erbrim my eyes, oh wipe them, thou, my Father!

When in my heart the stores of its affections, Piled up unused, locked fast, are like to burst The fleshly casket, that may not contain them, Let me come nigh to thee;--accept thou them, Dear Father!--Fount of Love! Compa.s.sionate G.o.d!

When in my spirit burns the fire, the power, That have made men utter the words of angels, And none are near to bid me speak and live: Hearken, oh Father! Maker of my spirit!

G.o.d of my soul, to thee I will outpour The hymns resounding through my troubled mind, The sighs and sorrows of my lonely heart, The tears, and weeping, of my weary eyes: Be thou my fellow, glorious, gracious G.o.d!

And fit me for such fellowship with thee!

ABSENCE.

What shall I do with all the days and hours That must be counted ere I see thy face?

How shall I charm the interval that lowers Between this time and that sweet time of grace?

Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, Weary with longing?--shall I flee away Into past days, and with some fond pretence Cheat myself to forget the present day?

Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin Of casting from me G.o.d's great gift of time; Shall I these mists of memory locked within, Leave, and forget, life's purposes sublime?

Oh! how, or by what means, may I contrive To bring the hour that brings thee back more near?

How may I teach my drooping hope to live Until that blessed time, and thou art here?

I'll tell thee: for thy sake, I will lay hold Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, In worthy deeds, each moment that is told While thou, beloved one! art far from me.

For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains; For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Through these long hours, nor call their minutes pains.

I will this dreary blank of absence make A n.o.ble task time, and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake More good than I have won, since yet I live.

So may this doomed time build up in me A thousand graces which shall thus be thine; So may my love and longing hallowed be, And thy dear thought an influence divine.

RETURN.

When the bright sun back on his yearly road Comes towards us, his great glory seems to me, As from the sky he pours it all abroad, A golden herald, my beloved, of thee.

When from the south the gentle winds do blow, Calling the flowers that sleep beneath the earth, It sounds like sweetest music, that doth go Before thy coming, full of love and mirth.

When one by one the violets appear, Opening their purple vests so modestly, To greet the virgin daughter of the year, Each seems a fragrant prophecy of thee.

For with the spring thou shalt return again; Therefore the wind, the flower, and clear sunshine, A double worship from my heart obtain, A love and welcome not their own, but thine.

LINES, Written in London.

Struggle not with thy life!--the heavy doom Resist not, it will bow thee like a slave: Strive not! thou shalt not conquer; to thy tomb Thou shalt go crushed, and ground, though ne'er so brave.

Complain not of thy life!--for what art thou More than thy fellows, that thou should'st not weep?

Brave thoughts still lodge beneath a furrowed brow, And the way-wearied have the sweetest sleep.