Poems by Fanny Kemble Part 4

FRAGMENT.

It was the harvest time: the broad, bright moon Was at her full, and shone upon the fields Where we had toiled the livelong day, to pile In golden sheaves the earth's abundant treasure.

The harvest task had given place to song And merry dance; and these in turn were chased By legends strange, and wild, unearthly tales Of elves, and gnomes, and fairy sprites, that haunt The woods and caves; where they do sleep all day, And then come forth i' the witching hour of night, To dance by moonlight on the green thick sward.

The speaker was an aged villager, In whom his oft-told tale awoke no fears, Such as he filled his gaping listeners with.

Nor ever was there break in his discourse, Save when with gray eyes lifted to the moon, He conjured from the past strange instances Of kidnapp'd infants, from their cradles s.n.a.t.c.h'd, And changed for elvish sprites; of blights, and blains, Sent on the cattle by the vengeful fairies; Of blasted crops, maim'd limbs, and unsound minds, All plagues inflicted by these angered sprites.

Then would he pause, and wash his story down With long-drawn draughts of amber ale; while all The rest came crowding under the wide oak tree, Piling the corn sheaves closer round the ring, Whispering and shaking, laughing too, with fear; And ever, if an acorn bobb'd from the boughs, Or gra.s.shopper from out the stubble chirrupp'd, Blessing themselves from Robin Goodfellow!

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 h.o.a.ry 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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sionate accents swear: Oh, that I might but know the truth and die, Nor live in this long dream of misery!

A PROMISE.

By the pure spring, whose haunted waters flow Through thy sequester'd dell unto the sea, At sunny noon, I will appear to thee: Not troubling the still fount with drops of woe, As when I last took leave of it and thee, But gazing up at thee with tranquil brow, And eyes full of life's early happiness, Of strength, of hope, of joy, and tenderness.

Beneath the shadowy tree, where thou and I Were wont to sit, studying the harmony Of gentle Shakspeare, and of Milton high, At sunny noon I will be heard by thee; Not sobbing forth each oft-repeated sound, As when I last faultered them o'er to thee, But uttering them in the air around, With youth's clear laughing voice of melody.

On the wild sh.o.r.e of the eternal deep, Where we have stray'd so oft, and stood so long Watching the mighty waters conquering sweep, And listening to their loud triumphant song, At sunny noon, dearest! I'll be with thee: Not as when last I linger'd on the strand, Tracing our names on the inconstant sand; But in each bright thing that around shall be: My voice shall call thee from the ocean's breast, Thou'lt see my hair in its bright, showery crest, In its dark, rocky depths, thou'lt see my eyes, My form, shall be the light cloud in the skies, My spirit shall be with thee, warm and bright, And flood thee o'er with love, and life, and light.

A PROMISE.

In the dark, lonely night, When sleep and silence keep their watch o'er men; False love! in thy despite, I will be with thee then.

When in the world of dreams thy spirit strays, Seeking, in vain, the peace it finds not here, Thou shalt be led back to thine early days Of life and love, and I will meet thee there.

I'll come to thee, with the bright, sunny brow, That was Hope's throne before I met with thee; And then I'll show thee how 'tis furrowed now By the untimely age of misery.

I'll speak to thee, in the fond, joyous tone, That wooed thee still with love's impa.s.sioned spell; And then I'll teach thee how I've learnt to moan, Since last upon thine ear its accents fell.

I'll come to thee in all youth's brightest power, As on the day thy faith to mine was plighted, And then I'll tell thee weary hour by hour, How that spring's early promise has been blighted.

I'll tell thee of the long, long, dreary years, That have pa.s.sed o'er me hopeless, objectless; My loathsome days, my nights of burning tears, My wild despair, my utter loneliness, My heart-sick dreams upon my feverish bed, My fearful longing to be with the dead;-- In the dark lonely night, When sleep and silence keep their watch o'er men; False love! in thy despite, We two shall meet again!

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!

TO ---

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 s.p.a.ce 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.

By jasper founts, whose falling waters make Eternal music to the silent hours; Or 'neath the gloom of solemn cypress bowers, Through whose dark screen no prying sunbeams break: How oft I dream I see thee wandering, With thy majestic mien, and thoughtful eyes, And lips, whereon all holy counsel lies, And shining tresses of soft rippling gold, Like to some shape beheld in days of old By seer or prophet, when, as poets sing, The G.o.ds had not forsaken yet the earth, But loved to haunt each shady dell and grove; When ev'ry breeze was the soft breath of love, When the blue air rang with sweet sounds of mirth, And this dark world seemed fair as at its birth.

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.