Poems by Fanny Kemble Part 8

When thou art gone, there creeps into my heart A cold and bitter consciousness of pain: The light, the warmth of life, with thee depart, And I sit dreaming o'er and o'er again Thy greeting clasp, thy parting look, and tone; And suddenly I wake--and am alone.

AN INVITATION.

Come where the white waves dance along the sh.o.r.e Of some lone isle, lost in the unknown seas; Whose golden sands by mortal foot before Were never printed,--where the fragrant breeze, That never swept o'er land or flood that man Could call his own, th' unearthly breeze shall fan Our mingled tresses with its odorous sighs; Where the eternal heaven's blue, sunny eyes Did ne'er look down on human shapes of earth, Or aught of mortal mould and death-doomed birth: Come there with me; and when we are alone In that enchanted desert, where the tone Of earthly voice, or language, yet did ne'er With its strange music startle the still air, When clasped in thy upholding arms I stand, Upon that bright world's coral-cradled strand, When I can hide my face upon thy breast, While thy heart answers mine together pressed, Then fold me closer, bend thy head above me, Listen--and I will tell thee how I love thee.

LINES FOR MUSIC.

Oh, sunny Love!

Crowned with fresh flowering May, Breath like the Indian clove, Eyes like the dawn of day; Oh, sunny Love!

Oh, fatal Love!

Thy robe wreath is nightshade all, With gloomy cypress wove, Thy kiss is bitter gall, Oh, fatal Love!

SONG.

Never, oh never more! shall I behold Thy form so fair, Or loosen from its braids the rippling gold Of thy long hair.

Never, oh never more! shall I be blest By thy voice low, Or kiss, while thou art sleeping on my breast, Thy marble brow.

Never, oh never more! shall I inhale Thy fragrant sighs, Or gaze, with fainting soul, upon the veil Of thy bright eyes.

LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD.

Oh child! who to this evil world art come, Led by the unseen hand of Him who guards thee, Welcome unto this dungeon-house, thy home!

Welcome to all the woe this life awards thee!

Upon thy forehead yet the badge of sin Hath worn no trace; thou look'st as though from heaven, But pain, and guilt, and misery lie within; Poor exile! from thy happy birth-land driven.

Thine eyes are sealed by the soft hand of sleep, And like unruffled waves thy slumber seems; The time's at hand when thou must wake to weep, Or sleeping, walk a restless world of dreams.

How oft, as day by day life's burthen lies Heavier and darker on thy fainting soul, Wilt thou towards heaven turn thy weary eyes, And long in bitterness to reach the goal!

How oft wilt thou, upon Time's flinty road, Gaze at thy far off early days, in vain; Weeping, how oft wilt thou cast down thy load, And curse and pray, then take it up again!

How many times shall the fiend Hope, extend Her poisonous chalice to thy thirsty lips!

How oft shall Love its withering sunshine lend, To leave thee only a more dark eclipse!

How oft shall Sorrow strain thee in her grasp,-- How oft shall Sin laugh at thine overthrow-- How oft shall Doubt, Despair, and Anguish clasp Their knotted arms around thine aching brow!

Oh, living soul, hail to thy narrow cage!

Spirit of light, hail to thy gloomy cave!

Welcome to longing youth, to loathing age, Welcome, immortal! welcome to the grave!

A RETROSPECT.

Life wanes, and the bright sunlight of our youth Sets o'er the mountain-tops, where once Hope stood.

Oh, Innocence! oh, Trustfulness! oh, Truth!

Where are ye all, white-handed sisterhood, Who with me on my way did walk along, Singing sweet sc.r.a.ps of that immortal song That's hymn'd in Heaven, but hath no echo here?

Are ye departing, fellows bright and clear, Of the young spirit, when it first alights Upon this earth of darkness and dismay?

Farewell! fair children of th' eternal day, Blossoms of that far land where fall no blights, Sweet kindred of my exiled soul, farewell!

Here I must wander, here ye may not dwell; Back to your home beyond the founts of light I see ye fly, and I am wrapt in night!

AN INVOCATION.

Spirit, bright spirit! from thy narrow cell Answer me! answer me! oh, let me hear Thy voice, and know that thou indeed art near!

That from the bonds in which thou'rt forced to dwell Thou hast not broken free, thou art not fled, Thou hast not pined away, thou art not dead.

Speak to me through thy prison bars; my life With all things round, is one eternal strife, 'Mid whose wild din I pause to hear thy voice; Speak to me, look on me, thou born of light!

That I may know thou'rt with me, and rejoice.

Shall not this weary warfare pa.s.s away?

Shall there not come a better, brighter day?

Shall not thy chain and mine be broken quite, And thou to heaven spring, With thine immortal wing, And I, still following, With steps that do not tire, Reach my desire, And to thy worship bring Some worthy offering?

Oh! let but these dark days be once gone by, And thou, unwilling captive, that dost strain, With tiptoe longing, vainly, towards the sky, O'er the whole kingdom of my life shalt reign.

But, while I'm doomed beneath the yoke to bow, Of sordid toiling in these caverns drear, Oh, look upon me sometimes with thy brow Of shining brightness; sometimes let me hear Thy blessed voice, singing the songs of Heaven, Whence thou and I, together have been driven; Give me a.s.surance that thou still art nigh, Lest I sink down beneath my load, and die!

A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON.

The waterfall is calling me With its merry gleesome flow, And the green boughs are beckoning me, To where the wild flowers grow:

I may not go, I may not go, To where the sunny waters flow, To where the wild wood flowers blow; I must stay here In prison drear, Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on, Would G.o.d that thou wert done!

The busy mill-wheel round and round Goes turning, with its reckless sound, And o'er the dam the wafers flow Into the foaming stream below, And deep and dark away they glide, To meet the broad, bright river's tide; And all the way They murmuring say: "Oh, child! why art thou far away?