Poems by Fanny Kemble Part 9

Come back into the sun, and stray Upon our mossy side!"

I may not go, I may not go, To where the gold-green waters run, All shining in the summer sun, And leap from off the dam below Into a whirl of boiling snow, Laughing and shouting as they go; I must stay here In prison drear, Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on, Would G.o.d that thou wert done!

The soft spring wind goes pa.s.sing by, Into the forests wide and cool; The clouds go trooping through the sky, To look down on some gla.s.sy pool; The sunshine makes the world rejoice, And all of them, with gentle voice, Call me away, With them to stay, The blessed, livelong summer's day.

I may not go, I may not go, Where the sweet breathing spring winds blow, Nor where the silver clouds go by, Across the holy, deep blue sky, Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright, Comes down like a still shower of light; I must stay here In prison drear, Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on, Would G.o.d that thou wert done!

Oh, that I were a thing with wings!

A bird, that in a May-hedge sings!

A lonely heather bell that swings Upon some wild hill-side; Or even a silly, senseless stone, With dark, green, starry moss o'ergrown, Round which the waters glide.

TO THE WISSAHICCON.

My feet shall tread no more thy mossy side, When once they turn away, thou _Pleasant Water_, Nor ever more, reflected in thy tide, Will shine the eyes of the White Island's daughter.

But often in my dreams, when I am gone Beyond the sea that parts thy home and mine, Upon thy banks the evening sun will shine, And I shall hear thy low, still flowing on.

And when the burden of existence lies Upon my soul, darkly and heavily, I'll clasp my hands over my weary eyes, Thou _Pleasant Water_, and thy clear waves see.

Bright be thy course for ever and for ever, Child of pure mountain springs, and mountain snow; And as thou wanderest on to meet the river Oh, still in light and music mayst thou flow!

I never shall come back to thee again, When once my sail is shadowed on the main, Nor ever shall I hear thy laughing voice As on their rippling way thy waves rejoice, Nor ever see the dark green cedar throw Its gloomy shade o'er the clear depths below, Never, from stony rifts of granite gray Sparkling like diamond rocks in the sun's ray, Shall I look down on thee, thou pleasant stream, Beneath whose crystal folds the gold sands gleam; Wherefore, farewell! but whensoe'er again The wintry spell melts from the earth and air; And the young Spring comes dancing through thy glen, With fragrant, flowery breath, and sunny hair; When through the snow the scarlet berries gleam, Like jewels strewn upon thy banks, fair stream, My spirit shall through many a summer's day Return, among thy peaceful woods to stray.

AN EVENING SONG.

Good night, love!

May Heaven's brightest stars watch over thee!

Good angels spread their wings, and cover thee, And through the night, So dark and still, Spirits of light Charm thee from ill!

My heart is hovering round thy dwelling-place, Good night, dear love! G.o.d bless thee with his grace!

Good night, love!

Soft lullabies the night-wind sing to thee!

And on its wings sweet odours bring to thee!

And in thy dreaming May all things dear, With gentle seeming, Come smiling near!

My knees are bowed, my hands are clasped in prayer-- Good night, dear love! G.o.d keep thee in his care!

THE DEATH-SONG.

Mother, mother! my heart is wild, Hold me upon your bosom dear, Do not frown on your own poor child, Death is darkly drawing near.

Mother, mother! the bitter shame Eats into my very soul; And longing love, like a wrapping flame, Burns me away without control.

Mother, mother! upon my brow The clammy death-sweats coldly rise; How dim and strange your features grow Through the hot mist that veils my eyes!

Mother, mother! sing me the song They sing on sunny August eves, The rustling barley-fields along, Binding up the ripe, red sheaves.

Mother, mother! I do not hear Your voice--but his,--oh, guard me well!

His breathing makes me faint with fear, His clasping arms are round me still.

Mother, mother! unbind my vest, Upon my heart lies his first token: Now lay me in my narrow nest, Your withered blossom, crushed and broken.

IMPROMPTU.

You say you're glad I write--oh, say not so!

My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well; And when the numbers freely from it flow, 'Tis that my heart, and eyes, o'erflow as well.

Castalia, fam'd of yore,--the spring divine, Apollo's smile upon its current wears: Moore and Anacreon, found its waves were wine, To me, it flows a sullen stream of tears.

WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING WEST POINT.

The hours are past, love, Oh, fled they not too fast, love!

Those happy hours, when down the mountain side, We saw the rosy mists of morning glide, And, hand in hand, went forth upon our way, Full of young life and hope, to meet the day.

The hours are past, love, Oh, fled they not too fast, love!

Those sunny hours, when from the mid-day heat, We sought the waterfall with loitering feet, And o'er the rocks that lock the gleaming pool, Crept down into its depths, so dark and cool.

The hours are past, love, Oh, fled they not too fast, love!

Those solemn hours, when through the violet sky, Alike without a cloud, without a ray, The round red autumn moon came glowingly, While o'er the leaden waves our boat made way.

The hours are past, love, Oh, fled they not too fast, love!

Those blessed hours, when the bright day was past, And in the world we seemed to wake alone, When heart to heart beat throbbingly, and fast, And love was melting our two souls in one.

FAITH.

Better trust all, and be deceived, And weep that trust, and that deceiving; Than doubt one heart, that if believed, Had blessed one's life with true believing.

Oh, in this mocking world, too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth!

Better be cheated to the last, Than loose the blessed hope of truth.