Poems

Fanny Kemble

Poems

LINES WRITTEN AT NIGHT

August 9th, 1825

Oh, thou surpassing beauty! that dost live

Shrined in yon silent stream of glorious light!

Spirit of harmony! that through the vast

And cloud-embroidered canopy art spreading

Thy wings, that o’er our shadowy earth hang brooding,

Like a pale silver haze, betwixt the moon

And the world’s darker orb: beautiful, hail!

Hail to thee! from her midnight throne of ether,

Night looks upon the slumbering universe.

There is no breeze on silver-crownëd tree,

There is no breath on dew-bespangled flower,

There is no wind sighs on the sleepy wave,

There is no sound hangs in the solemn air.

All, all are silent, all are dreaming, all,

Save those eternal eyes, that now shine forth

Winking the slumberer’s destinies.  The moon

Sails on the horizon’s verge, a moving glory,

Pure, and unrivalled; for no paler orb

Approaches, to invade the sea of light

That lives around her; save yon little star,

That sparkles on her robe of fleecy clouds,

Like a bright gem, fallen from her radiant brow.

VENICE

Night in her dark array

   Steals o’er the ocean,

And with departed day

   Hushed seems its motion.

Slowly o’er yon blue coast

   Onward she’s treading,

’Till its dark line is lost,

   ’Neath her veil spreading.

The bark on the rippling deep

   Hath found a pillow,

And the pale moonbeams sleep

   On the green billow.

Bound by her emerald zone

   Venice is lying,

And round her marble crown

   Night winds are sighing.

From the high lattice now

   Bright eyes are gleaming,

That seem on night’s dark brow

   Brighter stars beaming.

Now o’er the bright lagune

   Light barks are dancing,

And ’neath the silver moon

   Swift oars are glancing.

Strains from the mandolin

   Steal o’er the water,

Echo replies between

   To mirth and laughter.

O’er the wave seen afar

   Brilliantly shining,

Gleams like a fallen star

   Venice reclining.

TO MISS –

Time beckons on the hours: the expiring year

   Already feels old Winter’s icy breath;

As with cold hands, he scatters on her bier

   The faded glories of her Autumn wreath.

As fleetly as the Summer’s sunshine past,

   The Winter’s snow must melt; and the young Spring,

Strewing the earth with flowers, will come at last,

   And in her train the hour of parting bring.

But, though I leave the harbour, where my heart

   Sometime had found a peaceful resting-place,

Where it lay calmly moored; though I depart,

   Yet, let not time my memory quite efface.

’Tis true, I leave no void, the happy home

   To which you welcomed me, will be as gay,

As bright, as cheerful, when I’ve turned to roam,

   Once more, upon life’s weary onward way.

But oh! if ever by the warm hearth’s blaze,

   Where beaming eyes and kindred souls are met,

Your fancy wanders back to former days,

   Let my remembrance hover round you yet.

Then, while before you glides time’s shadowy train,

   Of forms long vanished, days and hours long gone,

Perchance my name will be pronounced again,

   In that dear circle where I once was one.

Think of me then, nor break kind memory’s spell,

   By reason’s censure coldly o’er me cast,

Think only, that I loved ye passing well!

   And let my follies slumber with the past.

THE WIND

Night comes upon the earth; and fearfully

Arise the mighty winds, and sweep along

In the full chorus of their midnight song.

The waste of heavy clouds, that veil the sky,

Roll like a murky scroll before them driven,

And show faint glimpses of a darker heaven.

No ray is there of moon, or pale-eyed star,

Darkness is on the universe; save where

The western sky lies glimmering, faint and far,

With day’s red embers dimly glowing there.

Hark! how the wind comes gathering in its course,

And sweeping onward, with resistless force,

Howls through the silent space of starless skies,

And on the breast of the swol’n ocean dies.

Oh, though art terrible, thou viewless power!

That rid’st destroying at the midnight hour!

We hear thy mighty pinion, but the eye

Knows nothing of thine awful majesty.

We see all mute creation bow before

Thy viewless wings, as thou careerest o’er

This rocking world; that in the boundless sky

Suspended, vibrates, as thou rushest by.

There is no terror in the lightning’s glare,

That breaks its red track through the trackless air;

There is no terror in the voice that speaks

From out the clouds when the loud thunder breaks

Over the earth, like that which dwells in thee,

Thou unseen tenant of immensity.

EASTERN SUNSET

’Tis only the nightingale’s warbled strain,

   That floats through the evening sky:

With his note of love, he replies again,

   To the muezzin’s holy cry;

As it sweetly sounds on the rosy air,

“Allah, il allah! come to prayer!”

Warm o’er the waters the red sun is glowing,

’Tis the last parting glance of his splendour and might,

While each rippling wave on the bright shore is throwing

Its white crest, that breaks into showers of light.

Each distant mosque and minaret

Is shining in the setting sun,

Whose farewell look is brighter yet,

Than that with which his course begun.

On the dark blue mountains his smile is bright,

It glows on the orange grove’s waving height,

And breaks through its shade in long lines of light.

No sound on the earth, and no sound in the sky,

Save murmuring fountains that sparkle nigh,

And the rustling flight of the evening breeze,

Who steals from his nest in the cypress trees,

And a thousand dewy odours fling,

As he shakes their white buds from his gossamer wing,

And flutters away through the spicy air,

At sound of a footstep drawing near.

FAREWELL TO ITALY

Farewell awhile, beautiful Italy!

My lonely bark is launched upon the sea

That clasps thy shore, and the soft evening gale

Breathes from thy coast, and fills my parting sail.

Ere morning dawn, a colder breeze will come,

And bear me onward to my northern home;

That home, where the pale sun is not so bright,

So glorious, at his noonday’s fiercest height,

As when he throws his last glance o’er the sea,

And fires the heavens, that glow farewell on thee.

Fair Italy! perchance some future day

Upon thy coast again will see me stray;

Meantime, farewell!  I sorrow, as I leave

Thy lovely shore behind me, as men grieve

When bending o’er a form, around whose charms,

Unconquered yet, Death winds his icy arms:

While leaving the last kiss on some dear cheek,

Where beauty sheds her last autumnal streak,

Life’s rosy flower just mantling into bloom,

Before it fades for ever in the tomb.

So I leave thee, oh! thou art lovely still!

Despite the clouds of infamy and ill

That gather thickly round thy fading form:

Still glow thy glorious skies, as bright and warm,

Still memory lingers fondly on thy strand,

And Genius hails thee still her native land.

Land of my soul’s adoption! o’er the sea,

Thy sunny shore is fading rapidly:

Fainter and fainter, from my gaze it dies,

’Till like a line of distant light it lies,

A melting boundary ’twixt earth and sky,

And now ’tis gone;—farewell, fair Italy!

THE RED INDIAN

Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,—

Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,

Still rings upon the rushing blast,

   That o’er thy grave sweeps drearily.

Rest, warrior, rest! thy haughty brow,

Beneath the hand of death bends low,

Thy fiery glance is quenchëd now,

   In the cold grave’s obscurity.

Rest, warrior, rest! thy rising sun

Is set in blood, thy day is done;

Like lightning flash thy race is run,

   And thou art sleeping peacefully.

Rest, warrior, rest! thy foot no more

The boundless forest shall explore,

Or trackless cross the sandy shore,

   Or chase the red deer rapidly.

Rest, warrior, rest! thy light canoe,

Like thy choice arrow, swift and true,

Shall part no more the waters blue,

   That sparkle round it brilliantly.

Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,

Yon sinking sunbeam is thy last,

And all is silent, save the blast,

   That o’er thy grave sweeps drearily.

TO –

Oh, turn those eyes away from me!

   Though sweet, yet fearful are their rays;

And though they beam so tenderly,

   I feel, I tremble ’neath their gaze.

Oh, turn those eyes away! for though

   To meet their glance I may not dare,

I know their light is on my brow,

   By the warm blood that mantles there.

SONG

Yet once again, but once, before we sever,

   Fill we one brimming cup,—it is the last!

And let those lips, now parting, and for ever,

   Breathe o’er this pledge, “the memory of the past!”

Joy’s fleeting sun is set; and no to-morrow

   Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast,

Yet, in the bitter cup, o’erfilled with sorrow,

   Lives one sweet drop,—the memory of the past.

But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining

   Through their warm tears, their loveliest and their last;

But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining,

   Now farewell all, save memory of the past.

LAMENT FOR ISRAEL

Where is thy home in thy promised land?

   Desolate and forsaken!

The stranger’s arm hath seized thy brand,

Thou art bowed beneath the stranger’s hand,

   And the stranger thy birthright hath taken.

Where is the mark of thy chosen race?

   Infamous and degraded!

It hath fallen on thee, on thy dwelling-place,

And that heaven-stamped sign to a foul disgrace

   And the scoff of the world, has faded.

First-born of nations! upon thy brow,

   Resistless and revenging,

The fiery finger of God hath now

Written the sentence of thy wo,

   The innocent blood avenging!

Lion of Judah! thy glory is past,

   Vanished and fled for ever.

Homeless and scattered, thy race is cast

Like chaff in the breath of the sweeping blast,

   To rally or rise again, never!

A WISH

Let me not die