 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
ADIEU OF THE EMPRESS AMELIA OF BRAZIL TO THE INFANT EMPEROR.
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The following stanzas are little more than a poetical version of the farewell which the Empress is said to have uttered by the couch of her adopted son, the infant Emperor, who was lying asleep when the ex-Imperial family embarked to place themselves under the protection of an English ship of war.
Farewell, farewell, child of my love—joy of mine eyes, farewell!
Thou canst not know the bitter pangs that in my bosom swell;
Thou sleepest, while above thy couch my deep lament I pour,
Thou sleepest—ah! my lip shall greet thy wakening smile no more!
Thou canst not know the bitter pangs that in my bosom swell;
Thou sleepest, while above thy couch my deep lament I pour,
Thou sleepest—ah! my lip shall greet thy wakening smile no more!
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Calmly thou liest, my beautiful—how strangely doth Heaven show
Its power by such weak instruments to work our weal or woe;
Thou liest in infant helplessness, yet on that baby brow
Ere long the splendors of a crown, earth's deadliest gift, must glow.
Its power by such weak instruments to work our weal or woe;
Thou liest in infant helplessness, yet on that baby brow
Ere long the splendors of a crown, earth's deadliest gift, must glow.
A throne is thine, and yet how sweet thy cradled rest, my boy!
A crown is thine—yet in thy hand is grasped a simple toy;
The robe of royalty is but an infant's mantle now,
The ruler of a mighty realm—a helpless babe art thou!
A crown is thine—yet in thy hand is grasped a simple toy;
The robe of royalty is but an infant's mantle now,
The ruler of a mighty realm—a helpless babe art thou!
O! wert thou mine by nature's right as well as love's strong claim,
Couldst thou but lisp, in holy truth, a mother's sacred name,
No power on earth should turn my feet, beloved one, from thy side,
Still would I live thy menial slave if all else were denied.
Couldst thou but lisp, in holy truth, a mother's sacred name,
No power on earth should turn my feet, beloved one, from thy side,
Still would I live thy menial slave if all else were denied.
Alas! alas! Heaven never gave so rich a boon to me;
My duty to my lord is vowed—how can he turn from thee?
I go, his lone and weary life of exiled grief to share,
To find a home in foreign climes—a home!—and thou not there!
My duty to my lord is vowed—how can he turn from thee?
I go, his lone and weary life of exiled grief to share,
To find a home in foreign climes—a home!—and thou not there!
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Brazilian mothers! ye who bend o'er your fair boys with love,
As o'er her tender nursling broods the patient turtle-dove,
O! bless the Power that gave you sons of humbler, happier birth,
And take the crownèd orphan boy home to your hearts and hearth.
As o'er her tender nursling broods the patient turtle-dove,
O! bless the Power that gave you sons of humbler, happier birth,
And take the crownèd orphan boy home to your hearts and hearth.
Strew o'er his couch the fadeless leaves of Freedom's stately tree,
And, when the crown upon his brow a weary weight shall be,
Then twine the sweet vanilla bud, the rose, the jasmine fair,—
A diadem of nature's gems best suits that golden hair.
And, when the crown upon his brow a weary weight shall be,
Then twine the sweet vanilla bud, the rose, the jasmine fair,—
A diadem of nature's gems best suits that golden hair.
Far from his cradled slumbers chase the dark-winged bird of prey,
The viper, and, more poisonous still, the courtier chase away;
And should foul treason rear its crest, then rouse all to the field,
Valor's strong arm his sure defense, woman's soft breast his shield.
The viper, and, more poisonous still, the courtier chase away;
And should foul treason rear its crest, then rouse all to the field,
Valor's strong arm his sure defense, woman's soft breast his shield.
Teach his young lips the voice of love, of mercy, and of truth,
Teach him on Freedom's holy shrine to consecrate his youth;
Teach him to love his own fair land, and let his boyish glee
Be sometimes saddened by a thought, a yearning thought of me.
Teach him on Freedom's holy shrine to consecrate his youth;
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Be sometimes saddened by a thought, a yearning thought of me.
Pure, beautiful as Eve's first-born, I give him to your care;
The germ of future bliss or woe, a nation's hope is there.
He slumbers still; O! wake him not! his look would rend my heart;
His lips are bright with sunny smiles—he smiles, and I depart!
The germ of future bliss or woe, a nation's hope is there.
He slumbers still; O! wake him not! his look would rend my heart;
His lips are bright with sunny smiles—he smiles, and I depart!
Farewell, young victim! thou wert born too noble to be blest;
A peasant boy might still repose upon his mother's breast,
But thou, poor orphaned Emperor!—O words are vain to tell
Thy mother's mortal agony!—one kiss—beloved, farewell!
A peasant boy might still repose upon his mother's breast,
But thou, poor orphaned Emperor!—O words are vain to tell
Thy mother's mortal agony!—one kiss—beloved, farewell!
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |