 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
SONNETS TO THE HON. MRS. NORTON.
Beauty, transcendent beauty, such as fills
The passion-stricken heart with dreams of heaven,
Genius to whom such magic power is given
That its least word our inmost spirit thrills;
These, lady, are thy gifts, and life for thee
Should have sped onward like a summer's day,
Each moment gilded by affection's ray,
Till pleasure's light was quenched in death's calm sea;
This should have been thy fate, fair child of song,
Were happiness the meed of high deserving.
Alas! what skill may paint the griefs that throng
Around thy soul, its lofty powers unnerving?
Lonely, bereaved, and wronged, yet thou dost borrow
A crowning grace from woe—the majesty of sorrow.
The passion-stricken heart with dreams of heaven,
Genius to whom such magic power is given
That its least word our inmost spirit thrills;
These, lady, are thy gifts, and life for thee
Should have sped onward like a summer's day,
Each moment gilded by affection's ray,
Till pleasure's light was quenched in death's calm sea;
This should have been thy fate, fair child of song,
Were happiness the meed of high deserving.
Alas! what skill may paint the griefs that throng
Around thy soul, its lofty powers unnerving?
Lonely, bereaved, and wronged, yet thou dost borrow
A crowning grace from woe—the majesty of sorrow.
Where was old England's chivalry, when thou,
Peerless in beauty and in genius, felt
The unvenomed shaft of calumny? where dwelt
The spirit that of old inspired the vow
To guard the right, and battle for the weak,
When thou didst bow thy glorious head in shame,
As the dark mildew fell on thy fair fame,
And Slander hinted what she dared not speak?
Where were the hearts that should have wakened then,
When thou wast struck down from thy pride of place,
Thou bird of song and beauty? That bright face
In ruder times had called forth noble men
To champion thy distress: such times are o'er,
And selfish interest rules where honor reigned before.
Peerless in beauty and in genius, felt
The unvenomed shaft of calumny? where dwelt
The spirit that of old inspired the vow
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When thou didst bow thy glorious head in shame,
As the dark mildew fell on thy fair fame,
And Slander hinted what she dared not speak?
Where were the hearts that should have wakened then,
When thou wast struck down from thy pride of place,
Thou bird of song and beauty? That bright face
In ruder times had called forth noble men
To champion thy distress: such times are o'er,
And selfish interest rules where honor reigned before.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |