 | Rhymes of travel, ballads and poems |  |
IV.
Miscellaneous Poems.
“And many a verse of such strange influence,
That we must ever wonder how and whence
It came.”
Keats.
That we must ever wonder how and whence
It came.”
Keats.
125
“LITTLE PAUL.”
Through the curtains poured the sunlight
With a sudden gush of joy,
Where, upon his bed of weakness,
Lay the dying little boy.
On the rising airs of Evening
Balmy sounds of Summer came,
And a Voice amid their music
Seemed to call him by his name:
And the golden waves were dancing
On the flooded chamber-wall—
On the sunny hair of Florence
And the brow of little Paul!
With a sudden gush of joy,
Where, upon his bed of weakness,
Lay the dying little boy.
On the rising airs of Evening
Balmy sounds of Summer came,
And a Voice amid their music
Seemed to call him by his name:
And the golden waves were dancing
On the flooded chamber-wall—
On the sunny hair of Florence
And the brow of little Paul!
As the sunset's tide, receding,
Ebbed again into the sky,
Passed the faint hue from his features
And the lustre from his eye;
As if up the rosy surges
Of that shining river's flow,
Went his spirit to the Angel
Who had claimed it long ago!
Fonder still, and full of yearning,
Seemed to come her gentle call,
And the throb of life grew fainter
In the heart of little Paul!
Ebbed again into the sky,
Passed the faint hue from his features
And the lustre from his eye;
As if up the rosy surges
Of that shining river's flow,
126
Who had claimed it long ago!
Fonder still, and full of yearning,
Seemed to come her gentle call,
And the throb of life grew fainter
In the heart of little Paul!
But the fond arms of a sister
Like a link around him lay,
Chaining back his fluttering spirit
To the love which was its stay;
And his own weak arms were folded
In a clinging, dear embrace,
Till his cheek and dewy forehead
Rested gently on her face.
Slowly sank his weary eyelids;
One faint breathing—that was all,
And no more the kiss of Florence
Thrilled the lips of little Paul!
Like a link around him lay,
Chaining back his fluttering spirit
To the love which was its stay;
And his own weak arms were folded
In a clinging, dear embrace,
Till his cheek and dewy forehead
Rested gently on her face.
Slowly sank his weary eyelids;
One faint breathing—that was all,
And no more the kiss of Florence
Thrilled the lips of little Paul!
130
RE-UNION.
FROM THE GERMAN OF KARL CHRISTIAN TENNER.
The sun descends—in the chamber
Sit father and mother and boy;
So fondly in love united,
Their hearts run over with joy.
Sit father and mother and boy;
So fondly in love united,
Their hearts run over with joy.
The sun descends—at the portal
What may the knocking be?
Knocking and quietly calling:
“Come, father, come to me!”
What may the knocking be?
Knocking and quietly calling:
“Come, father, come to me!”
The sun descends—and the father
Struggles with fevered pain,
Clasping the mournful mother
And trembling child in vain.
Struggles with fevered pain,
Clasping the mournful mother
And trembling child in vain.
The sun descends—at the portal
What may the knocking be?
Knocking and quietly calling:
“Come, mother, come to me!”
What may the knocking be?
131
“Come, mother, come to me!”
The sun descends—and the mother
Holdeth the boy to her heart,
Closely and warm, as if never
Her fond embrace would part.
Holdeth the boy to her heart,
Closely and warm, as if never
Her fond embrace would part.
The sun descends—there's a whisper
In the leaves of the threshold-tree,
Sadly and quietly calling:
“Come, brother, come to me!”
In the leaves of the threshold-tree,
Sadly and quietly calling:
“Come, brother, come to me!”
The sun descends—and smileth
The boy in the fading beam;
And, folding his small hands meekly,
He sinks to a peaceful dream.
The boy in the fading beam;
And, folding his small hands meekly,
He sinks to a peaceful dream.
The sun descends—in the chamber
'Tis silent, as ne'er before:
There echo the dear home-voices
From lips of love no more.
'Tis silent, as ne'er before:
There echo the dear home-voices
From lips of love no more.
The sun descends—in the darkness
The night-wind, cold and wild,
Sweeps over the gleaming grave-stones
Of father and mother and child.
The night-wind, cold and wild,
Sweeps over the gleaming grave-stones
Of father and mother and child.
138
FREEDOM.
Is there no haven, where the heart may restIn the warm folding of its love and truth?
No prairie freedom, where the steed of Youth
Careers at will, by Life's strong curb unprest,
Nor spurred to foam by hot Necessity?
Dare the great soul a lavish largess take
Of Being, and its own brave journey make
O'er grandest hills and by the loudest sea?
Alas! a cruel hand is at the rein,
And the fair heights whose summits lie so near,
In the thick dust of travel disappear,
And the fierce spirit chafes its curb of pain;—
Yet, having thee, all this the heart may dare,
In the unbounded freedom of Love's air.
140
EVIL.
O Power of Evil, whatsoe'er thou art,What if I shudder with a freezing dread,
When, heralded by no far-coming tread,
I feel thy sudden shadow on my heart?
What if my being, with a shrinking start,
Cries through the darkness, when thy mocking laugh
Readest each broken Hope's sad epitaph?
Though in their ruin thou hast borne thy part,
They slumber yet in consecrated ground,
Watered by tears my better angel sheds,
And when my soul beneath their cypress treads,
Deem not thy fierce, dark whispers there may sound:
The Good which blessed me, in the very grave
Dug by thy hands, is mighty still to save!
141
THE DEMON OF THE MIRROR.
This poem was suggested by a ballad which appears in a volume of
modern Sicilian poetry, published at Naples in 1845. The author, Antonio Bisazza, is quite young, and unknown out of Italy. The plot of the
story has been materially changed in the present poem, and the language
bears no resemblance to the Italian. For the apparition in the mirror,
however, from which the whole story grew, I freely acknowledge my
indebtedness to the young Sicilian poet.
This poem was suggested by a ballad which appears in a volume of modern Sicilian poetry, published at Naples in 1845. The author, Antonio Bisazza, is quite young, and unknown out of Italy. The plot of the story has been materially changed in the present poem, and the language bears no resemblance to the Italian. For the apparition in the mirror, however, from which the whole story grew, I freely acknowledge my indebtedness to the young Sicilian poet.
Where the orange branches mingled
On the sunny garden-side,
In a rare and rich pavilion
Sat the beautiful Sicilian—
Sat the Count Alberto's bride,
Musing sadly on his absence, in the balmy evening-tide.
On the sunny garden-side,
In a rare and rich pavilion
Sat the beautiful Sicilian—
Sat the Count Alberto's bride,
Musing sadly on his absence, in the balmy evening-tide.
She had grown, in soul and beauty,
Like her own delicious clime—
With the warmth and radiance showered
On its gardens, citron-bowered,
And its winds that woo in rhyme:
With its fiery tropic fervors, and its Etna-throes sublime!
Like her own delicious clime—
With the warmth and radiance showered
On its gardens, citron-bowered,
And its winds that woo in rhyme:
With its fiery tropic fervors, and its Etna-throes sublime!
Near her stood the fair Bianca,
Once a shepherd's humble child,
Who with tender hand was twining
Through her tresses, raven-shining,
Pearls of lustre pure and mild;
And the Lady in the mirror saw their braided gleam, and smiled.
Once a shepherd's humble child,
Who with tender hand was twining
Through her tresses, raven-shining,
142
And the Lady in the mirror saw their braided gleam, and smiled.
Falling over brow and bosom,
Swept her dark and glossy hair;
And the flash on Etna faded,
As Bianca slowly braided
With her fingers small and fair,
While a deeper shadow gathered o'er the chamber's scented air.
Swept her dark and glossy hair;
And the flash on Etna faded,
As Bianca slowly braided
With her fingers small and fair,
While a deeper shadow gathered o'er the chamber's scented air.
On the jeweled mirror gazing,
Spake the Lady not a word,
When, within its picture certain,
Slowly moved the silken curtain,
Though the breezes had not stirred,
And its faintly falling rustle on the marble was unheard.
Spake the Lady not a word,
When, within its picture certain,
Slowly moved the silken curtain,
Though the breezes had not stirred,
And its faintly falling rustle on the marble was unheard.
Breathless, o'er her tender musing
Came a strange and sudden fear;
With a nameless, chill foreboding,
All her fiery spirit goading,
Listened she with straining ear;
Through the dusky laurel foliage, all was silent, far and near!
Came a strange and sudden fear;
With a nameless, chill foreboding,
All her fiery spirit goading,
Listened she with straining ear;
Through the dusky laurel foliage, all was silent, far and near!
143
Not a stealthy footfall sounded
On the tesselated floor;
Yet she saw, with secret terror,
Count Alberto, in the mirror,
Stealing through the curtained door,
Like a fearful, shadowy spirit, whom a curse is hanging o'er.
On the tesselated floor;
Yet she saw, with secret terror,
Count Alberto, in the mirror,
Stealing through the curtained door,
Like a fearful, shadowy spirit, whom a curse is hanging o'er.
What! so soon from far Palermo?
Has he left the feast of pride—
Has he left the knightly tourney
For the happy homeward journey
And the greeting of his bride?
Coldly, darkly, in her bosom, the upspringing rapture died!
Has he left the feast of pride—
Has he left the knightly tourney
For the happy homeward journey
And the greeting of his bride?
Coldly, darkly, in her bosom, the upspringing rapture died!
With a glance of tender meaning
On the maid he softly smiled,
And the answering smile, and token
In her glowing blushes spoken,
Well betrayed the shepherd's child:
To her gaze, within the mirror, stood that picture dim and wild!
On the maid he softly smiled,
And the answering smile, and token
In her glowing blushes spoken,
Well betrayed the shepherd's child:
To her gaze, within the mirror, stood that picture dim and wild!
Moved again the silken curtain,
As he passed without a sound;
Then the sunset's fading ember
Died within the lonely chamber,
And the darkness gathered round,
While in passion's fierce delirium was the Lady's bosom bound.
As he passed without a sound;
144
Died within the lonely chamber,
And the darkness gathered round,
While in passion's fierce delirium was the Lady's bosom bound.
Threat'ning shadows seemed to gather
In the twilight of the room,
And the thoughts, vibrating changeful
Through her spirit, grew revengeful
With their whisperings of doom:
Starting suddenly, she vanished far amid the deep'ning gloom.
In the twilight of the room,
And the thoughts, vibrating changeful
Through her spirit, grew revengeful
With their whisperings of doom:
Starting suddenly, she vanished far amid the deep'ning gloom.
In the stillness of the forest
Falls a timid, trembling gleam,
With a ruby radiance sparkling
On the rill that ripples darkling
Through the thicket, like a dream:
'Tis from out the secret chamber, where are met the Holy Vehm!
Falls a timid, trembling gleam,
With a ruby radiance sparkling
On the rill that ripples darkling
Through the thicket, like a dream:
'Tis from out the secret chamber, where are met the Holy Vehm!
I am aware that the name of the Holy Vehm—that dreaded Order of the Middle Ages—belongs properly to Germany; but as branches of it were known to exist in Italy and Sicily, I have thought best to retain the title. The abject obedience to its laws, imposed by this Order on its members, made it one of the most powerful, and at the same time the most dreaded body, which sprang from conditions of society during that period.
Wizard rocks around the entrance
Dark and grim, like sentries, stand;
And within the ghostly grotto
Sits the gloomy Baron Otto,
Chieftain of the dreaded band,
Who in darkness and in secret ruled Sicilia's sunny land.
Dark and grim, like sentries, stand;
145
Sits the gloomy Baron Otto,
Chieftain of the dreaded band,
Who in darkness and in secret ruled Sicilia's sunny land.
As in sable vestments shrouded
Sat the ministers of doom,
Came a step by terror fleetened,
And the dank, foul air was sweetened
With the orange-buds' perfume,
And the starry eyes of jewels shone amid the sullen gloom.
Sat the ministers of doom,
Came a step by terror fleetened,
And the dank, foul air was sweetened
With the orange-buds' perfume,
And the starry eyes of jewels shone amid the sullen gloom.
Then uprose the gloomy Otto—
Sternly wrinkled was his brow;
“Why this sudden, strange intrusion
On the holy Vehm's seclusion?
Why thus madly comest thou,
Noble Lady, claiming vengeance from the Brothers of the Vow?”
Sternly wrinkled was his brow;
“Why this sudden, strange intrusion
On the holy Vehm's seclusion?
Why thus madly comest thou,
Noble Lady, claiming vengeance from the Brothers of the Vow?”
“There is one among your Order
Whom I dare to sue for aid:
Will a brother's dagger falter,
When the bridegroom from the altar
Hath his bosom's vow betrayed,
And the princely bride is slighted for a low-born peasant maid?”
Whom I dare to sue for aid:
Will a brother's dagger falter,
When the bridegroom from the altar
Hath his bosom's vow betrayed,
And the princely bride is slighted for a low-born peasant maid?”
146
Straight the summoned one departed
Out into the starry air;
Cold the silence seemed, and dreary,
And the moments grew more weary,
While the Lady waited there
With a deep, uncertain anguish, which her spirit scarce could bear.
Out into the starry air;
Cold the silence seemed, and dreary,
And the moments grew more weary,
While the Lady waited there
With a deep, uncertain anguish, which her spirit scarce could bear.
Mingled thoughts of love and vengeance
Madly battled in her brain;
All her bosom's passionate feeling
Struggled with the dread revealing,
Till her eyes o'ergushed in rain—
Then anon they flashed and kindled, and her soul grew stern again!
Madly battled in her brain;
All her bosom's passionate feeling
Struggled with the dread revealing,
Till her eyes o'ergushed in rain—
Then anon they flashed and kindled, and her soul grew stern again!
Once a sweet and happy vision
Nigh her fiery will had won—
When the silver lamp of Hesper
Twinkled through the silent vesper,
And their bosoms beat as one,
Thrilling o'er with too much fervor, like a blossom in the sun.
Nigh her fiery will had won—
When the silver lamp of Hesper
Twinkled through the silent vesper,
And their bosoms beat as one,
Thrilling o'er with too much fervor, like a blossom in the sun.
Olden worlds in music echoed
Through her heart's forsaken bowers;
But its buds of love were rifled,
And the spirit-voice was stifled,
Which would tell of tender hours;
Nevermore might second sunshine bid re-bloom its perished flowers!
Through her heart's forsaken bowers;
147
And the spirit-voice was stifled,
Which would tell of tender hours;
Nevermore might second sunshine bid re-bloom its perished flowers!
Still that dark foreboding lingered
Over all her pride and hate,
Like a stifling mist, that ever
Hangs above a burning river
With its dull and stagnant weight:
Slowly up the spectral Future crept the shadows of her fate.
Over all her pride and hate,
Like a stifling mist, that ever
Hangs above a burning river
With its dull and stagnant weight:
Slowly up the spectral Future crept the shadows of her fate.
Now the eastern stars had mounted,
And the midnight watch was o'er,
When her long suspense was broken
By a hasty watchword spoken,
And a dark form passed the door.
Blood was on his golden scabbard, and the sable robe he wore.
And the midnight watch was o'er,
When her long suspense was broken
By a hasty watchword spoken,
And a dark form passed the door.
Blood was on his golden scabbard, and the sable robe he wore.
“By this blade, most noble Lady,
Have I done thy will aright!”
Then, upstarting from her languor,
Cried she, in returning anger:
“Where reposed the trait'rous knight?
Didst thou tear him from her clasping—strike him down before her sight?”
Have I done thy will aright!”
Then, upstarting from her languor,
Cried she, in returning anger:
148
Didst thou tear him from her clasping—strike him down before her sight?”
“Nay, not so; in bright Palermo,
Where the tourney's torches shine—
In the gardens of the palace,
Did the green earth, from its chalice
Drink his bosom's brightest wine,
And the latest name that faltered on his dying lips, was thine!”
Where the tourney's torches shine—
In the gardens of the palace,
Did the green earth, from its chalice
Drink his bosom's brightest wine,
And the latest name that faltered on his dying lips, was thine!”
With a scream, as agonizing
In its horror and despair,
As if life's last hold were started,
Ere the soul in torture parted,
Stood she, pale and shuddering there,
With her face of marble lifted in the cavern's noisome air.
In its horror and despair,
As if life's last hold were started,
Ere the soul in torture parted,
Stood she, pale and shuddering there,
With her face of marble lifted in the cavern's noisome air.
“God of Heaven! that fearful image,
On the mirror's surface thrown!
Not Alberto, but a demon,
Looked on her as on a leman,
And the guilt is mine alone!
Now that demon-shadow haunts me, and its curse is made my own!
On the mirror's surface thrown!
Not Alberto, but a demon,
Looked on her as on a leman,
And the guilt is mine alone!
Now that demon-shadow haunts me, and its curse is made my own!
149
“See! its dead, cold eyes, are glaring
Through the darkness, steadily;
And it holds a cloudy mirror,
Imaging that scene of terror,
Which was bloody death to thee!
Mocking now thy noble features, turns its fearful gaze on me!
Through the darkness, steadily;
And it holds a cloudy mirror,
Imaging that scene of terror,
Which was bloody death to thee!
Mocking now thy noble features, turns its fearful gaze on me!
“And I see, beneath their seeming,
How the demon features glow!
Ghastly shadows rise before me,
And the darkness gathers o'er me,
With its never-ending wo—
Now I feel, avenging spirits! how your spells of madness grow!”
How the demon features glow!
Ghastly shadows rise before me,
And the darkness gathers o'er me,
With its never-ending wo—
Now I feel, avenging spirits! how your spells of madness grow!”
With a shriek, prolonged and painful,
Through the wood she fled afar,
Where the air was awed and fearful,
And between the boughs the tearful
Shining of a dewy star
Pierced alone the solid darkness which enclosed her as a bar.
Through the wood she fled afar,
Where the air was awed and fearful,
And between the boughs the tearful
Shining of a dewy star
Pierced alone the solid darkness which enclosed her as a bar.
Night by night, in gloom and terror,
From the crag and from the glen
Came those cries, the quiet breaking,
Till the shepherd dogs, awaking,
Bayed in loud and mournful pain,
And the vintager, benighted, trembled on the distant plain.
From the crag and from the glen
Came those cries, the quiet breaking,
Till the shepherd dogs, awaking,
150
And the vintager, benighted, trembled on the distant plain.
Years went by, and stranger footsteps
Rang in castle, bower and hall;
Yet the shrieks, at midnight ringing,
Spoke the curse upon it clinging,
And they left it to its fall,
And an utter desolation slowly settled over all.
Rang in castle, bower and hall;
Yet the shrieks, at midnight ringing,
Spoke the curse upon it clinging,
And they left it to its fall,
And an utter desolation slowly settled over all.
Still, when o'er the brow of Etna
Livid shades begin to roll,
Tell the simple herdsman, daunted
By the twilight, terror-haunted,
How she felt the fiend's control,
And they sign the cross in saying—“God in mercy keep her soul!”
Livid shades begin to roll,
Tell the simple herdsman, daunted
By the twilight, terror-haunted,
How she felt the fiend's control,
And they sign the cross in saying—“God in mercy keep her soul!”
1847.
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