 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
165
LAMENT OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.
The fearful strife of feeling now is o'er,
The bitter pang can rend my heart no more;
A martyr's spirit now within me burns,
And love, that spurns
All thought of self, is waking, till its power
Can conquer e'en the anguish of this hour.
The bitter pang can rend my heart no more;
A martyr's spirit now within me burns,
And love, that spurns
All thought of self, is waking, till its power
Can conquer e'en the anguish of this hour.
Yes; for thy sake I can resign e'en thee,
My noble husband! though there still may be
Enough of woman's weakness in my heart
To bid tears start,
Yet not one murmur of reproach shall swell
Amid the accents of my last farewell.
My noble husband! though there still may be
Enough of woman's weakness in my heart
To bid tears start,
Yet not one murmur of reproach shall swell
Amid the accents of my last farewell.
I loved thee in thy lowliness, ere fame
Had shed a halo round Napoleon's name;
In the veiled lightnings of that falcon eye
I read the high
And godlike aspirations of a mind,
Whose loftiest aim was power to bless mankind.
Had shed a halo round Napoleon's name;
In the veiled lightnings of that falcon eye
I read the high
And godlike aspirations of a mind,
Whose loftiest aim was power to bless mankind.
And when thy name through all the world was known,
When monarchs quailed before thy triple crown,
When queens beheld me in mine hour of pride,
Thy glorious bride,
No selfish vanity my heart could swell—
I shared a throne, but would have shared a cell.
When monarchs quailed before thy triple crown,
When queens beheld me in mine hour of pride,
Thy glorious bride,
No selfish vanity my heart could swell—
I shared a throne, but would have shared a cell.
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Like thine, my soul was formed for lofty fate;
I loved thee as the eagle loves its mate;
Nor did I seek with borrowed strength to climb
The height sublime
Where thou hadst built thine eyrie; 'twas for me
Enough that thou wert there—I followed thee.
I loved thee as the eagle loves its mate;
Nor did I seek with borrowed strength to climb
The height sublime
Where thou hadst built thine eyrie; 'twas for me
Enough that thou wert there—I followed thee.
And in thy toils, too, have I borne a part;
In scenes where might have quailed man's sterner heart,
When dark Rebellion reared his hydra crest,
My heart carest
And soothed the dreaded monster till he smiled,
And bowed him down submissive as a child.
In scenes where might have quailed man's sterner heart,
When dark Rebellion reared his hydra crest,
My heart carest
And soothed the dreaded monster till he smiled,
And bowed him down submissive as a child.
Though all unskilled the warrior's brand to wield,
Yet went my spirit with thee to the field
Where charging squadrons met in fierce array;
Nor 'mid the fray
Awoke one terror for a husband's life—
Such fear were idle in Napoleon's wife.
Yet went my spirit with thee to the field
Where charging squadrons met in fierce array;
Nor 'mid the fray
Awoke one terror for a husband's life—
Such fear were idle in Napoleon's wife.
Alas! how has my pride become my shame!
I saw thee mount the rugged steep of fame,
And joyed to think how soon thy mighty soul
Would reach its goal;
But never dreamed, ambitious though thou art,
That thy last step would be upon my heart.
I saw thee mount the rugged steep of fame,
And joyed to think how soon thy mighty soul
Would reach its goal;
But never dreamed, ambitious though thou art,
That thy last step would be upon my heart.
Vain sacrifice! no second of thy race
Shall wield the world's dread sceptre in thy place;
Rude Nature might have taught how vain must be
Such hope to thee:
For lofty minds but with like minds should wed;
Not in the dove's soft nest are eaglets bred.
Shall wield the world's dread sceptre in thy place;
Rude Nature might have taught how vain must be
Such hope to thee:
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Not in the dove's soft nest are eaglets bred.
Ours was the soul's high union; and the pain
That wears my spirit down, breaks not its chain;
No earthly power such bonds can e'er untwine;
And I am thine,
As fondly, proudly thine in exile now,
As when thy diadem begirt my brow.
That wears my spirit down, breaks not its chain;
No earthly power such bonds can e'er untwine;
And I am thine,
As fondly, proudly thine in exile now,
As when thy diadem begirt my brow.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |