[Poems by Fairfield in] The autobiography of Jane Fairfield embracing a few select poems |
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 | [Poems by Fairfield in] The autobiography of Jane Fairfield |  |
XVIII.
'Twas soft Campania's evening hour,
And earth and heaven were seas of light,
And Zulma in her rose-wove bower
Sate gazing on the horizon bright,
Where white clouds float and turn to gold
In many a bright and glorious fold,
And fancy pictures angel pinions
Far waving o'er those high dominions,
'Till, as she thought of pleasures gone,
And Inez, tortured, dying, dead,
And her own misery there alone,
Her hopes destroyed, her true loves fled,
Her bleeding heart left desolate,
And all the ills and woes of fate,
She seized her harp and mournfully
Sung of those joys no more to be.
And earth and heaven were seas of light,
And Zulma in her rose-wove bower
Sate gazing on the horizon bright,
Where white clouds float and turn to gold
In many a bright and glorious fold,
286
Far waving o'er those high dominions,
'Till, as she thought of pleasures gone,
And Inez, tortured, dying, dead,
And her own misery there alone,
Her hopes destroyed, her true loves fled,
Her bleeding heart left desolate,
And all the ills and woes of fate,
She seized her harp and mournfully
Sung of those joys no more to be.
THE BANKS OF ZEVERE.
The bright sun is sinking o'er Italy's sea,
And kissing Campania's fair gardens of flowers,
But, oh, his smile brings no pleasure to me,
For my heart ever grieveth o'er childhood's sweet hours:
Sweetly gay rise the notes of the lover's guitar,
As he greets his heart's bride in the valley cot near,
But, ah, all my songs of delight are afar,
Like a spirit's voice heard on the banks of Zevere.
And kissing Campania's fair gardens of flowers,
But, oh, his smile brings no pleasure to me,
For my heart ever grieveth o'er childhood's sweet hours:
Sweetly gay rise the notes of the lover's guitar,
As he greets his heart's bride in the valley cot near,
But, ah, all my songs of delight are afar,
Like a spirit's voice heard on the banks of Zevere.
How oft have I sat with sweet Inez upon
Those rose-cushioned banks in our being's gay hours,
And fancied delights ever new to be won
In the great World of beauty and music and flowers!
How oft, O thou dear one! I slumbered with thee
In our moon-lighted bower in the spring of the year
And heard the birds singing on our apricot-tree
When we woke to delight on the banks of Zevere!
Those rose-cushioned banks in our being's gay hours,
And fancied delights ever new to be won
In the great World of beauty and music and flowers!
How oft, O thou dear one! I slumbered with thee
In our moon-lighted bower in the spring of the year
And heard the birds singing on our apricot-tree
When we woke to delight on the banks of Zevere!
How often when nature in vain bloomed around
I turned in my heart-stricken sorrow to thee,
And in vigil and penance and weariness found
Thy sweet love a solace and treasure to me!
But, alas! thou art dead, and I am alone,
Far from all that on earth or in heaven were dear;
Fare thee well, lovely Inez! dark shadows are thrown
O'er our bower on the banks of the lonely Zevere.
I turned in my heart-stricken sorrow to thee,
And in vigil and penance and weariness found
Thy sweet love a solace and treasure to me!
287
Far from all that on earth or in heaven were dear;
Fare thee well, lovely Inez! dark shadows are thrown
O'er our bower on the banks of the lonely Zevere.
Julian had stood beside the bower,
And heard, unseen, the mournful song,
While every blushing, dewy flower
Reproached him with fair Zulma's wrong;
But nature's voice, so soft, so still,
Fails to o'errule ambition's pride,
Or with atoning sorrow fill
A lordly heart unsanctified.
Julian drew near and greeted fair
The sad, forsaken, lovely maid,
And, eloquent in praise and prayer,
Rehearsing all he oft had said,
Implored compliance with his love,
Acceptance of his treasures—all—
And she should ever—ever prove
The queen of banquet, bower and hall,
And be his heart's eternal bride,
His life his sun, his hope, his heaven,
And, when he gained his throne of pride,
His royal name should soon be given.
But, while the Prince besought and prayed,
How sat and looked the insulted maid?
Like her of Enna's rosy vale
When wooed by him of Acheron;
Her marble brow, her cheek so pale,
Her tearful eye—all brightly shone
With pride and shame, disdain and scorn,
And thus—“Why was I ever born
“So to be scoffed at?” quick began
The nun, while fierce her hot blood ran,
And her small form, dilating, grew
Like towering angel on the view.
“Prince Julian, cease! I charge thee, cease!
“Are these thy notes of love and peace?
“Art thou to be a nation's king?
“Thou—false, deluding, faithless thing!
“The thoughts that lightened spirits high
“In the old days of chivalry,
“Throw not a wandering gleam o'er thee,
“Thou craven night of loselry!
“Vemeira is a noble name,
“And it can never be that fame
“Should Zulma's memory link with shame.
“Shall I thy leman be? O no!
“?Never while I can wield a blow,
“While poison drops or waters flow.
“Rede thou a woman's spirit well
“Ere mock her thus with words from hell,
“And know that virtue is her heaven,
“To things like thee, oh, never given!
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
“O Julian, Julian! love like mine
“Is quenchless, deathless, for 'tis pure;
“E'en now it doth around thee twine
“Fondly, and cannot but endure
“The same as when thine eye first shone
“O'er the same mirror as my own.
“Hadst thou been what I thought thee erst
“As knightly as thou wert at first,
“Though doomed to groan in poverty,
“'Mid malice, misery, wrong and ill,
“The slave of fear—a lord to me—
“I would have loved—obeyed thee still,
“And, with unsorrowing brow and eye,
“Forsaken not and unforsaking,
“When sleeping, kissed thy misery
“Away, and sung to thee when waking.
“But these are dreams of passion yet
“Surviving when its hope hath set;
“Vain mockeries of my bosom's sun,
“Quenched ere his journey hath begun!
“I leave thee, Julian! and be thou
“Thy own just judge—no worse! and now—
“There are thy gifts!”—From neck of snow
Her carcanet—and then her zone
Of jewels and her chains and rings
She loosed and threw, disdainful, down;
“There, Julian, take the gilded things,
“For which thou thought'st that I would sell
“My honour—and now fare thee well!”
And heard, unseen, the mournful song,
While every blushing, dewy flower
Reproached him with fair Zulma's wrong;
But nature's voice, so soft, so still,
Fails to o'errule ambition's pride,
Or with atoning sorrow fill
A lordly heart unsanctified.
Julian drew near and greeted fair
The sad, forsaken, lovely maid,
And, eloquent in praise and prayer,
Rehearsing all he oft had said,
Implored compliance with his love,
Acceptance of his treasures—all—
And she should ever—ever prove
The queen of banquet, bower and hall,
And be his heart's eternal bride,
His life his sun, his hope, his heaven,
And, when he gained his throne of pride,
His royal name should soon be given.
But, while the Prince besought and prayed,
How sat and looked the insulted maid?
Like her of Enna's rosy vale
When wooed by him of Acheron;
Her marble brow, her cheek so pale,
Her tearful eye—all brightly shone
With pride and shame, disdain and scorn,
And thus—“Why was I ever born
288
The nun, while fierce her hot blood ran,
And her small form, dilating, grew
Like towering angel on the view.
“Prince Julian, cease! I charge thee, cease!
“Are these thy notes of love and peace?
“Art thou to be a nation's king?
“Thou—false, deluding, faithless thing!
“The thoughts that lightened spirits high
“In the old days of chivalry,
“Throw not a wandering gleam o'er thee,
“Thou craven night of loselry!
“Vemeira is a noble name,
“And it can never be that fame
“Should Zulma's memory link with shame.
“Shall I thy leman be? O no!
“?Never while I can wield a blow,
“While poison drops or waters flow.
“Rede thou a woman's spirit well
“Ere mock her thus with words from hell,
“And know that virtue is her heaven,
“To things like thee, oh, never given!
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
“O Julian, Julian! love like mine
“Is quenchless, deathless, for 'tis pure;
“E'en now it doth around thee twine
“Fondly, and cannot but endure
“The same as when thine eye first shone
“O'er the same mirror as my own.
“Hadst thou been what I thought thee erst
“As knightly as thou wert at first,
“Though doomed to groan in poverty,
“'Mid malice, misery, wrong and ill,
289
“I would have loved—obeyed thee still,
“And, with unsorrowing brow and eye,
“Forsaken not and unforsaking,
“When sleeping, kissed thy misery
“Away, and sung to thee when waking.
“But these are dreams of passion yet
“Surviving when its hope hath set;
“Vain mockeries of my bosom's sun,
“Quenched ere his journey hath begun!
“I leave thee, Julian! and be thou
“Thy own just judge—no worse! and now—
“There are thy gifts!”—From neck of snow
Her carcanet—and then her zone
Of jewels and her chains and rings
She loosed and threw, disdainful, down;
“There, Julian, take the gilded things,
“For which thou thought'st that I would sell
“My honour—and now fare thee well!”
| [Poems by Fairfield in] The autobiography of Jane Fairfield | |