 | Poems and Plays |  |
63
MATILDA.
Où sont les entrailles, les cris, les emotions puissantes de la
Nature?—C'est dans l'ame brulante et passionnée des Meres.
Essai sur les Femmes.
Outrageous did the loud wind blow
Across the sounding main:
The vessel tossing to and fro,
Could scarce the storm sustain.
Across the sounding main:
The vessel tossing to and fro,
Could scarce the storm sustain.
Matilda to her fearful breast
Held close her infant dear;
His presence all her fears increas'd,
And wak'd the tender tear.
Held close her infant dear;
His presence all her fears increas'd,
And wak'd the tender tear.
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Now nearer to the grateful shore
The shatter'd vessel drew:
The daring waves now ceas'd to roar,
Now shout th' exulting crew.
The shatter'd vessel drew:
The daring waves now ceas'd to roar,
Now shout th' exulting crew.
Matilda, with a Mother's joy,
Gave thanks to Heaven's pow'r:
How fervent she embrac'd her boy!
How blest the saving hour!
Gave thanks to Heaven's pow'r:
How fervent she embrac'd her boy!
How blest the saving hour!
Oh! much deceiv'd and hapless fair,
Tho' ceas'd the waves to roar,
Thou, from that fatal moment, ne'er
Didst taste of pleasure more:
Tho' ceas'd the waves to roar,
Thou, from that fatal moment, ne'er
Didst taste of pleasure more:
For, stepping forth from off the deck,
To reach the welcome ground,
The Babe, unclasping from her neck,
Plung'd in the gulph profound.
To reach the welcome ground,
The Babe, unclasping from her neck,
Plung'd in the gulph profound.
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Amazement-chain'd! her haggard eye
Gave not a tear to flow,
Her bosom heav'd no conscious sigh,
She stood a sculptur'd woe.
Gave not a tear to flow,
Her bosom heav'd no conscious sigh,
She stood a sculptur'd woe.
To snatch the child from instant death,
Some brav'd the threat'ning main,
And to recall his fleeting breath
Try'd ev'ry art in vain.
Some brav'd the threat'ning main,
And to recall his fleeting breath
Try'd ev'ry art in vain.
But when the corse first met her view,
Stretch'd on the pebbly strand,
Rous'd from her ecstacy she flew,
And pierc'd th' opposing band.
Stretch'd on the pebbly strand,
Rous'd from her ecstacy she flew,
And pierc'd th' opposing band.
With tresses discompos'd and rude,
Fell prostrate on the ground,
To th' infant's lips her lips she glew'd,
And Sorrow burst its bound.
Fell prostrate on the ground,
To th' infant's lips her lips she glew'd,
And Sorrow burst its bound.
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Now throwing round a troubled glance,
With Madness' ray inflam'd,
And, breaking from her silent trance,
She wildly thus exclaim'd:
With Madness' ray inflam'd,
And, breaking from her silent trance,
She wildly thus exclaim'd:
“Heard ye the helpless infant scream?
“Saw ye the mother bold?
“How, as she flung him in the stream,
“The billows o'er him roll'd?
“Saw ye the mother bold?
“How, as she flung him in the stream,
“The billows o'er him roll'd?
“But soft, awhile—see! there he lies,
“Embalm'd in infant sleep:
“Why fall the dew-drops from your eyes?
“What cause is here to weep?
“Embalm'd in infant sleep:
“Why fall the dew-drops from your eyes?
“What cause is here to weep?
“Yes, yes—his little life is fled,
“His heaveless breast is cold:
“What tears will not thy Mother shed,
“When thy sad tale is told!
“His heaveless breast is cold:
“What tears will not thy Mother shed,
“When thy sad tale is told!
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“Ah me! that cheek of livid hue—
“That brow—that auburn hair—
“Those lips where late the roses blew,
“All, all my Son declare.
“That brow—that auburn hair—
“Those lips where late the roses blew,
“All, all my Son declare.
“Strange thrilling horrors chill each vein—
“A voice in accents wild
“Thunders to this distracted brain,
“Matilda slew her child!”
“A voice in accents wild
“Thunders to this distracted brain,
“Matilda slew her child!”
She added not—but sunk oppress'd—
Death on her eye-lids stole
While from her grief-distracted breast
She sigh'd her tortur'd soul.
Death on her eye-lids stole
While from her grief-distracted breast
She sigh'd her tortur'd soul.
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