Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
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STAMPED ON MY MIND. |
 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
STAMPED ON MY MIND.
Stamped on my mind is thy dear name,
For ever clear and bright;
As it were written there in flame,
Or characters of light.
For ever clear and bright;
As it were written there in flame,
Or characters of light.
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My thoughts their several musics lend,
To that name soft and sweet;
Or all their many musics blend,
That precious name to greet.
To that name soft and sweet;
Or all their many musics blend,
That precious name to greet.
The music of their tenderness,
The music of their love,
The music of their fond distress,
In one rich strain these move.
The music of their love,
The music of their fond distress,
In one rich strain these move.
But in itself all harmony,
All eloquence is heard!—
Or so it still appears to me,—
That deep melodious word!
All eloquence is heard!—
Or so it still appears to me,—
That deep melodious word!
No music is so deep, so dear,
No eloquence so true;
It is a Heaven unto mine ear,
And to my feeling too.
No eloquence so true;
It is a Heaven unto mine ear,
And to my feeling too.
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I speak it in a faultering voice,
With trembling tones profound;
Doth not the very air rejoice,
To know its lovely sound?
With trembling tones profound;
Doth not the very air rejoice,
To know its lovely sound?
I speak it, and with many a sigh,
Again and oft again;
And love the echoes that reply
To mine own accents then!—
Again and oft again;
And love the echoes that reply
To mine own accents then!—
It seemeth like some mighty spell,
To charm my cares away,
My sorrows in their strife to quell,
And o'er my soul to sway.
To charm my cares away,
My sorrows in their strife to quell,
And o'er my soul to sway.
But, oh! when I pronounce it not,
I hear it still the same;
Not for one moment 'tis forgot,—
That most beloved name!
I hear it still the same;
Not for one moment 'tis forgot,—
That most beloved name!
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I hear it breathed in mystic tone,
For evermore the same:
Hast thou a sweet voice of thine own,
Oh! thou beloved name?
For evermore the same:
Hast thou a sweet voice of thine own,
Oh! thou beloved name?
Thou name of beauty! dear thou art,
Beyond all language dear;
Still, still I hear it with my heart,
And answer with a tear!
Beyond all language dear;
Still, still I hear it with my heart,
And answer with a tear!
The voice of birds, the stream's clear sound,
The echo faintly heard,
The spring-leaves' murmuring sighs profound,
Are harsh to that sweet word.
The echo faintly heard,
The spring-leaves' murmuring sighs profound,
Are harsh to that sweet word.
The dullest tongue must utter forth
That name in music's tone;
And, oh! the coldest ear on earth
Its thrilling magic own.
That name in music's tone;
And, oh! the coldest ear on earth
Its thrilling magic own.
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Yet ever seems it unto me,
Whom most it must inspire,
That it should only spoken be
To sound of thrilling lyre!
Whom most it must inspire,
That it should only spoken be
To sound of thrilling lyre!
Yet silvery lyre that soothes the ear
Should scarcely worthy be;—
Nor ringing crystal,—soft and clear,
That name to accompany!
Should scarcely worthy be;—
Nor ringing crystal,—soft and clear,
That name to accompany!
Not warbling shell nor dulcet reed
Could match with softest tone,
That melody, supreme indeed;
Then be it breathed alone!
Could match with softest tone,
That melody, supreme indeed;
Then be it breathed alone!
All noblest feelings of my soul
Its deep enchantment moves;
It melts and it inspires the whole,
Which well and wildly loves.
Its deep enchantment moves;
It melts and it inspires the whole,
Which well and wildly loves.
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It moves my soul, it melts my heart,
It thrills my trembling frame:
Mighty and clarion-like thou art,
Thou one beloved name!
It thrills my trembling frame:
Mighty and clarion-like thou art,
Thou one beloved name!
A sudden trumpet, clear and strong,
Is that sweet tone profound;
A trumpet to my thoughts, that throng
And tremble to the sound.
Is that sweet tone profound;
A trumpet to my thoughts, that throng
And tremble to the sound.
It moves my soul, it melts my heart,
It thrills my shivering frame;
A trumpet to my thoughts thou art,
Oh! thou beloved name!
It thrills my shivering frame;
A trumpet to my thoughts thou art,
Oh! thou beloved name!
Thy deep, melodious magic wakes
Thoughts words may ne'er express!
I listen till my bosom aches,
With throbbing tenderness!
Thoughts words may ne'er express!
I listen till my bosom aches,
With throbbing tenderness!
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Beloved, oh! beloved, name!—
Though breathed in whisper low—
How dost thou flush my brow to flame!
My heart with passion's glow!
Though breathed in whisper low—
How dost thou flush my brow to flame!
My heart with passion's glow!
New life seems throbbing through my veins
When that loved sound I hear;
A world of pleasures and of pains
Springs from that word too dear.
When that loved sound I hear;
A world of pleasures and of pains
Springs from that word too dear.
It seems to herald all fair hopes,
All loveliest thoughts and dreams,
Until this heart, that doubts and droops,
Hails joy's new-shining beams!
All loveliest thoughts and dreams,
Until this heart, that doubts and droops,
Hails joy's new-shining beams!
More power—that much-loved name, and most
Doth wondrously possess—
Than thousand languages can boast,
Or ever can express!
Doth wondrously possess—
Than thousand languages can boast,
Or ever can express!
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Oh! were I prisoned in the tomb,
In Death's harsh durance bound,
Surely that name would pierce the gloom
Of that sepulchral ground!
In Death's harsh durance bound,
Surely that name would pierce the gloom
Of that sepulchral ground!
Surely that name's dear music must,
If uttered near me then,
Upwaken e'en my slumbering dust
To love and life again.
If uttered near me then,
Upwaken e'en my slumbering dust
To love and life again.
That name's mellifluous magic still
Should its strange power retain,
And bid life's throbbing pulses thrill
Through that cold clay again!
Should its strange power retain,
And bid life's throbbing pulses thrill
Through that cold clay again!
Beloved name! whose eloquence
Saith all things to my soul,
E'en now steal o'er my yearning sense,
Softly as first you stole!
Saith all things to my soul,
E'en now steal o'er my yearning sense,
Softly as first you stole!
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Steal like a rapture o'er my sense,
And through my trembling frame
Pour thine enchanted eloquence,
Oh! thou beloved name!
And through my trembling frame
Pour thine enchanted eloquence,
Oh! thou beloved name!
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |