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Home  »  Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century  »  Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1793–1835)

Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

By Despondency and Aspiration (1835)

Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1793–1835)

  • “Par correr miglior acqua alza le vele,
  • Omai la navicella del mio Intelletto.”
  • DANTE.

  • MY soul was mantled with dark shadows, born

    Of lonely Fear, disquieted in vain;

    Its phantoms hung around the star of morn,

    A cloud-like weeping train:

    Through the long day they dimmed the autumn gold

    On all the glistening leaves, and wildly rolled,

    When the last farewell flush of light was glowing,

    Across the sunset sky,

    O’er its rich isles of vaporous glory throwing

    One melancholy dye.

    And when the solemn night

    Came rushing with her might

    Of stormy oracles from caves unknown,

    Then with each fitful blast

    Prophetic murmurs passed,

    Wakening or answering some deep Sybil-tone

    Far buried in my breast, yet prompt to rise

    With every gusty wail that o’er the wind-harp flies.

    “Fold, fold thy wings,” they cried, “and strive no more—

    Faint spirit! strive no more: for thee too strong

    Are outward ill and wrong,

    And inward wasting fires! Thou canst not soar

    Free on a starry way,

    Beyond their blighting sway,

    At heaven’s high gate serenely to adore.

    How should’st thou hope earth’s fetters to unbind?

    O passionate, yet weak! O trembler to the wind!

    “Never shall aught but broken music flow

    From joy of thine, deep love, or tearful woe—

    Such homeless notes as through the forest sigh,

    From the reed’s hollow shaken,

    When sudden breezes waken

    Their vague, wild symphony.

    No power is theirs, and no abiding-place

    In human hearts; their sweetness leaves no trace—

    Born only so to die!

    Never shall aught but perfume faint and vain,

    On the fleet pinion of the changeful hour,

    From thy bruised life again

    A moment’s essence breathe;

    Thy life, whose trampled flower,

    Into the blessed wreath

    Of household-charities no longer bound,

    Lies pale and withering on the barren ground.

    “So fade, fade on! Thy gift of love shall cling

    A coiling sadness round thy heart and brain—

    A silent fruitless yet undying thing,

    All sensitive to pain!

    And still the shadow of vain dreams shall fall

    O’er thy mind’s world, a daily darkening pall.

    Fold, then, thy wounded wing, and sink subdued

    In cold and unrepining quietude!”

    Then my soul yielded: spells of numbing breath

    Crept o’er it heavy with a view of death—

    Its powers like leaves before the night-rain closing;

    And, as by conflict of wild sea-waves tossed

    On the chill bosom of some desert coast,

    Mutely and hopelessly I lay reposing.

    When silently it seemed

    As if a soft mist gleamed

    Before my passive sight, and slowly curling,

    To many a shape and hue

    Of visioned beauty grew,

    Like a wrought banner, fold by fold unfurling.

    Oh! the rich scenes that o’er mine inward eye

    Unrolling then swept by

    With dreamy motion! Silvery seas were there,

    Lit by large dazzling stars, and arched by skies

    Of southern midnight’s most transparent dyes;

    And gemmed with many an island, wildly fair,

    Which floated past me into orient day,

    Still gathering lustre on the illumined way,

    Till its high groves of wondrous flowering-trees

    Coloured the silvery seas.

    And then a glorious mountain-chain uprose,

    Height above spiry height!

    A soaring solitude of woods and snows,

    All steeped in golden light!

    While as it passed, those regal peaks unveiling,

    I heard, methought, a waving of dread wings,

    And mighty sounds, as if the vision hailing,

    From lyres that quivered through ten thousand strings

    Or as if waters, forth to music leaping

    From many a cave, the Alpine echo’s hall,

    On their bold way victoriously were sweeping,

    Linked in majestic anthems!—while through all

    That billowy swell and fall,

    Voices, like ringing crystal, filled the air

    With inarticulate melody, that stirred

    My being’s core; then, moulding into word

    Their piercing sweetness, bade me rise and bear

    In that great choral strain my trembling part,

    Of tones by love and faith struck from a human heart.

    Return no more, vain bodings of the night!

    A happier oracle within my soul

    Hath swelled to power; a clear unwavering light

    Mounts through the battling clouds that round me roll;

    And to a new control

    Nature’s full harp gives forth rejoicing tones,

    Wherein my glad sense owns

    The accordant rush of elemental sound

    To one consummate harmony profound—

    One grand Creation-Hymn,

    Whose notes the seraphim

    Lift to the glorious height of music winged and crowned.

    Shall not those notes find echoes in my lyre,

    Faithful though faint? Shall not my spirit’s fire,

    If slowly, yet unswervingly, ascend

    Now to its fount and end?

    Shall not my earthly love, all purified,

    Shine forth a heavenward guide,

    An angel of bright power—and strongly bear

    My being upward into holier air,

    Where fiery passion-clouds have no abode,

    And the sky’s temple-arch o’erflows with God?

    The radiant hope new-born

    Expands like rising morn

    In my life’s life: and as a ripening rose

    The crimson shadow of its glory throws

    More vivid, hour by hour, on some pure stream;

    So from that hope are spreading

    Rich hues, o’er nature shedding

    Each day a clearer, spiritual gleam.

    Let not those rays fade from me! Once enjoyed,

    Father of Spirits! let them not depart—

    Leaving the chilled earth without form and void,

    Darkened by mine own heart!

    Lift, aid, sustain me! Thou, by whom alone

    All lovely gifts and pure

    In the soul’s grasp endure;

    Thou, to the steps of whose eternal throne

    All knowledge flows—a sea for evermore

    Breaking its crested waves on that sole shore—

    Oh, consecrate my life! that I may sing

    Of Thee with joy that hath a living spring,

    In a full heart of music! Let my lays

    Through the resounding mountains waft Thy praise,

    And with that theme the wood’s green cloisters fill,

    And make their quivering leafy dimness thrill

    To the rich breeze of song! Oh! let me wake

    The deep religion, which hath dwelt from yore

    Silently brooding by lone cliff and lake,

    And wildest river-shore!

    And let me summon all the voices dwelling

    Where eagles build, and caverned rills are welling,

    And where the cataract’s organ-peal is swelling,

    In that one spirit gathered to adore!

    Forgive, O Father! if presumptuous thought

    Too daringly in aspiration rise!

    Let not Thy child all vainly have been taught

    By weakness, and by wanderings, and by sighs

    Of sad confession! lowly be my heart,

    And on its penitential altar spread

    The offerings worthless, till Thy grace impart

    The fire from heaven, whose touch alone can shed

    Life, radiance, virtue!—let that vital spark

    Pierce my whole being, wildered else and dark!

    Thine are all holy things—oh, make me Thine!

    So shall I, too, be pure—a living shrine

    Unto that Spirit which goes forth from Thee,

    Strong and divinely free,

    Bearing Thy gifts of wisdom on its flight,

    And brooding o’er them with a dove-like wing,

    Till thought, word, song, to Thee in worship spring,

    Immortally endowed for liberty and light.