Poems - Fanny Kemble

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il allah! come to prayer!”

      Warm o’er the waters the red sun is glowing,

      ’Tis the last parting glance of his splendour and might,

      While each rippling wave on the bright shore is throwing

      Its white crest, that breaks into showers of light.

      Each distant mosque and minaret

      Is shining in the setting sun,

      Whose farewell look is brighter yet,

      Than that with which his course begun.

      On the dark blue mountains his smile is bright,

      It glows on the orange grove’s waving height,

      And breaks through its shade in long lines of light.

      No sound on the earth, and no sound in the sky,

      Save murmuring fountains that sparkle nigh,

      And the rustling flight of the evening breeze,

      Who steals from his nest in the cypress trees,

      And a thousand dewy odours fling,

      As he shakes their white buds from his gossamer wing,

      And flutters away through the spicy air,

      At sound of a footstep drawing near.

      FAREWELL TO ITALY

      Farewell awhile, beautiful Italy!

      My lonely bark is launched upon the sea

      That clasps thy shore, and the soft evening gale

      Breathes from thy coast, and fills my parting sail.

      Ere morning dawn, a colder breeze will come,

      And bear me onward to my northern home;

      That home, where the pale sun is not so bright,

      So glorious, at his noonday’s fiercest height,

      As when he throws his last glance o’er the sea,

      And fires the heavens, that glow farewell on thee.

      Fair Italy! perchance some future day

      Upon thy coast again will see me stray;

      Meantime, farewell!  I sorrow, as I leave

      Thy lovely shore behind me, as men grieve

      When bending o’er a form, around whose charms,

      Unconquered yet, Death winds his icy arms:

      While leaving the last kiss on some dear cheek,

      Where beauty sheds her last autumnal streak,

      Life’s rosy flower just mantling into bloom,

      Before it fades for ever in the tomb.

      So I leave thee, oh! thou art lovely still!

      Despite the clouds of infamy and ill

      That gather thickly round thy fading form:

      Still glow thy glorious skies, as bright and warm,

      Still memory lingers fondly on thy strand,

      And Genius hails thee still her native land.

      Land of my soul’s adoption! o’er the sea,

      Thy sunny shore is fading rapidly:

      Fainter and fainter, from my gaze it dies,

      ’Till like a line of distant light it lies,

      A melting boundary ’twixt earth and sky,

      And now ’tis gone;—farewell, fair Italy!

      THE RED INDIAN

      Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,—

      Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,

      Still rings upon the rushing blast,

         That o’er thy grave sweeps drearily.

      Rest, warrior, rest! thy haughty brow,

      Beneath the hand of death bends low,

      Thy fiery glance is quenchëd now,

         In the cold grave’s obscurity.

      Rest, warrior, rest! thy rising sun

      Is set in blood, thy day is done;

      Like lightning flash thy race is run,

         And thou art sleeping peacefully.

      Rest, warrior, rest! thy foot no more

      The boundless forest shall explore,

      Or trackless cross the sandy shore,

         Or chase the red deer rapidly.

      Rest, warrior, rest! thy light canoe,

      Like thy choice arrow, swift and true,

      Shall part no more the waters blue,

         That sparkle round it brilliantly.

      Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,

      Yon sinking sunbeam is thy last,

      And all is silent, save the blast,

         That o’er thy grave sweeps drearily.

      TO –

      Oh, turn those eyes away from me!

         Though sweet, yet fearful are their rays;

      And though they beam so tenderly,

         I feel, I tremble ’neath their gaze.

      Oh, turn those eyes away! for though

         To meet their glance I may not dare,

      I know their light is on my brow,

         By the warm blood that mantles there.

      SONG

      Yet once again, but once, before we sever,

         Fill we one brimming cup,—it is the last!

      And let those lips, now parting, and for ever,

         Breathe o’er this pledge, “the memory of the past!”

      Joy’s fleeting sun is set; and no to-morrow

         Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast,

      Yet, in the bitter cup, o’erfilled with sorrow,

         Lives one sweet drop,—the memory of the past.

      But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining

         Through their warm tears, their loveliest and their last;

      But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining,

         Now farewell all, save memory of the past.

      LAMENT FOR ISRAEL

      Where is thy home in thy promised land?

         Desolate and forsaken!

      The stranger’s arm hath seized thy brand,

      Thou art bowed beneath the stranger’s hand,

         And the stranger thy birthright hath taken.

      Where is the mark of thy chosen race?

         Infamous and degraded!

      It hath fallen on thee, on thy dwelling-place,

      And that heaven-stamped sign to a foul disgrace

         And the scoff of the world, has faded.

      First-born of nations! upon thy brow,

         Resistless and revenging,

      The

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