Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MADELINE; A DOMESTIC TALE, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My child, my child, thou leavest me! Last Line: "peace shall be ours beneath our vines once more." Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea Subject(s): Mothers; Women | ||||||||
"MY child, my child, thou leavest me! I shall hear The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear With its first utterance: I shall miss the sound Of thy light step amidst the flowers around, And thy soft-breathing hymn at twilight's close, And thy 'Good-night' at parting for repose. Under the vine-leaves I shall sit alone, And the low breeze will have a mournful tone Amidst their tendrils, while I think of thee, My child! and thou, along the moonlit sea, With a soft sadness haply in thy glance, Shalt watch thine own, thy pleasant land of France, Fading to air. Yet blessings with thee go! Love guard thee, gentlest! and the exile's woe From thy young heart be far! And sorrow not For me, sweet daughter! in my lonely lot, God shall be with me. Now, farewell! farewell! Thou that hast been what words may never tell Unto thy mother's bosom, since the days When thou wert pillowed there, and wont to raise In sudden laughter thence thy loving eye That still sought mine: these moments are gone by -- Thou too must go, my flower! Yet with thee dwell The peace of God! One, one more gaze: farewell!" This was a mother's parting with her child -- A young meek bride, on whom fair fortune smiled, And wooed her with a voice of love away From childhood's home: yet there, with fond delay, She lingered on the threshold, heard the note Of her caged bird through trellised rose-leaves float, And fell upon her mother's neck and wept, Whilst old remembrances, that long had slept, Gushed o'er her soul, and many a vanished day As in one picture traced, before her lay. But the farewell was said; and on the deep, When its breast heaved in sunset's golden sleep, With a calmed heart, young Madeline ere long Poured forth her own sweet, solemn vesper-song, Breathing of home. Through stillness heard afar, And duly rising with the first pale star, That voice was on the waters; till at last The sounding ocean solitudes were passed, And the bright land was reached, the youthful world That glows along the West: the sales were furled In its clear sunshine, and the gentle bride Looked on the home that promised hearts untried A bower of bliss to come. Alas! we trace The map of our own paths, and long ere years With their dull steps the brilliant lines efface. On sweeps the storm, and blots them out with tears! That home was darkened soon: the summer breeze Welcomed with death the wanderers from the seas: Death unto one, and anguish -- how forlorn! To her that, widowed in her marriage morn, Sat in her voiceless dwelling, whence with him, Her bosom's first beloved, her friend and guide, Joy had gone forth, and left the green earth dim, As from the sun shut out on every side By the close veil of misery. Oh! but ill, When with rich hopes o'erfraught, the young high heart Bears its first blow! it knows not yet the part Which life will teach -- to suffer and be still, And with submissive love to count the flowers Which yet are spared, and through the future hours To send no busy dream! She had not learned Of sorrow till that hour, and therefore turned In weariness from life. Then came the unrest, The heart-sick yearning of the exile's breast, The haunting sounds of voices far away, And household steps: until at last she lay On her lone couch of sickness, lost in dreams Of the gay vineyards and blue-rushing streams In her own sunny land; and murmuring oft Familiar names, in accents wild yet soft, To strangers round that bed who knew not aught Of the deep spells wherewith each word was fraught. To strangers? Oh! could strangers raise the head Gently as hers was raised? Did strangers shed The kindly tears which bathed that feverish brow And wasted cheek with half-unconscious flow? Something was there that, through the lingering night, Outwatches patiently the taper's light -- Something that faints not through the day's distress, That fears not toil, that knows not weariness -- Love, true and perfect love! Whence came that power, Uprearing through the storm the drooping flower? Whence? -- who can ask? The wild delirium passed, And from her eyes the spirit looked at last Into her mother's face, and wakening knew The brow's calm grace, the hair's dear silvery hue, The kind sweet smile of old! -- and had she come, Thus in life's evening from her distant home, To save her child? Even so -- nor yet in vain: In that young heart a light sprang up again, And lovely still, with so much love to give, Seemed this fair world, though faded; still to live Was not to pine forsaken. On the breast That rocked her childhood, sinking in soft rest, "Sweet mother! gentlest mother! can it be?" The lorn one cried, "and do I look on thee? Take back thy wanderer from this fatal shore, Peace shall be ours beneath our vines once more." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARISTOTLE TO PHYLLIS by JOHN HOLLANDER A WOMAN'S DELUSION by SUSAN HOWE JULIA TUTWILER STATE PRISON FOR WOMEN by ANDREW HUDGINS THE WOMEN ON CYTHAERON by ROBINSON JEFFERS TOMORROW by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD LADIES FOR DINNER, SAIPAN by KENNETH KOCH GOODBYE TO TOLERANCE by DENISE LEVERTOV A DIRGE (1) by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS |
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