Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PAULINE, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Along the starlit seine went music swelling Last Line: To clear away the mysteries of such woe! Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea Subject(s): Women | ||||||||
ALONG the starlit Seine went music swelling, Till the air thrilled with its exulting mirth; Proudly it floated, even as if no dwelling For cares of stricken hearts were found on earth; And a glad sound the measure lightly beat, A happy chime of many dancing feet. For in a palace of the land that night, Lamps, and fresh roses, and green leaves were hung, And from the painted walls a stream of light On flying forms beneath soft splendor flung; But loveliest far amidst the revel's pride Was one -- the lady from the Danube side. Pauline, the meekly bright! though now no more Her clear eye flashed with youth's all-tameless glee, Yet something holier than its dayspring wore, There in soft rest lay beautiful to see; A charm with graver, tenderer, sweetness fraught -- The blending of deep love and matron thought. Through the gay throng she moved, serenely fair, And such calm joy as fills a moonlight sky Sat on her brow beneath its graceful hair, As her young daughter in the dance went by, With the fleet step of one that yet hath known Smiles and kind voices in this world alone. Lurked there no secret boding in her breast? Did no faint whisper warn of evil nigh? Such oft awake when most the heart seems blest Midst the light laughter of festivity. Whence come those tones? Alas! enough we know To mingle fear with all triumphal show! Who spoke of evil when young feet were flying In fairy rings around the echoing hall? Soft airs through braided locks in perfume sighing, Glad pulses beating unto music's call? Silence! -- the minstrels pause -- and hark! a sound, A strange quick rustling which their notes had drowned! And lo! a light upon the dancers breaking -- Not such their clear and silvery lamps had shed; From the gay dream of revelry awaking, One moment holds them still in breathless dread. The wild fierce lustre grows: then bursts a cry -- Fire! through the hall and round it gathering -- fly! And forth they rush, as chased by sword and spear, To the green coverts of the garden bowers -- A gorgeous masque of pageantry and fear, Startling the birds and trampling down the flowers: While from the dome behind, red sparkles driven Pierce the dark stillness of the midnight heaven. And where is she -- Pauline? the hurrying throng Have swept her onward as a stormy blast Might sweep some faint o'erwearied bird along -- Till now the threshold of that death is past, And free she stands beneath the starry skies, Calling her child -- but no sweet voice replies. "Bertha! where art thou? Speak! oh, speak, my own!" Alas! unconscious of her pangs the while, The gentle girl, in fear's cold grasp alone, Powerless had sunk within the blazing pile; A young bright form, decked gloriously for death, With flowers all shrinking from the flame's fierce breath! But oh! thy strength, deep love! There is no power To stay the mother from that rolling grave, Though fast on high the fiery volumes tower, And forth like banners from each lattice wave: Back, back she rushes through a host combined -- Mighty is anguish, with affection twined! And what bold step may follow, midst the roar Of the red billows, o'er their prey that rise? None! -- Courage there stood still -- and never more Did those fair forms emerge on human eyes! Was one bright meeting theirs, one wild farewell? And died they heart to heart? -- Oh! who can tell? Freshly and cloudlessly the morning broke On that sad palace, midst its pleasure shades; Its painted roofs had sunk -- yet black with smoke And lonely stood its marble colonnades: But yester eve their shafts with wreaths were bound, Now lay the scene one shrivelled scroll around! And bore the ruins no recording trace Of all that woman's heart had dared and done? Yes! there were gems to mark its mortal place, That forth from dust and ashes dimly shone! Those had the mother, on her gentle breast, Worn round her child's fair image, there at rest. And they were all! -- the tender and the true Left this alone her sacrifice to prove, Hallowing the spot where mirth once lightly flew, To deep lone chastened thoughts of grief and love. Oh! we have need of patient faith below, To clear away the mysteries of such woe! | 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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