Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TASSO AND HIS SISTER, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TASSO AND HIS SISTER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: She sat, where on each wind that sighed
Last Line: He of the sword and pen!
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Sisters; Tasso, Torquato (1544-1595); Women


SHE sat, where on each wind that sighed
The citron's breath went by,
While the red gold of eventide
Burned in the Italian sky.
Her bower was one where daylight's close
Full oft sweet laughter found,
As thence the voice of childhood rose
To the high vineyards round.

But still and thoughtful at her knee
Her children stood that hour,
Their bursts of song and dancing glee
Hushed as by words of power.
With bright fixed wondering eyes, that gazed
Up to their mother's face,
With brows through parted ringlet raised,
They stood in silent grace.

While she -- yet something o'er her look
Of mournfulness was spread --
Forth from a poet's magic book
The glorious numbers read;
The proud undying lay, which poured
Its light on evil years;
His of the gifted pen and sword,
The triumph, and the tears.

She read of fair Erminia's flight,
Which Venice once might hear
Sung on her glittering seas at night
By many a gondolier.
Of him she read, who broke the charm
That wrapt the myrtle grove;
Of Godfrey's deeds, of Tancred's arm,
That slew his Paynim love.

Young cheeks around that bright page glowed,
Young holy hearts were stirred;
And the meek tears of woman flowed
Fast o'er each burning word.
And sounds of breeze, and fount, and leaf,
Came sweet, each pause between,
When a strange voice of sudden grief
Burst on the gentle scene.

The mother turned -- a wayworn man,
In pilgrim garb, stood nigh,
Of stately mien, yet wild and wan,
of proud yet mournful eye.
But drops which would not stay for pride
From that dark eye gushed free,
As pressing his pale brow, he cried,
"Forgotten! e'en by thee!

"Am I so changed? -- and yet we two
Oft hand in hand have played;
This brow hath been all bathed in dew
From wreaths which thou hast made.
We have knelt down and said one prayer,
And sung one vesper strain:
My soul is dim with clouds of care --
Tell me those words again!

"Life hath been heavy on my head --
I come a stricken deer,
Bearing the heart, midst crowds that bled,
To bleed in stillness here."
She gazed, till thoughts that long had slept
Shook all her thrilling frame --
She fell upon his neck and wept,
Murmuring her brother's name.

Her brother's name! -- and who was he,
The weary one, the unknown,
That came the bitter world to flee,
A stranger to his own?
He was the bard of gifts divine
To sway the souls of men;
He of the song for Salem's shrine,
He of the sword and pen!





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