Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE FEMALE EXILE. WRITTEN AT BRIGHTELMSTONE IN NOVEMBER 1792, by CHARLOTTE SMITH Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: November's chill blast on the rough beach is howling Last Line: I can warm the cold heart of the wretched no more! Alternate Author Name(s): Smith, Charlotte Turner Subject(s): Brighton, England; Exiles; French Revolution (1789) | ||||||||
November's chill blast on the rough beach is howling, The surge breaks afar, and then foams to the shore, Dark clouds o'er the sea gather heavy and scowling, And the white cliffs re-echo the wild wintry roar. Beneath that chalk rock, a fair stranger reclining, Has found on damp sea-weed a cold lonely seat; Her eyes fill'd with tears, and her heart with repining, She starts at the billows that burst at her feet. There, day after day, with an anxious heart heaving, She watches the waves where they mingle with air; For the sail which, alas! all her fond hopes deceiving, May bring only tidings to add to her care. Loose stream to wild winds those fair flowing tresses, Once woven with garlands of gay Summer flowers; Her dress unregarded, bespeaks her distresses, And beauty is blighted by grief's heavy hours. Her innocent children, unconscious of sorrow, To seek the gloss'd shell, or the crimson weed stray; Amused with the present, they heed not to-morrow, Nor think of the storm that is gathering to day. The gilt, fairy ship, with its ribbon-sail spreading, They launch on the salt pool the tide left behind; Ah! victims -- for whom their sad mother is dreading The multiplied miseries that wait on mankind! To fair fortune born, she beholds them with anguish, Now wanderers with her on a once hostile soil, Perhaps doom'd for life in chill penury to languish, Or abject dependance, or soul-crushing toil. But the sea-boat, her hopes and her terrors renewing, O'er the dim grey horizon now faintly appears; She flies to the quay, dreading tidings of ruin, All breathless with haste, half expiring with fears. Poor mourner! -- I would that my fortune had left me The means to alleviate the woes I deplore; But like thine my hard fate has of affluence bereft me, I can warm the cold heart of the wretched no more! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRANCE: AN ODE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE LOUIS XV by JOHN STERLING (1806-1844) FRENCH REVOLUTION; AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COMMENCEMENT by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH LINES WRITTEN ... ONE WHO HAD WATCHED .. AMERICAN & FRENCH REVOLUTIONS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE FRENCH REVOLUTION by WILLIAM BLAKE VERSAILLES (1784) by STOPFORD AUGUSTUS BROOKE THE MIDNIGHT MASS; AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION by ADA CAMBRIDGE AN ODE ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE BASTILE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TALLEYRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE; A METRICAL EPISTLE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ELEGIAC SONNET: 2. WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF SPRING by CHARLOTTE SMITH ELEGIAC SONNET: 4. TO THE MOON by CHARLOTTE SMITH ELEGIAC SONNET: 44. WRITTEN IN THE CHURCH YARD AT MIDDLETON IN SUSSEX by CHARLOTTE SMITH |
|