Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A FAREWELL, FOR TWO YEARS, TO ENGLAND; A POEM, SELECTION, by HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A FAREWELL, FOR TWO YEARS, TO ENGLAND; A POEM, SELECTION, by                 Poet's Biography
First Line: My native scenes! Can aught in time, or space
Last Line: And all the landscape glows with fresher bloom.
Subject(s): Love; Past


My native scenes! can aught in time, or space,
From this fond heart your lov'd remembrance chase?
Link'd to that heart by ties for ever dear,
By Joy's light smile, and Sorrow's tender tear;
By all that ere my anxious hopes employ'd,
By all my soul has suffer'd, or enjoy'd!
Still blended with those well-known scenes, arise
The varying images the past supplies;
The childish sports that fond attention drew,
And charm'd my vacant heart when life was new;
The harmless mirth, the sadness robb'd of power
To cast its shade beyond the present hour—
And that dear hope which sooth'd my youthful breast,
And show'd the op'ning world in beauty drest;
That hope which seem'd with bright unfolding rays
(Ah, vainly seem'd!) to gild my future days;
That hope which, early wrapp'd in lasting gloom,
Sunk in the cold inexorable tomb!—
And Friendship, ever powerful to controul
The keen emotions of the wounded soul,
To lift the suff'ring spirit from despair,
And bid it feel that life deserves a care.
Still each impression that my heart retains
Is link'd, dear Land! to thee by lasting chains.

She too, sweet soother of my lonely hours!
Who gilds my thorny path with fancy's flowers,
The Muse, who early taught my willing heart
To feel with transport her prevailing art;
Who deign'd before my infant eyes to spread
Those dazzling visions she alone can shed;
She, who will still be found where'er I stray,
The lov'd companion of my distant way;
'Midst foreign sounds, her voice, that charms my ear,
Breath'd in my native tongue, I still shall hear;
'Midst foreign sounds, endear'd will flow the song
Whose tones, my ALBION, will to thee belong!

And when with wonder thrill'd, with mind elate,
I mark the change sublime in GALLIA'S state!
Where new-born Freedom treads the banks of Seine,
Hope in her eye, and Virtue in her train!
Pours day upon the dungeon's central gloom,
And leads the captive from his living tomb;
Tears the sharp iron from his loaded breast,
And bids the renovated land be blest—
My thoughts shall fondly turn to that lov'd Isle,
Where Freedom long has shed her genial smile.
Less safe in other lands the triple wall,
And massy portal, of the Gothic hall,
Than in that favour'd Isle the straw-built thatch,
Where Freedom sits, and guards the simple latch.

Yet, ALBION! while my heart to thee shall spring,
To thee its first, its best affections bring;
Yet, when I hear exulting millions pour
The shout of triumph on the GALLIC shore;
Not without sympathy my pensive mind
The bounds of human bliss enlarg'd, shall find;
Not without sympathy my glowing breast
Shall hear, on any shore, of millions blest!
Scorning those narrow souls, whate'er their clime,
Who meanly think that sympathy a crime;
Who, if one wish for human good expand
Beyond the limits of their native land,
And from the worst of ills would others free,
Deem that warm wish, my Country! guilt to thee.
Ah! why those blessings to one spot confine,
Which, when diffus'd, will not the less be thine?
Ah! why repine if far those blessings spread
For which so oft thy gen'rous sons have bled?
Shall ALBION mark with scorn the lofty thought,
The love of Liberty, herself has taught?
Shall her brave sons, in this enlighten'd age,
Assume the bigot-frown of papal rage,
Nor tolerate the vow to Freedom paid,
If diff'ring from the ritual they have made?
Freedom! who oft on ALBION'S fost'ring breast
Has found her friends in stars and ermine drest,
Allows that some among her chosen race
Should there the claim to partial honours trace,
And in the long-reflected lustre shine
That beams thro' Ancestry's ennobled line;
While she, with guardian wing, can well secure
From each proud wrong the undistinguish'd poor.
On GALLIA'S coast, where oft the robe of state
Was trail'd by those whom Freedom's soul must hate;
Where, like a comet, rank appear'd to glow
With dangerous blaze, that threaten'd all below;
There Freedom now, with gladden'd eye, beholds
The simple vest that flows in equal folds.

And tho' on Seine's fair banks a transient storm
Flung o'er the darken'd wave its angry form;
That purifying tempest now has past,
No more the trembling waters feel the blast;
The bord'ring images, confus'dly trac'd
Along the ruffled stream, to order haste;
The vernal day-spring bursts the partial gloom,
And all the landscape glows with fresher bloom.





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