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Poems   By: (1809-1893)

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POEMS,

BY

FRANCES ANNE BUTLER,

(LATE FANNY KEMBLE.)

LONDON: (REPRINTED FROM THE AMERICAN EDITION.) HENRY WASHBOURNE, NEW BRIDGE STREET, BLACKFRIARS. OLIVER & BOYD, EDINBURGH, MACHEN & CO. DUBLIN. MDCCCXLIV.

LONDON: Printed by STEWART and MURRAY, Old Bailey.

TO KATHARINE SEDGWICK, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS MOST RESPECTFULLY, GRATEFULLY, AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

LINES WRITTEN AT NIGHT.

August 9th, 1825.

Oh, thou surpassing beauty! that dost live Shrined in yon silent stream of glorious light! Spirit of harmony! that through the vast And cloud embroidered canopy art spreading Thy wings, that o'er our shadowy earth hang brooding, Like a pale silver haze, betwixt the moon And the world's darker orb: beautiful, hail! Hail to thee! from her midnight throne of ether, Night looks upon the slumbering universe. There is no breeze on silver crowned tree, There is no breath on dew bespangled flower, There is no wind sighs on the sleepy wave, There is no sound hangs in the solemn air. All, all are silent, all are dreaming, all, Save those eternal eyes, that now shine forth Winking the slumberer's destinies. The moon Sails on the horizon's verge, a moving glory, Pure, and unrivalled; for no paler orb Approaches, to invade the sea of light That lives around her; save yon little star, That sparkles on her robe of fleecy clouds, Like a bright gem, fallen from her radiant brow.

VENICE.

Night in her dark array Steals o'er the ocean, And with departed day Hushed seems its motion. Slowly o'er yon blue coast Onward she's treading, 'Till its dark line is lost, 'Neath her veil spreading. The bark on the rippling deep Hath found a pillow, And the pale moonbeams sleep On the green billow. Bound by her emerald zone Venice is lying, And round her marble crown Night winds are sighing. From the high lattice now Bright eyes are gleaming, That seem on night's dark brow Brighter stars beaming. Now o'er the bright lagune Light barks are dancing, And 'neath the silver moon Swift oars are glancing. Strains from the mandolin Steal o'er the water, Echo replies between To mirth and laughter. O'er the wave seen afar Brilliantly shining, Gleams like a fallen star Venice reclining.

TO MISS

Time beckons on the hours: the expiring year Already feels old Winter's icy breath; As with cold hands, he scatters on her bier The faded glories of her Autumn wreath. As fleetly as the Summer's sunshine past, The Winter's snow must melt; and the young Spring, Strewing the earth with flowers, will come at last, And in her train the hour of parting bring. But, though I leave the harbour, where my heart Sometime had found a peaceful resting place, Where it lay calmly moored; though I depart, Yet, let not time my memory quite efface. 'Tis true, I leave no void, the happy home To which you welcomed me, will be as gay, As bright, as cheerful, when I've turned to roam, Once more, upon life's weary onward way. But oh! if ever by the warm hearth's blaze, Where beaming eyes and kindred souls are met, Your fancy wanders back to former days, Let my remembrance hover round you yet. Then, while before you glides time's shadowy train, Of forms long vanished, days and hours long gone, Perchance my name will be pronounced again, In that dear circle where I once was one. Think of me then, nor break kind memory's spell, By reason's censure coldly o'er me cast, Think only, that I loved ye passing well! And let my follies slumber with the past.

THE WIND.

Night comes upon the earth; and fearfully Arise the mighty winds, and sweep along In the full chorus of their midnight song. The waste of heavy clouds, that veil the sky, Roll like a murky scroll before them driven, And show faint glimpses of a darker heaven. No ray is there of moon, or pale eyed star, Darkness is on the universe; save where The western sky lies glimmering, faint and far, With day's red embers dimly glowing there... Continue reading book >>




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