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Read Ebook: Poems by Speranza by Wilde Lady
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Ebook has 931 lines and 70083 words, and 19 pages
THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST, 105
SALVATION, 108
MISERY IS MYSTERY, 109
FAREWELL! 110
CATARINA, 110
THE POET AT COURT, 111
THE MYSTIC TREE, 112
'TIS NOT UPON EARTH, 113
THE ITINERANT SINGING GIRL, 114
IGNEZ DE CASTRO, 115
THE WAIWODE, 117
THE COMPARISON, 119
BUDRIS AND HIS SONS, 121
THE LADY BEATRIZ, 123
A SERVIAN SONG, 124
INSTABILITY, 125
A WARNING, 126
CASSANDRA, 128
UNDINE, 132
THE PAST, 136
THE FISHERMAN, 138
THE IDEAL, 139
DEATH WISHES, 143
HYMN TO THE CROSS, 144
JESUS TO THE SOUL, 145
TRISTAN AND ISOLDE, 146
WHY WEEPEST THOU? 168
SULEIMA TO HER LOVER, 169
A LA SOMBRA DE MIS CABELLOS, 169
CONSTANCY, 170
THE FATE OF THE LYRIST, 171
THE POET'S DESTINY, 172
DESILLUSION, 172
THE PRISONERS, 173
THE DAWN, 176
AN APPEAL TO IRELAND, 178
DEDICATION.
To Ireland.
My country, wounded to the heart, Could I but flash along thy soul Electric power to rive apart The thunder-clouds that round thee roll, And, by my burning words, uplift Thy life from out Death's icy drift, Till the full splendours of our age Shone round thee for thy heritage-- As Miriam's, by the Red Sea strand Clashing proud cymbals, so my hand Would strike thy harp, Loved Ireland!
She flung her triumphs to the stars In glorious chants for freedom won, While over Pharaoh's gilded cars The fierce, death-bearing waves rolled on; I can but look in God's great face, And pray Him for our fated race, To come in Sinai thunders down, And, with His mystic radiance, crown Some Prophet-Leader, with command To break the strength of Egypt's band, And set thee free, Loved Ireland!
New energies, from higher source, Must make the strong life-currents flow, As Alpine glaciers in their course Stir the deep torrents 'neath the snow. The woman's voice dies in the strife Of Liberty's awakening life; We wait the hero heart to lead, The hero, who can guide at need, And strike with bolder, stronger hand, Though towering hosts his path withstand Thy golden harp, Loved Ireland!
For I can breathe no trumpet call, To make the slumb'ring Soul arise; I only lift the funeral-pall, That so God's light might touch thine eyes, And ring the silver prayer-bell clear, To rouse thee from thy trance of fear; Yet, if thy mighty heart has stirred, Even with one pulse-throb at my word, Then not in vain my woman's hand Has struck thy gold harp while I stand, Waiting thy rise Loved Ireland!
POEMS.
THE BROTHERS.
A SCENE FROM '98.
'Tis midnight, falls the lamp-light dull and sickly, On a pale and anxious crowd, Through the court, and round the judges, thronging thickly, With prayers none dare to speak aloud. Two youths, two noble youths, stand prisoners at the bar-- You can see them through the gloom-- In pride of life and manhood's beauty, there they are Awaiting their death doom.
All eyes an earnest watch on them are keeping, Some, sobbing, turn away, And the strongest men can hardly see for weeping, So noble and so loved were they. Their hands are locked together, those young brothers, As before the judge they stand-- They feel not the deep grief that moves the others, For they die for Fatherland.
They are pale, but it is not fear that whitens On each proud, high brow, For the triumph of the martyr's glory brightens Around them even now. They sought to free their land from thrall of stranger; Was it treason? Let them die; But their blood will cry to Heaven--the Avenger Yet will hearken from on high.
Before them, shrinking, cowering, scarcely human, The base informer bends, Who, Judas-like, could sell the blood of true men, While he clasped their hands as friends. Aye, could fondle the young children of his victim, Break bread with his young wife, At the moment that for gold his perjured dictum Sold the husband and the father's life.
There is silence in the midnight--eyes are keeping Troubled watch till forth the jury come; There is silence in the midnight--eyes are weeping-- "Guilty!"--is the fatal uttered doom. For a moment o'er the brothers' noble faces Came a shadow sad to see; Then silently they rose up in their places, And embraced each other fervently.
Oh! the rudest heart might tremble at such sorrow, The rudest cheek might blanch at such a scene: Twice the judge essayed to speak the word--to-morrow-- Twice faltered, as a woman he had been. To-morrow!--Fain the elder would have spoken, Prayed for respite, tho' it is not death he fears; But thoughts of home and wife his heart hath broken, And his words are stopped by tears.
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