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Late, late in a gloamin when all was still, Lang have I journeyed the world wide,
In mind and body, fand I nane. "Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
Never , since the banquet of time,
As spotless as the morning-snaw:
Full twenty years she has lived as free That bonny snood of the birk sae green? As the spirits that sojourn this countrye: And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen? I have brought her away frae the snares of men, Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ?” That sin or death she never may ken. Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face;
They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair As still was her look, and as still was her ee,
And round came many a blooming fere, As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,
Saying: Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcome here ! Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
Women are freed of the littand scorn: For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, And Kilmeny had seen what she could not de-10, blessed be the day Kilmeny was born!
Now shall the land of the spirits see, clare;
Now shall it ken what a woman may be! Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,
Many a lang year in sorrow and pain, Where the rain never fell, and the wind never
Many a lang year through the world we've gane, blew;
Commissioned to watch fair womankind, But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, we have watched their steps as the dawning
For it's they who nurice the immortal mind. When she spake of the lovely forms she had
And deep in the green-wood walks alone; And a land where sin had never been;
By lily-bower and silken bed, A land of love, and a land of night,
The viewless tears have o'er them shed; Withouten sun, or moon, or night:
Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep, Where the river swa'd a living stream,
Or left the couch of love to weep. And the light a pure celestial beam:
We have seen! whe have seen! but the time must The land of vision it would seem,
come, A still, an everlasting dream.
And the angels will weep at the day of doom! In yon green-wood there is a waik,
O, would the fairest of mortal kind And in that waik there is a wene,
Aye keep the holy truths in mind, And in that wene there is a maike,
That kindred spirits their motions see, That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane:
Who watch their ways with anxious ee, And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane. And grieve for the guilt of humanitye ! In that green wene Kilmeny lay,
0, sweet to Heaven the maiden's prayer, Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay;
And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair!
And dear to Heaven the words of truth,
And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth! She kend nae mair, nor opened her ee,
And dear to the viewless forms of air, Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye.
The minds that kyth as the body fair!
0, bonny Kilmeny ! free frae stain,
0, tell of the joys that are waiting here; Who erst bad travelled mortal life;
And tell of the signs you shall shortly see And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, Of the times that are now, and the time that What spirit has brought this mortal here?
They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame.
She looked again, and the scene was new.
And clouds of amber sailing bye;
And marled seas, and a thousand isles; In the stream of life that wandered bye.
Its fields were speckled, its forests green, And she heard a song, she heard it sung,
And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen, She kend not where; but sae sweetly it rung, Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn: The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray; 0! blest be the day Kilmeny was born! Which heaved and trembled, and gently swung, Now shall the land of the spirits see,
On every shore they seemed to be hung;
Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth.
She saw the plaid and the broad claymore,
And the brows that the badge of freedom bore; They bore her away, she wist not how, And she thought she had seen the land before. For she felt not arm nor rest below; But so swift they wained her through the light, She saw a lady sit on a throne, 'Twas like the motion of sound or sight;
The fairest that ever the sun shone on! They seemed to split the gales of air,
A lion licked her hand of milk, And yet nor gale nor breeze was there.
And she held him in a leish of silk; Unnumbered groves below them grew,
And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee, They came, they past, and backward flew, With a silver wand and melting ee; Like floods of blossoms gliding on,
Her sovereign shield till love stole in,
And poisoned all the fount within.
And hundit the lion on his dame;
Till the bonniest flower of the world lay dead;
A coffin was set on a distant plain, They bore her far to a mountain green,
And she saw the red blood fall like rain: To see what mortal never had seen;
Then bonny Kilmeny's heart grew sair, And they seated her high on a purple sward, And she turned away, and could look nae mair. And bade her heed what she saw and heard, Then the gruff grim carle girned amain, And note the changes the spirits wrought, And they trampled him down, but he rose again; For now she lived in the land of thought. And he baited the lion to deeds of weir, She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies, Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear; But a crystal dome of a thousand dies:
And weening his head was danger-preef, She looked, and she saw nae land aright, When crowned with the rose and clover leaf, But an endless whirl of glory and light: He gowled at the carle, and chased him away And radiant beings went and came
To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray.
He gowled at the carle, and he gecked at Fleaven, Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny came hame!
But still and steadfast was her ee!
For there was no pride nor passion there; She saw below her fair unfurled
And the soft desire of maiden's een One half of all the glowing world,
In that mild face could never be seen. Where oceans rolled, and rivers ran,
Her seymar was the lily flower, To bound the aims of sinful man.
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower; She saw a people, fierce and fell,
And her voice like the distant melodye,
But she loved to raike the lanely glen,
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men; Till the cities and towers were rapt in a blaze, Her holy hymns unheard to sing, And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and the seas. To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. The widows they wailed, and the red blood ran, But wherever her peaceful form appeared, And she threatened an end to the race of man :
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered; She never lened, nor stood in awe,
The wolf played blythly round the field, Till claught by the lion's deadly paw.
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ; Oh! then the cagle swinked for life,
The dun deer wooed with manner bland, And brainzelled up a mortal strife;
And cowered aneath her lily hand. But flew she north, or flew she south,
And when at even the woodlands rung, She met wi' the gowl of the lion's mouth.
When bymns of other worlds she sung With a mooted wing and wacsu' maen,
In ecstasy of sweet devotion, The eagle sought her eiry again;
0, then the glen was all in motion! But lang may she cower in her bloody nest, The wild beasts of the forest came, And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast, Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, Before she sey another flight,
And goved around , charmed and amazed; To play wi' the norland lion's might.
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,
And murmured and looked with anxious pain But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw,
For something the mystery to explain.
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;
The corby left her houf in the rock;
The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew; But she saw till the sorrows of man were bye,
The hind came tripping o'er the dew; And all was love and harmony;
The wolf and the kid their raike began, Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away,
And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; Like the flakes of snaw on a winter-day.
The hawk and the hern attour them hung, Then Kilmeny begged again to see
And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their The friends she left in her own countrye,
young; To tell of the place where she had been,
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled:
It was like an eve in a sinless world!
When a month and a day had come and gane, That all whose minds unmeled remain
Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene; Shall bloom in beauty wlien time is gane.
There laid her down on the leaves sae green,
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. With distant music, soft and deep,
But oh, the words that fell from her mouth, They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep;
Were words of wonder, and words of truth! And when she awakened, she lay her lane, But all the land were in fear and dread, All happed with flowers in the green-wood wene. For they kendna whether she was living or dead. When seven lang years had come and fed; It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain, When grief was calm, and hope was dead; She left this world of sorrow and pain, When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, And returned to the land of thought again.
Felicia Dorothea Browne, später verehelichte Hemans ward 1794 in Liverpool geboren, zog dann mit ihren Eltern nach St. Asaph in Nordwales und verheirathete sich sehr früh mit einem Capitain Hemans, aber ilire Ehe war keine glückliche und wurde später nach gegenseitiger Uebereinkunft wieder getrennt. Sie zog nun nach Wavertree bei Liverpool, dann nach Dublin, wo sie am 16. Mai 1835 starb.
Ihre Dichtungen, mit wenigen Ausnahmen, fast sämmtlich zur lyrischen Gattung gehörend (Early Blossoms; Domestic Affections; National Lyrics; Scenes and Hymns of Life u. s. w., lauten die Titel der verschiedenen Sammlungen, welche sie nach einander erscheinen liess), zeichnen sich durch sanfte Empfindung, innige Frömmigkeit, Anmuth , Geist, Phantasie und treffliche Sprache sehr vortheilhaft aus und haben ihr ein dauerndes Andenken bei ihrer Nation, namentlich bei den englischen Frauen erworben.
Cathedral II y m n.
Of the rich organ harmony bears up A dim and mighty minster of old Time!
Their voice on its high waves ! a mighty
burst! A temple shadowy with remembrances Of the majestic past! the very light
A forest-sounding music! Streams with a colouring of heroic days
Which the blasts call forth with their harping In every ray, which leads through arch and aisle
wings A path of dreamy lustre, wandering back
From gulfs of tossing foliage there is blent:
And the old minster To other years; and the rich fretted roof
forest-like itself And the wrought coronals of summer leaves,
With its long avenues of pillared shade, Ivy and vine, and many a sculptured rose
Seems quivering all with spirit, as that strain
O'erflows its dim rec The tenderest image of mortality
ses, leaving not Binding the slender columns, whose light shafts One tomb unthrilled by the strong sympathy Cluster like stems in corn-sheaves, all these Answering the electric notes.
Join, join, my things
soul! Tell of a race that nobly, fearlessly,
In thine own lowly, trembling consciousness, On their heart's worship poured a wealth of love! And thine own solitude, the glorious hymn. Honour be with the dead! the people kneel Under the helms of antique chivalry, And in the crimson gloom from banners thrown, And midst the forms, in pale proud slumber
carved Of warriors on their tombs. The people kneel
The Song of Night. Where mail-clad chiefs have knelt; where jewel
I come to thee, O Earth! On the flushed brows of conquerors have been set; With all my gifts : for every flower, sweet Where the high anthems of old victories
dew, Have made the dust give echoes. Hence, vain In bell, and urn, and chalice, to renew
The glory of its birth.
Not one which glimmering lies
A spirit of fresh dyes.
I come with every star:
I come with peace; I shed
I, that shower dewy light Sleep through thy wood-walks o'er the honey-bee, Through slumbering leaves, bring storms! - the The lark's triumphant voice, the fawn's young
tempest birth glee,
Of memory, thought, remorse: be holy, The hyacinth's meek head.
I am the solemn Night!
The Hebrew Mother.
The rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, Who calls me silent? -- I have many tones:
When a young mother, with her firstborn, thence The dark skies thrill with low mysterious moans
Went up to Zion; for the boy was vowed
Unto the temple service. By the hand
She led him; and her silent soul, the while, I waft them not alone
Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye From the deep organ of the forest shades, Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think Or buried streams, unheard amidst their glades, That aught so pure, so beautiful, was her's, Till the bright day is done.
To bring before her God!
So passed they on, But in the human breast
O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves A thousand still small voices I awake,
Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon, Strong in their sweetness from the soul to shake Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive boughs, The mantle of its rest.
With their cool dimness, crossed the sultry blue
Of Syria's heaven, she paused, that he might I bring them from the past: From true bearts broken, gentle spirits torn,
Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep From crush'd affections, which, though "long That weighed their dark fringe down, to sit and o'erborne,
The crimson deepening o'er his cheeks' repose,
Lay, like a twilight star, 'midst palmy shades,
Making its banks green gems along the wild, O'er the sad couch of late repentant love,
There, too, she lingered, from the diamond wave They pass though low as murmurs of a
Drawing clear water for his rosy lips,
And softly parting clusters of jet curls
To bathe his brow.
At last the fane was reached, I come with all my train:
The earth's one sanctuary; and rapture hushed Who calls me lonely? Hosts around me tread, Her bosom, as before her, through the day Th’ intensely bright, the beautiful, the dread It rose, a mountain of white marble, steeped Phantoms of heart and brain !
In light like floating gold. But when that hour
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy Looks from departed eyes,
Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye These are my lightnings ! filled with anguish
Beseechingly to her's, – and, half in fear,
Turned from the white-robed priest, and round
vain, Or tenderness too piercing to sustain,
Clung, even as ivy clings, the deep spring-tide They smite with agonies.
Of nature then swelled high; and o'er her child
Bending, her soul brake forth, in mingled sounds I, that with soft control
Of weeping and sad song. "Alas!" she cried, Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song, I am th' Avenging One! the armed, the "Alas! my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me,
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes, The searcher of the soul!
And now fond thoughts arise,