Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BURIAL OF AN EMIGRANT'S CHILD IN THE FOREST, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BURIAL OF AN EMIGRANT'S CHILD IN THE FOREST, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The desolation and the agony
Last Line: Kneel, and bow submitted hearts to god!
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Death - Children; Forests; Funerals; Death - Babies; Woods; Burials


SCENE. -- The banks of a solitary river in an American forest. A tent under
pinetrees in the foreground. AGNES sitting before the tent, with a child in
her arms apparently sleeping.

Agnes. Surely 'tis all a dream -- a fever-dream!
The desolation and the agony --
The strange, red sunrise, and the gloomy woods,
So terrible with their dark giant boughs,
And the broad, lonely river! -- all a dream!
And my boy's voice will wake me, with its clear,
Wild singing tones, as they were wont to come
Through the wreathed sweetbrier at my lattice-panes
In happy, happy England! Speak to me!
Speak to thy mother, bright one! she hath watched
All the dread night beside thee, till her brain
Is darkened by swift waves of fantasies,
And her soul faint with longing for thy voice.
Oh! I must wake him with one gentle kiss
On his fair brow!
(Shudderingly.) The strange, damp, thrilling touch!
The marble chill! Now, now it rushes back --
Now I know all! -- dead -- dead! -- a fearful word!
My boy hath left me in the wilderness,
To journey on without the blessed light
In his deep, loving eyes. He's gone! -- he's gone!

Her HUSBAND enters.

Husband. Agnes! my Agnes! hast thou looked thy last
On our sweet slumberer's face? The hour is come --
The couch made ready for his last repose.
Agnes. Not yet! thou canst not take him from me yet!
If he but left me for a few short days,
This were too brief a gazing-time to draw
His angel image into my fond heart,
And fix its beauty there. And now -- oh! now,
Never again the laughter of his eye
Shall send its gladdening summer through my soul
-- Never on earth again. Yet, yet delay!
Thou canst not take him from me.
Husband. My beloved!
Is it not God hath taken him? the God
That took our firstborn, o'er whose early grave
Thou didst bow down thy saint-like head, and say,
"His will be done!"
Agnes. Oh! that near household grave,
Under the turf of England, seemed not half --
Not half so much to part me from my child
As these dark woods. It lay beside our home,
And I could watch the sunshine, through all hours,
Loving and clinging to the grassy spot;
And I could dress its greensward with fresh flowers,
Familiar meadow-flowers. O'er thee, my babe!
The primrose will not blossom! Oh! that now,
Together, by thy fair young sister's side,
We lay 'midst England's valleys!
Husband. Dost thou grieve,
Agnes! that thou hast followed o'er the deep
An exile's fortunes? If it thus can be,
Then, after many a conflict cheerily met,
My spirit sinks at last.
Agnes. Forgive! forgive!
My Edmund, pardon me! Oh! grief is wild --
Forget its words, quick spray-drops from a fount
Of unknown bitterness! Thou art my home!
Mine only and my blessed one! Where'er
Thy warm heart beats in its true nobleness,
There is my country! there my head shall rest,
And throb no more. Oh! still, by thy strong love,
Bear up the feeble reed!

(Kneeling with the child in her arms.)

And Thou, my God!
Hear my soul's cry from this dread wilderness!
Oh! hear, and pardon me! If I have made
This treasure, sent from Thee, too much the ark
Fraught with mine earthward-clinging happiness,
Forgetting Him who gave, and might resume,
Oh! pardon me!
If nature hath rebelled,
And from thy light turned wilfully away,
Making a midnight of her agony,
When the despairing passion of her clasp
Was from its idol stricken at one touch
Of thine Almighty hand -- oh, pardon me!
By thy Son's anguish, pardon! In the soul
The tempests and the waves will know thy voice --
Father! say, "Peace, be still!"

(Giving the child to her husband.)

Farewell, my babe!
Go from my bosom now to other rest!
With this last kiss on thine unsullied brow,
And on thy pale, calm cheek these contrite tears,
I yield thee to thy Maker!
Husband. Now, my wife!
Thine own meek holiness beams forth once more
A light upon my path. Now shall I bear,
From thy dear arms, the slumberer to repose --
With a calm, trustful heart.
Agnes. My Edmund! where --
Where wilt thou lay him?
Husband. See'st thou where the spire
Of yon dark cypress reddens in the sun
To burning gold -- there -- o'er yon willow tuft?
Under that native desert monument
Lies his lone bed. Our Hubert, since the dawn,
With the gray mosses of the wilderness
Hath lined it closely through; and there breathed forth,
E'en from the fulness of his own pure heart,
A wild, sad forest hymn -- a song of tears,
Which thou wilt learn to love. I heard the boy
Chanting it o'er his solitary task,
As wails a wood-bird to the thrilling leaves,
Perchance unconsciously.
Agnes. My gentle son!
The affectionate, the gifted! With what joy --
Edmund, rememberest thou? -- with what bright joy
His baby brother ever to his arms
Would spring from rosy sleep, and playfully
Hide the rich clusters of his gleaming hair
In that kind, useful breast! Oh! now no more!
But strengthen me, my God! and melt my heart,
Even to a well-spring of adoring tears,
For many a blessing left.
(Bending over the child.) Once more, farewell!
Oh, the pale, piercing sweetness of that look!
How can it be sustained? Away, away!

(After a short pause.)

Edmund! my woman's nature still is weak --
I cannot see thee render dust to dust!
Go thou, my husband! to thy solemn task;
I will rest here, and still my soul with prayer
Till thy return.
Husband. Then strength be with thy prayer!
Peace on thy bosom! Faith and heavenly hope
Unto thy spirit! Fare thee well a while!
We must be pilgrims of the woods again,
After this mournful hour.

(He goes out with the child. -- AGNES kneels in prayer. -- After a time,
voices without are heard singing.)

FUNERAL HYMN.

Where the long reeds quiver,
Where the pines make moan,
By the forest-river,
Sleeps our babe alone.
England's field-flowers may not deck his grave,
Cypress shadows o'er him darkly wave.

Woods unknown receive him,
'Midst the mighty wild;
Yet with God we leave him,
Blessed, blessed child!
And our tears gush o'er his lovely dust,
Mournfully, yet still from hearts of trust.

Though his eye hath brightened
Oft our weary way,
And his clear laugh lightened
Half our hearts' dismay;
Still in hope we give back what was given,
Yielding up the beautiful to heaven.

And to her who bore him,
Her who long must weep,
Yet shall heaven restore him
From his pale, sweet sleep!
Those blue eyes of love and peace again
Through her soul will shine, undimmed by pain.

Where the long reeds quiver,
Where the pines make moan,
Leave him by the river
Earth to earth alone!
God and Father! may our journeyings on
Lead to where the blessed boy is gone!

From the exile's sorrow,
From the wanderer's dread
Of the night and morrow,
Early brightly fled;
Thou hast called him to a sweeter home
Than our lost one o'er the ocean's foam.

Now let thought behold him,
With his angel look,
Where those arms enfold him,
Which benignly took
Israel's babes to their Good Shepherd's breast,
When His voice their tender meekness blest

Turn thee now, fond mother!
From thy dead, oh, turn!
Linger not, young brother,
Here to dream and mourn:
Only kneel once more around the sod,
Kneel, and bow submitted hearts to God!





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