Classic and Contemporary Poetry
NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: In genoa, when the sunset gave Last Line: Bend with celestial joy to hear. Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea Subject(s): Genoa, Italy | ||||||||
IN Genoa, when the sunset gave Its last warm purple to the wave, No sound of war, no voice of fear, Was heard, announcing danger near; Though deadliest foes were there, whose hate But slumbered till its hour of fate, Yet calmly, at the twilight's close, Sunk the wide city to repose. But when deep midnight reigned around, All sudden woke the alarm-bell's sound, Full swelling, while the hollow breeze Bore its dread summons o'er the seas. Then, Genoa, from their slumber started Thy sons, the free, the fearless-hearted; Then mingled with the awakening peal Voices, and steps, and clash of steel, Arm, warriors, arm! for danger calls, Arise to guard your native walls! With breathless haste the gathering throng Hurry the echoing streets along; Through darkness rushing to the scene Where their bold counsels still convene. -- But there a blaze of torches bright Pours its red radiance on the night, O'er fane, and dome, and column playing, With every fitful night-wind swaying: Now floating o'er each tall arcade, Around the pillared scene displayed, In light relieved by depth of shade: And now with ruddy meteor-glare, Full streaming on the silvery hair And the bright cross of him who stands Rearing that sign with suppliant hands, Girt with his consecrated train, The hallowed servants of the fane. Of life's past woes, the fading trace Hath given that aged patriarch's face Expression holy, deep, resigned, The calm sublimity of mind. Years o'er his snowy head have passed, And left him of his race the last; Alone on earth -- yet still his mien Is bright with majesty serene; And those high hopes, whose guiding-star Shines from the eternal worlds afar, Have with that light illumed his eye, Whose fount is immortality, And o'er his features poured a ray Of glory, not to pass away. He seems a being who hath known Communion with his God alone, On earth by naught but pity's tie Detained a moment from on high! One to sublimer worlds allied, One, from all passion purified, E'en now half mingled with the sky And all prepared -- oh! not to die -- But, like the prophet, to aspire, In heaven's triumphal car of fire. He speaks -- and from the throngs around Is heard not e'en a whispered sound; Awe-struck each heart, and fixed each glance, They stand as in a spellbound trance: He speaks -- oh! who can hear nor own The might of each prevailing tone? "Chieftains and warriors! ye, so long Aroused to strife by mutual wrong, Whose fierce and far-transmitted hate Hath made your country desolate; Now by the love ye bear her name, By that pure spark of holy flame On freedom's altar brightly burning, But, once extinguished, ne'er returning; By all your hopes of bliss to come, When burst the bondage of the tomb; By Him, the God who bade us live To aid each other, and forgive -- I call upon ye to resign Your discords at your country's shrine, Each ancient feud in peace atone, Wield your keen swords for her alone, And swear upon the cross, to cast Oblivion's mantle o'er the past!" No voice replies. The holy bands Advance to where yon chieftain stands, With folded arms, and brow of gloom O'ershadowed by his floating plume. To him they life the cross -- in vain: He turns -- oh! say not with disdain, But with a mien of haughty grief, That seeks not, e'en from heaven, relief. He rends his robes -- he sternly speaks -- Yet tears are on the warrior's cheeks. "Father! not thus the wounds may close, Inflicted by eternal foes. Deemest thou thy mandate can efface The dread volcano's burning trace? Or bid the earthquake's ravaged scene Be smiling as it once hath been? No! for the deeds the sword hath done Forgiveness is not lightly won; The words by hatred spoke may not Be as a summer breeze forgot! 'Tis vain -- we deem the war-feud's rage A portion of our heritage. Leaders, now slumbering with their fame, Bequeathed us that undying flame; Hearts that have long been still and cold Yet rule us from their silent mould; And voices, heard on earth no more, Speak to our spirits as of yore. Talk not of mercy -- blood alone The stain of bloodshed may atone; Naught else can pay that mighty debt, The dead forbid us to forget." He pauses -- from the patriarch's brow There beams more lofty grandeur now: His reverend form, his aged hand, Assume a gesture of command, His voice is awful, and his eye Filled with prophetic majesty. "The dead! -- and deemest thou they retain Aught of terrestrial passion's stain? Of guilt incurred in days gone by, Aught but the fearful penalty? And sayest thou, mortal! blood alone For deeds of slaughter may atone? There hath been blood -- by Him 'twas shed To expiate every crime who bled; The absolving God who died to save, And rose in victory from the grave! And by that stainless offering given Alike for all on earth to heaven; By that inevitable hour When death shall vanquish pride and power, And each departing passion's force Concentrate all in late remorse; And by the day when doom shall be Passed on earth's millions, and on thee -- The doom that shall not be repealed, Once uttered, and forever sealed -- I summon thee, O child of clay! To cast thy darker thoughts away, And meet thy foes in peace and love, As thou wouldst join the blest above." Still as he speaks, unwonted feeling Is o'er the chieftain's bosom stealing; Oh! not in vain the pleading cries Of anxious thousands round him rise; He yields -- devotion's mingled sense Of faith, and fear, and penitence, Pervading all his soul, he bows To offer on the cross his vows, And that best incense to the skies, Each evil passion's sacrifice. Then tears from warriors' eyes were flowing, High hearts with soft emotions glowing; Stern foes as long-loved brothers greeting, And ardent throngs in transport meeting; And eager footsteps forward pressing, And accents loud in joyous blessing; And when their first wild tumult cease, A thousand voices echo "Peace!" Twilight's dim mist hath rolled away, And the rich Orient burns with day; Then as to greet the sunbeam's birth, Rises the choral hymn of earth -- The exulting strain through Genoa swelling, Of peace and holy rapture telling. Far float the sounds o'er vale and steep, The seaman hears them on the deep, So mellowed by the gale, they seem As the wild music of a dream. But not on mortal ear alone Peals the triumphant anthem's tone; For beings of a purer sphere Bend with celestial joy to hear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LADY OF PARIS BORDONE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY GENOA AND THE MEDITERRANEAN by THOMAS HARDY THREE FACES: 2. GENOA by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE SONNET WRITTEN IN HOLY WEEK AT GENOA by OSCAR WILDE GENOA by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE GENOA by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER GENOA by WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON A DIRGE (1) by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS |
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