Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S TOMB, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S TOMB, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: It stands where northern willows weep
Last Line: Still blends with victory's! -- she was gone.
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Graves; Prussia; Women; Tombs; Tombstones


IT stands where northern willows weep,
A temple fair and lone;
Soft shadows o'er its marble sweep
From cypress branches thrown;
While silently around it spread,
Thou feelest the presence of the dead.

And what within is richly shrined?
A sculptured woman's form,
Lovely, in perfect rest reclined,
As one beyond the storm:
Yet not of death, but slumber, lies
The solemn sweetness on those eyes.

The folded hands, the calm pure face,
The mantle's quiet flow,
The gentle yet majestic grace
Throned on the matron brow;
These, in that scene of tender gloom,
With a still glory robe the tomb.
There stands an eagle, at the feet
Of the fair image wrought;
A kingly emblem -- nor unmeet
To wake yet deeper thought:
She whose high heart finds rest below
Was royal in her birth and woe.

There are pale garlands hung above
Of dying scent and hue;
She was a mother -- in her love
How sorrowfully true!
Oh! hallowed long be every leaf,
The record of her children's grief!

She saw their birthright's warrior crown
Of olden glory spoiled,
The standard of their sires borne down,
The shield's bright blazon soiled:
She met the tempest meekly brave,
Then turned o'erwearied to the grave.
She slumbered: but it came -- it came
Her land's redeeming hour,
With the glad shout, and signal flame
Sent on from tower to tower!
Fast through the realm a spirit moved --
'Twas hers, the lofty and the loved.

Then was her name a note that rung
To rouse bold hearts from sleep;
Her memory, as a banner flung
Forth by the Baltic deep:
Her grief, a bitter vial poured
To sanctify the avenger's sword.

And the crowned eagle spread again
His pinion to the sun;
And the strong land shook off its chain --
So was the triumph won!
But woe for earth, where sorrow's tone
Still blends with victory's! -- She was gone.





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