Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 14 1825.pdf/21

 Yes! there, becalm'd in silent sleep, Dark and alone on a breathless deep, On a sea of molten silver dark, Brooding it frown'd, that evil bark! There its broad pennon a shadow cast, Moveless and black from the tall still mast, And the heavy sound of its flapping sail, Idly and vainly woo'd the gale. Hush'd was all else—had ocean's breast Rock'd even Eudora that hour to rest?

—To rest?—the waves tremble!—what piercing cry Bursts from the heart of the ship on high? What light through the heavens, in a sudden spire, Shoots from the deck up?—fire! 'tis fire! There are wild forms hurrying to and fro, Seen darkly clear on that lurid glow; There are shout and signal-gun, and call, And the dashing of water—but fruitless all! Man may not fetter, nor ocean tame The might and wrath of the rushing flame! It hath twined the mast like a glittering snake, That coils up a tree from a dusky brake; It hath touch 'd the sails, and their canvass rolls Away from its breath into shrivell'd scrollscrolls [sic]; It hath taken the flag's high place in air, And redden'd the stars with its wavy glare, And sent out bright arrows, and soar'd in glee To a burning mount 'midst the moonlight sea! —The swimmers are plunging from stern and prow— —Eudora, Eudora! where, where art thou? The slave and his master alike are gone— —Mother! who stands on the deck alone? The child of thy bosom!—and lo! a brand Blazing up high in her lifted hand! And her veil flung back, and her free dark hair, Sway'd by the flames as they rock and flare, And her fragile form to its loftiest height Dilated, as if by the spirit's might, And her eye with an eagle-gladness fraught— Oh! could this work be of Woman wrought? Yes! 'twas her deed!—by that haughty smile It was her's! she hath kindled her funeral pile! Never might shame on that bright head be, Her blood was the Greek's, and hath made her free!

Proudly she stands, like an Indian bride On the pyre with the holy dead beside; But a shriek from her mother hath caught her ear As the flames to her marriage-robe draw near, And starting she spreads her pale arms in vain To the form they must never enfold again!

—One moment more—and her hands are clasp'd, Fallen is the torch they had wildly grasp'd, Her sinking knee unto Heaven is bow'd, And her last look raised through the smoke's dim shroud, And her lips as in prayer for her pardon move— —Now the night gathers o'er youth and love! F. H.