Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 35 1834.pdf/3



From their spheres The stars of human glory are cast down; Perish the roses and the flowers of kings, Princes and emperors, and the crown and palms Of all the mighty, withered and consumed? Nor is power given to lowliest Innocence Long to protect her own.—

Blanche. What was our doom, my father?—In thine arms I lay unconsciously thro' that dread hour. Tell me the sentence!—Could our judges look, Without relenting, on thy silvery hair? Was there not mercy, father?—Will they not Hasten us to our home? D'Aubigné.Yes, my poor child! They send us home. Blanche.Oh! shall we gaze again On the bright Loire?—Will the old hamlet-spire, And the grey turret of our own château, Look forth to greet us thro' the dusky elms? Will the kind voices of our villagers, The loving laughter in their children's eyes, Welcome us back at last?—But how is this? —Father! thy glance is clouded—on thy brow There sits no joy! D'Aubigné.Upon my brow, dear girl, There sits, I trust, such deep and solemn peace, As may befit the Christian, who receives And recognises, in submissive awe, The summons of his God. Blanche.Thou dost not mean— —No, no! it cannot be!—Didst thou not say They sent us home? D’Aubigné.Where is the spirit's home?— Oh! most of all, in these dark evil days, Where should it be—but in that world serene, Beyond the sword’s reach, and the tempest's power— Where, but in Heaven. Blanche.My father! D’Aubigné.We must die. We must look up to God, and calmly die. —Come to my heart, and weep there!—for awhile Give Nature's passion way, then brightly rise In the still courage of a woman's heart!