The poems of.

Preface

' HOUGH the claim of Mrs. Emma C. Embury to a place among the poets of our land has long been established, no complete edition of her poetical works has ever before been published.

The compilation of the present volume has been altogether a labor of love, and no revision nor emendation of the poems has been attempted.

They are published in the order in which they were written, with the exception of two of the " Sketches from History," which, although written at a later date, are included with those published with " Guido' " in 1828, under the nom de plume of " lanthe."

In the years which have elapsed since the publication of that volume, the pen has become familiar to woman's hand, and crowds of aspirants now claim the meed of fame that was then awarded to but few. The poetic taste of the age has changed also, and we have more poems of the intellect than of the affection ; but many hearts will still respond to the glowing strains of her who has been not unaptly styled " The Hemans of America ; " for in her own expressive words, prefacing a little volume entitled "Love's Token-Flowers," published in 1854, "However changed may be the tone which now echoes from] the b

IV , PREFACE.

world's great heart, there are some chords in human nature that must ever vibrate to the soft and gentle touch of affection."

Mrs. Emma C. Embury, the gifted author of this volume, was the daughter of Dr. James R. Manly, an eminent physician of New York, distinguished not only for professional ability, but also for his quick sensibilities and fine conversational powers. From him his daughter doubtless inherited that peculiar sensitiveness, which combined with her rarer gifts to form a woman of ardent sympathies and brilliant genius. As a child she was most precocious, and learned to read almost intuitively. She early developed a talent for compositions, and her juvenile productions are remarkable for their graceful and flowing rhythm. Under the pseudonym of " lanthe," she contributed to the periodicals of the day, and may be considered among the pioneers of female literature among us. She married early, and in her married life was singularly happy. Her husband, the late Daniel Embury, Esq., of Brooklyn, was a gentleman of fine talents and rare intellectual attainments ; as a mathematician, he ranked second to none in the country, while his extensive reading, courtly manners, and genial hospitality, rendered his companionship at once delightful and instructive. He appreciated fully the peculiar talents of his wife, and in every way encouraged their development ; together they drew around them the charmed circle of refinement and intelligence, and doubtless many still remember, with regretful pleasure, those delightful reunions which the elegant hospitality and brilliant conversation of the gifted host and hostess, rendered occasions of rare enjoyment. It was an oft repeated re-

PREFACE. V

mark of Mrs. Embury, " Unless she read, she could not write," and her earlier poems were doubtless toned in harmony with the poets she loved the best ; later, her originality asserted itself, and her productions glow with selfenkindled fire. The peculiar melodiousness of her verse rendered her one of the most graceful of song writers, while the impassioned earnestness of her nature, her scorn of injustice, her quick sympathy with the oppressed, found expression in her poems, and running like an electric thread throughout them, awaken the deeper and higher emotions of the soul. In prose writing she confined herself, almost entirely to magazine writing ; her stories were extremely popular ; tlxey were easily written, of sound moral purpose, and sparkled with wit and fancy. As a conversationalist, Mrs. Embury has rarely been excelled ; possessing a trenchant wit and a keen sense of the ridiculous, there were a few who feared while they admired her, but these few did not know of the warm and quick sensibilities that lay beneath, and that would not willfully inflict a wound. Her reading was extensive and varied, her memory retentive, her adaptation rapid, and her language forcible and graceful. The centre of a large circle, which numbered among its members many of the brightest names in literature, she shone, even as " a bright, particular star." The head of a well ordered household, a tender and devoted wife and mother, an active and sympathizing friend, she passed many years in a constant discharge of her varied duties, her energy and executive ability rendering her fully equal to all emergencies. For her to resolve and to act was almost simultaneous ; to hear of distress was to relieve it ; to sympathize with

VI PREFACE.

friends, was to assist them by counsel, by cheer, by tender pity, by whatever they seemed most to need, that she could give them. In the midst of this useful and brilliant ' career she was stricken down by an illness from which she never rallied, and for the last few years of her life she became an invalid, totally withdrawn from the world ; but she had not waited until the waning sun warned of the coming night, to begin her work ; in her own beautiful "words, she began to

" Labor on while yet the light of day Shed abroad its pure and blessed ray,"

and so, when the sudden gloom overshadowed her, she was not found idly over her task ; her work was taken from her hands, but not until she had inscribed her name high up upon life's scroll, and done her part to "-rouse the world's great heart " to higher aspirations, leaving behind her, in the spirit of prophecy, the impressive teaching, —

" Diverse though our paths in life may be, Each is sent a mission to fulfill ; Fellow workers in the world are we, While we seek to do our Master's will.

" Fellow workers are we ; hour by hour Human tools are shaping Heaven's great schemes, Till we see no limit to man's power, And reality outstrips old dreams ; . Toil and struggle, therefore, work and weep ; In God's acre ye shall calmly sleep When the night cometh ! "

Contents

PAGE

GUIDO I

Sketches from History.

Part I

^HE halls were bright, and music echoed round, While merry feet responded to the sound,

'^ As light as is the gentle rustling heard When the fresh Jeaves by evening's breath are stirred : Aye, beautiful were those resplendent rooms, All light, and flowers, and delicate perfumes ; While many a brilliant form swept gayly by. With lofty step, and proudly flashing eye ; And many a knight, stern on the battle-field, Taught by sweet woman's witchery to yield, Was bowed to her capricious smile ; and now 'Twas pleasant to behold the warrior brow Bending before some gentle girl, as fair And delicate as a thing all light or air.

Apart from the gay throng, a pale youth stood, As, though 'mid thousands, still in solitude,

Holding a simple lyre : not his the form That ladies love to look on and to charm : Small, slender, boyish was his figure ; pale His sunken cheek, that told a mournful tale Of early suffering j though his eye -was proud, And bright as flashes from the thundercloud; His thin and flexile lips seemed meant to pour The wealth of song, but not the honeyed store Of youthful love ; and though his raven hair Fell on a lofty brow, yet early care Had left its foot-prints on it. What doth he Amid that joyous scene of revelry ?

He was the castle's lord, and he in truth

Had tasted sorrow ; on his early youth

No parents kindly smiled ; their pride, their joy

Was centred in their younger, fairer boy.

The mother gazed upon the charms that dwelt

Iri Julio's noble face, until she felt

Her soul, almost with loathing, turn away

From Guide's pale and shrunken form : each day

Guido more keenly felt this ; his stern sire

Loved the proud boy who stood with eye of fire

To hear the tale of battles fierce and wild.

But turned in scorn upon his feebler child :

" What, cpmest thou, too ? no, boy, thy woman's hand

Was never meant to grasp the blood-stained brand ;

Julio's high heart is vowed to chivalry.

But nursery legends are more fit for thee."

He little knew the being he despised !

Guido had not the gifts by warriors prized,

But genius o'er his soul had poured its light ; His was the poet's wreath, and O, how bright It shone o'er wasted feeling's hopeless night ! Dearly the brothers loved each other : birth Placed Guido first : but all men hold of worth, — All that they deem the richest goods of heaven, Love, beauty, honor, — were to Julio given; While all the hapless elder-born could claim Beyond his birthright, was a minstrel's fame. Yet did they cling together: nought could speak To Julio's heart like Guido's kindling cheek; And praise might fall upon his ear in vain, If that loved voice reechoed not the strain ; While Guido felt as if not quite bereft Of all life's joys, since Julio yet was left.

That sire was dead, that brother far away.

And Guido now must celebrate the day

When he first claimed his birthright ; but how sad

Was his young heart while all around was glad !

He felt that to his noble name he owed

The homage of the gay and thoughtless crowd.

He knew that, had he been the younger born.

He had been deemed a thing that men might scorn ;

And, now he stood apart from all, a smile

Of cold contempt curled his pale lip the while

That they, who bowed the castle's lord to greet,

Should think him duped by such scarce-veiled deceit.

But these unkindly feelings were not made

To dwell with poesy : his fingers strayed

Across his harp-strings, then, to still the throng

Of wayward thoughts, he calmed them thus with song : —

Nay, tell me not of woman's charms —

Why should I heed though she be fair ; Bid me not mark those brilliant forms • With step as light as summer air — I dare not heed their witchery, Since beauty was not meant for me,

I gaze upon the lofty brow — But changeless is its snowy hue ;

I view the cheek where roses glow, The lip where love sips honey dew ;

But lip, cheek, brow in vain I see,

Since beauty was not meant for me.

Yet I have dreamed of one whose cheek Upon my bosom might find rest;

Whose eye in love's sweet glance might speak; Whose lip might to mine own be prest ;

But vain must all such visions be.

Since beauty was not meant for me.

As one might gaze on some bright star Lighting yon deep blue heaven above,

So I may worship from afar,

But never dare to hope or love :

Love's star is bright — alas for me !

It shines not o'er my destiny.

The song had ceased ; but still the minstrel seemed Gazing on visions he too oft had dreamed; Till the low tones of woman's voice awoke

New thoughts, new dreams ; for of himself she spoke : " And is he always thus — so sad and pale ? Surely that brow reveals a mournful tale." He started — turned — O ! years might not erase The memory of that young and lovely face. Her eye met his full gaze — a deep blush shone O'er her f^ir cheek and brow — then — she was gone. But those sweet words of kind and gentle feeling, The look, that beamed on him so bright, revealing All woman's pitying tenderness, now fell On Guido's soul like some bewitching spell, Bidding his wayward fantasies depart. And chasing all the demon from his heart.

Where is he now .'' His simple lyre thrown by, With joyous smile the bard is seated nigh That graceful girl. E'en had she not been fair Guido had found some trace of beauty there ; For he recalled the look, the low-breathed word That with such new-born bliss his feelings stirred. But she was beautiful ; 'twas not the glow Of simple beauty decked her cheek and brow ; For on her lofty forehead mind had made Its visible temple ; her thick tresses strayed Down on her neck, as if they feared to rest On that proud brow, but loved her gentler breast ; Her eye was dark as midnight, yet as bright As if no tear had ever dimmed its light ; Lovely as love's first dream were her sweet lips — Sweet as the honey that the wild bee sips On famed Hymettus ; the pale, pearl-like hue

Of her soft cheek was fair as if it drew

Its tint from purity : the oval face,

So like some sculptured statue's classic grace,

The nobly-arching brow, the veined lid,

'Neath which the full dark eye was scarcely hid.

The short, curved upper lip, — aye, Guido dwelt

On all these charms, until his spirit felt

As though it looked on some bright deity ;

But O ! what passing joy was his when she

Looked kindly on him, and, with gentle wile.

Sought to win back to his pale lip the smile !

The crowd have passed away, and, 'mid the sighs

Of dying odors, Guido lonely lies

Wrapt in fair dreams of beauty ; but each thought

With the remembrance of one face is fraught :

He oft had fancied, but to-night he feels

How much of sweetness woman's look reveals.

Part II

Alas ! alas for me ! I cannot sing Of happiness or joy's imagining; I touch my wild and mournful lyre in vain. It but returns the murmurings of pain ; Or if perchance I strike the chord of love, It breathes the plaintive meanings of the dove Who wails in loneliness her long lost mate : I sing of love — but love left desolate !

GUIDO.

Time passed away — how rapidly time fleets,

When every hour -is redolent of sweets !

'Tis vain to trace the progress of love's power —

What eye can mark the springing of a flower ?

All those impassioned feelings that so long

Were sealed in Guido's heart, the countless throng

Of early hopes and fancies, all were poured

Upon one altar. O, how rich the hoard

Of treasured love in such a heart must be !

And must its sole reward be misery?

'Tis vain to trace the progress of love's power —

Love was not here the plaything of an hour :

They walked together, and the lovely face

Of nature wore for Guido richer grace ;

And e'en the breath of heaven more perfume cast,

When o'er Floranthe's cheek and lip it past ;

They read together, and new beauties shone

Upon the poet's page, till then unknown.

Ah, woman's eye may charm, but there is nought

That with such peril to man's heart is fraught.

As when he breathes the poet's thoughts that burn

With passionate energy, and those eyes turn

With pleasure on him ; or when both are stirred

With simultaneous feeling ; though no word

Is uttered, yet the meeting look, the smile.

Betray how they have felt alike the while;

Or when, with gentle care, he leads her mind

To loftier energies and thought refined.

And she is blushing, half with shame to know

She needs such knowledge, half with joy, to owe

Its wealth to him : aye, Guido knew too well

Q ^ POEMS.

How strongly this may aid love's powerful spell :

Within his breast self-love too had its part

(Ever an active spirit in man's heart) :

He oft had known the voice of praise, but ne'er

Till now had heard its tones from lips so dear ■

His song had called forth tears in those bright eyes,

And could the minstrel ask a richer prize ?

And yet Floranthe loved him not — the pride

Of womanhood had taught her how to hide

Her struggling feelings ; but she well had known

Those sorrows so peculiarly love's own.

So young, and proud, and beautiful, and born

To princely honors — could there be a thorn

Amid these flowers of life ? The heart replies —

There dwells no balm in earthly vanities

To soothe a wounded spirit ; and the sway

Of the wide universe can ne'er repay

One who beholds love's early hopes decay.

She was a high souled woman: her proud race

Had ever won Ambition's loftiest place :

What marvel, then, that, from her childhood, she

Should dwell on the wild tales of chivalry ?

She loved to roam alone through the rich halls

Where pictured shades of heroes decked the walls.

Until a dream was formed within her heart

Which no cold light of truth could bid depart :

A visioned form too beautiful to fade.

Within her breast its dwelling-place had made ;

And e'en when lofty ones before her bowed.

She gladly turned from the adoring crowd

GUIDO.

To meet her spirit-love. There was one name

She oft had heard breathed by the voice of fame ;

And half unconsciously her visions bright

Were linked with fancies of that wondrous knight.

At length a tournament was held, and fair

Was the array of youth and beauty there.

Queen of the festival Floranthe shone,

The palm of peerless beauty hers alone ;

And O,, what feelings then her bosom swelled,

When first that youthful hero she beheld !

And O, how richly did her young cheek glow,

When first she placed upon his bending brow

The laurel crown ! The idol of her dreams,

Bright with the light of glory's sunny beams.

Now stood before her, and she felt how faint

Were fancy's tints a form like his to paint.

From that hour she was changed — the holy flame

Which long was fostered by the breath of fame,

Now, like the vestal's sacred fire, had won

A purer radiance from its parent sun :

That knight was Julio : hence it was that she

With pity looked on Guido's misery.

He was the brother of her love, and though

Nature had traced no beauty on his brow.

His voice, so like to Julio's, her heart stirred,

Like music o'er the moon-lit waters heard ;

And in his eyes she saw the same sweet light

That oft in Julio's glances shone so bright.

Why does my song thus linger? The dark day Of strife was gone, and peace resumed her sway.

lO ^ POEMS. ■

E'en as the prophet's wand could once unlock

The hidden waters of the riftless rock,

So thou, sweet Peace, from iron hearts can bring

Th' unwonted freshness of affection's spring ;

And clasps his smiling infant to his breast.

While the proud soldier turns from scenes of war,

Rejoiced to worship beauty's gentler star.

And 'mid the mailed warriors Julio came.

His brow encircled with its wreaths of fame.

No more alone with Guido now were past

Floranthe's happiest hours ; for Love had cast

His spell around them, and beneath his wing

Hope dared unfold her fragile blossoming ;

For well could she, in Julio's eye, discern

(Ah, when was woman slow such tales to learn ?)

The growing tenderness within his breast.

The love that made her all too wildly blest.

But where was Guido ? Did not he too see

Within those tell-tale eyes Love's mastery ?

One night there was a festival, and all

Of brave and lovely decked the joyous hall ;

Guido beheld Floranthe's gentle hand

Meet Julio's in the graceful saraband ;

Yet this was nothing ; but when the light dance

Was ended, and he saw the thrilling glance

Exchanged between them, and her slender form

So tenderly upheld by Julio's arm.

While she repaid him with a timid look

Of soft confiding love, he could not brook

Longer to gaze upon that blasting sight ;

GUI DO. "

Quickly he turned away — a mirror bright Met his full gaze ; -reflected there, his own Pale, sunken cheek, and wasted figure shone. Then on his heart, like lightning flashes, came The truth that woke despair's undying flame. O ! there are moments when the heart lives o'er Ages of sorrow, when the eyes can pour No gentle flood to ease the throbbing head ; But as if one among the mouldering dead Should start to life, and vainly strive to burst His prison-house, so that sad being, curst With such o'ervvhelming grief, in vain would find A refuge from the horrors of the mind.