Poems

Transcribed from the 1844 Henry Washbourne edition by David Price, ccx074@pglaf.org
FRANCES ANNE BUTLER,
(late fanny kemble.)
LONDON: (reprinted from the american edition.) HENRY WASHBOURNE, NEW BRIDGE STREET, blackfriars. oliver & boyd, edinburgh, machen & co. dublin. mdcccxliv.
LONDON: Printed by Stewart and Murray, Old Bailey.
to KATHARINE SEDGWICK, this little volume is most respectfully, gratefully, and affectionately inscribed.
August 9th, 1825.
Oh, thou surpassing beauty! that dost live Shrined in yon silent stream of glorious light! Spirit of harmony! that through the vast And cloud-embroidered canopy art spreading Thy wings, that o’er our shadowy earth hang brooding, Like a pale silver haze, betwixt the moon And the world’s darker orb: beautiful, hail! Hail to thee! from her midnight throne of ether, Night looks upon the slumbering universe. There is no breeze on silver-crownëd tree, There is no breath on dew-bespangled flower, There is no wind sighs on the sleepy wave, There is no sound hangs in the solemn air.
All, all are silent, all are dreaming, all, Save those eternal eyes, that now shine forth Winking the slumberer’s destinies. The moon Sails on the horizon’s verge, a moving glory, Pure, and unrivalled; for no paler orb Approaches, to invade the sea of light That lives around her; save yon little star, That sparkles on her robe of fleecy clouds, Like a bright gem, fallen from her radiant brow.
Night in her dark array Steals o’er the ocean, And with departed day Hushed seems its motion. Slowly o’er yon blue coast Onward she’s treading, ’Till its dark line is lost, ’Neath her veil spreading. The bark on the rippling deep Hath found a pillow, And the pale moonbeams sleep On the green billow. Bound by her emerald zone Venice is lying, And round her marble crown Night winds are sighing. From the high lattice now Bright eyes are gleaming, That seem on night’s dark brow Brighter stars beaming.
Now o’er the bright lagune Light barks are dancing, And ’neath the silver moon Swift oars are glancing. Strains from the mandolin Steal o’er the water, Echo replies between To mirth and laughter. O’er the wave seen afar Brilliantly shining, Gleams like a fallen star Venice reclining.