MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI
BY C.P. CRANCH.
O still, sweet summer days! O moonlight nights!
After so drear a storm how can ye shine?
O smiling world of many-hued delights,
How canst thou 'round our sad hearts still entwine
The accustomed wreaths of pleasure? How, O Day,
Wakest thou so full of beauty? Twilight deep,
How diest thou so tranquilly away?
And how, O Night, bring'st thou the sphere of sleep?
For she is gone from us,—gone, lost for ever,—
In the wild billows swallowed up and lost,—
Gone, full of love, life, hope, and high endeavor,
Just when we would have welcomed her the most.
Was it for this, O woman, true and pure!
That life through shade and light had formed thy mind
To feel, imagine, reason, and endure,—
To soar for truth, to labor for mankind?
Was it for this sad end thou didst bear thy part
In deeds and words for struggling Italy,—
Devoting thy large mind and larger heart
That Rome in later days might yet be free?
And, from that home driven out by tyranny,
Didst turn to see thy fatherland once more,
Bearing affection's dearest ties with thee;
And as the vessel bore thee to our shore,
And hope rose to fulfilment,—on the deck,
When friends seemed almost beckoning unto thee:
O God! the fearful storm,—the splitting wreck,—
The drowning billows of the dreary sea!
O, many a heart was stricken dumb with grief!
We who had known thee here,—had met thee there
Where Rome threw golden light on every leaf
Life's volume turned in that enchanted air,—
O friend! how we recall the Italian days
Amid the Cæsar's ruined palace halls,—
The Coliseum, and the frescoed blaze
Of proud St. Peter's dome,—the Sistine walls,—
The lone Campagna and the village green,—
The Vatican,—the music and dim light
Of gorgeous temples,—statues, pictures, seen
With thee: those sunny days return so bright,
Now thou art gone! Thou hast a fairer world
Than that bright clime. The dreams that filled thee here
Now find divine completion, and, unfurled
Thy spirit-wings, find out their own high sphere.
Farewell! thought-gifted, noble-hearted one!
We, who have known thee, know thou art not lost;
The star that set in storms still shines upon
The o'ershadowing cloud, and, when we sorrow most,
In the blue spaces of God's firmament
Beams out with purer light than we have known.
Above the tempest and the wild lament
Of those who weep the radiance that is flown.
THE DEATH OF MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
BY MARY C. AMES.
O Italy! amid thy scenes of blood,
She acted long a woman's noble part!
Soothing the dying of thy sons, proud Rome!
Till thou wert bowed, O city of her heart!
When thou hadst fallen, joy no longer flowed
In the rich sunlight of thy heaven;
And from thy glorious domes and shrines of art,
No quickening impulse to her life was given.
From the deep shadow of thy cypress hills,
From the soft beauty of thy classic plains,
The noble-hearted, with, her treasures, turned
To the far land where Freedom proudly reigns.
After the rocking of long years of storms,
Her weary spirit looked and longed for rest;
Pictures of home, of loved and kindred forms,
Rose warm and life-like in her aching breast.
But the wild ocean rolled before her home;
And, listening long unto its fearful moan,
She thought of myriads who had found their rest
Down in its caverns, silent, deep, and lone.
Then rose the prayer within her heart of hearts,
With the dark phantoms of a coming grief,
That "Nino, Ossoli, and I may go
Together;—that the anguish may be brief."
The bark spread out her pennons proud and free,
The sunbeams frolicked with the wanton waves;
Smiled through the long, long days the summer sea,
And sung sweet requiems o'er her sunken graves.
E'en then the shadow of the fearful King
Hung deep and darkening o'er the fated bark;
Suffering and death and anguish reigned, ere came
Hope's weary dove back to the longing ark.
This was the morning to the night of woe;
When the grim Ocean, in his fiercest wrath,
Held fearful contest with the god of storms,
Who lashed the waves with death upon his path.
O night of agony! O awful morn,
That oped on such a scene thy sullen eyes!
The shattered ship,—those wrecked and broken hearts,
Who only prayed, "Together let us die."
Was this thy greeting longed for, Margaret,
In the high, noontide of thy lofty pride?
The welcome sighed for, in thine hours of grief,
When pride had fled and hope in thee had died?
Twelve hours' communion with the Terror-King!
No wandering hope to give the heart relief!
And yet thy prayer was heard,—the cold waves wrapt
Those forms "together," and the woe was "brief."
Thus closed thy day in darkness and in tears;
Thus waned a life, alas! too full of pain;
But O thou noble woman! thy brief life,
Though full of sorrows, was not lived in vain.
No more a pilgrim o'er a weary waste,
With light ineffable thy mind is crowned;
Heaven's richest lore is thine own heritage;
All height is gained, thy "kingdom" now is found.
TO THE MEMORY OF MARGARET FULLER.
BY E. OAKES SMITH.
We hailed thee, Margaret, from the sea,
We hailed thee o'er the wave,
And little thought, in greeting thee,
Thy home would be a grave.
We blest thee in thy laurel crown,
And in the myrtle's sheen,—
Rejoiced thy noble worth to own,
Still joy, our tears between.
We hoped that many a happy year
Would bless thy coming feet;
And thy bright fame grow brighter here,
By Fatherland made sweet.
Gone, gone! with all thy glorious thought,—
Gone with thy waking life,—
With the green chaplet Fame had wrought,—
The joy of Mother, Wife.
Oh! who shall dare thy harp to take,
And pour upon the air
The clear, calm music, that should wake
The heart to love and prayer!
The lip, all eloquent, is stilled
And silent with its trust,—
The heart, with Woman's greatness filled,
Must crumble to the dust:
But from thy great heart we will take
New courage for the strife;
From petty ills our bondage break,
And labor with new life.
Wake up, in darkness though it be,
To better truth and light;
Patient in toil, as we saw thee,
In searching for the light;
And mindless of the scorn it brings,
For 't is in desert land
That angels come with sheltering wings
To lead us by the hand.
Courageous one! thou art not lost,
Though sleeping in the wave;
Upon its chainless billows tost,
For thee is fitting grave.
SLEEP SWEETLY, GENTLE CHILD.[S]
[The only child of the Marchioness Ossoli, well known as Margaret Fuller, is buried in the Valley Cemetery, at Manchester, N.H. There is always a vase of flowers placed near the grave, and a marble slab, with a cross and lily sculptured upon it, bears this inscription: "In Memory of Angelo Eugene Philip Ossoli, who was born at Rieti, in Italy, 5th September, 1848, and perished by shipwreck off Fire Island, with both his parents, Giovanni Angelo and Margaret Fuller Ossoli, on the 19th of July, 1850.">[
Sleep sweetly, gentle child! though to this sleep
The cold winds rocked thee, on the ocean's breast,
And strange, wild murmurs o'er the dark, blue deep
Were the last sounds that lulled thee to thy rest,
And while the moaning waves above thee rolled,
The hearts that loved thee best grew still and cold.
Sleep sweetly, gentle child! though the loved tone
That twice twelve months had hushed thee to repose
Could give no answer to the tearful moan
That faintly from thy sea-moss pillow rose.
That night the arms that closely folded thee
Were the wet weeds that floated in the sea.
Sleep sweetly, gentle child! the cold, blue wave
Hath pitied the sad sighs the wild winds bore,
And from the wreck it held one treasure gave
To the fond watchers weeping on the shore;—
Now the sweet vale shall guard its precious trust,
While mourning hearts weep o'er thy silent dust.
Sleep sweetly, gentle child! love's tears are shed
Upon the garlands of fair Northern flowers
That fond hearts strew above thy lowly bed,
Through all our summer's glad and pleasant hours:
For thy sake, and for hers who sleeps beneath the wave,
Kind hands bring flowers to fade upon thy grave.
Sleep sweetly, gentle child! the warm wind sighs
Amid the dark pines through this quiet dell,
And waves the light flower-shade that lies
Upon the white-leaved lily's sculptured bell;—
The "Valley's" flowers are fair, the turf is green;—
Sleep sweetly here, wept-for Eugene!
Sleep sweetly, gentle child! this peaceful rest
Hath early given thee to a home above,
Safe from all sin and tears, for, ever blest
To sing sweet praises of redeeming love.—
The love that took thee to that world of bliss
Ere thou hadst learned the sighs and griefs of this.
JULIET.
Laurel Brook, N.H., September, 1851.
ON THE DEATH OF MARGARET FULLER.
BY G.P.R. JAMES.
High hopes and bright thine early path bedecked,
And aspirations beautiful though wild,—
A heart too strong, a powerful will unchecked,
A dream that earth-things could be undefiled.
But soon, around thee, grew a golden chain,
That bound the woman to more human things,
And taught with joy—and, it may be, with pain—
That there are limits e'en to Spirit's wings.
Husband and child,—the loving and beloved,—
Won, from the vast of thought, a mortal part,
The impassioned wife and mother, yielding, proved
Mind has itself a master—in the heart.
In distant lands enhaloed by, old fame
Thou found'st the only chain thy spirit knew,
But captive ledst thy captors, from the shame
Of ancient freedom, to the pride of new.
And loved hearts clung around thee on the deck,
Welling with sunny hopes 'neath sunny skies:
The wide horizon round thee had no speck,—
E'en Doubt herself could see no cloud arise.
Thy loved ones clung around thee, when the sail
O'er wide Atlantic billows onward bore
Thy freight of joys, and the expanding gale
Pressed the glad bark toward thy native shore.
The loved ones clung around thee still, when all
Was darkness, tempest, terror, and dismay,—
More closely clung around thee, when the pall
Of Fate was falling o'er the mortal clay.
With them to live,—with them, with them to die,
Sublime of human love intense and fine!—
Was thy last prayer unto the Deity;
And it was granted thee by Love Divine.
In the same billow,—in the same dark grave,—
Mother, and child, and husband, find their rest.
The dream is ended; and the solemn wave
Gives back the gifted to her country's breast.
ON THE DEATH OF MARQUIS OSSOLI AND HIS WIFE, MARGARET FULLER.
BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
Over his millions Death has lawful power,
But over thee, brave Ossoli! none, none!
After a long struggle, in a fight
Worthy of Italy to youth restored,
Thou, far from home, art sunk beneath the surge
Of the Atlantic; on its shore; in reach
Of help; in trust of refuge; sunk with all
Precious on earth to thee,—a child, a wife!
Proud as thou wert of her, America
Is prouder, showing to her sons how high
Swells woman's courage in a virtuous breast.
She would not leave behind her those she loved:
Such solitary safety might become
Others,—not her; not her who stood beside
The pallet of the wounded, when the worst
Of France and Perfidy assailed the walls
Of unsuspicious Rome. Rest, glorious soul,
Renowned for strength of genius, Margaret!
Rest with the twain too dear! My words are few,
And shortly none will hear my failing voice,
But the same language with more full appeal
Shall hail thee. Many are the sons of song
Whom thou hast heard upon thy native plains,
Worthy to sing of thee; the hour is come;
Take we our seats and let the dirge begin.
MONUMENT TO THE OSSOLI FAMILY.
[From the New York Tribune.]
The family of Margaret Fuller Ossoli have just erected to her memory, and that of her husband and child, a marble monument in Mount Auburn cemetery, in Massachusetts. It is located on Pyrola Path, in a beautiful part of the grounds, and has near it some noble oaks, while the hand of affection has planted many a flower. The body of Margaret Fuller rests in the ocean, but her memory abides in many hearts. She needs no monumental stone, but human affection loves thus to do honor to the departed.
The following is the inscription on the monument:—
| Erected |
| In Memory of |
| MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI, |
| Born in Cambridge, Mass., May 23, 1810. |
| By birth, a Citizen of New England; by adoption, a Citizen of Rome; by genius, |
| belonging to the World. In youth, an insatiate Student, seeking the |
| highest culture; in riper years, Teacher, Writer, Critic of |
| Literature and Art; in maturer age, Companion and Helper |
| of many earnest Reformers in America |
| and Europe. |
| And |
| In Memory of her Husband, |
| GIOVANNI ANGELO, MARQUIS OSSOLI. |
| He gave up rank, station, and home for the Roman Republic, |
| and for his Wife and Child. |
| And |
| In Memory of that Child, |
| ANGELO EUGENE PHILIP OSSOLI, |
| Born in Rieti, Italy, Sept. 5, 1848, |
| Whose dust reposes at the foot of this stone. |
| They passed from life together by shipwreck, |
| July 19, 1850. |
| United in life by mutual love, labors, and trials, the merciful Father |
| took them together, and |
| In death they were not divided. |
Footnote S: [(return)]
These lines are beautiful and full of sweet sympathy. The home of the mother and brother of Margaret Fuller being now removed from Manchester to Boston, the remains of the little child, too dear to remain distant from us, have been removed to Mount Auburn. The same marble slab is there with, its inscription, and the lines deserve insertion here.—ED.