Textarchiv - Eloise Alberta Bibb https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb American poet, short story writer and journalist. Born on 29 June 1878 in New Orleans, Louisiana. Died 8 January 1928 in New York. de In Memoriam Frederick Douglass https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/in-memoriam-frederick-douglass <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>O Death! why dost thou steal the great,<br /> With grudging like to strongest hate,<br /> And rob the world of giant minds,<br /> For whom all nature mourns and pines.</p> <p>So few have we upon the earth,<br /> Whom God ennobled at their birth,<br /> With genius stamped upon their souls,<br /> That guides, directs, persuades, controls.</p> <p>So few who scorn the joys of life,<br /> And labor in contending strife,<br /> With zeal increased and stength of ten,<br /> To ameliorate the ills of men.</p> <p>So few who keep a record clean,<br /> Amid temptations strong and keen;<br /> Who live laborious days and nights,<br /> And shun the stores of passion&#039;s blights.</p> <p>O, why cannot these linger here,<br /> As lights upon this planet drear;<br /> Forever in the public sight,<br /> To lead us always to the right?</p> <p>O Douglass! thou wert &#039;mong the few<br /> Who struggles and temptations knew,<br /> Yet bravely mounted towering heights,<br /> Amazing both to blacks and whites.</p> <p>The sons of Ham feel desolate<br /> Without thee, O Douglass the Great;<br /> A nation&#039;s tears fall now with mine,<br /> While mourning at thy sacred shrine.</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/in-memoriam-frederick-douglass" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="In Memoriam Frederick Douglass" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Fri, 23 Feb 2018 21:10:01 +0000 mrbot 9646 at https://www.textarchiv.com The Hermit https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/the-hermit <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>I.<br /> The hermit sat within his cave,<br /> A prey to anxious care;<br /> Distress sat gravely on his brow,<br /> And suffering slumbered there.<br /> His form is worn with constant fasts,<br /> His eyes are dimmed from tears,<br /> Within this gloomy wilderness,<br /> He&#039;s spent full twenty years.</p> <p>Yet &#039;neath the lofty, classic brow,<br /> The window of his soul<br /> O&#039;erlooks a face where beauty dwells,<br /> And strong emotions roll.<br /> To-night, the tempter&#039;s crafty arts,<br /> Repeated oft before,<br /> Has stirred ambition&#039;s smoldering fires,<br /> And roused the hopes of yore.</p> <p>&quot;Alone, alone;&quot; he sadly sighs,<br /> No human voice I hear;<br /> For twenty years no son of Eve<br /> Has passed this prison, drear.<br /> No gentle hand has grasped my palm,<br /> And with its feeling touch,<br /> Taught me to value sympathy,<br /> My fate has ne&#039;er been such.</p> <p>&quot; And yet, my vision can recall,<br /> A bright but buried past;<br /> The casket of those happy days,<br /> Too bright by far to last,<br /> Is strewn with hope&#039;s dead blossom leaves,<br /> That withered, ay, too fast,<br /> Ere fragrance lent her added charm,<br /> They perished in the blast.</p> <p>&quot;Within those crumbled halls of time,<br /> With fancy&#039;s kindly eyes,<br /> I see a form flit to and fro,<br /> With beauty&#039;s soft surprise.<br /> Her smile is like the April sun<br /> That gladdens leaf and flower;<br /> Her tear of tender sympathy<br /> Is like to April&#039;s shower.</p> <p>&quot;A hermit, near to nature&#039;s heart,<br /> For twenty years I&#039;ve lived;<br /> And dark temptations cloud my life,<br /> In agony I&#039;ve writhed.<br /> But now, no more I&#039;ll linger here,<br /> I&#039;ll let the die be cast,<br /> I&#039;ll live once more those days of yore,<br /> And breathe again that past.&quot;</p> <p>II.<br /> The sun has sunk behind the hills,<br /> The day has gone to rest,<br /> A sweet repose has settled now<br /> On nature&#039;s placid breast.<br /> A palace &#039;mong the Syrian plains,<br /> Is all ablaze with light;<br /> The king of Ansarey&#039;s divan,<br /> With splendor shines to-night.</p> <p>Before his august presence now,<br /> There bows a stately knight,<br /> The hermit of the wilderness<br /> Is welcomed to his sight.<br /> His form is wasted now no more,<br /> And lustrous is his eye,<br /> A strong conceit replaced the look<br /> That once was calm and shy.</p> <p>&quot;Thy majesty will hear me now?&quot;<br /> He asks with rising fear,<br /> &quot;I&#039;ve loved the princess Fakredeen,<br /> This many, many a year.<br /> Full twenty years ago, O king,<br /> Her shadow then was I,<br /> And if you say me nay, to-day,<br /> O Sovereign, I will die!&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Most noble Englishman, Sir Luke,<br /> I&#039;ve ne&#039;er disclosed to thee;<br /> A sacred Pantheon I hold,<br /> That is beloved by me;<br /> Within its walls, the god of light,<br /> To Syria&#039;s heart most dear,<br /> For centuries revealed to us<br /> Our future dangers here.</p> <p>&quot;Come thou, and Fakredeen, my love,<br /> We&#039;ll to the fane repair;<br /> An answer to thy lover&#039;s quest,<br /> We will elicit there.<br /> And if the gods approve the match,<br /> My blessing follows thee,<br /> If not, then thou, O noble knight,<br /> I must refuse to see.&quot;</p> <p>He rose; and straightway followed him,<br /> The princess Fakredeen,<br /> The hermit of the wilderness,<br /> And subjects clothed in green,<br /> Who carried with them garlands fair,<br /> They lifted to the sky.<br /> As solemnly they chanted low,<br /> A hymn to Gods on high.</p> <p>And silently, through portico,<br /> They neared the sacred fane,<br /> Where sculptured forms of ideal grace,<br /> Serene and calm remain.<br /> This noble hierarchy fair,<br /> The god, the nymph, the faun,<br /> New beauties rise and greet the view,<br /> As does the sky at dawn.</p> <p>They paused before a statue made<br /> Of ivory and gold,<br /> The color pure and polished high,<br /> Displaced a matchless mold.<br /> &quot;The god of Ansarey, O knight,&quot;<br /> The sovereign whispered now,<br /> &quot;My father&#039;s god, look thou on him,<br /> Thy knee before him bow.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Before this figure, then, O king,&quot;<br /> The hermit calmly said,<br /> &quot;Libations flowed from golden cups,<br /> And scores of steers were bled.<br /> O god of light, if power thou hast,<br /> Give Fakredeen to me,<br /> And with my pen I will proclaim<br /> Thy glorious deity.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;I must the god invoke, Sir Luke,—<br /> O god of Ansarey,<br /> Shall Fakredeen be given away?<br /> Give heed, O god, I pray.<br /> This knight from northern shores came he,<br /> My daughter fair to woo,<br /> He is a Christian, sacred god,<br /> Will he always prove true?&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Hold thou! O Syrian ruler, brave,&quot;<br /> The god was heard to say,<br /> &quot;Unless he vows to worship me,<br /> Thou sure must say him, nay.<br /> The God to whom he knelt in prayer,<br /> Who died at Calvary,<br /> He must denounce and live to prove<br /> A dangerous enemy.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Oh, heaven forbid!&quot; the hermit cries<br /> With heartfelt agony.<br /> &quot;An enemy to God, the Son?—<br /> Oh, that can never be.<br /> My God! I have abandoned thee,<br /> Alas!&#039;tis now too late<br /> To ask forgiveness, yet I know,<br /> Thee, I can never hate.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;O Luke, my own, remember thou,&quot;<br /> The princess whispered low,<br /> Those years of dark estrangement, love,<br /> And all my bitter woe.<br /> Admirers came, and suitors yearned,<br /> My heart for thee did pine,<br /> O Luke, forsake thy foolish creed,<br /> And let my god be thine.</p> <p>&quot;Ah, Fakredeen! my promised bride,&quot;<br /> The hermit then replied,<br /> &quot;For twenty years a moment&#039;s sight<br /> Of thee I was denied.<br /> O sovereign, king of Ansarey,<br /> Say to the god of light,<br /> That I denounce the Christian&#039;s God,<br /> And bow to him to-night!&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Hold thou! O Syrian Ruler brave,&quot;<br /> The god began anew,<br /> The man who to his god is false,<br /> To thee can ne&#039;er be true.<br /> Give not the princess, Fakredeen<br /> To traitor false and vain,<br /> Lest he to thee, as to his God,<br /> Bring agony and pain.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Almighty Father, wise and great,&quot;<br /> With sobs the hermit cried,<br /> &quot;I see Thy hand beneath this cloud,<br /> That deadens all my pride.<br /> That faithful heart, so brave and true,<br /> Was never meant for me;<br /> Farewell, my love, I go to die<br /> A hermit cheerfully.&quot;</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/the-hermit" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="The Hermit" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Thu, 22 Feb 2018 21:10:05 +0000 mrbot 9651 at https://www.textarchiv.com Eliza in Uncle Tom's Cabin https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/eliza-in-uncle-toms-cabin <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>See! the moon is smiling<br /> Down her brightest beams,<br /> And the leaflets sleeping,<br /> Whisper in their dreams;<br /> Hear the merry music,<br /> And the darkies&#039; lays,<br /> Hear the happy voices<br /> Joining in the plays.</p> <p>There in old Kentucky,<br /> On a summer&#039;s night,<br /> Stands a quadroon maiden,<br /> Clothed in robes of white;<br /> On her raven ringlets,<br /> Orange blossoms sleep,<br /> O&#039;er her slender figure,<br /> Bridal vestments sweep.</p> <p>There we see her mistress,<br /> Smiling now with pride,<br /> On her handsome fav&#039;rite,<br /> Whom she sees a bride.<br /> There is much rejoicing<br /> O&#039;er Eliza&#039;s match;<br /> Misses Shelby fancies<br /> George is a good &quot;catch.&quot;</p> <p>So the banjo&#039;s sounding,<br /> And the darkies sing,<br /> Hear them gayly dancing,<br /> To the fiddle&#039;s ring.<br /> But the dawn is breaking,<br /> Guests must now disperse;<br /> Quick the bow is silent,<br /> Ere the sunlight bursts.</p> <p>II.<br /> The moon now shines upon a scene,<br /> Much different from the one we left:<br /> A mother gazes on her babe,<br /> A mother feeling richly blest.</p> <p>A smile of pride plays on her face,<br /> A light of love shines in her eye.<br /> She moves one black curl from its place,<br /> And kisses it with many a sigh.</p> <p>Ah! a mother&#039;s love is great,<br /> E&#039;en a slave could love and hate.<br /> Swift the mother&#039;s blood ran cold,<br /> When she knew her boy was sold.</p> <p>III.<br /> Haste thee, mother, pluck thy flower,<br /> From the bed thou lov&#039;st so well;<br /> Plant it in a soil congenial,—<br /> Quick! or they&#039;ll thy flower sell.<br /> How that mother tore her tresses,<br /> When she learned they sold her bud;<br /> Neither sigh nor tear escaped her,<br /> Only her poor heart dropt blood.</p> <p>&quot;I will save thee, I&#039;ll rescue thee!&quot;<br /> Cried the mother with new life,<br /> &quot;Though my life&#039;s blood perish for it,<br /> You&#039;ll be free from all this strife.&quot;<br /> Close she wrapped her life, her treasure,<br /> Quick she steals out in the night,<br /> All things dear she bids farewell to,<br /> Then she disappears from sight.</p> <p>IV.<br /> &quot;Farewell! farewell!&quot; Eliza cried,<br /> &quot;Old home, I loved so well;<br /> Farewell! dear trees and shady groves,<br /> I&#039;ll miss your magic spell.<br /> &#039;Neath shrubs like these oft have I played,<br /> These groves have sheltered me,<br /> Just such a night my heart was won,<br /> Beneath that old beech tree.&quot;</p> <p>With hurrying feet, she quickly sped<br /> Across the frosty ground;<br /> Her fears were roused with awful dread,<br /> At every quaking sound.<br /> At length she neared the river&#039;s side,<br /> Her blood turned cold with fright;<br /> Those huge green blocks of floating ice<br /> Will land no boat to-night.</p> <p>She heard a voice—the voice of Sam,<br /> And saw Haley, the man<br /> Who bought her child, her all and all,<br /> She clasped her boy and ran.<br /> The trader watched her disappear<br /> Far down the river&#039;s bank,<br /> And when he saw her desperate leap,<br /> All hope within him sank.</p> <p>She vaulted o&#039;er the current swift,<br /> The ice now creaked beneath;<br /> She leaps, she slips, she stands again,<br /> Upon the river&#039;s reef.<br /> Her shoes are gone, her feet are cut,<br /> The water&#039;s dyed with blood,<br /> With mad&#039;ning shrieks she stumbled on,<br /> Forgetful of the flood.</p> <p>She sees a man, as in a dream,<br /> Upon the other side;<br /> She hears a voice—her heart is still,<br /> &quot;O, aid me, sir!&quot; she cried;<br /> &quot;O, hide me quick, they&#039;ve sold my boy,—<br /> This child I&#039;d die to save.&quot;<br /> &quot;Go thar,&quot; he said, &quot;to them kind folks,<br /> They&#039;d save you from the grave.&quot;</p> <p>V.<br /> Eliza slept and dreamed of peace,<br /> Of lands where all is rest;<br /> Of bright, green shores where sorrows cease,<br /> Of homes which God had blest.</p> <p>She dreamed her child was happy there,<br /> A free and merry boy;<br /> She felt that God had heard her prayer,<br /> And filled her life with joy.</p> <p>She heard a step; she felt a tear<br /> Upon her forehead fall;<br /> She knew that he she loved was near,—<br /> Her husband and her all.</p> <p>VI.<br /> Farewell! farewell! our time is spent,<br /> We leave thee now in peace;<br /> At last thou&#039;rt free and highly blest,<br /> May heaven thy joys increase.</p> <p>Thy dear ones all around thee now,<br /> Are bent in tearful prayer;<br /> Their grateful words ascend to Him<br /> Who brought them safely there.</p> <p>But we to-day lift up our hearts,<br /> And kneel in prayer with thee;<br /> We bless the God who broke the chain,<br /> And set thy people free.</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/eliza-in-uncle-toms-cabin" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="Eliza in Uncle Tom&#039;s Cabin" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Thu, 22 Feb 2018 21:10:05 +0000 mrbot 9647 at https://www.textarchiv.com In Memory of Arthur Clement Williams https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/in-memory-of-arthur-clement-williams <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>&quot;Alas! that such a soul should taste of death,&quot;<br /> Such lofty genius fade for want of breath,<br /> Such wit find refuge &#039;mong the mournful dead,—<br /> Such brains lie silent in that narrow bed.</p> <p>O, let the Negro weep most bitter tears!<br /> Our brightest star from earth now disappears;<br /> He would have stretched Ethiopia&#039;s hand to God<br /> Had Death not early placed him &#039;neath the sod.</p> <p>Ne&#039;er breathed a man who saw that classic brow,<br /> That did not then within himself allow<br /> He saw a fixed desire to raise his race,<br /> Imprinted on that noble, comely face.</p> <p>There is one thought that pains me much to-night,<br /> Although of him I sing and sometimes write,<br /> I did not know this brave and gifted one,<br /> This gallant youth,—this good, obedient son.</p> <p>Yet, ne&#039;er-the-less, I sighed when others sighed;<br /> I wept to think of fondest hopes denied,—<br /> Of fleeting joys, of earthly woes and cares,<br /> Of all that mother&#039;s tears and anxious prayers.</p> <p>That soul so loved by all now rests in peace,<br /> He&#039;s happy there where cares and sorrows cease;<br /> In that celestial home he dwells to-night,<br /> That place of love, of joy, of dazzling light.</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/in-memory-of-arthur-clement-williams" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="In Memory of Arthur Clement Williams" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Thu, 22 Feb 2018 21:10:02 +0000 mrbot 9648 at https://www.textarchiv.com The Wandering Jew https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/the-wandering-jew <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>I.<br /> &quot;Toil! toil! toil!&quot;<br /> What curse is this sent from the hand of God,<br /> That man must work till placed beneath the sod,<br /> And see no recompense in future years,<br /> Save anxious thoughts and bitter, fruitless tears;<br /> What fight is this from morn till close of day,<br /> To keep starvation&#039;s meagre face away.<br /> Unjust proceeding, man&#039;s the slave of man,<br /> And this, they say, is a divine command.</p> <p>&quot;A cobbler&#039;s son I saw when quite a boy,<br /> The mean privations that the soul annoy;<br /> And childhood&#039;s days, the happiest time of life,<br /> Was blighted by this same, disgraceful strife,<br /> Just so it was with manhood&#039;s happy prime,<br /> And so &#039;twill be until I&#039;ve done with time;<br /> And toil, and toil, and toil, thus, thus, I must,<br /> Until this tired frame returns to dust.&quot;</p> <p>The voice has ceased, the cobbler&#039;s hand is still,<br /> The sight he sees has overpowered the will,<br /> And hushed the vain complaints that mar his life,<br /> And fill his brain with discord, woe and strife;<br /> He sees afar a crowd of human fiends.<br /> No law nor order&#039;mongst the group remains;<br /> They all seem mad with mutiny and rage,<br /> Like lions lately freed from cell or cage.</p> <p>Within that crowd a tearful, blood-stained face,<br /> Where torture&#039;s marks had blotted beauty&#039;s trace,<br /> Looks up with loving, patient, sorrowing eyes,<br /> And seems to find its comfort in the skies;<br /> A crown of thorns is on the lofty brow,<br /> And from his wounds the blood is trickling now;<br /> He bears a heavy cross upon his back,<br /> The prints of blood are borne along the track.</p> <p>The King of heaven and earth with scourges rent,<br /> Endures with patience woes His Father sent,<br /> And sick with pain, insulted by their jeers,<br /> The cobbler&#039;s bench he sees, and quickly nears.<br /> &quot;O friend,&quot; he cries, and seeks the cobbler&#039;s chair,<br /> &quot;One moment let me rest and linger there;<br /> &#039;Twill ease my fainting frame from half its pain,<br /> Refuse me not, I will not long remain.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Go on, go on,&quot; the cobbler cries with wrath,<br /> &quot;No friend has ever cheered my dreary path;<br /> And I shall never help nor give relief<br /> To you, a hypocrite and groveling thief.<br /> This world for me has been a dreary place,<br /> I have no wish my steps here to retrace;<br /> &quot;Go on, go on, I&#039;ve known no rest below,<br /> I&#039;ll give you none, so hasten now and go.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;And thou, too, friend,&quot; the Saviour sadly cries,<br /> With mournful face and melancholy eyes,<br /> &quot;Shall now &#039;go on&#039; until the end of time,<br /> And rest at Gabriel&#039;s solemn trumpet&#039;s chime.&quot;</p> <p>He moves away and bears his cross again,<br /> And stifles now his moans and sighs of pain;<br /> On Calvary&#039;s hill with eyes turned to the skies,<br /> The God of love for mankind slowly dies.</p> <p>II.<br /> &quot;&#039;Go on, go on,&#039; I hear those words again,<br /> The Saviour spoke them,—Ah! with infinite pain;<br /> A century has passed and more since then,<br /> And still I walk along the streets of men.<br /> Through Europe, Asia, Africa, I roam,<br /> But dare not linger long at any home;<br /> I watch the years go by,—the old, and new,<br /> But I ne&#039;er change, I&#039;m still the Wandering Jew.</p> <p>&quot;O God, I beg you, take the sentence back,<br /> Remorse, like adders, soul and brain doth rack;<br /> Forgive a culprit&#039;s bitter words to thee,<br /> And set this lonely, wandering spirit free.<br /> Have not these years of woe and dark despair,<br /> With none beside my agony to share,<br /> Atoned for that black sin of long ago?<br /> Cut short, I beg you, now this time of woe.</p> <p>&quot;&#039; Go on, go on until the end of time,<br /> And rest at Gabriel&#039;s solemn trumpet&#039;s chime.&quot;<br /> That awful voice, those words it seems to say,<br /> O King! &#039;tis true, no rest till judgment day.<br /> O God! turn back thy universe I pray,<br /> And I&#039;ll erase my blackest crime away;<br /> Alas! those bitter words I spoke to you,<br /> Have sealed my fate, I&#039;m still the Wandering Jew.</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/the-wandering-jew" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="The Wandering Jew" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Wed, 21 Feb 2018 21:10:05 +0000 mrbot 9649 at https://www.textarchiv.com Capt. Smith and Pocahontas https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/capt-smith-and-pocahontas <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>The night hung o&#039;er Virginia&#039;s forest wild,<br /> Stately with beauty unsurpassed before<br /> Shone the full moon serenely; and the wind<br /> As it roused slumb&#039;ring leaflets from their dreams,<br /> Wakens alike the violet wet with dew.<br /> And fans the lily on the water&#039;s breast,<br /> Bidding the nodding petals sleep no more.<br /> The crackling branches told a fire was stirred;<br /> Its light was dim; yet, round it sat huge forms,<br /> Like lofty oaks that near the watchers stood<br /> With giant strength, spectators dumb, yet, wake<br /> With tenderest sympathy. The Red man decked<br /> With plumage gorgeous, and bracelet bright,<br /> With cheek besmeared with paint, and visage wild,<br /> In solemn conference debated now.<br /> Murdering Captain Smith. The forest still,<br /> With a thrill echoed angrily their loud and stormy words:<br /> The croaking of the frog had the exactness of a dirge;<br /> And when clouds from the moon were swept,<br /> A prisoner bound in chains, with wan and<br /> death-like face was seen to pray.<br /> An Indian maid, with slender form in rustic beauty clad,<br /> And crowned with a wealth of raven ringlets,<br /> Heard him say in tongue familiar, these words of deep woe:</p> <p>&quot;Alone, alone, I die.<br /> No friend or much-loved face is here tonight,<br /> To chase these visions dark from out my sight,<br /> That blind my quiv&#039;ring eve.<br /> Alas! could I but live another year,<br /> Much of the things I dream would I know here.</p> <p>&quot;How shines the moon to-night?<br /> Divinely! with a grace I&#039;ve seen before.<br /> Ay— sick indeed this heart, these temples sore,<br /> That could forget thy light!<br /> Thou&#039;ll be the torch to light my light my spirit, queen,<br /> From this bleak world to visions now un-seen.</p> <p>&quot;And this is life! Ay, life!<br /> Anxiety, dull care, a restless pain,<br /> That rouses, thrills, and sickens soul and brain,<br /> A never-ending strife<br /> &#039;Twixt the spirit and the flesh for right,<br /> And thus we ripen in a world of night.</p> <p>&quot;But see! they hasten now,<br /> Their consultation o&#039;er, I soon will die;<br /> On yonder block of stone my head will lie,<br /> And crushed will be my brow.<br /> Farewell, dear home and loved ones far away;<br /> Farewell to her who taught me first to pray.</p> <p>&quot;They come,— Alas! so soon,<br /> To die, O God! among this dusky crew,<br /> Where there is neither friend nor kinsmen true.<br /> Shine on, O friendly moon!<br /> Thine is the only white face that dost see<br /> This savage crowd that seek to murder me.</p> <p>&quot;My head is on the stone,<br /> The chief with huge club bends to strike the blow;<br /> A moment longer and no more I&#039;ll know,<br /> But list! I hear a moan.<br /> Who weeps for me and mourns that I should die?<br /> Who wastes on Smith a tear, or e&#039;en a sigh?</p> <p>&quot;What! the blow does not descend!<br /> Whose form is this that clingest to mine own?<br /> What means these tears and that heart breaking groan?<br /> An angel heaven dost send<br /> To plead my cause and save this worthless life,<br /> That seems to love adventure, gloom and strife.</p> <p>&quot;O, Pocahontas, brave!<br /> Thou beaut&#039;ous queen! thou givest thy love to me,<br /> As did Dian, unasked,—an offering free.<br /> Cursed be the treach&#039;rous knave,<br /> Who would forget his manhood and destroy<br /> Thy noble soul, or with thy affections toy.</p> <p>&quot;Long livest thou, sweet maid!<br /> My bosom glows with gratitude and love,<br /> That thou wast sent as from the choir above,<br /> This reckless being to save.<br /> How sweet life seems when snatched from death and pain,<br /> O God of love! &#039;tis true, I&#039;m free again.&quot;</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/capt-smith-and-pocahontas" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="Capt. Smith and Pocahontas" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Wed, 21 Feb 2018 21:10:02 +0000 mrbot 9645 at https://www.textarchiv.com We had been school-mates—she and I https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/we-had-been-school-mates-she-and-i <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>We had been school-mates,—she and I,—<br /> How sad, those years have all rolled by.<br /> I loved her with a school-boy&#039;s heart,<br /> A love from which I&#039;ll never part.<br /> Though vultures tore my heart in twain,<br /> Still would it beat for her again.</p> <p>With fancy&#039;s eyes I see again,<br /> The old school-house within the glen.<br /> I see the master, bell in hand,<br /> The ranks in single file command.<br /> I feel my heart within me bound,<br /> I welcome so the gladsome sound.</p> <p>But now I&#039;m tired of ball and bat;<br /> Beneath a large, old oak I sat,<br /> And watched the girls intent at play<br /> With hearts so light and spirits gay.<br /> Oh, that life&#039;s morning could return!<br /> For boyhood&#039;s days I&#039;ll ever yearn.</p> <p>And as I sat beneath the tree,<br /> I saw a maiden watching me,<br /> But when I looked with smile benign,<br /> She quickly turned her eyes from mine.<br /> A maiden blush o&#039;er-spread her face;<br /> She turned from me with nat&#039;ral grace.</p> <p>The maid was very fair to see,<br /> And shy and prim as maid could be;<br /> My boyish heart began to beat,<br /> I rose and begged she&#039;d have my seat.<br /> But high she held her shapely head,<br /> &quot;I care not for it, sir,&quot; she said.</p> <p>Advances after that were vain,<br /> She treated me with cold disdain.<br /> And still I tried with strongest will,<br /> But she remained persistent still.<br /> Ah! Imogene, had I but known,<br /> We&#039;d then had little need to mourn.</p> <p>But Cupid&#039;s bow had touched my heart,<br /> I struggled from that love to part.<br /> A boy no more, a man to be<br /> From that bright hour she gazed at me.<br /> The hopes of youth had long been o&#039;er,<br /> I vowed I&#039;d live, and love no more.</p> <p>And gradually the years passed by;<br /> My life was wrecked, I wished to die.<br /> My mother, on her dying bed,<br /> Implored an heiress I would wed.<br /> My wife was very fair to see,<br /> But not the one beloved by me.</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/we-had-been-school-mates-she-and-i" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="We had been school-mates—she and I" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Tue, 20 Feb 2018 21:10:02 +0000 mrbot 9644 at https://www.textarchiv.com A Tale of Italy https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/a-tale-of-italy <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>I.<br /> &#039;Twas eve in sunny Italy;<br /> The world was bright as earth can be,<br /> In that delightful month of June,<br /> When sun, and birds, and leaves, and flowers,<br /> And e&#039;en the queen of night,—the moon,<br /> Make earth one of fair Eden&#039;s bowers.<br /> The wind was singing to the sea,<br /> A soft and plaintive symphony.</p> <p>The shadows of this placid eve,<br /> To Count Villani&#039;s loggia cleave,<br /> Where guests of wealth and noble birth<br /> Await,—with eyes more eager growing,<br /> As darkness hides the views of earth,<br /> And stars begin their silver showing,<br /> The entrance of the lovely bride,<br /> Ninna Maso,—Viilani&#039;s pride.</p> <p>An hour or more they&#039;ve waited now,<br /> Anxiety is on each brow.<br /> A sudden fear of coming woe<br /> Like weights upon their hearts are falling.<br /> They&#039;d give a goodly price to know<br /> What unforeseen event is calling<br /> The bride who weds Count Villani,<br /> The richest man in Italy.</p> <p>And now the gossip tongues begin<br /> To tell, in spite of outside din,<br /> How Count Villani old and gray,<br /> From poverty and want rescuing<br /> The girl whom he will wed to-day.<br /> And then their fears again renewing,<br /> Their talk is of a serious strain,<br /> Some fear to longer there remain.</p> <p>But hold! a shriek, a piercing cry,<br /> A woman&#039;s scream is heard near by;<br /> And guests involuntary start,<br /> And move to where the sound&#039;s proceeding,—<br /> That sound that seems to rend the heart.<br /> They look and see the bride receding.<br /> From yonder spacious balcony,<br /> And hear her wailing mournfully.</p> <p>In trailing robes of pearly white,<br /> With loosened curls—a sunny sight,<br /> The graceful form in flowers arrayed,<br /> As if in maddest haste pursuing<br /> Some fallen Peri; this lovely maid<br /> Madly sped on, her speed renewing.<br /> What is her fate—her history?<br /> Who will explain this mystery?</p> <p>II.<br /> &#039;Twas midnight over Italy,<br /> Still was the wind, and calm the sea.<br /> The ceiling of this glowing earth,<br /> Frescoed with stars of twinkling light,<br /> Whose orbs were bright with quiet mirth,<br /> O&#039;er-looked a sad and mournful sight—<br /> A maid in bridal garments &#039;rayed,<br /> Beside the sea quite wildly prayed.</p> <p>It was Ninna, Villani&#039;s pride,<br /> Who weary, weeps by the sea-side.<br /> Before her eyes the buried past,<br /> Like spectres of the midnight hour,<br /> O&#039;er saddened heart its visions cast<br /> With all their former maddening power.<br /> Her home in Florence far away,<br /> Her fancy paints as bright as day.</p> <p>She sees herself in girlish frocks,<br /> With golden, silken, curling locks<br /> That crown a head and forehead high,<br /> Above the brows of velvet touch,<br /> That over-look a deep blue eye,<br /> Where quiet sadness lingers much.<br /> Within an ante-chamber dear<br /> She sits. A harpsichord is near.</p> <p>&#039;Tis eve—this time of which she dreams,<br /> The dying sun has sent his gleams<br /> To play on Pallas sculptured there,<br /> To light the ancient liggio,<br /> And kiss the maiden torso fair.<br /> And while she sees the sunset glow,<br /> A passion seizes heart and brain,<br /> And bids her strike a mournful strain.</p> <p>She wakes the harpsichord to life,<br /> She dreams of peace away from strife,<br /> &quot;Of sunny isles of Lake Cashmere,&quot;<br /> Of the sacred grass near the Ganges&#039; side,<br /> Where the plane-trees lie reflected clear,<br /> &quot;And the valley of gardens lie beside.&quot;<br /> She starts, and quickly turns to find<br /> A man with face both proud and kind.</p> <p>&quot;This is Signora Ninna fair?<br /> I&#039;ve heard of thy rich gift so rare,&quot;<br /> The stranger said with courteous bow.<br /> &quot;And know this era brings to light,<br /> As critics artists will allow,<br /> A soul aflame with genius bright.<br /> O maid, art thou content to die<br /> Unknown, and in oblivion sigh?</p> <p>&quot;Great Orpheus awoke the trees,<br /> But in thy hands thou hold&#039;st the keys<br /> That ope the hearts of human-kind.<br /> O maid, the world will bow to thee.<br /> List thou to me and thou wilt find<br /> A thine more rich than India&#039;s sea!<br /> My youth is gone, my hair is gray,<br /> Yet I will see thy famous day.</p> <p>&quot;Signora, thou must fitted be<br /> To join this pictured pageantry.<br /> To glorious Rome thou must repair,<br /> Where live the giant minds of art,<br /> And study with the masters there.<br /> From Florence, then, thou wilt depart,<br /> And leave behind thy poverty;<br /> They&#039;ll soon forget thy history.</p> <p>&quot;And now I will disclose to thee,<br /> What I would have thee know and see.<br /> This old, impassioned, foolish heart<br /> Dost beat most tenderly for thee.<br /> Signora, Cupid&#039;s thrilling dart<br /> Has pierced an old man fearfully!<br /> Hear me, Ninna mia, I pray,<br /> Send not a hungry heart away!</p> <p>&quot;I only ask, O maid, of thee,<br /> That thou&#039;ll bestow thy hand on me,<br /> When thou for years have studied there,<br /> (And I, thy every want supply)<br /> Where master minds of art repair.<br /> Oh, thou wilt ne&#039;er these hopes deny.<br /> Reflect on thy celebrity,<br /> For thou&#039;ll be Countess Villani!&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Oh, tempt me not!&quot; fair Ninna cried.<br /> &quot;You offer gold and fame beside.<br /> I care not for your boasted wealth,<br /> I hate the thing you value much—<br /> The coin&#039;s more dear to you than health,<br /> That thrill you with their every touch.<br /> But fame! That I could tellto thee,<br /> How dear a thing is power to me!</p> <p>&quot;Alas! if I will make my mark,<br /> It must be done without a heart,<br /> For I must sell myself to thee.<br /> This is the payment thou dost ask;<br /> No longer gay, no longer free,<br /> Thou would&#039;st confine me to the task<br /> Of wedding, and of pleasing thee.<br /> For this—I&#039;ll reap celebrity.</p> <p>&quot;Look down Via de Bardi there,<br /> See yonder youth with raven hair?<br /> He has a soul akin to mine;<br /> A poet&#039;s lyre he tunes at will!<br /> My heart is his,&#039;twill ne&#039;er be thine!<br /> When he is near the tempest&#039;s still.<br /> Shall I for fame&#039;s bright, glittering page<br /> These passions trod that storm and rage?</p> <p>&quot;And yet&#039;tis sweet to think of power.<br /> Will I e&#039;er see that glorious hour<br /> When Counts and princes bend the knee,<br /> And queens of every land will smile<br /> With pleasure at my symphony<br /> While I their leisure hours beguile?—<br /> Go, tempter, go. Call thou again,<br /> And I&#039;ll give thee thy answer, then.&quot;</p> <p>This scene of fancy passes by,<br /> And Ninna sees within her eye,<br /> While she thus prays beside the sea,<br /> The hour when she has bade farewell<br /> To him she loves most tenderly.<br /> Her agony, no tongue can tell,<br /> Yet she has given up all for art,<br /> And e&#039;en has trampled on her heart.</p> <p>She sees herself in glorious Rome.<br /> Of intellect it is the home;<br /> And after years of study there,<br /> She wakes to fame of which she dreamed,<br /> Surrounded by her votaries fair.<br /> Life, others thought, an Eden seemed.<br /> But no! a serpent day by day,<br /> Slowly ate her heart away.</p> <p>And now Villani comes to claim<br /> The girl who&#039;ll share his wealth and name.<br /> To-day, she was to be his bride;<br /> And while her maids her form arrayed,<br /> A serving-boy stole near her side,<br /> And in her hand a missive laid.<br /> Amazed, the words therein she read,<br /> And this is what the letter said:</p> <p>&quot;Among the sick and dead I lie,<br /> A voice within has said I&#039;ll die;<br /> Before another fading day,<br /> This plague that sweeps o&#039;er Italy,<br /> Will long have made my body clay;<br /> But while I go I think of thee.<br /> Wilt thou not let my fainting eye<br /> Rest on thy face before I die?&quot;</p> <p>Then wild her shrieks rung through the hall,<br /> Arousing guests, spectators all.<br /> And madly rushing through the streets,<br /> She swiftly neared the water-side,<br /> Escaping all the friends she meets,<br /> Who know that she&#039;s Villani&#039;s bride.<br /> She wrings her hands and sobs that he<br /> She loves should die so mournfully.</p> <p>Just now she thought she heard a groan,<br /> A smothered sigh, and then a moan<br /> Beneath those sheltering lime-trees there.<br /> Softly she steals, and lists again;<br /> She breathes to heaven another prayer,<br /> And quickly, wildly rushing then<br /> Beholds her lover, lonely dying,<br /> Beside the lime-trees sadly lying.</p> <p>&quot;Nello mio!&quot; she whispers now,<br /> As with her tears she bathes his brow,<br /> Too late I know the human heart<br /> Is master of the human will.<br /> Ambition&#039;s all-consuming spark<br /> Will ne&#039;er its tender passions kill.<br /> O love! my art has slowly died<br /> Since I refused to be thy bride.</p> <p>&quot;&#039;Twas thou who woke my Muse at will,<br /> &#039;Twas thou who could the tempests still.<br /> With thee I would have touched the skies.<br /> My pinions into fancy soar;<br /> Inspired by those, thy love-lit eyes,<br /> Imaginations realms explore.<br /> But no! my soul on flattery fed,<br /> My genius fades, and now is dead.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Weep not, Ninna mia,&quot; he cries.<br /> He moans again, and sadly sighs.<br /> &#039;Twas destined that our paths should stray<br /> Dear heart, such are the things of life.<br /> We&#039;ll meet within a brighter day,<br /> Where there is neither woe nor strife.<br /> Farewell! my spirit wings its flight,<br /> Borne up by thine orb&#039;s softest light.&quot;</p> <p>&quot;Nello! I cannot see thee go<br /> From out this life of mine, no, no!<br /> Death sure, will likewise come to me;<br /> This torture cannot longer last,<br /> My spirit soon shall follow thee.<br /> The plague its fetters o&#039;er me cast.<br /> I die: my soul is borne with thee,<br /> To the boundless sphere of eternity.&quot;</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/a-tale-of-italy" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="A Tale of Italy" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Tue, 20 Feb 2018 21:10:02 +0000 mrbot 9650 at https://www.textarchiv.com The moon shone bright one cloudless night https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/the-moon-shone-bright-one-cloudless-night <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>The moon shone bright one cloudless night,<br /> The earth was bathed in silver light.<br /> I strolled along, quite tired of life,<br /> I longed to rid myself of strife.<br /> In vain I struggled to forget,<br /> Oh, how I loathed the day we met.</p> <p>I came upon a mansion bright,<br /> From every window streamed the light;<br /> Sweet strains of music reached my ear,<br /> And peals of laughter loud and clear.<br /> &quot;Ah! this gay throng, I quickly see,<br /> Would be no place for woeful me.&quot;</p> <p>I hurried on. But hark! Just see,<br /> Who is this walks yon balcony<br /> All clothed in pure, seraphic white?—<br /> I know that form, e&#039;en though &#039;tis night.<br /> I&#039;ve heard that voice,—can it be true?<br /> My Imogene, say—is it you?</p> <p>Be still, she speaks; my God! &#039;tis she!<br /> Oh, list! my darling speaks of me,—<br /> Of me, whom I believed she loathed;<br /> Oh, can it be her love was clothed<br /> Within a garb of blackest hate?<br /> But now the knowledge comes too late.</p> <p>&quot;O love, come back!&quot; I hear her cry,<br /> &quot;My Waldershaw, for thee I sigh!<br /> My heart was thine long years ago,<br /> Didst thou not see? Didst thou not know?<br /> Alas! I kept the secret well,—<br /> This love will be my funeral knell.&quot;</p> <p>She wrings her hands in silent woe;<br /> O God! I watch her shadow go<br /> From off the lonely balcony,<br /> And leave me sighing mournfully.<br /> A still, small voice I&#039;ve learned to hate,<br /> Within me whispered, &quot;T&#039;is—too late.&quot;</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/the-moon-shone-bright-one-cloudless-night" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="The moon shone bright one cloudless night" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Tue, 20 Feb 2018 21:10:02 +0000 mrbot 9643 at https://www.textarchiv.com Anne Boleyn https://www.textarchiv.com/eloise-alberta-bibb/anne-boleyn <div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>Lost! lost! lost!<br /> The famed and gracious Anne is no more,<br /> Her sceptre broken, now her power is o&#039;er,<br /> Ye judges, who, to-day pronounced my doom<br /> With solemn words that filled my soul with gloom.<br /> And Henry, king with deeds so just and and canny,<br /> Come thou, and tell me if this still be Anne.<br /> This sunken cheek, this tearful eye, this frame<br /> So withered in its woe, cans&#039;t be the same?</p> <p>My maidens, who, with skillful touch and care,<br /> Have looped with jewels these locks of silken hair,<br /> And smiled with pleasure at my face so fair,<br /> When through the mirror they saw it reflected there,<br /> Say, tell me if a likeness can be seen<br /> In this poor wasted frame, to England&#039;s queen.<br /> Ah, Wolsey. Yes; thy fate was like to mine,<br /> I, too, did rise, but now, my lot is thine.</p> <p>At once arrayed in pomp, endowed with power,<br /> Now, fickle fortune assigns to me the tower.<br /> Will naught but blood e&#039;er quench kingHenry&#039;s thirst?<br /> Naught but revenge with which his brain is curst?<br /> Base villain! though thou decked in robes of state,<br /> Thy heart is like to Lucifer&#039;s in hate!<br /> Thou dwell&#039;st beneath a canopy of light<br /> With soul in lust enshrouded, black as night,</p> <p>And yet this man, so base, so weak, so vain,<br /> Great heaven! this poor heart could love again.<br /> Could kneel with &#039;raptured words and tearful prayer;<br /> Bid him clasp me to his heart, and linger there.<br /> Yes, he was loving, kind, and good to me,<br /> Six years I knew naught but felicity,<br /> And gratitude, like some emitted spark,<br /> Awoke the fire within my woman&#039;s heart.</p> <p>My babe, Elizabeth, he loved the child;<br /> Oft have I seen his countenance grow mild<br /> Whene&#039;er in infant voice she lisped his name;<br /> In tones like an Æolian harp it came.<br /> But why this change! How turned his love to ire?<br /> Whence comes this wrath like some outburst of fire?<br /> False! false! O God! the light has dawned at last;<br /> I know now why his tenderness has passed!</p> <p>Ah! I can see why he thus thinks me vile,<br /> He basks within another&#039;s &#039;witching smile;<br /> &#039;Tis Jane Seymour, my fair and gifted maid<br /> Has made upon his heart this sudden raid.<br /> O Father! and &#039;tis she will reign the queen,<br /> When I on earth, no more will e&#039;er be seen.<br /> She&#039;ll wear this crown I prize more than my life,<br /> She holds his heart, &#039;tis she he&#039;ll make his wife.</p> <p>O heaven! for an arm of Samson&#039;s strength,<br /> That I might burst these doors of wondrous length,<br /> And flee this tower; sweet freedom breathe again,—<br /> Ah! I would seek this treasured one,—and then<br /> This dagger thrust into her siren heart,<br /> And see her writhe in pain from its, keen smart.<br /> Then could I smile, and know forevermore,<br /> Her fascinations and her smiles were o&#039;er!</p> <p>Delusion vain! these thoughts but poison peace,<br /> And rack the soul with storms that never cease.<br /> Lost! lost! lost! I&#039;ve played the game of chance, and lost.<br /> And O ye destinies! what it has cost<br /> To brain, and heart, and soul! and now I die,<br /> Scorned, and derided, and loathed by every eye.<br /> O thou, who lov&#039;st the paths of fame and power,<br /> Know thou the darkness of this dreadful hour<br /> Will yet be thine! Oh, quench this fearful thirst,<br /> Else thy life, too, with madness will be curst.<br /> Thou&#039;lt live to know thy hopes and dreams are o&#039;er,<br /> And thou wilt fall, as I, to rise no more.</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/eloise-alberta-bibb" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Eloise Alberta Bibb</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/eloise-alberta-bibb/anne-boleyn" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="Anne Boleyn" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span> Tue, 26 Dec 2017 21:10:02 +0000 mrbot 7229 at https://www.textarchiv.com