<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sicilian Captive</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The champions had come from their fields of war,<br>Over the crests of the billows far,<br>They had brought back the spoils of a hundred shores,<br>Where the deep had foam'd to their flashing oars. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They sat at their feast round the Norse-king's board;<br>By the glare of the torch-light the mead was pour'd;<br>The hearth was heap'd with the pine-boughs high,<br>And it flung a red radiance on shields thrown by. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Scalds had chaunted in Runic rhyme,<br>Their songs of the Sword and the olden time,<br>And a solemn thrill, as the harp-chords rung,<br>Had breath'd from the walls where the bright spears hung. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the swell was gone from the quivering string,<br>They had summon'd a softer voice to sing,<br>And a captive girl, at the warriors' call,<br>Stood forth in the midst of that frowning hall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lonely she stood:–in her mournful eyes<br>Lay the clear midnight of southern skies,<br>And the drooping fringe of their lashes low,<br>Half veil'd a depth of unfathom'd wo. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stately she stood–tho' her fragile frame<br>Seem'd struck with the blight of some inward flame,<br>And her proud pale brow had a shade of scorn,<br>Under the waves of her dark hair worn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And a deep flush pass'd, like a crimson haze,<br>O'er her marble cheek by the pine-fire's blaze;<br>No soft hue caught from the south-wind's breath,<br>But a token of fever, at strife with death. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She had been torn from her home away,<br>With her long locks crown'd for her bridal day,<br>And brought to die of the burning dreams<br>That haunt the exile by foreign streams. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They bade her sing of her distant land–<br>She held its lyre with a trembling hand,<br>Till the spirit its blue skies had given her, woke,<br>And the stream of her voice into music broke. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Faint was the strain, in its first wild flow;<br>Troubled its murmur, and sad, and low;<br>But it swell'd into deeper power ere long,<br>As the breeze that swept over her soul grew strong. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'They bid me sing of thee, mine own, my sunny land! of thee!<br>Am I not parted from thy shores by the mournful-sounding sea?<br>Doth not thy shadow wrap my soul?–in silence let me die,<br>In a voiceless dream of thy silvery founts, and thy pure, deep sapphire sky;<br>How should thy lyre give here its wealth of buried sweetness forth?<br>Its tones of summer's breathings born, to the wild winds of the north? <br>'Yet thus it shall be once, once more!–my spirit shall awake,<br>And thro' the mists of death shine out, my country, for thy sake! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That I may make thee known, with all the beauty and the light,<br>And the glory never more to bless thy daughter's yearning sight!<br>Thy woods shall whisper in my song, thy bright streams warble by,<br>Thy soul flow o'er my lips again–yet once, my Sicily! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There are blue heavens–far hence, far hence! but oh! their glorious blue!<br>Its very night is beautiful, with the hyacinth's deep hue!<br>It is above my own fair land, and round my laughing home,<br>And arching o'er my vintage-hills, they hang their cloudless dome;<br>And making all the waves as gems, that melt along the shore,<br>And steeping happy hearts in joy–that now is mine no more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And there are haunts in that green land–oh! who may dream or tell,<br>Of all the shaded loveliness it hides in grot and dell!<br>By fountains flinging rainbow-spray on dark and glossy leaves,<br>And bowers wherein the forest-dove her nest untroubled weaves;<br>The myrtle dwells there, sending round the richness of its breath,<br>And the violets gleam like amethysts, from the dewy moss beneath. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And there are floating sounds that fill the skies thro' night and day,<br>Sweet sounds! the soul to hear them faints in dreams of heaven away!<br>They wander thro' the olive-woods, and o'er the shining seas,<br>They mingle with the orange-scents that load the sleepy breeze; <br>Lute, voice, and bird, are blending there;–it were a bliss to die,<br>As dies a leaf, thy groves among, my flowery Sicily! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I may not thus depart–farewell! yet no, my country! no!<br>Is not love stronger than the grave? I feel it must be so!<br>My fleeting spirit shall o'ersweep the mountains and the main,<br>And in thy tender starlight rove, and thro' thy woods again.<br>Its passion deepens–it prevails!–I break my chain– I come<br>To dwell a viewless thing, yet blest–in thy sweet air, my home!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And her pale arms dropp'd the ringing lyre,<br>There came a mist o'er her eye's wild fire,<br>And her dark rich tresses, in many a fold,<br>Loosed from their braids, down her bosom roll'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For her head sank back on the rugged wall,–<br>A silence fell o'er the warriors' hall;<br>She had pour'd out her soul with her song's last tone;<br>The lyre was broken, the minstrel gone!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391644" data-title="The Sicilian Captive de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="The champions had come from their fields of war, Over the crests of the billows far, They had brought back the spoils of a hundred shores, Where the deep had foam'd to their flashing oars. They sat at their feast round the Norse-king's board; By..."></div> </div> </div>

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