An Entreaty.

Once more, once more into the sunny fields
    Oh, let me stray!
And drink the joy that young existence yields
    In a bright, cloudless day.

Once more let me behold the summer sky,
    With its blue eyes,
And join the wild wind's voice of melody,
    As far and free it flies.

Once more, once more, oh let me stand and hear
    The gushing spring,
As its bright drops fall starlike, fast and clear,
    And in the sunshine sing.

Once more, oh let me list the soft sweet breeze
    At evening mourn:
Let me, oh let me say farewell to these,
    And to my task I gaily will return.

Oh, lovely earth! oh, blessed smiling sky!
    Oh, music of the wood, the wave, the wind!
I do but linger till my ear and eye
    Have traced ye on the tablets of my mind -

And then, fare ye well!
Bright hill and bosky dell,
Clear spring and haunted well,
Night-blowing flowers pale,
Smooth lawn and lonely vale,
Sleeping lakes and sparkling fountains,
Shadowy woods and sheltering mountains,
Flowery land and sunny sky,
And echo sweet, my playmate shy;
    Fare ye well! - fare ye well!

Frances Anne Kemble

Frances Anne Kemble, also known as Fanny, was a notable British actress and writer born on November 27, 1809, and died on January 15, 1893. She was a prominent figure in the 19th century literary and theatrical circles. Kemble was known for her acting prowess and her detailed journals and memoirs, which provide valuable insights into the life and times of her era.

Frances Anne Kemble

The Vision Of Life.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

To ----

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

Written After Spending A Day At West Point.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

Sonnet.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

English

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A Farewell.

I shall come no more to the Cedar Hall,
    The fairies' palace beside the stream;
Where the yellow sun-rays at morning fall
    Through their tresses dark, with a mellow gleam.

I shall tread no more the thick dewy lawn,
    When the young moon hangs on the brow of night,
Nor see the morning, at early dawn,
    Shake the fading stars from her robes of light.

I shall fly no more on my fiery steed,
    O'er the springing sward, - through the twilight wood;
Nor reign my courser, and check my speed,
    By the lonely grange, and the haunted flood.

At fragrant noon, I shall lie no more
    'Neath the oak's broad shade, in the leafy dell:
The sun is set, - the day is o'er, -
    The summer is past; - farewell! - farewell!

Frances Anne Kemble

A Retrospect.

Life wanes, and the bright sunlight of our youth
    Sets o'er the mountain-tops, where once Hope stood.
Oh, Innocence! oh, Trustfulness! oh, Truth!
    Where are ye all, white-handed sisterhood,
Who with me on my way did walk along,
Singing sweet scraps of that immortal song
That's hymn'd in Heaven, but hath no echo here?
Are ye departing, fellows bright and clear,
    Of the young spirit, when it first alights
Upon this earth of darkness and dismay?
Farewell! fair children of th' eternal day,
    Blossoms of that far land where fall no blights,
Sweet kindred of my exiled soul, farewell!
Here I must wander, here ye may not dwell;
Back to your home beyond the founts of light
I see ye fly, and I am wrapt in night!

Frances Anne Kemble

To Miss ---

Time beckons on the hours: the expiring year
    Already feels old Winter's icy breath;
As with cold hands, he scatters on her bier
    The faded glories of her Autumn wreath.
As fleetly as the Summer's sunshine past,
    The Winter's snow must melt; and the young Spring,
Strewing the earth with flowers, will come at last,
    And in her train the hour of parting bring.
But, though I leave the harbour, where my heart
    Sometime had found a peaceful resting-place,
Where it lay calmly moored; though I depart,
    Yet, let not time my memory quite efface.
'Tis true, I leave no void, the happy home
    To which you welcomed me, will be as gay,
As bright, as cheerful, when I've turned to roam,
    Once more, upon life's weary onward way.
But oh! if ever by the wa...

Frances Anne Kemble

To ----

When the glad sun looks smiling from the sky,
    Upon each shadowy glen and woody height,
And that you tread those well known paths where I
    Have stray'd with you, - do not forget me quite.

When the warm hearth throws its bright glow around,
    On many a smiling cheek, and glance of light,
And the gay laugh wakes with its joyous sound
    The soul of mirth, - do not forget me quite.

You will not miss me; for with you remain
    Hearts fond and warm, and spirits young and bright,
'Tis but one word - "farewell;" and all again
    Will seem the same, - yet don't forget me quite.

Frances Anne Kemble

Return.

When the bright sun back on his yearly road
    Comes towards us, his great glory seems to me,
As from the sky he pours it all abroad,
    A golden herald, my beloved, of thee.

When from the south the gentle winds do blow,
    Calling the flowers that sleep beneath the earth,
It sounds like sweetest music, that doth go
    Before thy coming, full of love and mirth.

When one by one the violets appear,
    Opening their purple vests so modestly,
To greet the virgin daughter of the year,
    Each seems a fragrant prophecy of thee.

For with the spring thou shalt return again;
    Therefore the wind, the flower, and clear sunshine,
A double worship from my heart obtain,
    A love and welcome not their own, but thine.

Frances Anne Kemble

A Promise.

    By the pure spring, whose haunted waters flow
Through thy sequester'd dell unto the sea,
    At sunny noon, I will appear to thee:
        Not troubling the still fount with drops of woe,
As when I last took leave of it and thee,
But gazing up at thee with tranquil brow,
And eyes full of life's early happiness,
Of strength, of hope, of joy, and tenderness.
Beneath the shadowy tree, where thou and I
Were wont to sit, studying the harmony
Of gentle Shakspeare, and of Milton high,
At sunny noon I will be heard by thee;
Not sobbing forth each oft-repeated sound,
As when I last faultered them o'er to thee,
But uttering them in the air around,
With youth's clear laughing voice of melody.
On the wild shore of the eternal deep,
Where we have stray'd so oft, a...

Frances Anne Kemble