E441000B. Poems (1844).
The Metropolitan Magazine, October 1844, pp. 265–267.
As reprinted in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 9, 335–336.
Miss Barrett is an accomplished lady. She is imbued with no small measure of the poetic spirit, but there is a frequent quaintness in her manner of expressing her sentiments, that often mars their beauty and impairs their effect. The measure, too, which she has chosen for many of her pieces, is one not in common use, and, though strictly correct, does not commend itself to the ear. With these drawbacks, there is much poetry in the volumes before us. The pieces are on miscellaneous subjects, but they are all, more or less, of a serious or sentimental nature. The volumes are dedicated to the writer’s father. The dedication is beautiful as a piece of composition, and remarkable for its touching tenderness. Many of the poems, too, are characterized by a pathos which must make its way to every bosom. We give one specimen. Its heading is, “Catarina to Camoens, dying in his absence abroad, and referring to the poem in which he had recorded the Sweetness of her Eyes.”
On the door you will not enter,
I have gazed too long—adieu!
Hope withdraws her peradventure—
Death is near me—and not you!
Come, O lover,
Close and cover
These poor eyes, you called, I ween,
“Sweetest eyes, were ever seen.”
When I heard you sing that burden
In my vernal days and bowers,
Other praises disregarding,
I but hearkened that of yours,—
Only saying,
In heart-playing,
“Blessed eyes mine eyes have been,
If the sweetest his have seen.”
But all changeth. At this vesper,
Cold the sun shines down the door!
If you stood there, would you whisper
“Love, I love you,” as before?
Death pervading
Now, and shading
Eyes you sang of that yestreen,
As the sweetest ever seen.
Yes! I think, were you beside them,
Near the bed I die upon—
Though their beauty you denied them
As you stood there looking down,
You would truly
Call them duly,
For the love’s sake found therein,
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen.” [p. 266→]
And if you looked down upon them,
And if they looked up to you,
All the light which has forgone them
Would be gathered back anew!
They would truly
Be as duly
Love-transformed to Beauty’s sheen,
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen.”
But, ah me! you only see me
In your thoughts of loving man
Smiling soft, perhaps, and dreamy
Through the wavings of my fan;
And unweeting,
Go repeating,
In your reverie serene,
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen,”
While my spirit leans and reaches
From my body, still and pale,
Fain to hear what tender speech is
In your love, to help my bale—
O my poet,
Come and show it!
Come, of latest love, to glean
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen.”
O my poet, O my prophet,
When you prais’d their sweetness so,
Did you think, in singing of it,
That it might be near to go?
Had you fancies
From their glances,
That the grave would quickly screen,
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen?”
No reply! The fountain’s warble
In the court-yard sounds alone!
As the water to the marble
So my heart falls with a moan,
From love-sighing
To this dying!
Death forerunneth Love, to win
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen.”
Will you come? when I’m departed
Where all sweetnesses are hid—
When thy voice, my tender-hearted,
Will not lift up either lid,
Cry, O lover,
Love is over!
Cry beneath the cypress green
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen.”
When the angelus is ringing,
Near the convent will you walk, [p. 267→]
And recal the choral singing
Which brought angels down our talk?
Spirit-shriven
I viewed heaven,
Till you smil’d—“Is earth unclean,
Sweetest eyes were ever seen?”
When beneath the palace-lattice,
You ride slow as you have done,
And you see a face there—that is
Not the old familiar one;
Will you oftly,
Murmur softly,
“Here ye watch’d me morn and e’en,
Sweetest eyes were ever seen.”
When the palace ladies sitting
Round your gittern, shall have said,
“Poet, sing those verses, written
For the lady who is dead,”
Will you tremble,
Yet dissemble—
Or sing hoarse, with tears between,
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen?”
Sweetest eyes! How sweet in flowings
The repeated cadence is!
Though you sang a hundred poems,
Still the best one would be this.
I can hear it
’Twixt my spirit
And the earth noise intervene—
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen!”
But the priest waits for the praying,
And the choir are on their knees;
And the soul must pass away in
Strains more solemn high than these!
Miserere
For the weary—
Oh, no longer for Catrine,
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen!”
Reviewed:
Poems (EBB), London: Edward Moxon, 1844.
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