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434  HARRIETTE FANNING READ.

From your expectant grasp hath snatch'd the victims!
In horrid safety lay the new-fledged eaglets,
Whose eyes, just train'd to meet the sun's fierce glance,
Relentless fate hath sealed in death.  Death!—death!—
Unfathomable mystery! my lips
Speak thy familiar name, and yet my soul
Rebels against thy power.  Within my hand,
Fearless, unfaltering, I hold the knife,
Stern witness of thy doings,—near me lie,
Insensible to hope or fear, the sons
So loved, so worshipp'd,—but my heart feels not
Thy presence, visible, palpable, though it be.
For in the mirror of fast-flowing tears
Imagination paints my children's forms;
The music of their voices fills my ear.
Enchantment of as strong, as blinding power
To mortal reason, as a mother's love,
Nor heaven nor hell can boast!
And yet this hand, nerved by infernal rage,
Hath stopp'd the gushing stream of life in veins
Fed from the fountain of this heart!  Ye gods!
Dare I to talk of love?  The very fiends
Mock at the sound, and, as the shivering earth
Gapes 'neath my feet accursed, from the abyss
Swarm the dire brood; above, around, they press.
They bar each avenue of escape, proclaim
Me homeless and deserted of my kind,
And in my tortured ear their serpent tongues
Hiss forth a welcome to their vengeful band.
Hence, horrid shapes!  I'm human still!  Heil taunts,
Earth shakes, mankind rejects, yet here I sink
Upon the bosoms of my slaughter'd babes,
Here dare repose, nor powers of earth or hell
Shall fright me hence; for here, at least, is peace.
Peace to the young, pure hearts which ne'er shall throb

ANNA CORA MOWATT.  435

Beneath the burden of Life's guilt and woe,
And peace to me, who in this marble stillness
Behold Heaven's dearest boon.  And now one glance,
One last embrace,—the last on earth!  The rose
Hath scarce yet faded from your lips, my sons,
The smile still lingers there, as life were loath
To part from shrines so fair.  Had ye awaked,
As with despair's fell strength your wretched mother
Grasp'd the dire steel, could I have done this deed?
No, by the gods!  The heart once task'd to the bounds
Of Nature's great endurance, oft a word
May strike with sudden force the quivering chord,
And free the wearied soul.  Devoted babes,
Had sleep released you from its bonds, one glance
Had been Apollo's messenger; my heart
Had burst beneath its power, and ye had lived,—
To glut Corinthian rage.  I thank the gods
It is not so!  Upon your cheeks the icy chill of death
Thrills through my veins;—'tis well,—I should be stern;
For one task remains, and then—to rest!
The step I watch for comes.  Vengeance, instruct me
To teach his heart some knowledge of the pangs
Which rend my own!


ANNA CORA MOWATT.

MRS. MOWATT is a native of Bordeaux in France, where she spent the first six years of her life.  She is the daughter of Mr. Samuel Gouverneur Ogden of New York, and was married at an early age to Mr. Mowatt, a lawyer of the same city.  Two years after, she published anonymously a poetical romance in five cantos, founded on the history of the first king of Asturias.  A satirical poem, displaying much talent and force, appeared soon after.  She then returned to her native France, and spent several years there and in Germany.  During her

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---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 22:15:21