Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 16 1826/The Effigies
The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 16, Pages 192-193
THE EFFIGIES.
"Women act their parts
When they do make their ordered houses know them.
Men must be busy out of doors, must stir
The city;—yea, make the great world aware
That they are in it; for the mastery
Of which they race and wrestle."—Knowles,
Warrior! whose image on thy tomb,
With shield and crested head,
Sleeps proudly in the purple gloom
By the stain'd window shed;
The records of thy name and race
Have faded from the stone,
Yet through a cloud of years I trace
What thou hast been and done.
A banner from its flashing spear
Flung out o'er many a fight;
A war-cry ringing far and clear,
And strong to turn the flight;
An arm that bravely bore the lance
On for the holy shrine,
A haughty heart and a kingly glance—
—Chief! were not these things thine?
A lofty place where leaders sate
Around the council-board;
In festive halls a chair of state,
When the blood-red wine was pour'd;
A name that drew a prouder tone
From herald, harp, and bard;—
—Surely these things were all thine own,
So hadst thou thy reward!
Woman! whose sculptured form at rest
By the armed knight is laid,
With meek hands folded o'er a breast
In matron-robes array'd;
What was thy tale?—Oh gentle mate
Of him, the bold and free,
Bound unto his victorious fate,
What bard hath sung of thee?
He woo’d a bright and burning star;
Thine was the void, the gloom,
The straining eye that follow'd far
His oft receding plume;
The heart-sick listening while his steed
Sent echoes on the breeze;
The pang—but when did Fame take heed
Of griefs obscure as these?
Thy silent and secluded hours,
Through many a lonely day,
While bending o'er thy broider'd flowers,
With spirit far away;
Thy weeping midnight prayers for him
Who fought on Syrian plains;
Thy watchings till the torch grew dim,—
—These fill no minstrel-strains.
A still, sad life was thine!—long years,
With tasks unguerdon'd fraught,
Deep, quiet Love, submissive tears,
Vigils of anxious thought;
Prayers at the Cross in fervour pour'd;
Alms to the Pilgrim given;—
—Oh! happy, happier than thy Lord
In that lone path to Heaven!F. H.