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Lucy Hooper.
287

Lucy Hooper.

THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS.

Lines written after seeing among a collection of beautiful paintings—copies from the old masters, recently sent to New-York from Italy—one representing the daughter of Herodias bearing the head of John the Baptist in a charger, and wearing upon her countenance an expression, not of triumph, as one might suppose, but rather of soft and sorrowful remorse, as she looks upon the calm and beautiful features of her victim.

   Mother! I bring thy gift; Take from my hand the dreaded boon; I pray,Take it; the still, pale sorrow of the faceHath left upon my soul its living trace,   Never to pass away,Since from these lips one word of idle breathBlanch'd that calm face. Oh, mother! this is death!   What is it that I see From all the pure and settled features gleaming?Reproach! reproach! My dreams are strange and wild.Mother! hadst thou no pity on thy child? Lo! a celestial smile seems softly beamingOn thy hush'd lips; my mother! canst thou brookLonger upon thy victim's face to look!   Alas! at yester morn My heart was light, and to the viol's soundI gayly danced, while crown'd with summer flowers,And swiftly by me sped the flying hours;   And all was joy around,Not death! Oh, mother! could I say thee nay?Take from thy daughter's hand thy boon away!   Take it! my heart is sad; And the pure forehead hath an icy chill.I dare not touch it, for avenging HeavenHath shuddering visions to my fancy given; And the pale face appals me, cold and still,With the closed lips. Oh, tell me! could I knowThat the pale features of the dead were so?
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