Felicia Hemans

“ Without aspiring to the vehemence, which some writers have mistaken for energy, the poetry of Mrs Hemans is never languid, even in the depths of its taste, tenderness, and elegance. To the most graceful and harmonious diction, she wedded themes of endless variety,—the outpourings of piety, and love, and friendship,—the delights of the past and of the future,—records of household affections,—lays of patriotism,—and legends of history or romance. ”

“ The conflicts, and the pangs of years,
Which, at thy secret shrine reveal'd,
Have gush'd from human hearts unseal'd!
Surely to thee hath woman come,
As a tired wanderer back to home!
Unveiling many a timid guest,
And treasured sorrow of her breast,
A buried love—a wasting care—
Oh! did those griefs win peace from prayer?
And did the poet's fervid soul
To thee lay bare its inmost scroll?
Those thoughts, which pour'd their quenchless fire
And passion o'er th' Italian lyre,
Did they to still submission die,
Beneath thy calm, religious eye? ”

“ That stream'd at midnight from the mountain-hold.
And let them fade, since this must be,
My lovely and my brave!
Was thy bright blood pour'd forth for me,
And is there but for stately youth a grave?
Speak to me once again, my boy!
Wilt thou not hear my call?
Thou wert so full of life and joy,
I had not dreamt of this—that thou couldst fall!
Thy mother watches from the steep
For thy returning plume;
How shall I tell her that thy sleep
Is of the silent house, th' untimely tomb?
Thou didst not seem as one to die,
With all thy young renown! ”

“ To arouse brave hearts in its hidden way,
Like the sudden flinging forth on high,
Of a banner that startleth silently!
She hath wander'd through many a hamlet-vale,
Telling its children her brother's tale;
And the strains, by his spirit pour'd away,
Freely as fountains might shower their spray,
From her fervent lip a new life have caught,
And a power to kindle yet bolder thought;
While sometimes a melody, all her own,
Like a gush of tears in its plaintive tone,
May be heard 'midst the lonely rocks to flow,
Clear through the water-chimes—clear, yet low. ”

“ Thou that no trace of human hearts dost keep,
Never to thee did love with silvery chain
Draw my soul's dream, which thro' all nature sought
What waves deny;—some bower of stedfast bliss,
A home to twine with fancy, feeling, thought,
As with sweet flowers:—But chastened hope for this
Now turns from earth's green valleys, as from thee,
To that sole changeless world, where "there is no more sea." ”

“ Mrs Jameson has truly said, that "the poetry of Mrs Hemans could only have been written by a woman." In all her thoughts and feelings she is intensely and entirely feminine; and there is a finish and completeness about her composition, singularly accordant with the fine perception, and delicate discrimination of the female mind. In her poetry religious truth and intellectual beauty meet together, and blend in delightful union; and assuredly it is not the less calculated to refine the taste and exalt the imagination, because it addresses itself only to the better feelings of our nature. ”

“ Of winds that shake forth music from the trees;
Not for the splendour given
To night's dark regal heaven,
Spoiler! I ask thee not reprieve for these.
But for the happy love
Whose light, where'er I rove,
Kindles all nature to a sudden smile,
Shedding on branch and flower
A rainbow-tinted shower
Of richer life—spare, spare me yet awhile.
Too soon, too fast thou'rt come!
Too beautiful is home,
A home of gentle voices and kind eyes!
And I the loved of all,
On whom fond blessings fall
From every lip—oh! wilt thou rend such ties?
Sweet sisters! weave a chain
My spirit to detain ”

“ Perchance, at times, within her heart may rise
Remembrance of some early love or woe,
Faded, yet scarce forgotten—in her eyes,
Wakening the half-formed tear that may not flow,
Yet radiant seems her lot as aught on earth,
Where still some pining thought comes darkly o'er our mirth.
The world before her smiles—its changeful gaze
She hath not proved as yet—her path seems gay
With flowers and sunshine—and the voice of praise
Is still the joyous herald of her way;
And beauty's light around her dwells, to throw,
O'er every scene, its own resplendent glow. ”

“ And far around, a deep and sunny bloom
Mantles the scene, as garlands robe the tomb.
Yes! 'tis thy tomb, Bianca! fairest flower!
The voice that calls thee speaks in every gale,
Which, o'er thee breathing with insidious power,
Bids the young roses of thy cheek turn pale,
And, fatal in its softness, day by day,
Steals from that eye some trembling spark away.
But sink not yet—for there are darker woes,
Daughter of Beauty! in thy spring-morn fading,
Sufferings more keen for thee reserved than those
Of lingering Death, which thus thine eye are shading! ”

“ Over all her pictures of humanity are spread the glory and the grace reflected from purity of morals, dignity of sentiment, beauty of imagery, sublimity of religious faith, and ardour of patriotism; and, turning from the dark and degraded, whether in circumstance or conception, she seeks out those verdant oases in the desert of human life, on which the wings of her imagination may most pleasantly rest. ”

“ With every gusty wail that o'er the wind-harp flies.
"Fold, fold thy wings," they cried, "and strive no more,
Faint spirit, strive no more!—for thee too strong
Are outward ill and wrong,
And inward wasting fires!—Thou canst not soar
Free on a starry way
Beyond their blighting sway,
At Heaven's high gate serenely to adore!
How shouldst thou hope Earth's fetters to unbind? ”

“ Thine Arab's faithful heart and vigorous arm,
From the green regions of the setting sun
Then shall the wanderer turn his steps, and seek
His orient wilds again.
Sebast.Be near me still,
And ever, oh my warrior! I shall stand
Again amidst my hosts, a mail-clad king,
Begirt with spears and banners, and the pomp
And the proud sounds of battle. Be thy place
Then at my side. When doth a monarch cease
To need true hearts, bold hands? Not in the field
Of arms, nor on the throne of power, nor yet
The couch of sleep. Be our friend, we will not part. ”

“ Are in themselves a power, whose fearful path
Is like the path of ocean, when the Heavens
Take off its interdict. Wait then the hour
Of that high impulse.
Sebast.Is it not the sun
Whose radiant bursting through the embattled clouds
Doth make it morn? The hour of which thou speak'st,
Itself, with all its glory, is the work
Of some commanding nature, which doth bid
The sullen shades disperse. Away!—e'en now
The land's high hearts, the fearless and the true,
Shall know they have a leader. Is not this
The mansion of mine own, mine earliest friend Sylveira? ”

“ Let the yellow mead shine for the sons of the brave,
By the bright festal torches around us that wave!
Set open the gates of the prince's wide hall,
And hang up the chief's ruddy spear on the wall!
There is peace on the land we have battled to save,
Then spread ye the feast, bid the wine-cup foam high,* [1]
That those may rejoice who have fear'd not to die! ”

“ In their full mirth!—all deepening on the breeze,
As the long stormy roll of far-advancing seas!
And nearer yet the trumpet's blast is swelling,
Loud, shrill, and savage, drowning every cry!
And lo! the spoiler in the regal dwelling,
Death bursting on the halls of revelry!
Ere on their brows one fragile rose-leaf die
The sword hath raged through joy's devoted train;
Ere one bright star be faded from the sky,
Red flames, like banners, wave from dome and fane ”

“ In minstrel garb attends the chief?
The moonbeam on his thoughtful brow
Reveals a shade of grief.
Sorrow and time have touched his face,
With mournful yet majestic grace,
Soft as the melancholy smile
Of sunset on some ruined pile!
—It is the bard, whose song had power,
To lure the maiden from her tower;
The bard whose wild, inspiring lays,
E'en in gay childhood's earliest days,
First woke in Osbert's kindling breast,
The flame that will not be represt,
The pulse that throbs for praise! ”

“ With the calm hour of counsel?
———Monarch, pause,
A kingdom's destiny should not be the sport
Of passion's reckless winds. There is a time
When men, in very weariness of heart
And careless desolation, tamed to yield
By misery, strong as death, will lay their souls
E'en at the conqueror's feet, as nature sinks,
After long torture, into cold, and dull
And heavy sleep. ”

“ Unto feeling deep and strong,
Thou hast trembled like a harp's frail string—
I know it by thy song!
Thou hast loved—it may be vainly—
But well—oh! but too well—
Thou hast suffered all that woman's breast
May bear—but must not tell. ”

“ A chain to be clasped in another sphere.
Therefore a current of sadness deep,
Through the stream of thy triumphs is heard to sweep,
Like a moan of the breeze through a summer sky—
Like a name of the dead when the wine foams high! ”

“ Ages may roll ere your children regain,
The land for which heroes have perish'd in vain.
Yet in the sound of your name shall be power,
Around her still gathering, till glory's full hour.
Strong in the fame of the mighty that sleep,
Your Britain shall sit on the throne of the deep! ”

“ That heaven and earth but flatter to betray?
Sunshine, and bloom, and verdure! can it be,
That these but charm us with destructive wiles?
Where shall we turn, O Nature! if in thee
Danger is masked in beauty—death in smiles? ”

“ With song, and the hills are all mantled with bloom;
But fairer than aught which the summer is bringing,
The beauty and youth gone to people the tomb!
Oh! why should I live to hear music resounding,
Which cannot awake ye, my lovely, my brave? ”

“ The circumstance is certainly not a unique one, but, in her case, is a proof of the intense delight, which her mind enjoyed while imbibing the beautiful and grand in sentiment,—impressions so instantaneously stamped shewing their depth by their durability. Such a prevailing love of poetry soon naturally turned to a cultivation of the art in her own person ”

“ I loved thee in my lonely childhood well
On the sea-shore, when day's last purple smile
Slept on the waters, and their hollow swell
And dying cadence lent a deeper spell
Unto thine ocean-pictures. ”

“ Wreath of the cliffs, again disclose;
'Midst rocky dells, each well-known stream,
Shall sparkle in the summer beam;
The birch, o'er precipice and cave,
Its feathery foliage still shall wave;
The ash 'midst rugged clefts unveil,
Its coral clusters to the gale,
And autumn shed a warmer bloom,
O'er the rich heath and glowing broom.
But thy light footstep there no more,
Each path, each dingle shall explore;
In vain may smile each green recess,
—Who now shall pierce its loneliness? ”

“ And flashing streams whereby my childhood play'd;
In the dim city, midst the sounding flow
Of restless life, to thee in love I turn
O thou rich sky! and from thy splendours learn
How song-birds come and part, flowers wane and blow. ”

“ Swayed by the sea-breeze till their motion shewed
Like joyous life! How the proud billows foamed!
And the oars flashed, like lightnings of the deep,
And the tall spears went glancing to the sun,
And scattering round quick rays, as if to guide
The valiant unto fame! ”

“ I may rove where the wind roves—my path is free!
The streams dash in joy down the summer hill,
The birds pierce the depths of the sky at will,
The arrow goes forth with the singing breeze,
And is not my spirit as one of these? ”

“ To float in light through softer skies;
Oh! chainless winds of Heaven arise!
Bear a vanquish'd world the story!
Lords of earth! to Rome returning,
Tell, how Britain combat wages,
How Caswallon's soul is burning
When the storm of battle rages! ”

“ Shrinks from the dread Unknown, the avenging Infinite!
But haste ye!—bring Chaldea's gifted seers,
The men of prescience!—haply to their eyes,
Which track the future through the rolling spheres,
Yon mystic sign may speak in prophecies.
They come—the readers of the midnight skies,
They that gave voice to visions—but in vain!
Still wrapt in clouds the awful secret lies,
It hath no language 'midst the starry train,
Earth has no gifted tongue Heaven's mysteries to explain. ”

“ As it dropt from her hand at her rival's feet,
Into fragments, whose dying thrill was sweet!
What more remaineth? her day was done;
Her fate and the Broken Lute's were one!
The light, the vision, the gift of power,
Pass'd from her soul in that mortal hour,
Like the rich sound from the shatter'd string,
Whence the gush of sweetness no more might spring! ”

“ Though love may guard them, they joy'd to be free!
They sprang from the earth with a burst of power,
To the strength of their wings, to their triumph's hour!
"Call them not back when the chain is riven,
When the way of the pinion is all through heaven! ”

“ Bird piercing Heaven with music! thy free flight
Hath meaning for all bosoms; most of all
For those wherein the rapture and the might
Of poesy lie deep, and strive, and burn,
For their high place: O Heirs of Genius! ”

“ From thy pure spirit's treasury divine,
To wake one tear of purifying flow,
To soften one wrung heart for Thee and Thine;
So shall the life breathed through the lowly strain,
Be as the meek wild-flower's—if transient, yet not vain. ”

“ Martyrs have shower'd their free hearts' blood,
That England's prayer might rise,
From those grey fanes of thoughtful years,
Unfetter'd, to the skies.
Along their aisles, beneath their trees,
This earth's most glorious dust,
Once fired with valour, wisdom, song,
Is laid in holy trust. ”