Felicia Hemans was one of the most widely read and influential poets of the nineteenth century. Her work, as popular in America as in Britain, was ad­ mired by Percy Bysshe Shelley, William Wordsworth, Lady Morgan, Matthew Arnold, William Michael Rossetti, Marian Evans (George Eliot), Elizabeth Barrett, and countless other writers and literary critics of discerning taste. It continued to be widely anthologized, set to music, quoted, illustrated by artists, ensconced in tooled leather bindings, and made the subject of school recitations well into the twentieth century. Oxford University Press published a volume of her collected works in 1914. Felicia Dorothea Browne was born at n8 Duke Street, Liverpool, on 25 September 1793, to Felicity Dorothea Wagner, daughter of the imperial and Tuscan consul at Liverpool, and George Browne, an Irish merchant. As a child she was an avid reader in the family's extensive library. When she was seven, her father suffered a financial setback and, for economy's sake, the family left Liverpool, at that time a bustling trade center, for an old, spacious mansion called Gwrych near Abergele, North Wales, poised among rocky hills overlooking the sea. The sights and sounds of this lonely and beautiful landscape appear frequently in Hemans's poetry. Although she visited Lon­ don while still a child, in the winters ofI804 and 1805, she did not enjoy it and never returned. Her mother taught her English grammar, French, draw­ ing, and music; a local clergyman taught her Latin, ruing "that she was not a man to have borne away the highest honors at college!" 1 She taught herself Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, and German. At the age offourteen Hemans published by subscription with the London firm of Cadell and Davies a handsome quarto volume simply titled Poems. One of the 978 subscribers was handsome Captain Alfred Hemans of the

I. Henry Fothergill Chorley, Memorials of Mrs. Hemans, with Illustrations of her Literary Character from her Private Correspondence, 2 vols. (London, 1836), I: 17.

275 Felicia Hemans

Fourth Regiment. England and Spain; or, valour and Patriotism, also an ap­ prentice book, came out the same year and expresses her enthusiasm for the Peninsular Campaign, in which two of her brothers served as members of the Twenty-third Royal Welsh Fusiliers. Percy Bysshe Shelley, having heard of Felicia Browne from his cousin, Thomas Medwin, a subscriber to Poems, wrote to her hoping to initiate a friendship, but she rebuffed him. In 1809 her family moved to Bronwylfa, near St. Asaph in Flintshire, in the valley of the Clwyd. Before leaving for the front in Spain, Captain Hemans declared his love; despite her family's disapproval of the match, the couple married after his return three years later, on 30 July 18I2, shortly before the publication of The Domestic Affections, and Other Poems, a book ignored by the review­ ers. Captain Hemans was appointed adjutant to the Northamptonshire Local Militia, and the couple moved to Daventry, where their first son, Arthur, was born. Soon afterwards, however, the Northamptonshire Militia disbanded and the young family went to live with her mother in Bronwylfa. Three more sons followed in quick succession. Shortly before Hemans gave birth to their fifth son in September 1818, her husband left her. Although the two ex­ changed letters and consulted about their children, they seem to have come to a mutual agreement to live apart. Her failed marriage remained through­ out her life a source of such intense embarrassment that she would never speak of it. During the six years of her married life she produced not only five children but three major books. Byron told John Murray that he con­ sidered Hemans's Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy (1816) "a good poem­ very," but he condemned her Modern Greece (1817) as "Good for nothing­ written by some one who had never been there." 2 Still, Hemans garnered increasing recognition. She sent Walter Scott a poem inspired by Wciverley, and he published it in the Edinburgh Annual Reg­ ister for 1815. In 1819 "The Meeting of Wallace and Bruce on the Banks of the Carron" won a prize of fifty pounds and was published in the September issue of Blackwood's Magazine. 3 One of her rivals in the competition - James Hogg, "the Ettrick Shepherd" -admitted that her entry was "greatly superior

2. See Byron to Murray, 30 September r816 and 4 September r8r7, in "So late into the night," vol. 5 of Byron's Letters and journals, ed. Leslie A. Marchand (London, 1976), ro8, 262. She owned a small lock of Byron's hair, which she wore in her favorite brooch until she was disillusioned by reviews of Thomas Moore's Life of Byron (1830) and called the poet "the wreck of what might have been" ([Harriett Hughes], "Memoir of the Life and Writings of Mrs. Hemans;' in The Works of Mrs. Hemans; with a Memoir of her Life, by her Sister, [ed. Harriett Hughes], 7 vols. [Edinburgh and London, 1839], l :227). 3. Her stanzas on the "Death of the Princess Charlotte" had appeared in Blackwood's the previous April. Felicia Hemans 277 both in elegance of thought and composition. Had I been constituted the judge myself, I would have given hers the preference by many degrees." 4 The Quarterly Review for October 1820 published an appreciative four-year retrospective review of Hemans's work by William Gifford, and in June 1821 she won the fifty-guinea prize of the Royal Society of Literature for the best poem on Dartmoor. In the same year, she composed her Welsh Melodies, re­ creations of Welsh history and translations of Welsh poems set to music. They remained popular as songs for more than a hundred years. Most of her whimsical poems were never published, though the "Miner­ alogist" poems reproduced below survive to show her comic side. A writer for the Edinburgh Monthly Review, reviewing Hemans's Tales, and Historic Scenes (1819), thought her poetry possessed "an exquisite airiness and spirit, with an imagery which quite sparkles;' and admired her "vivacity and fertility of imagination" as well as her "sublime eloquence." 5 In the spring of 1820 Hemans met Bishop Reginald Heber, who became her mentor and encour­ aged her to write plays. Hemans's own favorite playwrights were Coleridge, whose "Remorse" she admired, andJoannaBaillie, whose "Ethwald" and "The Family Legend" were early favorites. She particularly liked Baillie's heroines, about whom she said, "Nothing in all her writings delights me so much as her general idea of what is beautiful in the female character. There is so much gentle fortitude, and deep self-devoting affection in the women whom she portrays, and they are so perfectly different from the pretty 'un-idea'd girls,' who seem to form the beau ideal of our whole sex in the works of some modern poets." 6 Later, in 1827, the two poets corresponded and became close friends. John Murray published The Siege of "Valencia; A Dramatic Poem. The Last Constantine: with Other Poems in the summer of 1823; it contains "The Voice of Spring," a poem set to music and sung by wandering minstrels. Hemans's five-act tragedy, The Vespers of Palermo, was produced at Heber's urging at Covent Garden on 12 December 1823, with Charles Kemble playing the tor­ tured hero, Procida. Based on a historical incident, the play contained two strong female heroes and concerns itself with the struggle for freedom in a plot mixing love and violence. It closed after only one night; however, at Joanna Baillie's urging, Walter Scott persuaded Sarah Siddons to stage it in Edinburgh the following April, where, with an epilogue by Scott delivered by Siddons, it played successfully. In 1823 Hemans began contributing to the New Monthly Magazine, edited by Thomas Campbell, where her "Lays of Many Lands" first appeared, and in

4. Quoted in Peter W Trinder, Mrs. Hemans (Cardiff, 1984), 19. 5. 2 (August 1819): 207. 6. [Hughes), "Memoir," 69. Felicia Hemans

1827 she became a regular contributor to Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine. In 1825 she brought out The Forest Sanctuary; and Other Poems, the title work of which she considered one of her best. Written in the laundry, the only quiet place in the house, its stanza is a variation of Spenser's. A Spanish hero flees religious persecution during the sixteenth century and finds refuge with his child in a North American forest. Marian Evans called the book "exquisite." 7 Professor Andrews Norton of Harvard University, who with the critic Andrew Peabody ranked Hemans's work above that of Milton and Homer, asked permission to superintend the publication of a complete edition of her works in Boston, and in 1826 the publishing firm of Hilliard, Gray, Little, and Wilkins brought out The League ef the Alps, The Siege ef Valencia, The Vespers of Palermo, and Other Poems. It was in this book that "Casabianca" first appeared. For the next hundred years, school children would be asked to recite this poem, which actually is a critique of the obedience to patriarchal authority that it seems most to extoll. "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers" was also a favorite of her American audience, with whom her poetry became so popu­ lar that scores of imitators sprang up. Hymns on the Works ef Nature, for the Use of Children followed in 1827, appearing first in America and only six years later in Britain. Norton reprinted The Forest Sanctuary in 1827 and Records of Woman in 1828. When her eldest brother married in the spring of 1825, Hemans moved with her sons, her mother, and her unmarried sister, Harriett (who would later write an early biography of the poet), to a house called Rhyllon, a quarter-mile away just across the River Clwyd. The next three years would be the happiest of her life, but the breakup of this household inspired many of the poems in her most successful book, Records of Woman, published in May 1828 by William Blackwood and dedicated to Joanna Baillie. Hemans noted, "I have put my heart and individual feelings into it more than any thing else I have written." 8 The book was deeply colored by the death on II January 1827 of her mother and the impending marriage of her sister Harriett. Written mostly at Rhyllon, with her children at play around her, the poems document the courage, nobility, and tragedy of women's lives; embedded in their pain­ ful situations lies a critique of the domestic ideal and of patriarchal values. Like most contemporary commentators, unaware of its subtle subversiveness, Francis Jeffrey wrote an appreciative, long review of this book and The Forest Sanctuary (1826) for the October 1829 Edinburgh Review. Maria Jane Jewsbury,

7. Marian Evans, The George Eliot Letters, ed. Gordon S. Haight, 6 vols. (New Haven, 1954), 1:72. 8. Letter of 23 March 1828 to Mary Russell Mitford, quoted in Chorley, Memorials of Mrs. Hemans, r : 130. Felicia Hemans 279 who spent the summer and fall of 1828 near Hemans at St. Asaph, later de­ picted the poet during this period and her effect upon her in the character of Egeria in The Three Histories: "She did not dazzle-she subdued me. Other women might be more commanding, more versatile, more acute; but I never saw one so exquisitely feminine. She was lovely without being beautiful; her movements were features." Jewsbury dedicated her Lays of Leisure Hours to Hemans and encouraged her to read William Wordsworth's poetry. In the autumn of 1828, William E. West painted Hemans's portrait at the request of Alaric Watts, editor of the Literary Souvenir, who was putting together a gallery of the living British poets. West stayed at Rhyllon and produced three portraits altogether, one of which was exhibited at Somer­ set House, home of the Royal Academy of Arts.9 Not long after West's stay, Hemans left Wales for Wavertree, a town outside Liverpool, where she had friends and where she hoped to find better schools for her sons. "I am now," she wrote, "for the first time in my life, holding the reins of government, independent, managing a household myself; and I never liked anything less than 'ce triste empire de soi-m~me.' " 10 She grew depressed and ill; the whole household, including the poet, contracted whooping cough. Even so, it was during her three years at Wavertree that she got to know Henry Fother­ gill Chorley, Caroline Hamilton, and Rose D'Aguilar Lawrence, all of whom would write early biographies of her, and was visited by Mary Howitt and Andrews Norton from America. In addition, Hemans's proximity to Liver­ pool and her growing reputation caused her to be besieged by admirers and autograph seekers from England and America. In the summer of 1829, on a trip to Scotland, she visited Walter Scott. Scott had once told Joanna Baillie that Hemans "is somewhat too poeti­ cal for my taste-too many flowers I mean, and too little fruit-but that may be the cynical criticism of an elderly gentleman";11 he liked Hemans personally, however, and invited her to be his houseguest at Abbotsford. Hemans considered this visit to be one of the high points of her life. Scott told her at parting, "There are some whom we meet, and should like ever

9. One portrait, judged by her family to be the best likeness, inspired Hemans's poem "To My Own Portrait" and was given to her sister, Harriett Hughes, who used it for the frontis­ piece to the seven-volume r839 edition ofHemans's Works; the third portrait went to Professor Andrews Norton in Boston. The portrait for Watts, which Hughes considered to be an unsat­ isfactory likeness, was later acquired by Fisher, proprietor of Fisher's Drawing-Room Scrap-Book; engravings from it appeared in that annual as well as in The Christian Keepsake. IO. Letter of IO November r828 to Mary Russell Mitford, quoted in [Hughes), "Mem­ oir," r56. II. Letter of rr July 1823, quoted in John Gibson Lockhart, Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, 5 vols. (Boston, r9or), 4:126. 280 Felicia Hemans after to claim as kith and kin; and you are one of those." 12 On the same trip she stopped at Edinburgh, met Ann Grant of Laggan, dined with Francis Jeffrey, visited Henry Mackenzie, and sat for a bust by Angus Fletcher. In June 1830 she was William Wordsworth's guest for more than two weeks at Rydal Mount; she then moved nearby to a cottage called Dove Nest on the banks of Lake Windermere, where she stayed until mid-August. She and Wordsworth found each other charming and became good friends, though the women in the household were far less enthusiastic. Later Hemans dedicated Scenes and Hymns ef Life (1834) to William Wordsworth. She published Songs ef the Af­ fections early in the summer of 1830; most had already appeared separately in Blackwood's Magazine. After sending her two oldest boys to join their father in Italy, in April 1831 she left Wavertree for Dublin, by way of Bronwylfa. From Dublin, she went to visit a brother in Kilkenny, making a pilgrimage to Mary Tighe's grave in Woodstock along the way. Hemans took a house in Upper Pembroke Street in Dublin and began, in the autumn of 1831, to compose melodies for her poems, including her influential Hymns for Childhood and National Lyrics, and Songs for Music. 13 Many of her poems would eventually be set to music by others. In 1834 she con­ tracted scarlet fever, followed by a cold that turned to ague. Despite declining strength and health, she composed "Thoughts during Sickness," a series of seven sonnets. Eventually she lost the use of her limbs and barely had the energy to read. Suffering from fever and delirium, on Sunday, 26 April 1835, she dictated the "Sabbath Sonnet;' her last poem. She died at 20 Dawson Street, Dublin, on 16 May, at the age of forty-one and was buried nearby within the vaults of St. Anne's Church. Her brothers erected a tablet in the cathedral of St. Asaph, which reads, in part, "in memory of Felicia Hemans, whose character is best pourtrayed in her writings." She once remarked that "it has ever been one of my regrets that the constant necessity of providing sums of money to meet the exigencies of the boys' education, has obliged me to waste my mind in what I consider mere desultory effusions .... My wish ever was to concentrate all my mental energy in the production of some more noble and complete work: something of pure and holy excellence, (if there be not too much presumption in the thought,) which might permanently take its place as the work of a British poetess." 14 Nevertheless, at her death many of her poems had already acquired the stature of standard English lyrics-"The

12. Hemans, journal entry, July 1829, quoted in [Hughes], "Memoir,'' 19I. 13. By the summer of 1832 she had moved to 36 Stephen's Green in order to avoid the street noise of her former home, and by the spring of 1833 she had moved again, to 20 Dawson Street. 14. Quoted in [Hughes], "Memoir," 296-97. Felicia Hemans 281

Stately Homes of England," "The Better Land," "The Graves of a Household;' "The Treasures of the Deep;' and "Casabianca" foremost among them. Many poetic tributes were written to Hemans, even during her lifetime; she preferred the one written by Catherine Grace Godwin above the rest. Many were later to eulogize her, including Wordsworth in his "Epitaphs" (16, "Ex tempore Effusion Upon the Death of James Hogg"), Letitia Elizabeth Landon in "Stanzas on the Death of Mrs. Hemans," Maria Abdy in "Lines Written on the Death of Mrs. Hemans;' and Lydia Sigourney in "Monody on Mrs. Hemans." Although she once assured a correspondent that "I utterly disclaim all wish for the post of 'Speaker to the Feminine Literary House of Commons;" in her own way she was just that-in her identification with and portrayal of the plights of other women and their struggle to surmount or to simply endure the constraints on their lives. Her popularity throughout the nineteenth century owed much to the clarity of her language, the passion of her lyricism, and her implicit critique of patriarchal authority.

MAJOR WORKS: England and Spain; or, Vc.ilour and Patriotism (London, 1808); Poems (Liverpool and London, 1808); The Domestic Affections, and Other Poems (London, 1812); The Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy: A Poem (Oxford and London, 1816); Modern Greece. A Poem (London, 1817); Translations from Camoens, and Other Poets, with Original Poetry (Oxford and London, 1818); Tales, and Historic Scenes, in Verse (London, 1819); Wallace's Invocation to Bruce; A Poem (Edinburgh and London, 1819); The Sceptic; a Poem (London, 1820); Stanzas to the Memory of the Late King (London, 1820); Dartmoor; a Poem: Which Obtained the Prize of Fifty Guineas Proposed by the Royal Society of Literature (London, 1821); The Siege of Vc.ilencia; A Dramatic Poem. The Last Constantine: With Other Poems (London, 1823); The Vespers of Palermo; a Tragedy, in Five Acts (London, 1823); The Forest Sanctuary; and Other Poems (London, 1825); The League of the Alps, The Siege of Vc.ilencia, The Vespers of Palermo, and Other Poems, [ed. Andrews Norton] (Boston, 1826); Hymns on the Works of Nature, for the Use of Children, [ed. Andrews Norton] (Boston, 1827), republished as Hymns for Childhood (Dublin, 1834); Records of Woman: With Other Poems (Edinburgh and London, 1828); Songs of the Ajfection_s, with Other Poems (Edinburgh and London, 1830); National Lyrics, and Songs for Music (Dublin and London, 1834); Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems (Edinburgh and London, 1834); Poetical Remains of the Late Mrs. Hemans, [ed. D. M. Moir] (Edinburgh and London, 1836); The Works of Mrs. Hemans; with a Memoir of her Life, by her Sister, [ed. Harriett Hughes], 7 vols. (Edinburgh and London, 1839).

TEXTS USED: Texts of "Epitaph on Mr. W--, a Celebrated Mineralogist," "Epitaph on the Hammer of the Aforesaid Mineralogist,'' "Troubadour Song," and "I Dream of All Things Free" from The Works of Mrs. Hemans. "The Voice of Spring" from The Siege of Valencia; A Dramatic Poem. The Last Constantine: with Other Poems. "The Messenger 282 Felicia Hemans

Bird" and "Bring Flowers" from The Forest Sanctuary; and Other Poems. "The Graves of a Household," "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England;' "A Mon­ arch's Death-Bed," "Gertrude, or Fidelity till Death,'' "The Image in Lava," "Indian Woman's Death-Song," and ''Arabella Stuart" from Records of Woman: with Other Poems. "Casabianca," "The Wings of the Dove,'' and "The Dreamer" from the second edition of The Forest Sanctuary; and Other Poems (London and Edinburgh, 1829). "The Coro­ nation of Inez de Castro" and "The Return" from Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems. "The Painter's Last Work-A Scene" from Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine for February 1832.

Epitaph on Mr. W--, a Celebrated Mineralogist*

Stop, passenger! a wondrous tale to list­ Here lies a famous Mineralogist. Famous indeed! such traces of his power, He's left from Penmaenbach to Penmaenmawr, Such caves, and chasms, and fissures in the rocks, His works resemble those of earthquake shocks; And future ages very much may wonder What mighty giant rent the hills asunder, Or whether Lucifer himself had ne'er IO Gone with his crew to play at foot-ball there.

His fossils, flints, and spars, of every hue, With him, good reader, here lie buried too - Sweet specimens! which, toiling to obtain, He split huge cliffs, like so much wood, in twain. We knew, so great the fuss he made about them, Alive or dead, he ne'er would rest without them, So, to secure soft slumber to his bones, We paved his grave with all his favorite stones. His much-loved hammer's resting by his side; 20 Each hand contains a shell-fish petrified: His mouth a piece of pudding-stone incloses, And at his feet a lump of coal reposes: Sure he was born beneath some lucky planet­ His very coffin-plate is made of granite. Felicia Hemans 283

Weep not, good reader! he is truly blest Amidst chalcedony and quartz to rest: Weep not for him! but envied be his doom, Whose tomb, though small, for all he loved had room: And, 0 ye rocks!-schist, gneiss, whate'er ye be, Ye varied strata! - names too hard for me - 30 Sing, "Oh, be joyful!" for your direst foe, By death's fell hammer, is at length laid low. Ne'er on your spoils again shall W-- riot. Clear up your cloudy brows, and rest in quiet- He sleeps-no longer planning hostile actions, As cold as any of his petrifactions; Enshrined in specimens of every hue, Too tranquil e'en to dream, ye rocks, of you. (wr. 1816; pub. 1836)

*The mineralogist was C. Pleydell N. Wilton, whose autograph copy of the poem was entitled "Epitaph on Mr Wilton, a Celebrated Mineralogist." His copy concludes with the note, "This gentleman unfortunately fell off a rock, whilst in the act of exclaiming "Ocular demonstration." According to Wilton, the event occurred "during one of those 'mountain rambles' so delightfully enlivened by the wit & good humour of Mrs. Hemans, in the neighborhood of Dyganwy..... [The lines J were addressed & presented to him at the hands of Mrs. Hemans, on the morning of his starting for St. John's College Cambridge, and of leaving the town of Aberconway in North Wales, where, in the Harp Inn, in company with six other fellow students of that University, he had been reading mathematics during the summer vacation of the year 1816" (National Library of Scotland, MS 4090 Blackwood, folios 193-94; quoted by permission of the Trustees of the National Library of Scotland). Wilton later became an assistant chaplain in New South Wales and incumbent of the Cathedral of Christ Church, Newcastle.

29 schist, gneiss] Types of rock. Felicia Hemans

Epitaph on the Hammer of the Aforesaid Mineralogist*

Here in the dust, its strange adventures o'er, A hammer rests, that ne'er knew rest before. Released from toil, it slumbers by the side Of one who oft its temper sorely tried; No day e'er passed, but in some desperate strife He risked the faithful hammer's limbs and life: Now laying siege to some old limestone wall, Some rock now battering, proof to cannon-ball; Now scaling heights like Alps or Pyrenees, IO Perhaps a flint, perhaps a slate to seize; But, if a piece of copper met his eyes, He'd mount a precipice that touch'd the skies, And bring down lumps so precious, and so many, I'm sure they almost would have made-a penny! Think, when such deeds as these were daily done, What fearful risks this hammer must have run. And, to say truth, its praise deserves to shine In lays more lofty and more famed than mine: Oh! that in strains which ne'er should be forgot, 20 Its deeds were blazon'd forth by Walter Scott! Then should its name with his be closely link'd, And live till every mineral were extinct. Rise, epic bards! be yours the ample field- Bid W--'s hammer match Achilles' shield: As for my muse, the chaos of her brain, I search for specimens of wit in vain; Then let me cease ignoble rhymes to stammer, And seek some theme less arduous than the hammer; Rememb'ring well, "what perils do environ" 30 Woman or "man that meddles with cold iron." (wr. 1816; pub. 1839)

*According to Wilton, this poem and the previous one "were composed by Mrs. Hemans when on a visit, ... at Rose Hill, the residence of the then incumbent of Conway.... [While walking in the mountains,] Wilton discovered on the Druid Felicia Hemans

Rock, Penmaenbach, near Conway .. . with Mrs Hemans and her sister [Harriett Hughes] ... some beautiful specimens of copper ore" (National Library of Scot­ land, MS 4090 Blackwood, fols. 193-94; quoted by permission of the Trustees of the National Library of Scotland).

The Voice of Spring

I come, I come! ye have call'd me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song! Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves, opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the south, and the chesnut flowers By thousands have burst from the forest-bowers, And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes, Are veil'd with wreaths on Italian plains; IO - But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, To speak of the ruin or the tomb!

I have look'd o'er the hills of the stormy north, And the larch has hung all his tassels forth, The fisher is out on the sunny sea, And the rein-deer bounds o'er the pastures free, And the pine has a fringe of softer green, And the moss looks bright, where my foot hath been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, And call'd out each voice of the deep blue sky; 20 From the night-bird's lay through the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, To the swan's wild note, by the Iceland lakes, When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain, They are sweeping on to the silvery main,

9 fanes J Banners, flags fallen in battle. 286 Felicia Hemans

They are flashing down from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray o'er the forest-boughs, They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, 30 And the earth resounds with the joy of waves!

Come forth, 0 ye children of gladness, come! Where the violets lie may be now your home. Ye of the rose lip and dew-bright eye, And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly! With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay.

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, The waters are sparkling in grove and glen! Away from the chamber and sullen hearth, 40 The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth! Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains, And youth is abroad in my green domains.

But ye!-ye are changed since ye met me last! There is something bright from your features pass'd! There is that come over your brow and eye, Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die! -Ye smile! but your smile hath a dimness yet- Oh! what have ye look'd on since last we met?

Ye are changed, ye are changed! - and I see not here 50 All whom I saw in the vanish'd year! There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright, Which toss'd in the breeze with a play of light, There were eyes, in whose glistening laughter lay No faint remembrance of dull decay!

There were steps that flew o'er the cowslip's head, As if for a banquet all earth were spread; There were voices that rung through the sapphire sky, And had not a sound of mortality! Are they gone? is their mirth from the mountains pass'd? 60 - Ye have look'd on death since ye met me last! Felicia Hemans

I know whence the shadow comes o'er you now, Ye have strewn the dust on the sunny brow! Ye have given the lovely to earth's embrace, She hath taken the fairest of beauty's race, With their laughing eyes and their festal crown, They are gone from amongst you in silence down!

They are gone from amongst you, the young and fair, Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair! - But I know of a land where there falls no blight, I shall find them there, with their eyes of light! 70 Where Death midst the blooms of the morn may dwell, I tarry no longer-farewell, farewell!

The summer is corning, on soft winds borne, Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn! For me, I depart to a brighter shore, Ye are mark'd by care, ye are mine no more. I go where the loved who have left you dwell, And the flowers are not death's-fare ye well, farewell! (1823)

The Messenger Bird

Some of the native Brazilians pay great veneration to a certain bird that sings mournfully in the night-time. They say it is a messenger which their deceased friends and relations have sent, and that it brings them news from the other world. - See Picart's Ceremonies and Religious Customs.*

Thou art come from the spirits' land, thou bird! Thou art come from the spirits' land! Through the dark pine-grove let thy voice be heard, And tell of the shadowy band!

We know that the bowers are green and fair In the light of that summer shore, And we know that the friends we have lost are there, They are there-and they weep no more! 288 Felicia Hemans

And we know they have quench'd their fever's thirst IO From the Fountain of Youth ere now, t For there must the stream in its freshness burst, Which none may find below!

And we know that they will not be lur'd to earth From the land of deathless flowers, By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth, Though their hearts were once with ours;

Though they sat with us by the night-fire's blaze, And bent with us the bow, And heard the tales of our fathers' days, 20 Which are told to others now!

But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain! Can those who have lov'd forget? We call-and they answer not again - -Do they love-do they love us yet?

Doth the warrior think of his brother there, And the father of his child? And the chief, of those that were wont to share His wandering through the wild?

We call them far through the silent night, 30 And they speak not from cave or hill; We know, thou bird! that their land is bright, But say, do they love there still? (1824)

*Bernard Picard (1673-1733) was a French artist known for his book illustrations. His illustrations for The Ceremonies and Religious Customs of the various Nations of the Known World are among his best-known works. t An expedition was actually undertaken by Juan Ponce de Leon, in the 16th cen­ tury, with the view of discovering a wonderful fountain, believed by the natives of Puerto Rico to spring in one of the Lucayo Isles, and to possess the virtue of re­ storing youth to all who bathed in its waters. -See [William] Robertson's History of America [3 vols. (Dublin, 1777)]. Hemans. Felicia Hemans

Bring Flowers

Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board, To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured; Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and vale, Their breath fl.oats out on the southern gale, And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose, To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path­ He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath! He comes with the spoils of nations back, The vines lie crush'd in his chariot's track, IO The turf looks red where he won the day­ Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way!

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell, They have tales of the joyous woods to tell; Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky, And the bright world shut from his languid eye; They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours, And a dream of his youth-bring him flowers, wild flowers!

Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear! They were born to blush in her shining hair. 20 She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth, She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth, Her place is now by another's side- Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride!

Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed, A crown for the brow of the early dead! For this through its leaves hath the white-rose burst, For this in the woods was the violet nurs'd. Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, They are love's last gift-bring ye flowers, pale flowers! 30

Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer, They are nature's offering, their place is there! Felicia Hemans

They speak of hope to the fainting heart, With a voice of promise they come and part, They sleep in dust through the wintry hours, They break forth in glory-bring flowers, bright flowers! (1824)

Troubadour Song

The warrior cross'd the ocean's foam For the stormy fields of war; The maid was left in a smiling home And a sunny land afar.

His voice was heard where javelin showers Pour'd on the steel-clad line; Her step was 'midst the summer flowers, Her seat beneath the vine.

His shield was cleft, his lance was riven, IO And the red blood stain'd his crest; While she-the gentlest wind of heaven, Might scarcely fan her breast.

Yet a thousand arrows pass'd him by, And again he cross'd the seas; But she had died as roses die That perish with a breeze.

As roses die, when the blast is come For all things bright and fair- There was death within the smiling home - 20 How had death found her there? (1824) Felicia Hemans

The Graves of a Household

They grew in beauty, side by side, They fill'd one home with glee;­ Their graves are sever' d, far and wide, By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night O'er each fair sleeping brow; She had each folded flower in sight, - Where are those dreamers now?

One, midst the forests of the west, By a dark stream is laid- IO The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the lov'd of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest Above the noble slain: He wrapt his colours round his breast, On a blood-red field of Spain. 20

And one-o'er her the myrtle showers Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd; She faded midst Italian flowers, - The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who play'd Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they pray'd Around one parent knee! Felicia Hemans

They that with smiles lit up the hall, 30 And cheer'd with song the hearth,­ Alas! for love, if thou wert all, And nought beyond, oh, earth! (1825)

The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England

Look now abroad-another race has fill'd Those populous borders-wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are till'd; The land is full of harvests and green meads. -Bryant*

The breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches toss'd;

And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd their bark On the wild New-England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes, IO They, the true-hearted came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame:

Not as the flying come, In silence and in tear;- They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Felicia Hemans

Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free. 20

The ocean-eagle soar'd From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd­ This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair, Amidst that pilgrim band;- Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; 30 There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?­ They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstain'd what there they found­ Freedom to worship God.

*William Cullen Bryant, "The Ages;' st. 32, lines r-4. Felicia Hemans

A Monarch's Death-Bed

The Emperor Albert of Hapsburgh, who was assassinated by his nephew, afterwards called john the Parricide, was left to die by the way-side, and only supported in his last moments by aftmale peasant, who happened to be passing.

A monarch on his death-bed lay­ Did censers waft perfume, And soft lamps pour their silvery ray, Thro' his proud chamber's gloom? He lay upon a greensward bed, Beneath a darkening sky- A lone tree waving o'er his head, A swift stream rolling by.

Had he then fall'n as warriors fall, IO Where spear strikes fire with spear? Was there a banner for his pall, A buckler for his bier? Not so;-nor cloven shields nor helms Had strewn the bloody sod, Where he, the helpless lord of realms, Yielded his soul to God.

Were there not friends with words of cheer, And princely vassals nigh? And priests, the crucifix to rear 20 Before the glazing eye? A peasant girl that royal head Upon her bosom laid, And, shrinking not for woman's dread, The face of death survey'd.

Alone she sat:-from hill and wood Red sank the mournful sun; Fast gush'd the fount of noble blood, Treason its worst had done! Felicia Hemans

With her long hair she vainly press'd The wounds to staunch their tide­ 30 Unknown, on that meek humble breast, Imperial Albert died! (1826)

Gertrude, or Fidelity till Death

The Baron Von Der Wart,* accused, though it is believed unjustly, as an accomplice in the assassination of the Emperor Albert, was bound alive on the wheel, and attended by his wife Gertrude, throughout his last agoniz­ ing hours, with the most heroic devotedness. Her own sufferings, with those of her unfortunate husband, are most affectingly described in a letter which she afterwards addressed to afemale friend, and which was p~blished some years ago, at Haarlem, in a book entitled Gertrude Von Der Wart, or Fidelity unto Death.

Dark lowers our fate, And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us; But nothing, till that latest agony Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house, In the terrific face of armed law, Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be, I never will forsake thee. - Joanna Baillie t

Her hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes rais'd, The breeze threw back her hair; Up to the fearful wheel she gaz'd- All that she lov'd was there. The night was round her clear and cold, The holy heaven above, Its pale stars watching to behold The might of earthly love. Felicia Hemans

'i\nd bid me not depart," she cried, IO "My Rudolph, say not so! This is no time to quit thy side, Peace, peace! I cannot go. Hath the world aught for me to fear, When death is on thy brow? The world! what means it?-Mine is here- 1 will not leave thee now.

"I have been with thee in thine hour Of glory and of bliss; Doubt not its memory's living power 20 To strengthen me thro' this! And thou, mine honour'd love and true, Bear on, bear nobly on! We have the blessed heaven in view, Whose rest shall soon be won."

And were not these high words to flow From woman's breaking heart? Thro' all that night of bitterest wo She bore her lofty part; But oh! with such a glazing eye, 30 With such a curdling cheek­ Love, love! of mortal agony, Thou, only thou shouldst speak!

The wind rose high, - but with it rose Her voice, that he might hear: Perchance that dark hour brought repose To happy bosoms near; While she sat striving with despair Beside his tortured form, And pouring her deep soul in prayer 40 Forth on the rushing storm.

She wiped the death-damps from his brow, With her pale hands and soft, Whose touch upon the lute-chords low, Had still'd his heart so oft. Felicia Hemans

She spread her mantle o'er his breast, She bath'd his lips with dew, And on his cheek such kisses press'd As hope and joy ne'er knew.

Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith, Enduring to the last! 50 She had her meed-one smile in death­ And his worn spirit pass'd. While ev'n as o'er a martyr's grave She knelt on that sad spot, And, weeping, bless'd the God who gave Strength to forsake it not! (1826)

*One of four conspirators who murdered the emperor Albert, king of the Romans, in 1308, Von Der Wart was the only one of the four to be captured. The plot on Albert's life was the result of growing dissatisfaction in Swabia and the Swiss cantons with Albert's rule and the increasing scope of his dominion. t From De Monfort: A Tragedy (5.2.65-72).

Casabianca •

The boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but he had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck, Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on - he would not go, Without his Father's word; IO That Father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. Felicia Hemans

He called aloud:-"Say, Father, say If yet my task is done?" He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, Father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone! And" -but the booming shots replied, 20 .And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death, In still, yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud, "My Father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, 30 They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound­ The boy-oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea! -

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part- But the noblest thing which perished there 40 Was that young faithful heart! (1826)

*Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Ori­ ent, remained at his post (in the Battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and Felicia Hemans 299 all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder. Hemans. [The Battle of the Nile, between British and French forces, took place in 1798. Napoleon Bonaparte had invaded Egypt in July to try to damage British trade, but British Admiral Horatio Nelson found the French fleet anchored in Abukir Bay, east of Alexandria, and destroyed it on 1-2 August. Louis de Casabianca, commander of the French ship Orient, and his ten-year~old son, Giacomo, were among those killed by British forces. Ed.]

The Wings of the Dove

Oh! that I had the wings of a dove, that I might flee away and be at rest.*

Oh! for thy wings, thou dove! Now sailing by with sunshine on thy breast; That, borne like thee above, I too might flee away, and be at rest!

Where wilt thou fold those plumes, Bird of the forest-shadows, holiest bird? In what rich leafy glooms, By the sweet voice of hidden waters stirr'd?

Over what blessed home, What roof with dark, deep, summer foliage crown'd, IO O! fair as ocean's foam! Shall thy bright bosom shed a gleam around?

Or seek'st thou some old shrine Of nymph or saint, no more by votary wooed, Though still, as if divine, Breathing a spirit o'er the solitude?

Yet wherefore ask thy way? Blest, ever blest, whate'er its aim, thou art! Unto the greenwood spray, Bearing no dark remembrance at thy heart! 20 300 Felicia Hemans

No echoes that will blend A sadness with the whispers of the grove; No memory of a friend Far off, or dead, or chang'd to thee, thou dove!

Oh! to some cool recess Take, take me with thee in the summer wind, Leaving the weariness And all the fever of this life behind:

The aching and the void 30 Within the heart whereunto none reply, The young bright hopes destroyed- Bird! bear me with thee through the sunny sky!

Wild wish, and longing vain, And brief upspringing to be glad and free! Go to thy woodland reign! My soul is bound and held-I may not flee.

For even by all the fears And thoughts that haunt my dreams-untold, unknown, And burning woman's tears, 40 Poured from mine eyes in silence alone;

Had I thy wings, thou dove! High midst the gorgeous Isles of Cloud to soar, Soon the strong chords of love Would draw me earthwards-homewards-yet once more. (1827)

*Psalms 55 :6. Felicia Hemans

The Image in Lava·

Thou thing of years departed! What ages have gone by, Since here the mournful seal was set By love and agony!

Temple and tower have moulder'd, Empires from earth have passed, - And woman's heart hath left a trace Those glories to outlast!

And childhood's fragile image Thus fearfully enshrin'd, IO Survives the proud memorials rear'd By conquerors of mankind.

Babe! wert thou brightly slumbering Upon thy mother's breast, When suddenly the fiery tomb Shut round each gentle guest?

A strange dark fate o' ertook you, Fair babe and loving heart! One moment of a thousand pangs - Yet better than to part! 20

Haply of that fond bosom, On ashes here impress'd, Thou wert the only treasure, child! Whereon a hope might rest.

Perchance all vainly lavish'd, Its other love had been, And where it trusted, nought remain'd But thorns on which to lean. Felicia Hemans

Far better then to perish, 30 Thy form within its clasp, Than live and lose thee, precious one! From that impassion' d grasp.

Oh! I could pass all relics Left by the pomps of old, To gaze on this rude monument, Cast in affection's mould.

Love, human love! what art thou? Thy print upon the dust Outlives the cities of renown 40 Wherein the mighty trust!

Immortal, oh! immortal Thou art, whose earthly glow Hath given these ashes holiness­ It must, it must be so! (1827)

*The impression of a woman's form, with an infant clasped to the bosom, found at the uncovering of Herculaneum. Hemans. [Herculaneum, an ancient city in Italy near Naples, was destroyed, along with Stabiae and Pompeii, when Mount Vesuvius erupted in A.D. 79. Excavation of Herculaneum began in the eighteenth century, and much was found perfectly preserved under more than fifty feet of volcanic ma­ terial. Plaster casts were made of some of the human forms whose images the lava preserved. Ed.] Felicia Hemans

The Coronation of Inez de Castro·

Tableau, ou l'Amour fait alliance avec la Tombe; union redoutable de la mort et de la vie! - Madame de Stael t

There was music on the midnight;­ From a royal fane it roll'd, And a mighty bell, each pause between, Sternly and slowly toll'd. Strange was their mingling in the sky, It hush'd the listener's breath; For the music spoke of triumph high, The lonely bell, of death.

There was hurrying through the midnight­ A sound of many feet; IO But they fell with a muffied fearfulness, Along the shadowy street: And softer, fainter, grew their tread, As it near'd the minster-gate, Whence a broad and solemn light was shed From a scene of royal state.

Full glow'd the strong red radiance, In the centre of the nave, Where the folds of a purple canopy Swept down in many a wave; 20 Loading the marble pavement old With a weight of gorgeous gloom, For something lay 'midst their fretted gold, Like a shadow of the tomb.

And within that rich pavilion, High on a glittering throne, A woman's form sat silently, 'Midst the glare of light alone. Her jewell'd robes fell strangely still­ The drapery on her breast 30 Seem'd with no pulse beneath to thrill, So stonelike was its rest! 304 Felicia Hemans

But a peal of lordly music Shook e'en the dust below, When the burning gold of the diadem Was set on her pallid brow! Then died away that haughty sound, And from the encircling band Stept Prince and Chief, 'midst the hush profound, 40 With homage to her hand.

Why pass'd a faint, cold shuddering Over each martial frame, As one by one, to touch that hand, Noble and leader came? Was not the settled aspect fair? Did not a queenly grace, Under the parted ebon hair, Sit on the pale still face?

Death! Death! canst thou be lovely 50 Unto the eye of Life? Is not each pulse of the quick high breast With thy cold mien at strife? - It was a strange and fearful sight, The crown upon that head, The glorious robes, and the blaze of light, All gather'd round the Dead!

And beside her stood in silence One with a brow as pale, And white lips rigidly compress'd, 60 Lest the strong heart should fail: King Pedro, with a jealous eye, Watching the homage done, By the land's flower and chivalry, To her, his martyr'd one.

But on the face he look'd not, Which once his star had been; To every form his glance was turn'cl, Save of the breathless queen: Felicia Hemans

Though something, won from the grave's embrace, Of her beauty still was there, 70 Its hues were all of that shadowy place, It was not for him to bear.

Alas! the crown, the sceptre, The treasures of the earth, And the priceless love that pour'd those gifts, Alike of wasted worth! The rites are closed: -bear back the Dead Unto the chamber deep! Lay down again the royal head, Dust with the dust to sleep! 80

There is music on the midnight­ A requiem sad and slow, As the mourners through the sounding aisle In dark procession go; And the ring of state, and the starry crown, And all the rich array, Are borne to the house of silence down, With her, that queen of clay!

And tearlessly and firmly King Pedro led the train, - 90 But his face was wrapt in his folding robe, When they lower'd the dust again. 'Tis hush'd at last the tomb above, Hymns die, and steps depart: Who call'd thee strong as Death, 0 Love? Mightier thou wast and art. (1828)

*Inez de Castro (d. r355) was mistress of Pedro I of Portugal. She was murdered according to the wishes of Alfonso IV, Pedro's father. After Pedro's accession (r357), he had her body placed in a spectacular mausoleum and according to legend, he had the corpse crowned and forced courtiers to kiss the hand of the dead queen. t "Scene, where Love allies with the Grave, a terrible marriage of death and life!" (imperfectly drawn from Germaine de Stael's D/J.llemagrie [r8ro]). Felicia Hemans

Indian Woman's Death-Song

An Indian woman, driven to despair by her husband's desertion of her for another wife, entered a canoe with her children, and rowed it down the Mississippi towards a cataract. Her voice was heard from the shore singing a mournful death-song, until overpowered by the sound of the waters in which she perished. The tale is related in Long's Expedition* to the source of St. Peter's River.

Non! je ne puis vivre avec un coeur brise. Il faut que je retrouve la joie, et que je m'unisse aux esprits libres de l'air. - Bride of Messina, Translated by Madame de Stael t

Let not my child be a girl, for very sad is the life of a woman. - The Prairie:t.

Down a broad river of the Western wilds, Piercing thick forest glooms, a light canoe Swept with the current: fearful was the speed Of the frail bark, as by a tempest's wing Borne leaf-like on to where the mist of spray Rose with the cataract's thunder. - Yet within, Proudly, and dauntlessly, and all alone, Save that a babe lay sleeping at her breast, A woman stood: upon her Indian brow IO Sat a strange gladness, and her dark hair wav'd As if triumphantly. She press'd her child, In its bright slumber, to her beating heart, And lifted her sweet voice, that rose awhile Above the sound of waters, high and clear, Wafting a wild proud strain, her song of death.

Roll swiftly to the Spirit's land, thou mighty stream and free! Father of ancient waters, roll! and bear our lives with thee! The weary bird that storms have toss'd, would seek the sunshine's calm, And the deer that hath the arrow's hurt, flies to the woods of balm.

r7 Father of ancient waters] "Father of Waters," the Indian name for the Mississippi. Hemans. Felicia Hemans

Roll on!-my warrior's eye hath look'd upon another's face, 20 And mine hath faded from his soul, as fades a moonbeam's trace; My shadow comes not o'er his path, my whisper to his dream, He flings away the broken reed-roll swifter yet, thou stream!

The voice that spoke of other days is hush'd within his breast, But mine its lonely music haunts, and will not let me rest; It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone, I cannot live without that light-Father of waves! roll on!

Will he not miss the bounding step that met him from the chase? The heart of love that made his home an ever sunny place? The hand that spread the hunter's board, and deck'd his couch of yore?- 30 He will not! - roll, dark foaming stream, on to the better shore!

Some blessed fount amidst the woods of that bright land must flow, Whose waters from my soul may lave the memory of this wo; Some gentle wind must whisper there, whose breath may waft away The burden of the heavy night, the sadness of the day.

And thou, my babe! tho' born, like me, for woman's weary lot, Smile! -to that wasting of the heart, my own! I leave thee not; Too bright a thing art thou to pine in aching love away, Thy mother bears thee far, young Fawn! from sorrow and decay.

She bears thee to the glorious bowers where none are heard to weep, 40 And where th' unkind one hath no power again to trouble sleep; Felicia Hemans

And where the soul shall find its youth, as wakening from a dream,- One moment, and that realm is ours-On, on, dark rolling stream! (1828)

*Narrative ef an Expedition to the source ef St. Peter's River, a play written by William Hypolitus Keating (1799-1840) based on the notes of Stephen H. Long, commander of the expedition; the play was first performed in 1823 by order of John Calhoun, then U.S. secretary of war, and published the following year in Philadelphia. t "No. I cannot go on living with a broken heart. I must find joy again and unite myself with the free spirits of the air." Translated from the original German, from Schiller's tragedy Braut von Messina, Die, oder, Die feindlichen Bruder, first performed and published in 1803. :I= Hemans slightly misquotes this passage from chap. 26 of James Fenimore Coop­ er's novel The Prairie (1827) . The· original reads, "Let him not be a girl, for very sad is the life of a woman."

Arabella Stuart·

And is not love in vain, Torture enough without a living tomb? -Byrant

Fermossi al fin il cor che balzo tanto. - Pindemonte :I=

'Twas but a dream! - I saw the stag leap free, Under the boughs where early birds were singing, I stood o'ershadow'd by the greenwood tree, And heard, it seemed, a sudden bugle ringing Far thro' a royal forest: then the fawn Shot, like a gleam of light, from grassy lawn To secret covert; and the smooth turf shook, And lilies quiver'd by the glade's lone brook, And young leaves trembled, as, in fleet career, IO A princely band, with horn, and hound, and spear, Felicia Hemans

Like a rich masque swept forth. I saw the dance Of their white plumes, that bore a silvery glance Into the deep wood's heart; and all pass'd by, Save one - I met the smile of one clear eye, Flashing out joy to mine. -Yes, thou wert there. Seymour! a soft wind blew the clustering hair Back from thy gallant brow, as thou didst rein Thy courser, turning from that gorgeous train, And fling, methought, thy hunting-spear away, And, lightly graceful in thy green array, 20 Bound to my side; and we, that met and parted, Ever in dread of some dark watchful power, Won back to childhood's trust, and, fearless-hearted, Blent the glad fulness of our thoughts that hour, Ev'n like the mingling of sweet streams, beneath Dim woven leaves, and midst the floating bre~th Of hidden forest flowers.

II 'Tis past!-I wake, A captive, and alone, and far from thee, 30 My love and friend! Yet fostering, for thy sake, A quenchless hope of happiness to be; And feeling still my woman's spirit strong, In the deep faith which lifts from earthly wrong, A heavenward glance. I know, I know our love Shall yet call gentle angels from above, By its undying fervour; and prevail, Sending a breath, as of the spring's first gale, Thro' hearts now cold; and, raising its bright face, With a free gush of sunny tears, erase The characters of anguish; in this trust, 40 I bear, I strive, I bow not to the dust, That I may bring thee back no faded form, No bosom chill'd and blighted by the storm, But all my youth's first treasures, when we meet, Making past sorrow, by communion, sweet. 310 Felicia Hemans

III And thou too art in bonds!-yet droop thou not, Oh! my belov'd!-there is one hopeless lot, But one, and that not ours. Beside the dead There sits the grief that mantles up its head, 50 Loathing the laughter and proud pomp of light, When darkness, from the vainly-doting sight, Covers its beautiful! If thou wert gone To the grave's bosom, with thy radiant brow,­ If thy deep-thrilling voice, with that low tone Of earnest tenderness, which now, ev'n now, Seems floating thro' my soul, were music taken For ever from this world,-oh! thus forsaken, Could I bear on?-thou liv'st, thou liv'st, thou'rt mine! With this glad thought I make my heart a shrine, 60 And by the lamp which quenchless there shall burn, Sit, a lone watcher for the day's return.

IV And lo! the joy that cometh with the morning, Brightly victorious o'er the hours of care! I have not watch' d in vain, serenely scorning The wild and busy whispers of despair! Thou hast sent tidings, as of heaven. - I wait The hour, the sign, for blessed flight to thee. Oh! for the skylark's wing that seeks its mate As a star shoots! - but on the breezy sea 70 We shall meet soon. - To think of such an hour! Will not my heart, o'erburden'd by its bliss, Faint and give way within me, as a flower Borne down and perishing by noontide's kiss? Yet shall I fear that lot?-the perfect rest, The full deep joy of dying on thy breast, After long-suffering won? So rich a close Too seldom crowns with peace affection's woes.

52 Covers its beautiful!] "Wheresoever you are, or in what state soever you be, it sufficeth me you are mine. Rachael wept, and would not be comforted, because her children were no more. And that, indeed, is the remediless sorrow, and none else!" - From a letter of Arabella Stuart's to her husband.-See [Isaac D'Israeli's] Curiosities of Literature. Hemans. Felicia Hemans 3n v Sunset!-I tell each moment-from the skies The last red splendour floats along my wall, Like a king's banner! - Now it melts, it dies! 80 I see one star-I hear-'twas not the call, Th' expected voice; my quick heart throbb'd too soon. I must keep vigil till yon rising moon Shower down less golden light. Beneath her beam Thro' my lone lattice pour'd, I sit and dream Of summer-lands afar, where holy love, Under the vine, or in the citron-grove, May breathe from terror. Now the night grows deep, And silent as its clouds, and full of sleep. I hear my veins beat. - Hark! a bell's slow chime. My heart strikes with it. - Yet again - 'tis time! A step! -a voice! -or but a rising breeze? Hark! - haste! - I come, to meet thee on the seas. * * * * * * * * *

VI Now never more, oh! never, in the worth Of its pure cause, let sorrowing love on earth Trust fondly-never morel-the hope is crush'd That lit my life, the voice within me hush'd That spoke sweet oracles; and I return roo To lay my youth, as in a burial-urn, Where sunshine may not find it. -All is lost! No tempest met our barks-no billow toss'd; Yet were they sever'd, ev'n as we must be, That so have lov'd, so striven our hearts to free From their close-coiling fate! In vain - in vain! The dark lines meet, and clasp themselves again, And press out life. - Upon the deck I stood, And a white sail came gliding o'er the flood, Like some proud bird of ocean; then mine eye no Strained out, one moment earlier to descry The form it ached for, and the bark's career Seem'd slow to that fond yearning: it drew near, Fraught with our foes! - What boots it to recall 312 Felicia Hemans

The strife, the tears? Once more a prison-wall Shuts the green hills and woodlands from my sight, And joyous glance of waters to the light, And thee, my Seymour, thee!

I will not sink! 120 Thou, thou hast rent the heavy chain that bound thee; And this shall be my strength-the joy to think That thou mayst wander with heaven's breath around thee, And all the laughing sky! This thought shall yet Shine o'er my heart, a radiant amulet, Guarding it from despair. Thy bonds are broken, And unto me, I know, thy true love's token Shall one day be deliverance, tho' the years Lie dim between, o'erhung with mists of tears.

VII My friend, my friend! where art thou? Day by day, 130 Gliding, like some dark mournful stream, away, My silent youth flows from me. Spring, the while, Comes and rains beauty on the kindling boughs Round hall and hamlet; Summer, with her smile, Fills the green forest;-young hearts breathe their vows; Brothers long parted meet; fair children rise Round the glad board; Hope laughs from loving eyes: All this is in the world! - These joys lie sown, The dew of every path-On one alone Their freshness may not fall-the stricken deer, 140 Dying of thirst with all the waters near.

VIII Ye are from dingle and fresh glade, ye flowers! By some kind hand to cheer my dungeon sent; O'er you the oak shed down the summer showers, And the lark's nest was where your bright cups bent, Quivering to breeze and rain-drop, like the sheen Of twilight stars. On you Heaven's eye hath been, Thro' the leaves, pouring its dark sultry blue Into your glowing hearts; the bee to you Hath murmur'd, and the rill.-My soul grows faint Felicia Hemans

With passionate yearning, as its quick dreams paint Your haunts by dell and stream,-the green, the free, The full of all sweet sound, -the shut from me!

IX There went a swift bird singing past my cell­ o Love and Freedom! ye are lovely things! With you the peasant on the hills may dwell, And by the streams; but I-the blood of kings, A proud, unmingling river, thro' my veins Flows in lone brightness, - and its gifts are chains! Kings! - I had silent visions of deep bliss, Leaving their thrones far distant, and for this 160 I am cast under their triumphal car, An insect to be crush'd.-Oh! Heaven is far,­ Earth pitiless!

Dost thou forget me, Seymour? I am prov'd So long, so sternly! Seymour, my belov'd! There are such tales of holy marvels done By strong affection, of deliverance won Thro' its prevailing power! Are these things told Till the young weep with rapture, and the old Wonder, yet dare not doubt, -and thou, oh! thou, 170 Dost thou forget me in my hope's decay?- Thou canst not!-thro' the silent night, ev'n now, I, that need prayer so much, awake and pray Still first for thee.-Oh! gentle, gentle friend! How shall I bear this anguish to the end?

Aid!-comes there yet no aid?-the voice of blood Passes Heaven's gate, ev'n ere the crimson flood Sinks thro' the greensward!-is there not a cry From the wrung heart, of power, thro' agony, To pierce the clouds? Hear, Mercy! hear me! None 180 That bleed and weep beneath the smiling sun, Have heavier cause!-yet hear!-my soul grows dark­ Who hears the last shriek from the sinking bark, On the mid seas, and with the storm alone, And bearing to th' abyss, unseen, unknown, Felicia Hemans

Its freight of human hearts?-th' o'ermastering wave! Who shall tell how it rush'd-and none to save?

Thou hast forsaken me! I feel, I know, There would be rescue if this were not so. r90 Thou'rt at the chase, thou'rt at the festive board, Thou'rt where the red wine free and high is pour'd, Thou'rt where the dancers meet!-a magic glass Is set within my soul, and proud shapes pass, Flushing it o'er with pomp from bower and hall;­ I see one shadow, stateliest there of all, -

Thine!-What dost thou amidst the bright and fair, Whispering light words, and mocking my despair? It is not well of thee!-my love was more Than fiery song may breathe, deep thought explore, 200 And there thou smilest, while my heart is dying, With all its blighted hopes around it lying; Ev'n thou, on whom they hung their last green leaf­ Yet smile, smile on! too bright art thou for grief!

Death!-what, is death a lock'd and treasur'd thing, Guarded by swords of fire? a hidden spring, A fabled fruit, that I should thus endure, As if the world within me held no cure? Wherefore not spread free wings - Heaven, Heaven! controul These thoughts-they rush-I look into my soul 2ro As down a gulph, and tremble at th' array Of fierce forms crowding it! Give strength to pray, So shall their dark host pass. The storm is still'd. Father in Heaven! Thou, only thou, canst sound The heart's great deep, with floods of anguish fill'd, For human line too fearfully profound. Therefore, forgive, my Father! if Thy child, Rock'd on its heaving darkness, hath grown wild And sinn'd in her despair! It well may be,

205 Guarded by swords of fire?] "And if you remember of old, I dare die.--Consider what the world would conceive, if I should be violently enforced to do it." Fragments of her Letters. Hemans. Felicia Hemans

That Thou wouldst lead my spirit back to Thee, 220 By the crush'd hope too long on this world pour'd, The stricken love which hath perchance ador'd A mortal in Thy place! Now let me strive With Thy strong arm no more! Forgive, forgive! Take me to peace!

And peace at last is nigh. A sign is on my brow, a token sent Th' o'erwearied dust, from home: no breeze flits by, But calls me with a strange sweet whisper, blent Of many mysteries. 230 Hark! the warning tone Deepens-its word is Death. Alone, alone, And sad in youth, but chasten'd, I depart, Bowing to heaven. Yet, yet my woman's heart Shall wake a spirit and a power to bless, Ev'n in this hour's o'ershadowing fearfulness, Thee, its first love!-oh! tender still, and true! Be it forgotten if mine anguish threw Drops from its bitter fountain on thy name, Tho' but a moment.

Now, with fainting frame, With soul just lingering on the flight begun, To bind for thee its last dim thoughts in one, I bless thee! Peace be on thy noble head, Years of bright fame, when I am with the dead! I bid this prayer survive me, and retain Its might, again to bless thee, and again! Thou hast been gather'd into my dark fate Too much; too long, for my sake, desolate Hath been thine exiled youth; but now take back, 250 From dying hands, thy freedom, and re-track (After a few kind tears for her whose days Went out in dreams of thee) the sunny ways Of hope, and find thou happiness! Yet send, Ev'n then, in silent hours a thought, dear friend! Down to my voiceless chamber; for thy love Hath been to me all gifts of earth above, Felicia Hemans

Tho' bought with burning tears! It is the sting Of death to leave that vainly-precious thing 260 In this cold world! What were it then, if thou, With thy fond eyes, wert gazing on me now? Too keen a pang! - Farewell! and yet once more, Farewell!-the passion oflong years I pour Into that word: thou hear'st not,-but the wo And fervour of its tones may one day flow To thy heart's holy place; there let them dwell­ We shall o'ersweep the grave to meet-Farewell! (1828)

*"The Lady Arabella," as she has been frequently entitled, was descended from Margaret, eldest daughter of Henry VII, and consequently allied by birth to Eliza­ beth, as well as James I. This affinity to the throne proved the misfortune of her life, as the jealousies which it constantly excited in her royal relatives, who were anxious to prevent her marrying, shut her out from the enjoyment of that domestic happiness which her heart appears to have so fervently desired. By a secret, but early discov­ ered union with William Seymour, son of Lord Beauchamp, she alarmed the cabinet of James, and the wedded lovers were immediately placed in separate confinement. From this they found means to concert a romantic plan of escape; and having won over a female attendant, by whose assistance she was disguised in male attire, Arabella, though faint from recent sickness and suffering, stole out in the night, and at last reached an appointed spot, where a boat and servants were in waiting. She embarked; and, at break of day, a French vessel, engaged to receive her, was discovered and gained. As Seymour, however, had not yet arrived, she was desirous that the vessel should lie at anchor for him; but this wish was overruled by her companions, who, contrary to her entreaties, hoisted sail, "which," says D'Israeli, "occasioned so fatal a termination to this romantic adventure. Seymour, indeed, had escaped from the Tower;-he reached the wharf, and found his confidential man waiting with a boat, and arrived at Lee. The time passed; the waves were rising; Arabella was not there; but in the distance he descried a vessel. Hiring a fisherman to take him on board, he discovered, to his grief, on hailing it, that it was not the French ship charged with his Arabella; in despair and confusion he found another ship from Newcastle, which for a large sum altered its course, and landed him in Flanders." - Arabella, meantime, whilst imploring her attendants to linger, and earnestly looking out for the expected boat of her husband, was overtaken in Calais Roads by a vessel in the King's service, and brought back to a captivity, under the suffering of which her mind and constitu­ tion gradually sank. - "What passed in that dreadful imprisonment, cannot perhaps be recovered for authentic history,-but enough is known; that her mind grew im­ paired, that she finally lost her reason, and, if the duration of her imprisonment Felicia Hemans was short, that it was only terminated by her death. Some effusions, often begun and never ended, written and erased, incoherent and rational, yet remain among her papers." -D'Israeli's Curiosities ef Literature. The following poem, meant as some record of her fate, and the imagined fluc­ tuations of her thoughts and feelings, is supposed to commence during the time of her first imprisonment, whilst her mind was yet buoyed up by the consciousness of Seymour's affection, and the cherished hope of eventual deliverance. Hemans. t From The Prophecy ef Dante, canto 3, line 148. The full passage reads, "Perhaps he'll love, -and is not love in vain/ Torture enough without a living tomb?" ~"The heart that beat so strongly stopped at last." From Ippolito Pindemonte (1753-1828), author of Field Poems (1788), Field Prose (1784), and a well-regarded translation of the Odyssey.

The Dreamer

There is no such thing as forgetting possible to the mind; a thousand accidents may, and will, interpose a veil between our present consciousness, and the secret inscription on the mind; but alike, whether veiled or unveiled, the inscription remains forever. -English Opium Eater*

Thou hast been call'd, 0, Sleep! the friend of wo, But 'tis the happy who have call'd thee so. -Southeyt

Peace to thy dreams!-thou art slumbering now, The moonlight's calm is upon thy brow; All the deep love that o'erflows thy breast Lies 'midst the hush of thy heart at rest, Like the scent of a flower in its folded bell, When eve thro' the woodlands hath sigh'd farewell.

Peace!-the sad memories that through the day, With a weight on thy lonely bosom lay, The sudden thoughts of the changed and dead, That bow'd thee, as winds bow the willow's head, IO The yearnings for faces and voices gone - All are forgotten! - Sleep on, sleep on! Felicia Hemans

Are they forgotten?- It is not so! Slumber divides not the heart from its wo. E'en now o'er thine aspect swift changes pass, Like lights and shades over wavy grass: Tremblest thou, Dreamer?-0 love and grief! Ye have storms that shake e'en the clos'd-up leaf!

On thy parted lips there's a quivering thrill, 20 As on a lyre ere its chords are still; On the long silk lashes that fringe thine eye, There's a large tear gathering heavily; A rain from the clouds of thy spirit press'd­ Sorrowful Dreamer! this is not rest!

It is Thought at work amidst buried hours, It is Love keeping vigil o'er perish'd flowers. - Oh! we bear within us mysterious things, Of Memory and Anguish, unfathom'd springs, And Passion, those gulfs of the heart to fill, 30 With bitter waves, which it ne'er may still.

Well might we pause ere we gave them away, Flinging the peace of our couch away! Well might we look on our souls in fear, They find no fount of oblivion here! They forget not, the mantle of sleep beneath - How know we if under the wings of death? (1829)

*Thomas De Quincey (1785-1859), Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (1821). tRobert Southey, The Curse of Kehama (18ro) 15.r2.ro-rr. Felicia Hemans

The Return

"Hast thou come with the heart of thy childhood back? The free, the pure, the kind?" -So murmur'd the trees in my homeward track, As they play'd to the mountain-wind.

"Hath thy soul been true to its early love?" Whisper'd my native streams; "Hath the spirit nursed amidst hill and grove, Still revered its first high dreams?"

"Hast thou borne in thy bosom the holy prayer Of the child in his parent-halls?" IO -Thus breathed a voice on the thrilling air, From the old ancestral walls.

"Hast thou kept thy faith with the faithful dead, Whose place of rest is nigh? With the father's blessing o'er thee shed, With the mother's trusting eye?"

-Then my tears gush'd forth in sudden rain, As I answer'd-"O, ye shades! I bring not my childhood's heart again To the freedom of your glades. 20

"I have turn'd from my first pure love aside, 0 bright and happy streams! Light after light, in my soul have died The day-spring's glorious dreams.

''And the holy prayer from my thoughts hath pass'd­ The prayer at my mother's knee; Darken'd and troubled I come at last, Home of my boyish glee! 320 Felicia Hemans

"But I bear from my childhood a gift of tears, 30 To soften and atone; And oh! ye scenes of those blessed years They shall make me again your own." (1829)

The Painter's Last Work-A Scene*

Clasp me a little longer on the brink Of life, while I can feel thy dear caress; And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh! think, And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, That thou hast been to me all tenderness, And friend to more than human friendship just. - Gertrude of Wyoming t

Scene-A Room in an Italian Cottage. The Lattice opening upon a Land­ scape at sunset.

Francesco-Teresa

TERESA The fever's hue hath left thy cheek, beloved! Thine eyes, that make the day-spring in my heart, Are clear and still once more. Wilt thou look forth? Now, while the sunset with low-streaming light­ The light thou lov'st-hath made the chestnut-stems All burning bronze, the lake one sea of gold! Wilt thou be raised upon thy couch, to meet The rich air fill'd with wandering scents and sounds? Or shall I lay thy dear, dear head once more IO On this true bosom, lulling thee to rest With vesper hymns?

FRANCESCO No, gentlest love! not now: My soul is wakeful-lingering to look forth, Not on the sun, but thee! Doth the light sleep Felicia Hemans 321

So gently on the lake? and are the stems Of our own chestnuts by that alchymy So richly changed?-and is the orange-scent Floating around?-But I have said farewell, Farewell to earth, Teresa! not to thee, Nor yet to our deep love, nor yet awhile 20 Unto the spirit of mine art, which flows Back on my soul in mastery! - one last work! And I will shrine my wealth of glowing thoughts, Clinging affection and undying hope, All that is in me for eternity, All, all, in that memorial.

TERESA Oh! what dream Is this, mine own Francesco? Waste thou not Thy scarce-returning strength; keep thy rich thoughts For happier days! they will not melt away 30 Like passing music from the lute;-dear friend! Dearest of friends! thou canst win back at will The glorious visions.

FRANCESCO Yes! the unseen land Of glorious visions hath sent forth a voice To call me hence. Oh! be thou not deceived! Bind to thy heart no earthly hope, Teresa! I must, must leave thee! Yet be strong, my love, As thou hast still been gentle!

TERESA Oh, Francesco! 40 What will this dim world be to me, Francesco, When wanting thy bright soul, the life of all­ My only sunshine! - How can I bear on? How can we part? We that have loved so well, With clasping spirits link'd so long by grief­ By tears - by prayer? 322 Felicia Hemans

FRANCESCO Ev'n therefore we can part, With an immortal trust, that such high love Is not of things to perish. 50 Let me leave One record still, to prove it strong as death, Ev'n in Death's hour of triumph. Once again, Stand with thy meek hands folded on thy breast, And eyes half veil'd, in thine own soul absorb'd, As in thy watchings, ere I sink to sleep; And I will give the bending flower-like grace Of that soft form, and the still sweetness throned On that pale brow, and in that quivering smile Of voiceless love, a life that shall outlast 60 Their delicate earthly being. There-thy head Bow'd down with beauty, and with tenderness, And lowly thought-even thus-my own Teresa! Oh! the quick glancing radiance, and bright bloom That once around thee hung, have melted now Into more solemn light-but holier far, And dearer, and yet lovelier in mine eyes, Than all that summer flush! For by my couch, In patient and serene devotedness, Thou hast made those rich hues and sunny smiles, Thine offering unto me. Oh! I may give Those pensive lips, that clear Madonna brow, And the sweet earnestness of that dark eye, Unto the canvass - I may catch the flow Of all those drooping locks, and glorify With a soft halo which is imaged thus - But how much rests unbreathed! My faithful one! What thou hast been to me! This bitter world, This cold unanswering world, that hath no voice To greet the heavenly spirit-that drives back 80 All Birds of Eden, which would sojourn here A little while-how have I turn'd away From its keen soulless air, and in thy heart, Found ever the sweet fountain of response, To quench my thirst for home! Felicia Hemans

The dear work grows Beneath my hand-the last! Each faintest line With treasured memories fraught. Oh! weep thou not Too long, too bitterly, when I depart! Surely a bright home waits us both-for I, In all my dreams, have turn'd me not from God; 90 And Thou-oh! best and purest! stand thou there­ There, in thy hallow'd beauty, shadowing forth The loveliness of love!

• Suggested by the closing scene in the life of the painter Blake; as beautifully related by Allan Cunningham. Hemans. [Cunningham's account appeared in his Lives ef the Most Eminent British Painters, Sculptors and Architects, 6 vols. (London, 1830), 2:140-79. Ed.] t Pt. 3, st. 29, lines l-6. By Thomas Campbell (1777-1814) , the poem was first pub­ lished in 1809. It concerns the death of Gertrude Waldegrave and her father during the destruction of the settlement at Wyoming, Pennsylvania, by Indians in 1778.

I Dream of All Things Free

I dream of all things free! Of a gallant, gallant bark, That sweeps through storm and sea, Like an arrow to its mark! Of a stag that o'er the hills Goes bounding in his glee; Of a thousand flashing rills - Of all things glad and free.

I dream of some proud bird, A bright-eyed mountain king! IO In my visions I have heard The rushing of his wing. I follow some wild river, On whose breast no sail may be; 324 Felicia Hemans

Dark woods around it shiver­ - I dream of all things free!

Of a happy forest child, With the fawns and flowers at play; Of an Indian 'midst the wild, 20 With the stars to guide his way: Of a chief his warriors leading, Of an archer's greenwood tree: - My heart in chains is bleeding, And I dream of all things free! (1833)