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MEMORIALS 
 
 OF 
 
 MRS. HEMANS 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 HER LITERARY CHARACTER 
 
 FROM HER 
 
 PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE. 
 BY 
 
 HENRY F. CHORLEY. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES, 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 1836. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 ICOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Character of the poems written by Mrs. Hemans 
 whilst residing at Wavertree — Peninsular Melodies 
 — Familiar correspondence — Lord Colling wood's 
 Life and Letters— "The Song of Night"— Moore's 
 " Lines on certain Memoirs of Lord Byron" — " Let- 
 ter with a symphony" — Spanish cathedrals— Note 
 from Seacombe— Lord Byron's hair— Remarks and 
 illustrations - - Page 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans' visit to Scotland — Her funereal poetry — 
 Her reception in Edinburgh — Anecdotes— Letters 
 from Chiefswood— The Rhymour's Glen — Walk 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 with Sir Walter Scott— The Rhine Song—" Yarrow 
 visited" — Lines to Rizzio's picture— Letter from 
 Abbotsford— Visit of the Due de Chartres — Anec- 
 dotes — Letters from Edinburgh — Moonlight walk — 
 Scotch pulpit eloquence — Visit to Mackenzie — 
 Remarkable group of sculpture— Letter from Mil- 
 burn Tower - - _ 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The " Songs of the Affections" — Extract from familiar 
 correspondence — Haunted Hamlet near Melrose — 
 " Rhine Song"— Lewis's " Tales of Terror" —Dr. 
 Channing — Ballad on the Death of Aliatar— New 
 Year's wishes— " The Fall of Nineveh" — " A Spirit's 
 Return" — Analysis of character — The Rev. Edward 
 Irving— De Lamartine's Poems — Mr. Roscoe— Per- 
 golesi's w Stabat Mater" — New songs by Moore and 
 Bishop — Manzoni's "Cinque Maggio" — Godwin's 
 u Cloudesley'' — Projected journey to the Lakes — 
 Dramatic Scene— New volume of Poems - 69 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mr. Wordsworth's poetry — Mrs. Hemans' visit to the 
 Lakes — Her letters from Rydal Mount — Passage 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 from Haco— Genius compatible with domestic hap- 
 piness — State of music among- the Lakes — Mr. 
 Wordsworth's reading aloud — Anecdote — Dove Nest 
 —Accident on horseback— Letters from Dove Nest 
 — Winandermere— The St. Cecilia— Whimsical letter 
 — Letter of counsel — Commissions — Anecdote of a 
 bridal gift — Readings of Schiller— Second journey 
 into Scotland— M. Jeffrey — Six Mrs. Hemans — 
 Change of residence - 106 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Fragments of correspondence — Journey through An- 
 glesey — Aurora Borealis — Light-house — Passage 
 from Mr. Bowdler's writings — Monument by Thor- 
 waldsen— Personification in art and poetry — Goethe 
 —Rogers ' " Italy "—Titian's portraits— Longevity 
 of artists — Lessons in music — Evening spent with a 
 celebrated linguist — Mr. Roscoe — Mr. Hare's pam- 
 phlets—Gibbon's " Sappho"— Character of Mrs. He- 
 mans in the " Athenaeum " — Life and Letters of 
 Weber— The repose of old portraits— Young's Ham- 
 let — The Cyclops' proved light-houses — Howitt's 
 "Book of the Seasons" — Poetical tributes — Wan- 
 dering female singer — Wearisome dinner-party — 
 Mrs. Hemans' pleasure in composing melodies — 
 "Prayer at Sea after Battle"— Preparations for her 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 departure from England — Shelley's poems— Vulgar 
 patronage — Collection of drawings — "Tancredi" — 
 Discontinuance of pensions from the Royal Society 
 of Literature - - 152 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans' departure from England — Letters from 
 Kilkenny — Catholic and Protestant animosity— Pic- 
 tures at Lord Ormonde's— Visit to Woodstock — 
 Parallel between the poems of Mrs. Hemans and 
 Mrs. Tighe — Raphael's great Madonna — Kilfane— 
 Water-birds — Deserted churchyard — Visit to a Con- 
 vent—Passage in Symmons' Translation of the 
 Agamemnon — Kilkenny — Irish politics — " The 
 Death-song of Alcestis " — Dublin Musical Festival 
 — Paganini — <e Napoleon's Midnight Review" — Fur- 
 ther Anecdotes of Paganini — Letters from the county 
 Wicklow — Glendalough — The Devil's Glen — Wood 
 scenery— Letters from Dublin— Miniature by Robert- 
 son—Society of Dublin — " The Swan and the Sky- 
 lark " — Difficulty in procuring new books - 203 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The last days of Poets — Their duties— Mrs. Hemans' 
 favourite books— Extracts from familiar correspon- 
 dence — Scriptural studies— Miss Kemble's tragedy 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 —Thoughts during sickness— Extracts from " Scenes 
 and Hymns of Life" — " Norwegian Battle Song " — 
 Cholera in Dublin — Mr. Carlyle's criticism — Irish 
 society in town and country — " The Summer's Call " 
 —New Year's Eve — Triumphal entry of O'Connell — 
 Repeated attacks of illness — Fiesco — Second part of 
 Faust — Translation of the first part — Visit from her 
 sister — Excursion into Wicklow — New volumes of 
 poems — Sacred poetry — Coleridge — "Scenes and 
 Hymns of Life " — Letters to a friend entering lite- 
 rary life— Stories of Art— Philip van Artavelde — 
 Death of Mrs. Fletcher — Visit to a mountain tarn- 
 Projected visit to England — Anticipations of death — 
 "A poet's Dying Hymn"— Jebb and Knox's corres- 
 pondence—Silvio Pellico's M Prigione" — Coleridge's 
 letter to his godchild— Retszch's outlines to Schiller's 
 " Song of the Bell" - - 254 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Increase of illness— Mrs. Hemans' calmness and resig- 
 nation — " Thoughts during Sickness" — " Despon- 
 dency and Aspiration" — Projected poem — "Antique 
 Greek lament"— Removal to Redesdale— Last ex- 
 tract from her correspondence — Appointment of her 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 son— Her cheerfulness — Messages to her friends — 
 Her love of books— Further notices of her last hours 
 — Conclusion . . . 337 
 
MEMORIALS 
 
 MRS. HEMANS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Character of the poems written by Mrs. Hemans 
 whilst residing at Wavertree — Peninsular Melodies 
 — Familiar correspondence — Lord Collingwood's 
 Life and Letters— " The Song of Night"— Moore's 
 " Lines on certain Memoirs of Lord Byron" — " Let- 
 ter with a symphony" — Spanish cathedrals— Note 
 from Seacombe— Lord Byron's hair— Remarks and 
 illustrations. 
 
 Enough has been already said and shown, 
 to give a tolerably complete picture of the na- 
 vol. n. b 
 
2 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 ture and manner of Mrs. Hemans' life, during 
 the three years (far from her happiest) spent by 
 her at Wavertree. She had only just reached 
 the fame, which, from its novelty no less than 
 its height, was sure to expose her to curiosity 
 and adulation. She had never before been sub- 
 jected, alone, to the cares and vexations of do- 
 mestic life, the presence of which, by contrast, 
 increased her eagerness to escape to those ex- 
 treme regions of fancy and speculation which 
 nothing earthly or practical was permitted to 
 enter. She had never till then been called 
 upon to bear her part in general society ; and 
 while she felt its requisitions irksome, and its 
 enjoyments barren of compensation for time 
 sacrificed and self-restraint enjoined, her desires 
 of home-companionship were stayed, if not 
 satisfied, by the acquisition of a few attached 
 friends to whom she could " show all that was 
 in her heart." Among these, Mrs. Lawrence, 
 of Wavertree Hall, and Miss Park, also of 
 Wavertree, may, without any indelicacy, be par- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 3 
 
 ticularized : of the "brightly-associated hours" 
 she passed with the former, herself an elegant 
 Spanish and Italian scholar, a record remains in 
 the dedication to one of her last volumes — the 
 ^ National Lyrics and Songs for Music :" — the 
 latter lady, too, was a zealous and disinterested 
 counsellor and comforter : it was chiefly at her 
 instance that Mrs. Hemans made trial of the 
 neighbourhood of Liverpool as a residence. 
 
 The state of Mrs. Hemans' mind — as yet 
 struggling without the threshold of its last and 
 greatest change — is, I think, to be traced in the 
 poems written by her during these three years, 
 if I am not reasoning from memory rather than 
 from inference. They are more exclusively and 
 sadly individual (with the exception, perhaps, 
 of the " Songs for Music") than any of her former 
 works : they treat more undividedly of the 
 deeper workings of a sensitive and tender, and 
 yet high-toned spirit: they exhibit, to the ut- 
 most, its unquiet desire to penetrate the mys- 
 teries which on this side of the grave are not 
 
 b 2 
 
4 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 penetrable : they point unceasingly to the 
 wounds which the world inflicts, rarely to those 
 which it heals. So aware were her friends of this 
 disposition of her mind, prevailing almost to 
 unhealthiness, that they urged her to throw her- 
 self upon some work, in the progress of which 
 she should be obliged to forget, rather than em- 
 body,' thoughts of so melancholy a hue. They 
 urged her in vain : she would sometimes, it is 
 true, playfully talk of writing a fairy masque : — 
 what a charming and fanciful poem would this 
 have been ! — or she would linger for a moment 
 on some historical aera or character, as if about 
 to concentrate her powers round it — and again, 
 and yet again, return to her own heart, not 
 merely for her subjects, but also their colouring. 
 One legend which she took up, (I believe from 
 the German,) she was compelled to abandon in 
 consequence of the injurious influence its con- 
 templation exercised upon a frame so fragile as 
 hers. This was the tale of an enchantress, who, 
 to win and secure the love of a mortal, sacrifices 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 5 
 
 one of her supernatural gifts of power after an- 
 other: — her wand first, then her magic girdle, 
 then the talismanic diadem she wears, — last of 
 all, her immortality. She is repaid by satiety — 
 neglect — desertion. 
 
 During these three years, in proportion as 
 Mrs. Hemans' love for, and understanding of, 
 music increased, she indulged herself in the fas- 
 cinating occupation of song-writing. Among 
 many other sets of songs,* — some of which were 
 set to music by her sister, the rest by different 
 friends, — the " Peninsular Melodies" should be 
 mentioned. The work failed, because many of 
 the airs selected were so thoroughly anvocal as 
 to render the adaptation of characteristic words 
 impossible : some of the Zorzicos (an old Moor- 
 ish melody) are as rapid and as un tameable as 
 the wildest bag-pipe tunes. The ease with 
 which she wrote her songs amounted almost to 
 the fluency of improvvisation. I remember being 
 
 * Further allusion to these will be found in a sub- 
 sequent series of letters. 
 
6 MEMORIALS OT 
 
 present when some words were returned to her, 
 as being unsuitable for the particular melody to 
 which she wished them adapted. She sat down, 
 and in a few moments, by the insertion of as many 
 lines as the original had at first contained, gave 
 the verses an entirely different and very peculiar 
 rhythm — and at once changed and completed 
 the song without any verbiage being apparent in 
 its language, or dislocation in its structure. 
 
 I may now proceed with the extracts from 
 her familiar correspondence. The latest among 
 them, it will be seen, refer to the journey into 
 Scotland undertaken by her in the summer of 
 the year 1829. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " Having to send a messenger into the town, 
 I return you, with many thanks, the tale by 
 * our esteemed friend,' William Howitt, which 
 perhaps you may want. I think it possesses a 
 good deal of originality, and I have read it with 
 much interest. I could almost imagine he had 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 7 
 
 been pourtraying some features of my early life 
 in his heroine's, which could scarcely have been 
 more unfettered. Is that strong passion for 
 intellectual beauty a happy or a mournful gift, 
 when so out of harmony with the rest of our 
 earthly lot ? Sometimes I think of it in sadness, 
 but oftener it seems to me as a sort of rainbow, 
 made up of light and tears, yet still the pledge 
 of happiness to come. How very beautiful are 
 those letters of Lord Collingwood's to his 
 family ! — more touchingly so, I think, than even 
 Reginald Heber's ; for there is something in all 
 those thoughts of hearth and home, and of the 
 garden trees, and of the 'old summer-seat,' 
 which, breathing as they do from amidst the far 
 and lonely seas, affect us like an exile's song 
 of his father-land. The letters to his wife 
 brought strongly to my mind the poor Queen 
 of Prussia's joyous exclamations in the midst of 
 her last sufferings:— * Oh ! how blessed is she 
 who receives a letter such as this !' I am ex- 
 ceedingly obliged to you for making this delight- 
 
8 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 ful book known to me. To be sure, his lordship 
 does seem a little c notional,' as the Americans 
 call it, sometimes, on the subject of female edu- 
 cation — now does he not? — geometry and the 
 square-root — ' O words of fear t " . . . . 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " You will scarcely yet, I suppose, be collect- 
 ing your materials for the ; but as the 
 
 enclosed piece has been some time destined for 
 you, I may as well send it now. It was sug- 
 gested by a relievo of Thorwaldsen's, which 
 represents Night hushing a babe upon her bo- 
 som.* I received a most pathetic appeal, a 
 
 * The poem in question is the " Song of Night," 
 afterwards published among the " Songs of the Affec- 
 tions." It is full of lofty imagery and striking con- 
 trast ; and may perhaps be singled out as one of the 
 best lyrics written by Mrs. Hemans about this time. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 short time since, from , in behalf of a 
 
 young lady, a friend of his, who had taken it 
 
 A few stanzas may be cited in corroboration of this 
 judgment. 
 
 I come with every star; 
 Making thy streams, that on their noon-day track, 
 Give but the moss, the reed, the lily back, 
 
 Mirrors of worlds afar. 
 
 I come with mightier things ! 
 Who calls me silent? I have many tones — 
 The dark skies thrill with low mysterious moans 
 
 Borne on my sweeping wings. 
 
 * # # * 
 
 I come with all my train : 
 Who calls me lonely ? — Hosts around me tread, 
 The intensely bright, the beautiful, the dead, — 
 
 Phantoms of heart and brain ! 
 
 # # * * 
 
 B 5 
 
10 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 into her head to want some of my writing. I 
 must transcribe some of his rhetoric for your 
 admiration, and I am sure you will agree with 
 me that it is enough 4 to soften rocks i 1 — * Can 
 you, dear madam, refuse this young, engaging 
 
 girl, the daughter of , the pupil of , 
 
 the friend of , the innocent gratification 
 
 she thus timidly solicits ?' — No, to be sure I 
 could not ; one must have had a heart of stone 
 to resist such moving words, so away went the 
 autograph." 
 
 I, that with soft control, 
 Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song, 
 I am the avenging one ! the arm'd— -the strong, 
 
 The searcher of the soul ! 
 
 I that shower dewy light, 
 Through slumbering leaves, bring storms ! — the tem- 
 pest-birth 
 Of memory, thought, remorse:— Be holy, Earth! 
 
 I am the solemn Night ! 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 11 
 
 " Jan. 1829. 
 ... "I can well imagine the weariness and 
 disgust with which a mind of intellectual tastes 
 must be oppressed by the long days of i work- 
 day world' cares, so utterly at variance with 
 such tastes ; and yet, perhaps, the opposite ex- 
 treme is scarcely more to be desired. Mine, I 
 believe, has been too much a life of thought and 
 feeling for health and peace : I can certainly 
 quit this little world of my own for active 
 duties ; for however I may at times playfully 
 advocate the cause of weakness, there is no one 
 who has, with deeper need for strength, a fuller 
 conviction of its necessity; but it is often by 
 an effort, and a painful one, that I am enabled 
 to obtain it." .... 
 
 " My dear 
 
 " I ought to have acknowledged both your 
 kind notes ere now, and thanked you for the 
 
12 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 copy of Moore's lines,* which are certainly 
 more witty than elegant— perhaps the very 
 coarseness from which one cannot help rather 
 shrinking, renders the satire the more appro- 
 priate to its object. Do you remember that the 
 other evening (which I assure you I enjoyed as 
 much as you could have done) we were speak- 
 ing of the pleasures of memory ; and I thought 
 they resembled those shadowy images of flowers 
 which the alchymists of old believed they had 
 the power of raising from the ashes of the plant ? 
 I send you a few lines f which that conversation 
 suggested, and which, in consequence, will per- 
 haps interest you. I do hope I shall be able to 
 
 * The satirical verses upon Leigh Hunt's Personal 
 Reminiscences of Lord Byron. 
 
 t This was a lyric which appeared in one of the 
 Annuals, beginning, 
 
 'Twas a dream of olden days 
 
 That art, with some strange power, 
 A visionary form could raise 
 From the ashes of a flower. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 13 
 
 come to you on Saturday evening 
 
 But, generally speaking, I cannot tell you how 
 painful going out is to me now; I know it is a 
 weakness which I must conquer, but I feel so 
 alone, so unprotected ; and this weary celebrity 
 makes such things, I believe, press the more 
 bitterly. 
 
 " I hardly know why I should * bestow my 
 tediousness' upon you in this manner, only that 
 I am just returned from a large party of 
 strangers, in which feeling myself more alone 
 than when alone, because there was no one who 
 interested me in the least, I grew especially 
 weary, duller than any pumpkin or 'fat weed' 
 whatsoever, and exceedingly inclined to rush 
 out of the room without any conge to host or 
 guest. From this rash act, however, some 
 sense of decorum restrained me, and so here I 
 am, making amends to myself by pouring out 
 my ennui upon your devoted head, which I will 
 now spare any further infliction, as it is grow- 
 ing late enough to carry one's disgusts qui- 
 
14 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 etly to bed. Good night, therefore, and be- 
 lieve me 
 
 " Affectionately yours, 
 
 " F. H." 
 
 . . . " I must also thank you for the very 
 kind note which I received by little Henry : I 
 was much better when it arrived. . . My 
 complaint is indeed most pertinacious, if not 
 hopeless, as I am assured, and indeed convinced, 
 that it is caused by excitements, from which, 
 unless I could win * the wings of a dove and flee 
 away' into a calmer atmosphere, there is no 
 escape. I have therefore only to meet it as 
 cheerily as I may — and there is a buoyant spirit 
 yet unconquered, though often sorely shaken, 
 within me. 
 
 " I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing 
 you here on the evening of the day which I 
 have begged your sister to pass with me. Do 
 you know that I have really succeeded in giving 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 15 
 
 something of beauty to the suburban court of 
 my dwelling by the aid of the laburnums and 
 rhododendrons, which I planted myself, and 
 which I want you to see while they are so 
 amiably flowering. But how soon the feeling 
 of home throws light and loveliness over the 
 most uninteresting spot ! I am beginning to 
 draw that feeling around me here, and conse- 
 quently to be happier. 
 
 " Did you ever see a letter with a symphony ? 
 I call the enclosed, one of that class. After 
 many and long wanderings, it reached me this 
 
 morning with that awful Titanic poem the , 
 
 the sight of which really renews all the terrors 
 of ' Charlemagne.' 
 
 " May I request you to present to your 
 sister, with all possible oracular solemnity, 
 the accompanying inestimable collection of 
 aphorisms, particularly recommending to her 
 notice 'the short miscellaneous sentences al- 
 phabetically digested, and easily to be retained 
 in the memories of youth,"* with which the work 
 
16 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 closes. I shall expect her to have learned per- 
 fectly the two first pages for repetition the next 
 
 time we visit the c happy valley/ tells 
 
 me, that you wished for the lines to the Rhine 
 song, a copy of which I have now the pleasure 
 of sending you.*' In explanation of their very 
 pugnacious character, I must mention that they 
 were written at the request of my eldest bro- 
 ther, who wished them to commemorate the 
 battles of his young days. 
 
 " Ever truly yours, 
 
 « F. H." 
 
 " I thought there was something which I 
 wished to show you the other evening, but, as 
 usual, I did not remember it until you were 
 gone, and therefore send it now. It was Lock- 
 hart's description, in * Peter's Letters,' of ouv 
 cathedral, and also of the glorious Spanish 
 
 * The "English Soldier's Song of Memory," published 
 among the ft National Lyrics and Songs for Music." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 17 
 
 churches, which his language arrays in such 
 ' religious light,' that I know you will enjoy the 
 passage with your whole heart. I also send my 
 copy of the Iphigenia, because I shall like to 
 know whether you are as much struck with all 
 that I have marked in it as I have been. Do 
 you remember all we were saying on the ob- 
 scurity of female suffering on such stormy days 
 of the lance and spear as the good Fray Agapida 
 describes so vividly ? Has not Goethe beauti- 
 fully developed the idea in the lines which I en- 
 close ? they occur in Iphigenia's supplication to 
 Thoas for her brother." 
 
 "Dear 
 
 " I really should give you a lecture, if I did 
 not know, from intimate conviction, how very 
 useless a thing wisdom is in this world. But I 
 wish you could keep down that feverish excite- 
 ment, as it is so hurtful even to intellectual 
 power, that I am convinced we have not more 
 
18 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 than half command even of our imaginative 
 faculties whilst under its influence. I want you 
 to fix your heart and mind steadfastly on some 
 point of excellence, and to go on pursuing it 
 ' soberly > as Lady Grace says, and satisfying 
 yourself with the deep consciousness that you 
 
 are making way. I know this may be, dear , 
 
 because it was my own case, with feelings ex- 
 citable as you know mine are, and amidst all 
 things that could most try and distract them. 
 I send you a little collection of stories which I 
 made about two years ago, and amongst which 
 I think you might, perhaps, find some materiel 
 . . . I almost think I would recommend the 
 Kunstroman, to be deferred till you know 
 German. 
 
 " Ever yours very sincerely, 
 
 «F. H/' 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 19 
 
 Dated from Seacombe.* 
 f " I hope you have not staid in for me this 
 
 morning, my dear , and I hope your brother 
 
 did not wait long, as he had kindly promised to 
 do, for my landing. I had fully intended to be 
 with you a little after twelve, but neither steam- 
 packet nor sail-boat was attainable : the whole 
 Seacombe fleet was gone to convoy some vessels 
 down the river. I crossed the water at last, 
 between one and two, with some thoughts of 
 
 proceeding to street; but the pier was 
 
 crowded with shaggy Orson-looking men, and I, 
 having only little Charles with me, really had 
 not resolution to effect a landing. I must return 
 home on Saturday, having much to arrange 
 before my flight to Scotland, and I now write 
 to ask if you could come over here to-morrow 
 should the weather be fine, and pass the day 
 with me ? There really are some pretty dells 
 and bournes about here, though you would not 
 
 * A suburban bathing-place on the Cheshire side of 
 the Mersey. 
 
20 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 imagine it, and I should very much enjoy a 
 quiet walk with you, therefore if you can come, 
 do let it be earlier than the last time. There 
 will be an outpouring of spirit of Pumpkinism 
 upon me the moment I get back, and I shall 
 not have half the pleasure in seeing you there 
 amidst the interruptions we generally have ; it 
 is quite delightful to know that a river broad 
 and deep is flowing between one's-self and the 
 
 foe Will you give the enclosed to 
 
 with my kind remembrance ? tell him he 
 
 must not feel any J compunctious visitings ' 
 on receiving it, because I have reserved quite 
 as much as I shall want, for a brooch in which I 
 mean to wear it; I do not know any one 
 who can value it more than he will, and I have 
 no sort of pleasure in keeping a relic all to 
 myself. 
 
 " Were you not astonished to hear of the 
 sudden spirit of enterprise which took posses- 
 sion of me when I determined to visit Chiefs- 
 wood ? I really begin to feel rather Mimosa-like 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 21 
 
 when I contemplate the desperate undertaking 
 a little more closely. How I do wish you were 
 going with me !" 
 
 The relic in question was a small lock of 
 Lord Byron's hair ; the brooch which contained 
 the portion reserved for herself was one of her 
 favourite ornaments till the Memoirs of the 
 poet appeared. An illustrative trait or two 
 which have reference to these may be here 
 introduced, though chronologically out of place. 
 Some idea of the extraordinary power and 
 clearness of her memory may be conveyed by 
 the fact, that, after having heard those beautiful 
 stanzas addressed to his sister by Lord Byron — 
 which afterwards appeared in print — read aloud 
 twice in manuscript, she repeated them to us, 
 and even wrote them down with a surprising 
 accuracy. On two lines, I recollect, she dwelt 
 with particular emphasis, — 
 
22 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 " There are yet two things in my destiny, 
 A world to roam o'er, and a home with thee." 
 
 Her anxiety to see the memoirs was extreme, — 
 her disappointment at the extracts which ap- 
 peared in the periodicals so great as to pre- 
 vent her reading the work when published. 
 " The book itself,"" says she, in one of her notes, 
 " I do not mean to read ; I feel as if it would 
 be like entering a tavern, and I shall not cross 
 the threshold." She found the poet whom she 
 had long admired at a distance invested with 
 a Mephistopheles-like character which pained 
 and startled her ; for the unworldly and imagi- 
 native life she had led, rendered her slow to 
 admit and unwilling to tolerate the strange 
 mixture of cruel mockery and better feeling, 
 which breathe through so many of his letters ; 
 and the details of his continental wanderings 
 shocked her fastidious sense as exceeding the 
 widest limits within which one so passionate and 
 so disdainful of law and usage might err and be 
 forgiven. From this time forth she never wore 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 23 
 
 the relic ; indeed, her shrinking from any thing 
 like coarseness of thought, or feeling, or lan- 
 guage, (which will be traced in the following 
 note,) may by some be thought to trench upon 
 affectation, whereas it was only the necessary con- 
 sequence of her exclusive and unchecked devo- 
 tion to the Beautiful. If any passage in one of 
 her most favourite writers offended her delicacy, 
 the leaf was torn out without remorse ; and every 
 one familiar with her little library will have been 
 stopped by many a pause and chasm, of which 
 this is the explanation. 
 
 * "My dear , 
 
 " Upon looking over the dramatic specimens 
 which I had promised to send you, I was dis- 
 tressed to find the titles of some of the plays so 
 very coarse, though the scenes have been care- 
 fully chosen, that I really did not like to for- 
 ward you the book. If, however, you do not 
 take alarm at 'the word of fear,' Lectures, I 
 think you will find in the accompanying volume 
 
24 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 of Hazlitt's a great deal that is interesting, an 
 many selections from those olden poets whic 
 will give you an idea of their force and sweei 
 ness ' drawn from that well of English unde 
 filed:" 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 25 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans' visit to Scotland — Her funereal poetry — 
 Her reception in Edinburgh — Anecdotes — Letters 
 from Chiefswood — The Rhymour's Glen — Walk 
 with Sir Walter Scott— The Rhine Song—" Yarrow 
 visited" — Lines to Rizzio's picture — Letter from 
 Abbotsford— Visit of the Due de Chartres — Anec- 
 dotes—Letters from Edinburgh — Moonlight walk — 
 Scotch pulpit eloquence — Visit to Mackenzie — 
 Remarkable group of sculpture — Letter from Mil- 
 burn Tower. 
 
 It was early in the summer of 1829, that Mrs. 
 Hemans, urged by numerous invitations, visited 
 Scotland, accompanied by her two youngest 
 sons. This was the first of the only two periods, 
 during which she was received and distinguished 
 
 VOL. II. c 
 
26 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 as a guest by those, personally strangers to 
 her, whom the interest inspired by her works 
 had made her friends. Mrs. Hemans* name, 
 indeed, was singularly popular in Scotland; 
 she had written some of her best poems for its 
 principal literary periodical, Blackwood's Maga- 
 zine ; she was already regarded as a friend in 
 more than one noble house, from having been 
 summoned in times of affliction to perform those 
 melancholy, but soothing offices for the dead, 
 which survivors could only entrust to one as 
 genuine in feeling as she was delicate in ex- 
 pression.* 
 
 ■• Mrs. Hemans' funereal poems are among her most 
 impressive works : the music of her verse, through 
 which an under-current of sadness may always be 
 traced, was never more happily employed than in 
 lamenting the beloved and early called, or in bidding , 
 
 " Hope to the world to look beyond the tombs." 
 
 1 need only mention a few lyrics, " The Farewell to 
 the Dead," (in the Lays of Many Lands ;) " The 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 27 
 
 The events and pleasures of this Scottish 
 journey will be found pleasantly described in 
 the following letters, which were written under 
 the immediate impulse of the moment, and in 
 the artlessness of perfect confidence. An 
 
 Exile's Dirge," (in the Songs of the Affections ;) " The 
 Burial of an Emigrant's Child in the Forest/' (in the 
 " Scenes and Hymns of Life;") and. the "Burial in 
 the Desert," a noble poem, published among her 
 poetical remains. The introduction of the two follow- 
 ing stanzas of a more concise and monumental cha, 
 racter, though they have already appeared in print, 
 will not, I am sure, be objected to, as illustrating the 
 above remark. 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR A TOMB. 
 
 Earth ! guard what here we lay in holiest trust ; 
 
 That which hath left our home a darkened place. 
 Wanting the form, the smile now veiled with dust, 
 
 The light departed with our loveliest face! 
 Yet from thy bonds our sorrow's hope is free, 
 We have but lent our beautiful to thee ! 
 
 c2 
 
28 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 anecdote or two may be added to bear out tbe 
 occasional references to the honours and humours 
 of lionism which they contain. Mrs. Hemans 
 had scarcely arrived in Edinburgh, when her 
 name being recognised at her hotel, a plentiful 
 bouquet of flowers was brought into her room, 
 nor could any welcome have been devised half 
 so acceptable as this to one who used gaily to call 
 one of the long graceful branches of the 
 Convallaria (Solomon's seal) " her sceptre," and 
 whose passion for flowers (the word is not too 
 strong) increased with every year of her life.* 
 
 But thou, O Heaven ! keep, keep what thou hast taken, 
 And with our treasure keep our hearts on high ! 
 
 The spirit weak, and yet by pain unshaken, 
 The faith, the love, the lofty constancy. 
 
 Guide us where these are with our sister flown, 
 
 They were of thee, and thou hast claimed thine own ! 
 
 * ** I really think that pure passion for flowers is 
 the only one which long sickness leaves untouched 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 29 
 
 She would tell too, with infinite humour, how 
 she had been abruptly accosted in the castle 
 garden by an unknown lady, who approached 
 her " under the assurance of an internal sym- 
 pathy that she must be Mrs. Hemans." Ano- 
 ther, whose own literary reputation was not 
 inconsiderable, when introduced to her, fanci- 
 fully asked, " whether a bat might be allowed 
 to appear in the presence of a nightingale." 
 An anecdote, too, has appeared in one of the 
 Edinburgh Journals, which is worth recording. 
 After a visit paid by Mrs. Hemans to the sanctum 
 of a courtly bibliopole of the modern Athens, 
 he was asked by some friend whether he had 
 
 with its chilling influences. Often during this weary 
 illness of mine have I looked upon new books with 
 perfect apathy, when, if a friend has sent me a few 
 flowers, my heart has leaped up to their dreamy hues 
 and odours with a sudden sense of renovated childhood, 
 which seems to me one of the mysteries of our being." 
 Mrs. Hemans to Mrs. Lawrence from Redesdale, near 
 Dublin, 1835. 
 
3J MEMORIALS OF 
 
 yet chanced to see the most distinguished 
 English poetess of the day. " He made no 
 answer," continues the narrator, "but taking 
 me by the arm in solemn silence, led me into 
 the back parlour, where stood a chair in the 
 centre of the room, isolated from the rest of 
 the furniture ; and, pointing to it, said, with the 
 profoundest reverence, in a low earnest tone, 
 ' There she sat, sir, on that chair.' " 
 
 After a few days' stay in Edinburgh, Mrs. 
 Hemans proceeded to Roxburghshire, whence 
 the following letters are dated. It is hardly neces- 
 sary to say that Chiefswood, the residence of the 
 accomplished author of Cyril Thornton, with 
 whom she had long maintained a correspon- 
 dence, is in the immediate neighbourhood of 
 "Melrose and Abbotsford. 
 
 " Chiefswood, July 13. 
 * " How I wish you were within reach of a 
 post, like our most meritorious Saturday's Mes- 
 senger, my dear . Amidst all these new 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 31 
 
 scenes and new people I want so much to talk 
 to you all ! At present I can only talk of Sir 
 Walter Scott, with whom I have been just 
 taking a long, delightful walk through the 
 ' Rhymour's Glen.'* I came home, to be sure, 
 in rather a disastrous state after my adventure, 
 and was greeted by my maid, with that most 
 disconsolate visage of hers, which invariably 
 moves my hard heart to laughter ; for I had got 
 wet above my ancles in the haunted burn, torn 
 my gown in making my way through thickets 
 of wild roses, stained my gloves with wood- 
 strawberries, and even — direst misfortune of all ! 
 scratched my face with a rowan branch. But 
 what of all this ? Had I not been walking 
 with Sir Walter Scott, and listening to tales of 
 elves and bogles and brownies, and hearing 
 him recite some of the Spanish ballads till they 
 ■ stirred the heart like the sound of a trumpet ?' 
 I must reserve many of these things to tell you 
 when we meet, but one very important trait, 
 (since it proves a sympathy between the Great 
 
32 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Unknown and myself,) I cannot possibly defer to 
 that period, but must record it now. You will 
 expect something peculiarly impressive, I have 
 no doubt. Well — we had reached a rustic seat 
 in the wood, and were to rest there, but I, out 
 of pure perverseness, chose to establish myself 
 comfortably on a grass bank. * Would it not 
 be more prudent for you, Mrs. Hemans,' said 
 Sir Walter, * to take the seat ?' 'I have no 
 doubt that it would, Sir Walter, but, somehow 
 or other, I always prefer the grass.' 'And so 
 do I,' replied the dear old gentleman, coming 
 to sit there beside me, 'and I really believe 
 that I do it chiefly out of a wicked wilfulness, 
 because all my good advisers say that it will 
 give me the rheumatism. ' Now was it not 
 delightful ? I mean for the future to take 
 exactly my own way in all matters of this kind, 
 and to say that Sir Walter Scott particularly 
 recommended me to do so. I was rather agree- 
 ably surprised by his appearance, after all I had 
 heard of its homeliness ; the predominant ex- 
 
HilRS. HEMANS. 33 
 
 pression of countenance, is, I think, a sort of 
 arch good-nature, conveying a mingled impres- 
 sion of penetration and benevolence. The 
 portrait in the last year's Literary Souvenir is an 
 excellent likeness 
 
 "Chiefs wood, July 13th. 
 " Will you not be alarmed at the sight of 
 another portentous-looking letter, and that so 
 soon again ? But I have passed so happy a 
 morning in exploring the ' Rhymour's Glen ' 
 with Sir Walter Scott, that, following my first im- 
 pulse on returning, I must communicate to you 
 the impression of its pleasant hours, in ♦full con- 
 fidence that while they are yet fresh upon my 
 mind, I shall thus impart to you something of my 
 own enjoyment. W r as it not delightful to ramble 
 through the fairy ground of the hills, with the 
 ' mighty master ' himself for a guide, up wild 
 and rocky paths, over rude bridges, and 
 along bright windings of the little haunted 
 
 c5 
 
34 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 stream, which fills the whole ravine with its 
 voice ? I wished for you so often ! There was 
 only an old countryman with us, upon whom Sir 
 Walter is obliged to lean for support in such 
 wild walks, so I had his conversation for several 
 hours quite to myself, and it was in perfect har- 
 mony with the spirit of the deep and lonely 
 scene ; for he told me old legends, and repeated 
 snatches of mountain ballads, and showed me 
 the spot where Thomas of Ercildoune 
 
 ' Was aware of a lady fair, 
 Came riding down the glen/ 
 
 which lady was no other than the fairy queen, 
 who bore him away to her own mysterious land. 
 We talked too of signs and omens, and strange 
 sounds in the wind, and 'all things wonderful 
 and wild ;* and he described to me some gloomy 
 cavern scenes which he had explored on the 
 northern coast of Scotland, and mentioned his 
 having heard the deep foreboding murmur of 
 
MRSv HEMANS. 35 
 
 storms in the air, on those lonely shores, for 
 hours and hours before the actual bursting of 
 the tempest. We stopped in one spot which I 
 particularly admired ; the stream fell there down 
 a steep bank into a little rocky basin overhung 
 with mountain ash, and Sir Walter Scott de- 
 sired the old peasant to make a seat there, kindly 
 saying to me, ' I like to associate the names of 
 my friends and those who interest me, with na- 
 tural objects and favourite scenes, and this shall 
 be called Mrs. Hemans , seat/ But how I 
 wished you could have heard him describe a 
 glorious sight which had been witnessed by a 
 friend of his, the crossing the Rhine at Ehren- 
 breistein, by the German army of Liberators on 
 their return from victory. ' At the first gleam of 
 the river,' he said, ' they all burst forth into the 
 national chaunt c Am Rhein, am Rhein P They 
 were two days passing over, and the rocks and 
 the castle were ringing to the song the whole 
 time, for each band renewed it while crossing, 
 and the Cossacks with the clash and the clang, 
 
36 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 and the roll of their stormy war-music, catching 
 the enthusiasm of the scene, swelled forth the 
 chorus i Jm Rkein, am Rhein !' I shall never 
 forget the words, nor the look, nor the tone, 
 with which he related this ; # it came upon me 
 suddenly, too, like that noble burst of warlike 
 melody from the Edinburgh Castle rock, and I 
 could not help answering it in his own words, 
 
 ' 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, 
 One glance at their array.' 
 
 " I was surprised when I returned to Chiefs- 
 wood to think that I had been conversing so 
 
 * Upon this anecdote Mrs. Hemans afterwards based 
 one of the most spirited of her national lyrics, " The 
 Rhine Song of the German Soldiers after Victory." 
 The effect of this when sung with a single voice and 
 chorus, is most stately and exciting. The air had never 
 before been mated with suitable words ; the German 
 Trink-lied, (drinking song,) which belongs to it in the 
 original, falls far behind the music, which is high-toned 
 and spirited. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 37 
 
 freely and fearlessly with Sir Walter Scott, as 
 with a friend of many days, and this at our first 
 interview too ! for he is only just returned to 
 Abbotsford and came to call upon me this morn- 
 ing, when the cordial greeting he gave me to 
 Scotland, made me at once feel a sunny influ- 
 ence in his society I am going to 
 
 dine at Abbotsford to-morrow — how you would 
 delight in the rich baronial-looking hall there, 
 with the deep-toned coloured light, brooding 
 upon arms and armorial bearings, and the fretted 
 roof imitating the faery sculpture of Melrose 
 in its flower-like carvings ! Rizzio's beautiful 
 countenance has not yet taken its calm clear 
 eyes from my imagination ; the remembrance 
 has given rise to some lines, which I will send 
 you when I write next. There is a sad fearful 
 picture of Queen Mary in the Abbotsford dining- 
 room. But I will release you from further de- 
 scription for this time, and say farewell. 
 " fiver faithfully yours, 
 
 " F. H." 
 
38 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 " I really have been careless in not saying to 
 you anything on the subject of my health . . 
 . . . but besides that I fear I must plead 
 guilty to never thinking about the matter when 
 I wrote to you, I could not have said any thing 
 then which would have given you much pleasure, 
 as I suffered much for several days after my ar- 
 rival here from those strange attacks of sudden 
 palpitation of the heart. They have, however, 
 been much less frequent during the last week : 
 but how is it possible for such an aspen-leaf as 
 myself, constantly trembling to the rush of some 
 quick feeling, ever to be well? I sometimes 
 enjoy a buoyancy both of frame and spirit, 
 which, though fitful, is the utmost I can ever 
 hope Thanks for your kind re- 
 ception of my little sketch — the brother or sister 
 of which in my present packet hopes for as 
 cordial a greeting — I find I have not left myself 
 room to send you the lines upon Rizzio, but I 
 feel so instantaneous an impulse to communicate 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 39 
 
 to you whatever interests me, that I know I shall 
 write from Abbotsford, and I will send them then. 
 You are quite right ; it was the description of 
 that noble Rhine scene which interested me 
 more than any part of Sir Walter's conversation, 
 and I wished more that you could have heard 
 it, than all the high legends and solemn scenes 
 of which we spoke that day." .... 
 
 " Chiefswood, July 20th. 
 " Whether I shall return to you all ' brighter 
 and happier/ as your letter so kindly prophecies, 
 I know not : but I think there is every prospect 
 of my returning more fitful and wilful than ever ; 
 for here I am leading my own free native life of 
 the hills again, and if I could but bring some of 
 my friends, as the old ballads says, 'near, near, 
 near me,' I should indeed enjoy it; but that 
 strange solitary feeling which I cannot chase 
 away, comes over me too often like a dark sudden 
 
40 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 shadow, bringing with it an utter indifference 
 to all things around. I lose it most frequently, 
 however, in the excitement of Sir Walter Scott's 
 society. And with him I am now in constant 
 intercourse, taking long walks over moor and 
 woodland, and listening to song and legend of 
 other times, until my mind quite forgets itself, 
 and is carried wholly back to the days of the 
 Slogan and the fiery cross, and the wild gather- 
 ings of border chivalry. I cannot say enough 
 of his cordial kindness to me ; it makes me feel 
 when at Abbotsford, as if the stately rooms of 
 the proud ancestral-looking place, were old 
 familiar scenes to me. Yesterday he made a 
 party to show me the * pleasant banks of Yar- 
 row,' about ten miles from hence : I went with 
 him in an open carriage, and the day was lovely, 
 smiling upon us with a real blue sunny sky, and 
 we passed through I know not how many storied 
 spots, and the spirit of the master-mind seemed 
 to call up sudden pictures from every knoll and 
 cairn as we went by — so vivid were his descrip- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 41 
 
 tions of the things that had been. The names 
 of some of those scenes had, to be sure, rather 
 savage sounds ; such as ' Slain Man's Lea,' 
 ' Dead Man's Pool,"* &c, &c. ; but I do not 
 know whether these strange titles did not throw 
 a deeper interest over woods and waters now so 
 brightly peaceful. We passed one meadow on 
 which Sir Walter's grandfather had been killed 
 in a duel ;* ' had it been ! a century earlier,' 
 said he, ' a bloody feud would have been trans- 
 mitted to me, as Spaniards bequeath a game of 
 chess to be finished by their children.' And I 
 do think, that had he lived in those earlier days, 
 no man would have more enjoyed what Sir 
 Lucius CTTrigger is pleased to call 'a pretty 
 quarrel;' the whole expression of his benevo- 
 lent countenance changes if he has but to speak 
 of the dirk or the claymore : you see the spirit 
 
 * A notice appeared in one pf the periodicals of 1835, 
 alluding to this letter, whi^h was published in the 
 Athenaeum, for the purpose/ of correcting this state- 
 ment. I regret that, after ; much search, I have not 
 been able to find it. I 
 
42 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 that would * say amidst the trumpets, ha ! ha !' 
 suddenly flashing from his gray eyes, and some- 
 times, in repeating a verse of warlike min- 
 strelsy, he will spring up as if he sought the 
 sound of a distant gathering cry. But I am for- 
 getting beautiful Yarrow, along the banks of 
 which we walked through the Duke of Buc- 
 cleugh's grounds, under old rich patrician trees; 
 and at every turn of our path, the mountain 
 stream seemed to assume a new character, some- 
 times lying under steep banks in dark trans- 
 parence, sometimes 
 
 ' crested with tawny foam, 
 Like the mane of a chestnut steed.' 
 
 And there was Sir Walter beside me, repeatiug, 
 with a tone of feeling as deep as if then only first 
 wakened — 
 
 1 They sought him east, they sought him west, 
 They sought him far with wail and sorrow ; 
 
 There was nothing seen but the coming night, 
 And nothing heard but the roar of Yarrow.' 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 43 
 
 It was all like a dream. Do you remember 
 Wordsworth's beautiful poem 6 Yarrow visited ? 
 I was ready to exclaim, in its opening words — 
 ' And is this Yarrow ?' — There was nothing to 
 disturb the deep and often solemn loveliness of 
 the scenery: no rose-coloured spencers such as 
 persecuted the unhappy Count Forbin amidst 
 the pyramids — Mr. Hamilton, and Mrs. Lock- 
 hart, and the boys, who followed us, were our 
 whole party; and the sight of shepherds, real, 
 not Arcadian shepherds, sleeping under their 
 plaids to shelter from the noon-day, carried me 
 at once into the heart of a pastoral and mountain 
 country. We visited Newark tower, where, 
 amongst other objects that awakened many 
 thoughts, il found the name of Mungo Park, 
 (who was a native of the Yarrow vale,) which he 
 had inscribed himself, shortly before leaving his 
 own bright river never to return. We came 
 back to Abbotsford, where we were to pass the 
 remainder of the day, partly along the Ettrick, 
 and partly through the Tweed ; on the way, we 
 
44 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 were talking of trees, in his love for which, Sir 
 Walter is a perfect Evelyn.' I mentioned to him 
 what I once spoke of to you, the different sounds 
 they give forth to the wind,* which he had ob- 
 
 * . . . ' The arrowy spire 
 
 Of the lone cypress— as of wood-girt fane, 
 Rests dark and still amid a heaven of fire. 
 The pine gives forth its odours, and the lake 
 Gleams like one ruby, and the soft winds wake, 
 Till every string of Nature's solemn lyre 
 Is touched to answer ; its most secret tone 
 Drawn from each tree, for each hath whispers all its 
 own.' 
 
 Forest Sanctuary, Canto ii. verse 72. 
 
 Many, other happy and distinctive allusions to the 
 sounds of the trees will be remembered by every one 
 who is familiar with Mrs. Hemans' works. She was, 
 indeed, peculiarly sensitive to the significance of natural 
 sound. " If I were an enchantress," says she, in one of 
 her letters, " I would certainly put a spell and a voice 
 in all the trees, and streams, and flowers, and make 
 them say the prettiest things imaginable about me to 
 those in whom I am interested." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 45 
 
 served, and he asked me if I did not think that 
 an union of music and poetry, varying in mea- 
 sure and expression, might in some degree imi- 
 tate or represent those c voices of the trees ;' and 
 he described to me some highland music of a 
 similar imitative character, called the c notes of 
 the sea-birds' 1 — barbaric notes truly they must 
 be ! — In the evening we had a good deal of 
 music : he is particularly fond of national airs, 
 and I played him many, for which I wish you 
 had heard how kindly and gracefully he thanked 
 me. But, O ! the bright swords ! I must not 
 forget to tell you how I sat, like Minna in the 
 Pirate, (though she stood or moved, I believe,) 
 the very * queen of swords/ I have the strongest 
 love for the flash of glittering steel — and Sir 
 Walter brought out I know not how many gal- 
 lant blades to show me ; one which had fought 
 at Killicrankie, and one which had belonged to 
 the young Prince Henry, James the First's son, 
 and one which looked of as noble race and tem- 
 per as that with which Coeur de Lion severed the 
 
46 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 block of steel in Saladin's tent. What a number 
 of things I have yet to tell you ! I feel sure that 
 my greatest pleasure from all these new ob- 
 jects of interest will arise from talking them over 
 with you when I return. I hope you have re- 
 ceived my letter with an account of the * Rhy- 
 mour's Glen,' and the little drawing of Chiefs- 
 wood, for which I now send you a pendant in 
 one of Abbotsford, which is, at least, recom- 
 mended by its fidelity Pray do not 
 
 let me be forgotten amongst you while I am far 
 away. I have always the strangest fear of being 
 forgotten. 
 
 " Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 " F. H." 
 
 * " Thanks, many thanks, my dear , 
 
 for your kind and welcome letter. You do 
 not know how much I am cheered always by 
 
 the sight of a packet from street. . . 
 
 But away with all these ominous thoughts, for 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 47 
 
 the sun — yes, indeed, in spite of all your bro- 
 ther's southron sauciness — a real Scottish sun is 
 shining cheerily, and the little burn glancing 
 brightly past — and, better than all — I think Sir 
 Walter will be here this morning, and then I 
 shall go and walk with him through the Rhy- 
 mour's Glen, or the ' Hexel's Cleuch,' (which 
 means, as he tells me, the Witch's Dell,) or by 
 some of his own woods, which he so loves and 
 delights in. I am going to Abbotsford for some 
 days on Saturday, and expect to carry away 
 many delightful recollections and tales to tell by 
 
 the fireside when I return to you all 
 
 How I wish I could give you some idea of 
 
 whom I have heard preach — how he dives, with 
 an actual bodily diving, down into the abysses of 
 his sermon, to fish up an argument ; and how 
 he nails the argument, with a resolute Jael-like 
 gesture to the pulpit, when fairly caught — and 
 how he complimenteth me, after a most solemn 
 and delectable fashion. . . . All this must be 
 matter for the discussion of future evening hours. 
 
48 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Nathless, let me not forget to tell you now, lest, 
 peradventure, it should escape me, how, in dis- 
 coursing upon the various excellencies of that 
 somewhat overrated insect, the ant, he exhorted 
 his hearers to look upon ' that gifted individual, 3 
 and take pattern by her virtues. . . . 
 
 " I am afraid I must give up the idea of as- 
 cending the Eildon Hill, though I have really 
 felt better within the last ten days ; those violent 
 breathings of the heart have been much less fre- 
 quent ; but I have ominous warnings of them 
 whenever I over-exert myself. I have written 
 your brother a long account of a day I passed 
 on the banks of lovely Yarrrow. I hope he 
 has received it long ere this. Now farewell for 
 the present — in the house I cannot remain one 
 moment longer, 
 
 " Ever your very affectionate 
 
 « F. H." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 49 
 
 TO A REMEMBERED PICTURE.* 
 
 They haunt me still — those calm, pure, holy eyes ! 
 
 Their piercing sweetness wanders thro' my dreams : 
 The soul of music that within them lies, 
 
 Comes o'er my soul in soft and sudden gleams : 
 Life — spirit. life — immortal and divine, 
 Is there — and yet how dark a death was thine ! 
 
 Could it— oh ! could it be — meek child of song ? 
 
 The might of gentleness on that fair brow^— 
 Was the celestial gift no shield from wrong ? 
 
 Bore it no talisman to ward the blow ? 
 Ask if a flower, upon the billows cast, 
 Might brave their strife— a flute-note hush the blast ? 
 
 Are there not deep sad oracles to read 
 In the clear stillness of that radiant face ? 
 
 Yes, ev'n like thee must gifted spirits bleed, 
 
 Thrown on a world, for heavenly things no place ! 
 
 Bright exiled birds that visit alien skies, 
 
 Pouring on storms their suppliant melodies. 
 
 * I have departed from my original plan in quoting 
 one of Mrs. Hemans' poems entire : — it was necessary, 
 in the present instance, for the clear understanding of 
 the following letter. 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
50 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 And seeking ever some true, gentle breast, 
 
 Whereon their trembling plumage might repose, 
 
 And their free song-notes, from that happy nest, 
 Gush as a fount that forth from sunlight flows ; 
 
 Vain dream ! the love whose precious balms might 
 save 
 
 Still, still denied : — they struggle to the grave. 
 
 Yet my heart shall not sink ! — another doom, 
 Victim ! hath set its promise in thine eye ; 
 
 A light is there, too quenchless for the tomb, 
 Bright earnest of a nobler destiny. 
 
 Telling of answers, in some far-off sphere, 
 
 To the deep souls that find no echo here. 
 
 " Abbotsford, — 26. 
 
 " I believe I have embodied in these lines my 
 idea, not only of Rizzio's fate, but of Mary's : 
 you, I recollect, thought the latter rather an 
 imaginary view, and it may well be ; for I have 
 so often found a kind of relief in throwing the 
 colouring of my own feelings over the destiny of 
 historical characters, that it has almost become 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 51 
 
 a habit of my mind But how can I go 
 
 on thus, speaking of myself, here in this faery 
 realm of Abbotsford ? — with so many relics of 
 the chivalrous past around me, and the presiding 
 spirit which has gathered them together still 
 shedding out its own brightness over all ! I 
 have now had the gratification of seeing him in 
 every point of view I could desire : we had one 
 of the French princes here yesterday, with his 
 suite; — the Due de Chartres, son of the Due 
 d' Orleans ; — and there was naturally some little 
 excitement diffused through the household by 
 the arrival of a royal guest: Sir Walter was, 
 however, exactly the same in his own manly 
 simplicity ; — kind, courteous, unaffected ; 6 his 
 foot upon his native heath? I must say a few 
 words of the Due, who is a very elegant young 
 man, possessing a finished and really noble grace 
 of manner, which conveys at once the idea of 
 Sir Philip Sidney's high thoughts seated ' in a 
 heart of courtesy,' and which one likes to con- 
 sider as an appanage of royal blood. I was a 
 
 d 2 
 
52 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 little nervous when Sir Walter handed me to 
 the piano, on which I was the sole performer, 
 for the delectation of the courtly party. Son 
 Altesse Royale made a most exemplary listener ; 
 hut my discovery that he was pleased to con- 
 sider one of Count Oginski's polonaises as a 
 variation upon that beautiful slow movement of 
 Hummel's which you copied for me, and which 
 is one of my especial favourites, very much 
 neutralized the effect which his ' paroles d'or et 
 de soie' might otherwise have had upon my 
 dazzled intellect. To-day, Lord is ex- 
 pected, with his eldest son, here called the 
 
 s Master of .' How completely that title 
 
 brings back Ravenswood and Lucy Ashton to 
 one's imagination ! If the « Master ' have not 
 something of the stately Edgar about him, I 
 
 shall be rather disappointed I am 
 
 so glad you are going on so diligently with 
 Spanish, and anticipate so much pleasure from 
 your further acquaintance with the beautiful 
 Letrillas and romances I have collected myself. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 53 
 
 I have never had any companion in my Spanish 
 studies, or any person who has taken the least 
 interest in them before, —so that you will be the 
 only friend associated with them in my recollec- 
 tion. I suppose these Abbotsford pens are all 
 spoiled by the Waverley novels. I am really * a 
 woman to be pitied ' for the one with which I 
 write, and your lot in reading will not be much 
 more enviable." . . . 
 
 Mrs. Hemans returned from Abbotsford filled 
 with grateful recollections of the kindness she 
 had received within its walls, and of her inter- 
 course with its master — as frank and simple- 
 hearted as he was richly-gifted beyond the rest 
 of his race. Some of his antiquarian treasures 
 took a strong hold of her imagination ; in parti- 
 cular, that picture of Mary Stuart which was 
 painted after her execution ; nor had she dwelt 
 so long within the magician's precincts without 
 having gathered up some of his legends. I re- 
 
54 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 member her repeating, with great effect, the 
 tradition of the Wild Huntsman being heard 
 in the streets of Valenciennes shortly before the 
 battle of Waterloo, which he had told her. Her 
 mind was thoroughly awakened and kindled by 
 this visit, to which she referred as one of the 
 brightest passages of her life. She might well 
 say, in one of her letters, " I shall bring with 
 me many bright recollections from Scotland, 
 and hope they will be the means of adding en- 
 joyment to your fireside also." 
 
 Little more remains to be told of Mrs. Hemans 1 
 sojourn at Abbotsford. To one of her sons, 
 however, who was her companion in this inte- 
 resting visit, I am indebted for an anecdote or 
 two, which complete the picture. " She used to 
 spend the mornings chiefly in taking long walks 
 or drives with Sir Walter ; in the evenings she 
 used to play to him, # principally her sister's 
 
 * " I have marked all the music in my book which 
 Sir Walter particularly enjoys; the ' Rhine Song' is 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 55 
 
 music, and sometimes sing — (for at an earlier 
 age, when her health was strong, she had pos- 
 sessed a very good voice) — and I remember his 
 saying to her, on one of these occasions, ' One 
 would say you had too many accomplishments, 
 Mrs. Hemans, were they not all made to give 
 pleasure to those around you V He was affected 
 to tears by her reading aloud a little French 
 poem, describing the sufferings of the Bourbons 
 in the Conciergerie, and begged her to discon- 
 tinue .... I never heard Sir Walter 
 make any allusion to his own fame, except on 
 one occasion when we visited Newark Tower, 
 and, on seing two tourists make a precipitate 
 retreat at our approach, he said, smiling, — < Ah, 
 Mrs. Hemans, they little know what two lions 
 they're running away from V " 
 
 Further letters of the same series contain 
 
 one of his very great favourites, and a ' Cancionella 
 Espanola' another: and of the e Captive Knight' he is 
 never weary."— From a letter. 
 
56 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 accounts of Mrs. Hemans' visits to Hawthorn- 
 den, Roslin, and other equally celebrated scenes 
 of Scottish song and story. After she left Ab- 
 botsford, she paid several visits to noble houses, 
 and I regret much that I have been unable to 
 find a letter, one of her liveliest, written from 
 Hopetoun House, in which was described, with 
 inimitable grace and liveliness, an adventure in 
 a haunted chamber belonging to that mansion — 
 a tapestried chamber, too : how she had retired 
 to her pillow, conjuring up a thousand weird 
 and shadowy images, till she became almost 
 afraid of the phantoms of her own imagination ; 
 and when she looked round the room, started at 
 the fantastic figures on the walls : — how, in the 
 true heroine style, she must needs rise and exa- 
 mine these by the light of her taper ; — when lo ! 
 instead of prince or paladin or bearded magician 
 with fatal eyes, the object of her fear proved a 
 Jemmy Jessamy shepherd, tranquilly plucking 
 cherries in a tree, for the benefit of some equally 
 Arcadian Silvi or Corisca below. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 57 
 
 The three letters which follow were written 
 upon her return to Edinburgh. 
 
 " Albyn Place, Edinburgh, August 21st. 
 " I hope you have not felt anxious on account 
 of my silence, which, indeed, has been unusually 
 long ; but for several days after I last wrote, I 
 was so languid, from over-fatigue, that I could 
 only 'think to you, 1 as I always do when any 
 thing interests me. I am now better again, hav- 
 ing been allowed a little more repose, and find- 
 ing myself much more protected in Lady 'b 
 
 house (where I have passed the last fortnight) 
 from the inconveniences of celebrity, which, to 
 me, are often painfully oppressive. I cannot 
 tell you how very welcome your letters are to 
 me; how much they always seem to bring me 
 back of pure and home-feeling — ' the cup of 
 water,' for which my spirit pines in the midst of 
 excitement and adulation, and to which I turn 
 from all else that is offered me, as I would to a 
 place of shelter from the noon- day. . . .1 
 
 d 5 
 
58 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 have lost the Castle now, and its martial music, 
 being removed to a much less inspiring part of 
 the town ; but a few nights ago, I made a party 
 to walk through some of the most beautiful 
 streets by moonlight. We went along Prince's- 
 street to the foot of the Calton Hill, and gazed 
 down upon Holyrood, lying so dark and still in 
 its desolateness, and forming so strong a con- 
 trast to the fair pillars of the Hill, which looked 
 more pure and aerial than ever as they rose 
 against the moonlight sky. ( Mais quils se pas- 
 sent des or ages dufond du coeur? and how little 
 can those around one form an idea from outward 
 signs of what may be overshadowing the inner 
 world of the heart ! Such a sense of strange- 
 ness and loneliness came suddenly over me, sur- 
 rounded as I was, amidst all this dusky magni- 
 ficence, by acquaintance of yesterday. I felt as 
 if all I loved were so far, far removed from me, 
 that I could have burst into tears from the rush 
 of this unaccountable emotion. Had I possessed 
 any power of ' gramarye? you would certainly 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 59 
 
 have found yourself all of a sudden transported 
 through the air. I am sure you would have en- 
 joyed the scene, with all its bold outlines, 
 
 gleaming lights, and massy shadows 
 
 Since I last wrote to you, I have been hearing 
 
 preach, and am almost ashamed to tell 
 
 you of the sense of disappointment I brought 
 away with me. I really went prepared to yield 
 up my whole spirit to the powers of his genius 
 — but, alas, for my fastidious taste ! With 
 every disposition, with indeed the most anxious 
 desire to be wholly subdued, I could not over- 
 come the effect of his most untuneful voice, 
 plebeian aspect, and dialect, illustrating Shak- 
 speare's idea of having been ( at a feast of lan- 
 guages and brought away the scraps,' — the 
 scraps of all that you can imagine most coarse 
 and repelling. I was really angry with myself 
 to find that the preacher's evidently deep con- 
 viction, and unquestioned powers of thought, 
 could never quell within me that provoking 
 sense of the ludicrous which this 'scrannel- 
 
60 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 pipe ' of a voice and barbaric accent perpetually 
 excited. I have just returned with much more 
 pleasing impressions from visiting a fine collec- 
 tion of pictures, in which a Magdalen of Guido's, 
 with the fervent expression of the up-raised eye, 
 and the desolate flow of the long hair, particu- 
 larly struck me, and brought to recollection 
 some passages of our favourite 'Correggio.' I 
 hope I shall have an interesting visit to describe 
 to you when I write again, as Mr. Mackenzie, 
 ' the Man of Feeling,' who is now very old and 
 infirm, has sent to beg I would come and see 
 him." .... 
 
 " I have just returned from paying the visit 
 I mentioned, to old Mr. Mackenzie, and have 
 been exceedingly interested. He is now very 
 infirm, and his powers of mind are often much 
 affected by the fitfulness of nervous indisposi- 
 tion; so that his daughter, whr» introduced me 
 to his sitting-room, said very mournfully as we 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 61 
 
 entered, -You will see but the wreck of my 
 father.' However, on my making some allusion, 
 after his first kind and gentle reception of me, 
 to the 'men of other times' with whom he had 
 lived in such brilliant association, it was really 
 like the effect produced on the Last Minstrel, — 
 
 ' — when he caught the measure wild, 
 The old man raised his face, and smiled, 
 And lighted up his faded eye ;' 
 
 for he became immediately excited, and all his 
 furrowed countenance seemed kindling with re- 
 collections of a race gone by. It was singular to 
 hear anecdotes of Hume, and Robertson, and 
 Gibbon, and the other intellectual ' giants of old,' 
 from one who had mingled with their minds in 
 familiar converse. I felt as if carried back at least 
 a century. 
 
 " < Ah r said he, half playfully, half sadly, 
 ' there were men in Scotland then !' I could not 
 help thinking of the story of < Ogier the Dane,' 
 — do you recollect his grasping the iron crow of 
 
62 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 the peasant who broke into his sepulchre and 
 exclaiming, « It is well ! there are men in Den- 
 mark still/ Poor Miss Mackenzie was so 
 much affected by the sudden and almost unex- 
 pected awakening of her father's mind, that on 
 leaving the room with me, she burst into tears, 
 and was some time before she could conquer 
 her strong emotion. I hope to have another 
 interview with this delightful old man before I 
 leave Edinburgh." 
 
 fr 8, Albyn Place, Edinburgh, August 2bth, 1829. 
 ... "I have now quite given up the idea of 
 returning home by the lakes, as the weather is so 
 very unpromising, and I do not feel myself equal 
 to the fatigue of so much travelling by coaches. 
 .... Since 1 last wrote I have become ac- 
 quainted with Mr. , with whose works 
 
 you are probably familiar, and have heard him 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 63 
 
 preach ; the general impression was a very de- 
 lightful one, the more so, perhaps, as my fasti- 
 dious taste had been so much disturbed by 
 
 , that it really was glad to repose upon 
 
 Mr. *s venerable countenance, graceful 
 
 manner, and gentle earnestness of voice; — there 
 is something of classic elegance about him forming 
 as strong a contrast to the harsher style of the 
 Scotch kirk as a Doric temple would to the 
 grim bleakness of a Methodist chapel. There 
 is a tone of refinement in his conversation which 
 quite answers the expectations- awakened by his 
 manner in the pulpit; indeed, his 'courtly grace' 
 is rather against him here ; for my part, I must 
 own I found its effect very 'comfortable.' I 
 wished for you yesterday when I went to visit a 
 fine colossal group of sculpture, Ajax bearing 
 away the body of Patroclus, which has just been 
 completed by an Edinburgh artist, and is excit- 
 ing much interest here. Its effect, standing as 
 it does quite alone in the midst of a large hall 
 
64 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 hung with dark crimson, is exceedingly imposing; 
 and the contrast of life and death in the forms 
 of the combating and the departed warrior, 
 struck me as full of power and thought. The 
 men of hats and great coats who were standing 
 round it looked so mean and insignificant, that I 
 quite longed to blow them away, and to surround 
 the heroic vision with a stately solitude. I al- 
 ways forgot to send an inscription which I co- 
 pied for you from a silver urn at Abbotsford 
 sent by Lord Byron to Sir Walter Scott. I 
 though it might interest you, and enclose it 
 now." ... 
 
 In the next letter of the series, Mrs. Hemans 
 alludes to the bust executed by Mr. Angus 
 Fletcher, whilst she was on a visit to her friend 
 Sir Robert Liston, which, as a graceful and faith- 
 ful work of art, deserves an especial mention, 
 no less than for its being the only model taken 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 65 
 
 of her features. Few celebrated authors, indeed, 
 have caused so little spoliation of canvass or 
 marble as Mrs. Hemans. She never sat for 
 her picture willingly, and the play of her fea- 
 tures was so quick and changeful, as to render 
 the artist's task difficult almost to impossibility. 
 
 " Milburn Tower. 
 " Instead of requiring you to be * made of 
 
 apologies/ — dear cousin ' I really think 
 
 you are too kind in writing to me again after 
 leaving your former letter so long unanswered. 
 I am very glad you are returned home, as I 
 look for much delight from meeting you all to- 
 gether once more after my wanderings. I be- 
 gan to think some little time since that I really 
 never should disentangle myself from the ' wily 
 Scotchmen.' After many struggles, however, I have 
 at last extricated myself, and hope to be with you 
 all again in the course of a very few days; and if 
 it were not for the thoughts of returning to friends 
 
66 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 so kind and dear, I might well regret leaving the 
 land where I have been so warmly welcomed. 
 Will you give my kind love to your sister, with 
 thanks for her interesting letter, and tell her 
 that sitting for a bust, awful as it may sound, is 
 by no means an infliction so terrible as sitting 
 for a picture ; the sculptor allows much greater 
 liberty of action, as every part of the head and 
 form is necessary to his work. My effigy is now 
 nearly completed, and is thought to be a per- 
 formance of much talent : it is so very graceful 
 that I cannot but accuse the artist of flattery, the 
 only fault he has given me any reason to find. 
 I am glad to think that you will probably see it, 
 as Mr. Fletcher talks of exhibiting it in Liver- 
 pool. I should like to have witnessed your ex- 
 ploits but, believe me, cou- 
 sin, they are nothing to what I have achieved in 
 the ; north countrie' with my mazourkas, and po- 
 lonoises, and another waltz which my good old 
 
 host, Sir is pleased to call one of my 
 
 'wildnesses,' and which have actually won from 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 67 
 
 a grave clergyman of the Scottish kirk a sonnet, 
 — yes, a veritable sonnet — inspired, as he de- 
 clares, by my ' flying fingers' soft control.' With 
 
 this, and the admiration of to boot, it is 
 
 not marvellous that my head retains any sort of 
 equilibrium ? Treat me with due reverence, Sir 
 and my cousin, when next we meet, that I may 
 be let down to the familiarities of ordinary life 
 by gentle degrees. Your visits to Boscobel and 
 Hodnet must have been delightful — the latter 
 especially ; I admire your resolute spirit of faith : 
 for my part, so determined is mine, that if I 
 went to Rushin Castle, I should certainly look 
 for the giant, said to be chained and slumbering 
 in the dark vaults of that pile. Well, mon 
 cousin, we shall meet so soon, that it is now 
 scarcely worth while to talk over one's adventures 
 in writing ; besides, I feel myself in a state of 
 dulness, having been obliged to entertain a party 
 of leeches to my head last night, who seem to 
 have drawn therefrom whatever brilliance it 
 
68 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 might have contained. I will therefore only add 
 Charles and Henry's love to my own, and beg 
 you to believe me, 
 
 " Ever most truly yours, 
 
 « F. H." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 69 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The " Songs of the Affections"— Extract from familiar 
 correspondence — Haunted Hamlet near Melrose — 
 " Rhine Song" — Lewis's " Tales of Terror" — Dr. 
 Channing — Ballad on the Death of Aliatar— New- 
 Year's wishes—" The Fall of Nineveh"—" A Spirit's 
 Return'— Analysis of character—The Rev. Edward 
 Irving— De Lamartine's Poems— Mr. Roscoe— Per- 
 golesi's (t Stabat Mater"— New songs by Moore and 
 Bishop — Manzoni's "Cinque Maggio"— Godwin's 
 u Cloudesley"— Projected journey to the Lakes- 
 Dramatic Scene— New volume of Poems. 
 
 It was towards the close of the year 1829, that 
 Mrs. Hemans began to contemplate the pub- 
 lication of a new volume of poems. She had 
 
70 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 already made some preparation for this by con- 
 tributing a series of lyrics under the title of 
 " Songs of the Affections" to Blackwood's Ma- 
 gazine; together with the long ballad, " The 
 Lady of Provence," which, for the glowing 
 pictures it contains, the lofty yet tender affection 
 to which it is consecrated, and the striking but 
 never uncouth changes of its versification, must 
 be considered as one of its author's finest chi- 
 valresque poems. She had still, however, to 
 produce some work of greater importance than 
 these, suitable for the commencement of a 
 volume. The subject at length fixed upon by 
 her, as peculiar as it was almost dangerously 
 fascinating, was suggested by a fire-side conver- 
 sation. It had long been a favourite amusement 
 to wind up our evenings by telling ghost stories. 
 One night, however, the store of thrilling nar- 
 ratives was exhausted, and we began to talk of 
 the feelings with which the presence and the 
 speech of a visitant from another world (if, in- 
 deed, a spirit could return,) would be most 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 7 J 
 
 likely to impress the person so visited. After 
 having exhausted all the common varieties of 
 fear and terror in our speculations, Mrs. Hemans 
 said that she thought the predominant sensa- 
 tions at the time must at once partake of awe 
 and rapture, and resemble the feelings of those 
 who listen to a revelation, and at the same mo- 
 ment know themselves to be favoured above all 
 men, and humbled before a being no longer 
 sharing their own cares or passions ; but that 
 the person so visited must thenceforward and for 
 ever be inevitably separated from this world and 
 its concerns : for the soul which had once enjoyed 
 such a strange and spiritual communion, which 
 had been permitted to look, though but for a mo- 
 ment, beyond the mysterious gates of death, must 
 be raised, by its experience, too high for common 
 grief again to perplex, or common joy to enliven. 
 She spoke long and eloquently upon this sub- 
 ject, and I have reason to believe that this con- 
 versation settled her wandering fancy, and gave 
 
7*2 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 rise to the principal poem in her next volume. 
 Of her smaller occupations and cares during the 
 autumn and winter, the following fragments will 
 supply sufficient record. 
 
 " I must tell you how much pleasure I have, 
 my dear sir, in renewing the long suspended 
 intercourse by our own * post,' who is, I hope, 
 prepared with due resignation for the days of 
 toil that await her. I seem scarcely to have 
 seen you since my return . . . Would you 
 have the kindness either to bring or send me, 
 when you have leisure to find it, the number of 
 the Edinburgh Review containing Mr. Carlyle's 
 remarks on Burns, with which I much wish to 
 renew my acquaintance .... 
 
 " I always forgot to tell you that I had the 
 comfortable satisfaction of beholding with my 
 own eyes, near Melrose, the site of a little ham- 
 let which had been deserted, not many years 
 ago, on account of the visits of a spirit. The 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 73 
 
 ghost used to come about (whistling, I believe) 
 at night from one house to another, and the in- 
 habitants never could accustom themselves to 
 his incursions ; so they one and all migrated ; 
 and I believe he still retains possession of the 
 territory. This was told me by Sir Walter, and 
 very satisfactorily attested by an old shepherd, 
 whose uncle or aunt had been one of the ag- 
 grieved natives, therefore I hope you will re- 
 ceive it in a proper spirit of faith." . . . . 
 
 " Would you be so kind as to write for me 
 again those lines of Catullus on the return 
 home, which you gave me some time since ? I 
 cannot at present find the copy. I should like 
 them to be transcribed at the end of the MS. 
 book which I send, and to which, recording as it 
 does the various tastes and fancies and feelings 
 of several years, I think they will form a not 
 inappropriate conclusion. I am still enjoying, in 
 much quiescence, the comparative stillness of 
 
 VOL. II. , e 
 
74 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 my home, only I find it rather difficult to return 
 to the dinner-ordering cares of life, and should 
 think a month's sojourn in the Castle of Indolence 
 with 'nought around but images of Rest, 1 the 
 most delightful thing in the world. How very 
 truly you have often said that society could 
 never be the sphere forme! lam come to a 
 sort of comfortable conviction that you generally 
 speak oracles on such subjects, at least as far as 
 
 regards myself. Will you come 
 
 here some evening early next week and read to 
 me of 'Paynim chief and Christian knight;' 
 shall it be Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday ? 
 or this evening, if you are disengaged ? but, if 
 
 not, will you tell I should be very glad 
 
 to see him here. Can you divine on what days 
 the musical lectures are to be given, which I 
 wish to attend ? They were the three on Na- 
 tional, German, and Church music, but I quite 
 forget in what order they were to come. 
 " Ever most truly yours, 
 
 « F H." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 75 
 
 # " I am delighted that you were all so much 
 pleased with the Rhine song, but I could not 
 satisfy myself — it is a very weary feeling, that 
 striving after the ideal beauty which one never, 
 never can grasp. I am going to be quite alone 
 this evening : how I wish you could come !" 
 
 ** I had various fortunes in the world after 
 
 I left you, my dear , and but little of 
 
 the 5 gentle satisfaction* I had proposed to my- 
 self from taking out my card-case. However, 
 I do not consider the morning as entirely lost, 
 since, at one house, where the lady was some 
 time in making her appearance, I edified my- 
 self by the study of ' Pascal on the weakness 
 of man.' .... I do not send Lewis's 
 Tales of Terror, because I mean to have the 
 pleasure of bringing them myself some evening 
 if you should be disengaged, the week after 
 next, I shall make myself look as ghostly as 
 possible, and come in the character of the 
 
 e 2 
 
76 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 ' grim white woman.' Can you imagine one of 
 my ballads, I do not know which, made into a 
 sort of musical drama, and performed with 
 scenery, &c. ? I saw an account of it in an Irish 
 newspaper, which my brother George sent me. 
 It was performed at Lord F. Leveson Gower's, 
 and the music, by an Italian professor, is said to 
 be very beautiful. 
 
 " I return the * Fair maid of Perth* with many 
 thanks. Do not forget to tell me when you 
 
 wish to send the Rhine song to : I can 
 
 get it franked if you like. 
 
 " Ever your affectionate 
 
 " Felicia." 
 
 " I send you all the writings of Dr. Channing 
 which I have yet been able to find, but I regret 
 that amidst the revolutions of my little state 
 during my absence, the * Essay on Fenelon,' 
 which, perhaps, you would most wish to have, 
 has for the present disappeared. The ordina- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 77 
 
 tion discourse, with which I do not know whe- 
 ther you are acquainted, is, in my opinion, the 
 noblest and most spirit-stirring of all these 
 works. And yet, though the voice of Chan- 
 ling's mind be both a winning and a mighty 
 one, 'like to a trumpet with a silver sound,' 
 I almost doubt the power of any voice to re- 
 awaken a spirit in the state you describe : — is 
 it not 
 
 { As violets plucked, which sweetest showers 
 May ne'er make grow again V 
 
 I wish I could think otherwise, because the 
 idea of such a state is one which often occurs 
 to me, and which I contemplate in fear and 
 sadness. I have found the Spanish ballad on 
 the death of Aliatar, since you were here ; and 
 have been surprised, notwithstanding all the 
 proud music of the original language, by the 
 superior beauty of Southey's translation. The 
 refrain of 
 
78 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 f Tristes marchando, 
 Las trompas roncas/ 
 
 has certainly a more stately tone of sorrow, 
 than 
 
 ' Sad and slow, 
 Home they go/ 
 
 and yet the latter is to me a thousand times 
 more touching. Is it that word home which 
 makes it so, with all that it breathes of tender- 
 ness and sadness ? I shall bring it with me 
 to-morrow, and then we can decide. I shall be 
 
 in Street soon after twelve, and I 
 
 mean to come armed for the lecture, by envelop- 
 ing myself in Prince Charles Edward's * escape 
 tartanf as they call it, in Scotland, which I do 
 think must have some power to assist me in 
 
 evading the pursuit of the s. I mention 
 
 this circumstance in order to prepare # you for 
 
 * In explanation of this pleasantry, it may be as 
 well to state that the party addressed was accused of 
 sharing, to the full, in Doctor Johnson's Southron pre- 
 judices and antipathies. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 79 
 
 my Avatar in such a costume, which I fear, 
 notwithstanding this precaution, may come 
 upon you with all the effect of ' Roy's wife,' or 
 
 * Scots who hae wi' Wallace bled/ " 
 
 « * # # 
 
 " I am sure I should have been 
 
 much better, but for an alarm of invasion, 
 which occurred late in the night, and the dis- 
 turbance occasioned by which has somewhat 
 increased my nervous tremors, as you may 
 judge by the ridiculous hand I am writing. 
 Some of the letters put me in mind of Sir 
 Walter Scott's description of an octagon, which 
 he calls i a circle in an ague-fit/ I thought I 
 had a great many things to speak to you about 
 and to show you yesterday evening ; but, some- 
 how or other, they were all driven out of my 
 foolish head, and have found a place, I would 
 fain hope, in your planet, where, perhaps, they 
 may one day be found with other lost « sub- 
 
W MEMORIALS OF 
 
 tleties.' I send you * Garcilaso,' whose volume 
 pray keep, as long as your reading it without 
 interrupting other studies may require ; it is 
 not new to me. I wish you would mark any 
 passages that strike you." .... 
 
 " I think I must have seemed very ungrateful, 
 in not having more warmly thanked you for all 
 your good wishes on the approach of another 
 year, which have been so kindly expressed. 
 But there is something in the expression of 
 such wishes, when I know them, as I do know 
 them, from you to be cordial and sincere, which 
 awakens within me a feeling at once too grateful 
 and too 'sorrowful to find utterance in language. 
 They come to me almost as joyful music from 
 shore might come to one far on the waters, 
 speaking of things in which he has 'neither 
 part nor share,' and yet the sound is welcome. 
 Will you believe how unfeignedly I would 
 return such wishes to you, whose path yet lies 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 81 
 
 before you, and yet I fain hope would lead to 
 happiness ? And wherever that path may take 
 you, or whatever my fate may be, when you 
 would seek pleasure or comfort from the idea 
 that you are followed by many and earnest 
 thoughts of kindness, will you then think of me, 
 as one who will ever feel in your welfare the 
 faithful interest of a sisterly friend ? # 
 
 " Ever most truly yours, 
 
 « F. H." 
 
 " My dear sir, 
 " .... I hope we shall have a German 
 evening soon ; I have found some fine old 
 ballads in the * Wunderhorn,' which L want 
 to show you, and we must read a little of Iphi- 
 genia ; I had no idea that those awful iambics, 
 
 * I hope it is hardly necessary to point to the singular 
 beauty of expression and feeling of this note, as an 
 excuse for printing one so exclusively personal in its 
 subject. 
 
 E5 
 
82 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 (if iambics they be, for I am in the profoundest 
 ignorance on such subjects,) could have retained 
 so much harmony in our language. 
 
 " On calling up and reconsidering my impres- 
 sions of Martin's picture,* it seems to me that 
 something more of gloomy grandeur might 
 have been thrown about the funeral pyre; that 
 it should have looked more like a thing apart, 
 almost suggesting of itself the idea of an awful 
 sacrifice. Perhaps it was not in the resources 
 of the painter to do all this ; but the imagination, 
 mine at least, seems to require it. 
 
 "I should like you to read over my Spirit 
 song to yourself, when you have leisure, and 
 then tell me your impression of it ; I will send 
 it in a day or two. Sometimes I think that I 
 have sacrificed too much in the apparition scene, 
 to the idea that sweetness and beauty might be 
 combined with supernatural effect ; the cha- 
 racter of the Greek sculpture, which has so 
 singular a hold upon my imagination, was much 
 
 * The Fall of Nineveh. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 83 
 
 in my thoughts at the time. You must tell 
 me anything that occurs to you on the subject. 
 Have you read Manzoni's noble ode on the 
 death-day of Napoleon, translated by Arch- 
 deacon Wrangham ? It has just been sent me 
 by Signor Grimaldi, and I know not when I 
 have met with Italian poetry so rich in deep 
 thought and powerful expression. 
 
 " Ever believe me faithfully yours, 
 
 «F. H." 
 
 # " I regret that your kind note should have 
 remained so long unanswered, but as some 
 compensation, if indeed, I may call it such, 
 I send you a few songs to read, which I have 
 lately been writing for music, and which I 
 thought you would, perhaps, like to see before 
 they are sent to the composers. You will, 
 perhaps, trace the last to some of the associa- 
 tions awakened by our Utilitarian friend, though 
 
 * This letter has been accidentally displaced : it be- 
 longs to the memorials of the ensuing winter. 
 
84 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 I think his pretensions to that title are as 
 
 dubious as very contemptuously said 
 
 Mr, 's were to the character of a 
 
 gourmand. I do not know when I have been 
 more amused than by his grotesque flights of 
 conversation the evening I met him at your 
 house, though I was a little startled at the idea 
 of * my grandfathers head,' which his fancy 
 wanted to set before me in a charger. I hope 
 you have at last run the gauntlet through all 
 the Rontim-Bontims, and are allowing yourself a 
 little rest ; otherwise, I must say, with my parti- 
 cular favourite 'Daniel O'Rourke,' I think you 
 1 a man to be pitied among them :' my own inti- 
 mate conviction being that ■ of all dull things, 
 the dullest is festivity/ I am prepared to give 
 you as much sympathy on the occasion as you 
 may require. Pray do not ask about my ' Fan- 
 tasy-piece/ or I shall think you an embodied 
 conscience, (a sort of demon, which, by-the-bye, 
 I think I might introduce with appalling effect 
 whenever the work is written.) I am sojourning 
 at present in the Castle of Indolence, and I will 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 85 
 
 not be disturbed. There is a queenly sentence 
 for you ! Wake me not ! 
 
 " Have you looked at Moore's Byron yet ? I 
 must say that what I have seen of it in the 
 papers, is to me so inexpressibly disgusting, that 
 I shall certainly not read the book until I hear 
 your report." 
 
 . ..." I rather think that I write to you this 
 morning solely pour promener mes degouts, on 
 which I expect you will bestow as much sym- 
 pathy as may reasonably be demanded. I am so 
 thoroughly tired of criticism and analysis, and 
 sharp two-edged swords of sentences, that I 
 really begin to look upon Goethe's currant wine 
 making women, as the true and fitting models 
 for feminine imitation. QiCen pensez-vous? 
 For my part, I have serious thoughts of going 
 over to this side, and I hereby invite you to 
 come and partake of the first metheglin, hip- 
 pocras, or pigment, in which my genius may 
 find its proper and natural channel, and flow 
 
86 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 forth to the gladdening of all my happy friends. 
 " In the mean time, however, and as the ma- 
 terials for these my designs cannot be imme- 
 diately collected, I send you part of the conver- 
 sation which so much delighted me in Tieck's 
 ' Phantasien.' I think you will recognise all the 
 high tone of the thoughts, and be pleased with 
 the glimpse, a bright though transient one, 
 of the dreaming-land — that strange world, which 
 were I to designate it by my own experience, I 
 should call a wilderness of beauty and of sor- 
 row." .... 
 
 " Many thanks for all your kind remembrance 
 of me. I really think the music beautiful, par- 
 ticularly at the close, and only wonder it has not 
 made a fuller impression upon you. As for the 
 launch,* provided the weather will allow of my 
 
 * This was one of the sights which Mrs. Hemans 
 had expressed the strongest wish to see. She had 
 always, it may be remembered, a more than common 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 87 
 
 witnessing it, I have no fear of disappointment. 
 My imagination generally does me one good 
 service on such occasions, that of 
 
 ' Clothing the palpable and the familiar 
 With golden exhalations like the morn.' 
 
 I believe it is only where the feelings are deeply 
 interested that the imagination causes such per- 
 petual bitterness of disappointment. Do you 
 remember St. Leon's dissatisfaction at the 
 manner in which his daughters receive the 
 
 interest in the things of the sea ; and the spectacle not 
 only touched her enthusiastic English feelings, but ex- 
 cited her imagination, by suggesting to her the many 
 chances and changes which must befall the traveller of 
 the ocean, whose birth, as it were, she witnessed. 
 Something of this nature she had previously expressed 
 in her lyric, " The parting ship." But the vessel she 
 saw launched was but a second-rate merchantman ; 
 and I cannot but think she must have been disap- 
 pointed, because no allusion to the sight (with her, a 
 natural and necessary consequence of any addition 
 made to her store of pleasures) is, as far as I am 
 aware, to be found in any of her later poems. 
 
88 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 tidings of his death ? I begin to think that all 
 imaginative persons are, to a certain degree, St 
 Leons, and that they expect what human nature 
 is very seldom rich enough to afford. I scarcely 
 think you have had an opportunity of observing 
 the most amusing peculiarities in my guest, who 
 has now left me. I almost thought she would 
 herself have called out a person by whom I 
 latterly considered myself aggrieved, and I do not 
 believe that he could, consistently with any re- 
 gard for his personal safety, have crossed the 
 threshold during his stay with me. Truly it is 
 very pleasant to be so well guarded ; but I can- 
 not reconcile myself to that prevailing habit of 
 analysing every thing, fancies, feelings, even 
 friends — which is the favourite occupation of her 
 mind. Now I can bear being analysed with 
 perfect indifference ; but my friends are so com- 
 pletely severed and set apart in my eyes from all 
 the gentile world, that I have no idea of their 
 being subjected to this desecrating process, ac- 
 tually made studies of character to be examined 
 
MRS. HEMANS. OV 
 
 « in the light of common day.' No, it is not to 
 be endured, whatever skill and science may be 
 brought to the work of dissection. 
 
 I was told yesterday by Mr. Scoresby, that 
 Mr. Irving is to preach in Liverpool next Sun- 
 day. I wish very much to hear him. Would 
 you go with me ? I must own, in all contrition 
 of spirit, that I have never been very much 
 affected by any pulpit eloquence, and hoping 
 that the cause does not lie in my own incor- 
 rigible hardness of heart, I am really anxious to 
 give myself another trial, and should be delighted 
 to find my mind thoroughly subdued." . . . 
 
 TO MR. l . 
 
 "March 30, 1830. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " I send the two songs # which I beg you to 
 
 * * The Muffled Drum," and the u Spirit's Song;" 
 both of these have been recently published with their 
 very characteristic and expressive music. 
 
90 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 accept as a token of the real delight your music 
 has afforded me. As I have written them ex- 
 pressly for you, pray tell me candidly whether 
 you find difficulties from any parts of the mea- 
 sure, and would like to have some alterations ; 
 because I really wish to make them what you 
 will feel most pleasure in setting. I should 
 not so much ask whether you find difficulties, 
 because those I know you could soon overcome, 
 as whether you think any passage unsuitable to 
 music. . . . . 
 
 "I send 'the Beacon,' which I hope will not 
 disappoint you, and I believe you also wished to 
 look at Lamartine's poems; they certainly pos- 
 sess a much deeper feeling than I have ever met 
 with in French poetry, excepting perhaps, that 
 of Casimir Delavigne." 
 
 TO MR. L- 
 
 " April, 1830. 
 
 M My dear Sir, 
 " I write to tell you that I passed some time this 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 91 
 
 morning with Mr. Roscoe, and on mentioning to 
 him your wish of calling, he gave me leave to say, 
 that he should have much pleasure in receiving 
 you any day between the hours of twelve and 
 three. I told him of the interest you took in 
 Italian literature, and he said he should like 
 much to show you a splendid edition of the life 
 of Lorenzo, lately sent him by the Grand Duke 
 of Tuscany. As his health is extremely un- 
 settled, and he happens just now to have a bright 
 interval, I should think you had better avail 
 yourself of it, for he is often obliged to pass 
 months in entire seclusion. ... I enclose 
 the altered verse of the c Spirit's Voice," in 
 which I hope the difficulties are now obviated. I 
 have found so very few brothers -in-rhyme to the 
 unhappy word i never,' that I thought it better 
 to excommunicate him at once. 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, &c, &c. 
 « F. H." 
 
92 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Earlier allusion should have been made, in 
 enumerating the pleasures and privileges of Mrs. 
 Hemans' residence in Liverpool, to her occasional 
 intercourse with Mr. Roscoe, who was then pass- 
 ing through an old age of such serenity and cheer- 
 fulness, as can never be forgotten by those who 
 were permitted to look upon it. In spite of 
 the inroads made by repeated illness, his mind 
 remained bright and benevolent to the last ; so 
 long as they were permitted to approach him, 
 he appeared to take pleasure in the visits of the 
 young, — would interest himself in their little 
 plans and prospects, and talk to them of his own 
 past labours with the conscious pleasure of one 
 who feels that " his work hath well been done." 
 In the poetry of Mrs. Hemans Mr. Roscoe had 
 always taken great pleasure; he was fond of 
 having it read in his hearing. I know that she 
 felt the full value of his approbation, and used 
 to speak of him with almost filial regard, and of 
 her visits to him as among the happiest and 
 most salutary hours she passed. In general, 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 she was singularly fond of the society of old 
 men. 
 
 TO MR. L- 
 
 April, 1830. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " I am quite sorry that you should have dis- 
 tressed yourself about the ' Ricciarda,' which 
 I found this morning in the room where you had 
 left your cloak, and I was regretting that I had 
 no means of sending it to you. I am sure that 
 I shall be delighted with your arrangement of 
 the l Parting words,' because I never find any 
 music embody, like yours, all those shades and 
 fluctuations of feeling which I so often vainly 
 strive to fix in language ; and whenever I try 
 to write anything of deeper and more fervent 
 character than usual, I shall always wish for you 
 to give it expression. 
 
 " It is quite impossible for me to tell you the 
 
94 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 impression I have received from that most spi- 
 ritual music of Pergolesi's, # which really haunted 
 me the whole night. How much I have to 
 thank you for introducing me, in such a manner, 
 to so new and glorious a world of musical 
 thought and feeling ! 
 
 " I shall read the life of Haydn with great 
 interest. An Edinburgh journal, which I have 
 just received, gives an account of a new work by 
 Moore and Bishop, which, perhaps, you may 
 like to see, and I therefore send it : though the 
 poetry seems to me of but a tinkling character : 
 one verse of < The stilly night,' or < Those 
 evening bells,' I should say was worth it all. 
 
 * His " Stabat Mater." The earnest, enthusiastic, 
 affectionate character of Pergolesi, and his early death, 
 hastened, it was said, by the delay of that success 
 which was the due of his splendid genius, was sure to 
 interest Mrs. Hemans. She once thought, I believe, 
 of making his feelings and fortunes the subject of a 
 poem. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 95 
 
 . . ... I have just had a very amus- 
 ing visit from a Spaniard, who told me that 
 he used to write poetry, but ' that the Muses 
 looked cross at him for keeping account-books.' 
 " Very sincerely yours, &c &c. 
 
 « F. H." 
 
 " I have found the music to the ■ Burial of 
 Sir John Moore/ which I send you to look at, 
 though I think it very inferior to the words, 
 which would require something dark and deep 
 and Beethovenish" 
 
 TO MR. l . 
 
 "April 8th, 1830. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " I am predetermined not to give Mr. — 
 
 'a single sous' of praise, and it must have 
 been with the view of confirming me in this re- 
 solve that you have communicated the opinion 
 
96 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 of . Pray accept my best thanks for the 
 
 songs, the music of which I am sure mast give 
 me pleasure, though it may increase my regret 
 for the privation of my voice. I shall be very 
 glad to become acquainted with part of your 
 opera. As for those most Arcadian decorations, 
 I should as soon have suspected you of the sug- 
 gestion — 4 Write an ode to music.' That fearful 
 word ode, reminds me of Manzoni, whose splen- 
 did poem, the ' Cinque Maggio,' I enclose, and 
 beg you to keep, as I can now procure another 
 copy : some of its verses remind me of Sir 
 Philip Sidney's idea with regard to Chevy 
 Chace, which he said ' stirred the heart like the 
 
 sound of a trumpet/ 
 
 " I fear I shall have detained your servant an 
 unconscionable time ; I have had some difficulty 
 
 in finding "s volume, which my Folletto — 
 
 (did I ever tell you that I had a Folletto quite 
 as mischievous as Tasso's?) had provokingly 
 hidden. You are further to attribute to the 
 agency of this wicked sprite the various blots 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 97 
 
 and erasures with which my note seems to 
 abound. 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 
 "F. H/' 
 
 TO MR. L- 
 
 " May 10th. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " How much you must have enjoyed that 
 spirit-stirring music of ' Guillaume Tell V Oh ! 
 that I could have been there ! — but the nearest 
 approach to musical sounds which has greeted 
 my ear since you went, (for I have been too un- 
 well either to go out or to play myself,) has been 
 the gentle ticking of Dr. R 's watch, regu- 
 larly produced on the portentous occasion of 
 feeling my pulse. So vegetative a life, indeed, 
 have I been leading, that if I had lived in the 
 old mythological days, I should certainly ima- 
 gine I was undergoing a metamorphose into 
 some kind of tree. The doctors have announced 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
98 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 that, without very great care, another winter in 
 this climate will be dangerous to me : — truly, a 
 comfortable sentence to me who never could 
 take care of myself in my life; indeed it is a 
 thing which I am convinced requires a natural 
 genius for care to succeed in at all. I have been 
 reading Godwin's ' Cloudesley :' it does not, I 
 think, carry away the imagination with any 
 thing like the mighty spirit of his earlier 
 works, — but is beautifully written, with an occa- 
 sional flow of rich and fervent eloquence, remind- 
 ing me of the effects he attributes to the con- 
 versation of his own old alchemist in ' St. Leon.' 
 Pray tell me if you have composed anything 
 since your arrival in town. Your being able to 
 compose there at all is to me little less marvel- 
 lous than alchemy itself, or any other of Mr. 
 Godwin's phantasies. I wonder whether the 
 enclosed lines will remind you at all of Pergo- , 
 lesi. I had his music full in my imagination 
 when I composed them. I was very ill and 
 faint; not exactly fancying myself arrived at life's 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 99 
 
 last hour, but longing to hear such a strain as 
 the ' Stabat Mater: " 
 
 In the spring of 1830, Mrs. Hemans pro- 
 jected that journey to the Lake district, of 
 which so delightful a record will be found in the 
 following chapter. She made her escape from a 
 neighbourhood, outwardly always distasteful to 
 her, for its total want of beautiful scenery, — 
 all the more gladly, from having been more 
 than usually pressed upon by the claims and the 
 curiosity of strangers. To a visitation from one 
 of the latter, the humours of which were more 
 than usually ludicrous, reference is made in the 
 two following fragments. 
 
 * " My dear , 
 
 " Will you come and see me to-morrow even- 
 ing with your brother? — do, there is a good 
 girl ! — and shall I come and see you on Wednes- 
 day evening ? You would all get wofully tired 
 
 f 2 
 
100 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 of me at this rate, but I am going away so soon 
 that the danger will for the present be obviated. 
 I wish you were going with me — what a great 
 deal of mischief we might accomplish together ! 
 the very rumour of it would startle Mr. De 
 Quincy out of his deepest opium-dream. What 
 a pity such brilliant exploits are to remain lost 
 among the things that might have been ! ' The 
 ibis and the crocodile would have trembled to 
 
 hear of them.' Now, dear , be sure you 
 
 come to-morrow evening. . . . 
 
 " Oh ! the . . . . ! she came and laid her 
 
 friendship at my feet the morning of her de- 
 parture, and I, < pebble-hearted * wretch that I 
 am ! never stooped to pick it up." 
 
 " I had given up the weary task of attempting 
 to curtail those hundred-footed speeches in the 
 dramatic scene,* before I received your note. 
 
 * " Don Sebastian/' a fragment of a dramatic poem, 
 published among the " Poetical Remains." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 101 
 
 I only altered one line, having made sufficient 
 progress in natural history, since I wrote, to 
 discover that lions do not attack people who are 
 
 asleep ! Heaven be praised ! really has 
 
 evaporated ! she paid her farewell visit the other 
 morning after you were here, and made so 
 formal, serious, and solemn an offer of her 
 friendship, < for ever and a day/ that I, secretly 
 conscious of my own unworthiness, was perfectly 
 bewildered, and can only hope that my blushes 
 on this trying occasion were attributed to an 
 excess of sensibility." 
 
 The "Songs of the Affections" were pub- 
 lished in the summer of 1830. This collection 
 of lyrics has been, perhaps, less popular than 
 other of Mrs. Hemans' later works. It was 
 hardly, indeed, to be expected, that the principal 
 poem, " A Spirit's Return," the origin and sub- 
 ject of which have been already described, should 
 
io5 
 
 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 appeal to the feelings of so large a circle as had 
 borne witness to the truth of the tales of actual 
 life and sacrifice and suffering contained in the 
 " Records of Woman." But there are parts of the 
 poem solemnly and impressively powerful. The 
 passages in which the speaker describes her youth 
 — the disposition born with her to take pleasure 
 in spiritual contemplations, and to listen to that 
 voice in nature which speaks of another state of 
 being beyond this visible world— prepare us 
 most naturally for the agony of her desire, — 
 when he, in whom she had devotedly embarked 
 all her earthly hopes and affections 
 
 . . . . " till the world held nought 
 Save the one being to my centred thought," 
 
 was taken away from her for ever — to see him, 
 if but for a moment — to speak with him, only 
 once again ! The coming of the apparition, too, 
 is described with all the plainness and intensity 
 of the most entire conviction, so difficult, in these 
 
31 RS. HEMANS. 103 
 
 days, for a writer to assume.* As the crisis of 
 interest approaches, the variety given by alter- 
 nate rhymes to the heroic measure in which the 
 tale was written, is wisely laid aside, and it 
 proceeds with a resistless energy. 
 
 " Hast thou been told that from the viewless bourne 
 The dark way never hath allowed return? 
 
 * Might it not almost be said, so impossible to be 
 assumed by those who have wholly and scornfully 
 cast off those superstitions, so distasteful to reason, 
 but so dear to fancy ? It is impossible, in reading 
 Sir Walter Scott's incomparable descriptions of super- 
 natural visitations, — the episode of the " Bodach 
 Glas," for instance, or " Wandering Willie's tale," or 
 the vigil of Master Holdenough in the Mirror Cham- 
 ber, (though this is afterwards explained away,) — to 
 imagine that the creator of these scenes did not, in 
 some measure, believe in their possibility, though it 
 might be but with a poetical faith. Were it otherwise, 
 they must strike us as unnaturally as the recent French 
 revivifications of the antique Catholic legends and 
 mysteries — as merely grotesque old fables, adopted as 
 studies by clever artists, for the sake of their glaring 
 contrasts and effective situations. 
 
104 MEMORIALS OP 
 
 That all, which tears can move, with life is fled, 
 That earthly love is powerless on the dead ? 
 Believe it not ! — there is a large lone star 
 Now burning- o'er yon western hill afar, 
 And under its clear light there lies a spot 
 Which well might utter forth, f Believe it not V 
 
 I sat beneath that planet, — I had wept 
 My woe to stillness ; every night-wind slept ; 
 A hush was on the hills ; the very streams 
 Went by like clouds, or noiseless founts in dreams, 
 And the dark tree o'ershadowing me that hour, 
 Stood motionless, even as the grey church-tower 
 Whereon I gazed unconsciously ; — there came 
 A low sound, like the tremor of a flame, 
 Or like the light quick shiver of a wing, 
 Flitting through twilight woods, across the air ; 
 And I looked up !— oh ! for strong words to bring 
 Conviction o'er thy thought ! — Before me there, 
 He, the departed, stood !— ay, face to face— 
 So near, and yet how far !" * * * * 
 
 The conclusion of this fine poem is far from 
 fulfilling the promise of its commencement : but 
 it was impossible to imagine any events, or give 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 105 
 
 utterance to any feelings, succeeding those so 
 awful and exciting, which should not appear 
 feeble, and vague, and exhausted. Mrs. He- 
 mans would sometimes regret that she had 
 not bestowed more labour upon the close j^of 
 her work : this, it is true, might have been more 
 carefully elaborated; but, from the nature of 
 her subject, I doubt the possibility of its hav- 
 ing been substantially improved. 
 
 F 5 
 
106 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mr. Wordsworth's poetry— Mrs. Hemans' visit to the 
 Lakes — Her letters from Rydal Mount — Passage 
 from Haco— Genius compatible with domestic hap- 
 piness — State of music among the Lakes — Mr. 
 Wordsworth's reading aloud — Anecdote — Dove Nest 
 — Accident on horseback — Letters from Dove Nest 
 — Winandermere— The St. Cecilia— Whimsical letter 
 — Letter of counsel — Commissions— Anecdote of a 
 bridal gift — Readings of Schiller— Second journey 
 into Scotland— M. Jeffrey — Six Mrs. Hemans — 
 Change of residence. 
 
 Early in the summer, Mrs. Hemans put into 
 execution her long-cherished plan of finding rest 
 and refreshment for a weary spirit among the 
 beautiful scenery of the Lakes. She was drawn 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 107 
 
 thither by the additional motive of a wish to en- 
 joy the personal intercourse of one whom, for 
 the sake of his writings, she had long loved and 
 reverenced as a friend and a counsellor. And thus 
 it is, indeed, that all poets who are true to the 
 divine gifts bestowed upon them, must ultimately 
 be regarded by the sincere and faithful-hearted : 
 though, for a while, their voices may be drowned 
 by the outcries which the world idly raises 
 against what it will not take the trouble, or fears, 
 to understand. The feelings which impressed Mrs. 
 Hemans on being first introduced to the poetry 
 of Mr. Wordsworth, have been already shown 
 in her own confession : — I must insist upon the 
 fact that her conviction of his great and noble 
 powers grew upon her with every year of her 
 life ; and, I am persuaded, ultimately exercised 
 a beneficial and calming effect upon a mind, 
 by nature eager, and by circumstances rendered, 
 for a time impatient, and ill at ease, and subject 
 to the most painful alternations of mood. Mrs.He- 
 mans' copy of Mr. Wordsworth's works might be 
 
108 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 called her poetical breviary : there was scarcely 
 a page that had not its mark of admiration or 
 its marginal comment or illustration.* She was 
 unwearied in recommending the study of his 
 poems, and in pointing out and repeating 
 their finest passages. Then, too, her political 
 biases (gentle as they were, and never for a mo- 
 ment made manifest in controversy) made her 
 
 * It was a habit with Mrs. Hemans, to illustrate 
 her favourite books with the thoughts excited by their 
 perusal, and with such parallel passages from other 
 writers as bore upon their subject. If one of her inti- 
 mate friends lent her a book which she chanced to 
 adopt, it was sure to return thus enriched. I remem- 
 ber, in particular, that her copy of Mr. Auldjo's "As- 
 cent of Mont Blanc" — which, fortunately, had the am- 
 plest of margins— was positively written over with 
 snatches of description, and quotations of poetry, for 
 some of which, I suspect, it would have been no more 
 difficult to find their owner, than it was to assign the 
 delightful fragments from " Old Plays," which headed 
 the chapters of the Waverley novels, to their real 
 source. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 109 
 
 look up to him as one of the few, in whose reve- 
 rence for the wisdom of our ancestors, and 
 manly religious feeling, and deep wisdom, lay 
 the hope and the safety of our country. 
 
 On all these grounds, it will be readily ima- 
 gined with what delight Mrs. Hemans looked 
 forward to enjoying such companionship for a 
 brief summer-season. She had been worn out 
 with empty flattery and vulgar curiosity, and 
 longed for shelter, and silence, and repose, 
 
 . . . . " in sunny garden bowers 
 Where vernal winds each tree's low tones awaken, 
 And bud and bell with changes mark the hours." 
 
 With what a natural eloquence of gladness she 
 poured forth her delight in finding her expectations 
 more than realized, the following letters will show. 
 They are purposely given with fewer omissions 
 than any of the previous series, as offering a per- 
 fect picture of her mind, when under its best in- 
 fluences, and least shaken by the cares which, at 
 times, weighed it down so heavily. Nor will the 
 
110 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 pleasantries they contain — in which the poet of 
 thought and daily life, and the poetess of the 
 affections and of the imagination, are so happily 
 contrasted — be misunderstood by those who 
 love a mind none the less for its changes from 
 grave to gay, and who find a security for its 
 truth, in the artless expression of all its moods 
 and fancies. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans was accompanied on this jour- 
 ney by her youngest son — the other two still 
 under her care joining her when she was settled 
 among the Lakes. As usual, she was unwearied 
 in communicating her impressions to those with 
 whom, when at home, she shared every thought 
 and feeling of the passing hour. 
 
 "Rydal Mount, Monday, June 22nd, 1830. 
 "You were very kind in writing to me so 
 
 soon, , and making the remembrance of my 
 
 journey with you one of unmingled pleasure, by 
 your assurance that all was well on your return. 
 For myself, I can truly say that my enjoyment 
 
MRS. HEMANS. Ill 
 
 of your society and kindness, and the lovely 
 scenery by which we were surrounded, made 
 those pleasant days seem as a little isle of sun- 
 shine in my life, to which I know that memory 
 will again and again return. I felt very forlorn 
 
 after you were gone from Ambleside: 
 
 came and went without exciting a smile, and 
 my nervous fear at the idea of presenting my- 
 self alone to Mr. Wordsworth, grew upon me so 
 rapidly, that it was more than seven before I 
 took courage to leave the inn. I had indeed 
 little cause for such trepidation. I was driven 
 to a lovely cottage-like building, almost hidden 
 by a profusion of roses and ivy ; and a most be- 
 nignant-looking old man greeted me in the 
 porch: this was Mr. Wordsworth himself; and 
 when I tell you that, having rather a large party 
 of visitors in the house, he led me to a room 
 apart from them, and brought in his family by 
 degrees, I am sure that little trait will give you 
 an idea of considerate kindness which you will 
 
112 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 both like and appreciate. In half an hour I 
 felt myself as much at ease with him as I had 
 been with Sir Walter Scott in half a day. I 
 laughed to find myself saying, on the occasion 
 of some little domestic occurrence, ' Mr. Words- 
 worth, how could you be so giddy ?' He has, 
 undeniably, a lurking love of mischief, and 
 would not, I think, be half so safely intrusted 
 with the tied-up bag of winds as Mr. in- 
 sisted that Dr. Channing might be. There is an 
 almost patriarchal simplicity, an absence of all 
 pretension, about him, which I know you would 
 like ; all is free, unstudied — ' the river winding at 
 its own sweet will' — in his manner and conversa- 
 tion there is more of impulse about them than I 
 had expected, but in other respects I see much 
 that I should have looked for in the poet of me- 
 ditative life : frequently his head droops, his eyes 
 half close, and he seems buried in quiet depths 
 of thought. I have passed a delightful morning 
 to-day in walking with him about his own 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 113 
 
 richly-shaded grounds, and hearing him speak 
 of the old English writers, particularly Spenser, 
 whom he loves, as he himself expresses it, for his 
 S earnestness and devotedness.' It is an immea- 
 surable transition from Spenser to , but 
 
 I have been so much amused by Mr. Words- 
 worth's characterizing her as a 'tumultuous 
 young woman,'* that I cannot forbear trans- 
 cribing the expression for the use of my friends. 
 I must not forget to tell you that he not only 
 admired our exploit in crossing the Ulverston 
 sands as a deed of c derring do,** but as a decided 
 proof of taste ; the Lake scenery, he says, is 
 never seen to such advantage as after the pas- 
 sage of what he calls its majestic barrier. Let 
 me write out the passage from Haco, before I 
 quite exhaust my paper : this was certainly the 
 meaning we both agreed upon; though I did 
 not recollect your translation sufficiently well to 
 arrange the versification accordingly. 
 
 * This refers to the party alluded to in the last 
 fragments of correspondence in the last chapter. 
 
114 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 1 Where is the noble game that will not seek 
 A perilous covert, ev'n from wildest rocks, 
 In his sore need, when fast the hunter's train 
 Press on his panting flight ?' " 
 
 " Rydal Mount, June 24th, 1830. 
 
 " My dear Mr. L , 
 
 " I was on the point of migrating to the land 
 of Lakes when your former letter reached me ; 
 I delayed acknowledging it until I had arrived 
 at my place of destination, Mr. Wordsworth's 
 house, where I now am, and where I have just 
 had the pleasure of hearing from you again. . . . 
 You can scarcely conceive a more beautiful 
 little spot than Rydal Mount ; my window 
 is completely embowered in ivy and roses, and 
 Winandermere lies gleaming among the hills 
 before it: — what a contrast to the culinary 
 regions about Liverpool ! I am charmed with 
 Mr. Wordsworth himself; his manners are dis- 
 tinguished by that frank simplicity which I 
 
MRS. HE MANS. 115 
 
 believe to be ever the characteristic of real 
 genius ; his conversation perfectly free and un- 
 affected, yet remarkable for power of expression 
 and vivid imagery ; when the subject calls forth 
 any thing like enthusiasm, the poet breaks out 
 frequently and delightfully, and his gentle and 
 affectionate playfulness in the intercourse with 
 all the members of his family, would of itself 
 sufficiently refute Moore's theory in the Life of 
 Byron, with regard to the unfitness of genius 
 for domestic happiness. I have much of his 
 society, as he walks by me while I ride to ex- 
 plore the mountain glens and waterfalls, and he 
 occasionally repeats passages of his own poems 
 in a deep and thinking tone, which harmonizes 
 
 well with the spirit of these scenes 
 
 The state of music here is something of the 
 darkest. Rossini, Beethoven, Weber, are names 
 that have never awakened the mountain echoes, 
 here at least. And a lady was so charmed the 
 other day with the originality of ' Ah perdona,' 
 that with the view, as she said, of obtaining * a 
 
116 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 little new music/ she instantly, in the innocence 
 of her heart, set about transcribing the whole." 
 
 V^vVyV^ 
 
 ^»^^. " Rydal Mount, June 24th, 1830. 
 
 " Will you favour me by accepting this copy 
 
 of the little volume, in the preparation of which 
 
 I was so greatly indebted to your kindness ? 
 
 I have written your name in it, and in the other 
 
 two that of Dr. , to whom I wish you would 
 
 present them with my grateful respects. I seem 
 to be writing to you almost from the spirit-land ; 
 all is here so brightly still, so remote from every- 
 day cares and tumults, that sometimes I can 
 scarcely persuade myself I am not dreaming. 
 It scarcely seems to be ' the light of common 
 day, ' that is clothing the woody mountains 
 before me ; there is something almost visio?iary 
 in its soft gleams and ever-changing shadows. 
 I am charmed with Mr. Wordsworth, whose 
 kindness to me has quite a soothing influence 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 117 
 
 over my spirits. Oh ! what relief, what blessing 
 there is in the feeling of admiration, when it can 
 be freely poured forth ! * There is a daily beauty 
 in his life,' which is in such lovely harmony 
 with his poetry, that I am thankful to have 
 witnessed and felt it. He gives me a good deal 
 of his society, reads to me, walks with me, leads 
 my poney when I ride, and I begin to talk with 
 him as with a sort of paternal friend. The 
 whole of this morning he kindly passed in read- 
 ing to me a great deal from Spenser, and after- 
 wards his own 'Laodamia,' my favourite ' Tintern 
 Abbey,' and many of those noble sonnets which 
 you, like myself, enjoy so much. His reading 
 is very peculiar, but, to my ear, delightful; 
 slow, solemn, earnest in expression more than 
 any I have ever heard : when he reads or recites 
 in the open air, his deep rich tones seem to 
 proceed from a spirit-voice, and belong to the 
 religion of the place; they harmonize so fitly 
 with the thrilling tones of woods and waterfalls. 
 His expressions are often strikingly poetical : 
 
118 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 6 1 would not give up the mists that spiritualize 
 our mountains for all the blue skies of Italy.' 
 Yesterday evening he walked beside me as I 
 rode on a long and lovely mountain-path high 
 above Grasmere Lake : I was mUch interested 
 by his showing me, carved deep into the rock, 
 as we passed, the initials of his wife's name, 
 inscribed there many years ago by himself, and 
 the dear old man, like ' Old Mortality,' renews 
 them from time to time ; I could scarcely help 
 exclaiming ' Esto perpetua /' "... 
 
 "Rydal Mount, June 25th, 1830. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " The recurrence of the day on which I used 
 so often to write to you, makes me wish to com- 
 municate with you again. I seem as if I longed 
 to hear the voice of a 'familiar friend,' amidst 
 the deep stillness of these beautiful scenes. 
 Beautiful as they are, do you know I have not 
 yet seen any thing to my eyes half so lovely as 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 119 
 
 our own Coniston ; that first impression of lake 
 scenery will never, I think, be effaced by a 
 brighter. Grasmere, to which I often ride at- 
 tended by Mr. Wordsworth, is exquisite, but, I 
 scarcely know why, something of sadness seems 
 to overshadow its secluded beauty, whilst all 
 my recollections of Coniston are bright and 
 fresh and joyous. You will be pleased to hear 
 that the more I see of Mr. Wordsworth, the 
 more I admire, and I may almost say, love him. 
 It is delightful to see a life in such perfect har- 
 mony with all that his writings express, * true 
 to the kindred points of heaven and home !' 
 You may remember how much I disliked, and I 
 think you agreed with me in reprobating that 
 shallow theory of Mr. Moore's with regard to 
 the unfitness of genius for domestic happiness. 
 I was speaking of it yesterday to Mr. Words- 
 worth, and was pleased by his remark, ' It is 
 not because they possess genius that they make 
 unhappy homes, but because they do not possess 
 genius enough ; a higher order of mind would 
 
120 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 enable them to see and feel all the beauty of 
 domestic ties.' He has himself been singularly 
 fortunate in long years of almost untroubled 
 domestic peace and union 
 
 " How much I was amused yesterday, by a 
 sudden burst of indignation in Mr. Wordsworth 
 
 which would have enchanted — . We were 
 
 sitting on a bank overlooking Rydal Lake, and 
 speaking of Burns. I said, * Mr. Wordsworth, 
 do you not think his war ode ' Scots who hae wi' 
 Wallace bled, 1 has been a good deal over-rated ? 
 especially by Mr. Carlyle, who calls it the no- 
 blest lyric in the language ?' 'lam delighted 
 to hear you ask the question,' was his reply, 
 * over-rated ! — trash ! — stuff ! — miserable in- 
 anity ! without a thought— without an image!' 
 &c &c. &c. — then he recited the piece in a 
 tone of unutterable scorn; and concluded with 
 a Da Capo of ■ wretched stuff !' I rode past De 
 Quincy's cottage the other evening. . . . 
 
 " I hope you will write very soon. I really 
 long for a ' voice from home.'' " 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 121 
 
 " Rydal Mount, July 2nd, 1830. 
 
 " Will you not like to think of me at that 
 
 lovely little Dove's Nest which we both of us 
 
 admired so much from the lake, my dear Mr. 
 
 ? I was agreeably surprised to find it a 
 
 lodging-house, and have taken apartments there 
 for a fortnight ; probably I may remain longer, 
 but I almost fear that its deep though beautiful 
 seclusion, would, for any length of time, be too 
 much for one upon whom solitude bears back so 
 many subjects of melancholy thought. If you 
 were but near enough to come and pass the 
 evenings with me ! How I should enjoy making 
 your coffee at the window, which looks forth to 
 that glorious lake with all its glancing sails and 
 woody islets ! But I am sure your thoughts will 
 sometimes be with me, when you can free them 
 from the turmoil of your busy life, and the re- 
 sounding streets, and I hope you will write to 
 me very often. You may be quite sure that I 
 always write to you from impulse, and the 
 strong wish of communion rendered even stronger 
 vol. u, G 
 
122 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 to my nature by beautiful scenery and new im- 
 pressions. I am indeed but too dependent on 
 those to whom my mind has linked itself. Pray 
 
 thank Dr. for his very kind letter, which 
 
 I will answer as soon as I am established at my 
 Dove's Nest, where I shall have more time for 
 writing. As you have so particularly requested 
 me to tell you about my health, I must own that 
 I am not quite so well as I was at the beginning 
 of my sojourn here : — I was nearly thrown from 
 a spirited horse I was riding the other evening, 
 and have been as tremulous as an aspen leaf 
 ever since. Mr. Wordsworth, I think, was 
 more alarmed than myself, for by the time he 
 came up to me, though I had with some diffi- 
 culty kept my seat, my voice was completely 
 gone, and I was unable to speak for many 
 minutes. However, I continue to ride every day, 
 and hope thus to conquer the nervous weak- 
 ness which the adventure had left. Yesterday 
 I rode round Grasmereand Rydal L&ke; it was 
 a glorious evening, and the imaged heaven in 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 123 
 
 the waters more completely filled my mind even 
 to overflowing, than I think any object in nature 
 ever did before : I quite longed for you : we 
 should have stood in silence before the magni- 
 ficent vision for an hour, as it flushed and faded, 
 and darkened at last into the deep sky of a 
 summer night. I thought of the scriptural expres- 
 sion, ' A sea of glass mingled with fire;' no other 
 words are fervid enough to Convey the least im- 
 pression of what lay burning before me." . . 
 
 " Dove Nest, near Ambleside, July 6th, 1830. 
 
 " My dear , 
 
 44 I think I was never so glad to hear from 
 you, as when Claude and Henry brought me 
 your kind and welcome letter on Saturday. I 
 had been thinking of you so frequently since 
 my arrival here, and so earnestly wishing to tell 
 you all my feelings on taking possession of this 
 lovely little bower, that I almost seemed, by the 
 
 G <2 
 
124 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 strong power of mind, to have brought you near ; 
 and it really was like hearing the pleasant voice 
 of a dear friend to receive your letter just then. 
 How shall I tell you of all the loveliness by 
 which I am surrounded, of all the soothing and 
 holy influence it seems shedding down into my 
 inmost heart ? I have sometimes feared within 
 the last two years, that the effect of suffering 
 and adulation, and feelings too highly wrought, 
 and too severely tried, would have been to dry 
 up within me the fountains of such pure and 
 simple enjoyment ; but now I know that 
 
 f Nature never did betray 
 The heart that loved her.' — 
 
 I can think of nothing but what is pure, and 
 true, and kind, and my eyes are filled with 
 grateful tears even whilst I am writing all this 
 to you — to you, because I know you will under- 
 stand me. I want nothing here but the spirit 
 of a friend to answer the feelings of my own — 
 that is indeed a want which throws some shade 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 125 
 
 of sadness over this beautiful world, but I feel 
 it far more bitterly amidst the world of society, 
 where I find so many things to shrink from. 
 Yet I think I never desired to talk to you so 
 much and so often, as since I came here. I 
 must try to describe my little nest, since J can- 
 not call spirits from the • vasty lake' to bring 
 you hither through the air. The house was ori- 
 ginally meant for a small villa, though it has 
 long since passed into the hands of farmers, and 
 there is in consequence an air of neglect about 
 the little domain, which does not at all approach 
 desolation, and yet gives it something of touch- 
 ing interest. You see everywhere traces of 
 love and care beginning to be effaced : rose-trees 
 spreading into wildness ; laurels darkening the 
 windows, with too luxuriant branches ; and I 
 cannot help saying to myself — 6 perhaps some 
 heart like my own in its feelings and sufferings 
 has here sought refuge and found repose.' The 
 ground is laid out in rather an antiquated style, 
 which, now that nature is beginning to reclaim 
 
126 . MEMORIALS OF 
 
 it from art, I do not at all dislike : there is a little 
 grassy terrace immediately under the window, 
 descending to a small court with a circular grass 
 plot, on which grows one tall white rose-tree ; 
 you cannot imagine how I delight in that fair, 
 solitajjy, neglected-looking tree. I am writing 
 to you from an old-fashioned alcove in the little 
 garden, round which the sweet-briar and moss 
 rose-tree have completely run wild, and I look 
 down from it upon lovely Winandermere, which 
 seems at this moment even like another sky, so 
 truly is every summer cloud and tint of azure 
 pictured in its transparent mirror. It is quite 
 a place in which to hear Mr. Wordsworth read 
 poetry. Have I ever told you how much his 
 reading and recitation have delighted me ? His 
 voice has something quite breeze-like in the soft 
 gradation of its swells and falls. How I wish 
 you could have heard it a few evenings since I 
 We had just returned from riding through the 
 deep valley of Grasmere, and were talking of 
 different natural sounds, which in the stillness of 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 127 
 
 the evening had struck my imagination. 4 Per- 
 haps,' I said, < there may be still deeper and 
 richer music pervading all nature than any which 
 we are permitted to hear.' He answered by re- 
 citing those glorious lines of Milton's — 
 
 ? Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth, 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep/ &c. 
 
 And his tones of solemn earnestness, sinking, al- 
 most dying away into a murmur of veneration, 
 as if the passage were breathed forth from the 
 heart, I shall never forget ; ' the forest leaves 
 seemed stirred with prayer,' while those high 
 thoughts were uttered. I have been writing to 
 you in a most child-like and confiding spirit, 
 shall I not have tired you out with my details ? 
 — no, I will not think so. 
 
 " I do not feel as if I had said half that was 
 in my mind to say ; I should have thanked you 
 sooner for all those spirit-stirring tales from the 
 
128 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 early annals of England ; they will afford me 
 ' food for thought' some future day, and I have 
 always pleasure in knowing what reading in- 
 terests you ; but I think my spirit is too much 
 lulled by these sweet scenes to breathe one 
 song of sword and spear until I have bid Win- 
 andermere farewell : Ned Bolton # was the last 
 hero by whose exploits I have been in the least 
 moved. My boys are so happy here, I wish you 
 could see them. Henry out with his fishing-rod, 
 and Charles sketching, and Claude climbing the 
 hill above the Nest. I cannot follow, for I have 
 not strength yet, but I think in feeling I am 
 more a child than any of them. 
 
 " Now I must say good-bye, and reserve 
 many things till I write again, which will be very 
 soon. 
 
 " Ever believe me, 
 
 " Most truly yours, 
 
 " Felicia Hemans." 
 
 * The pirate-hero of one of Mr. Kennedy's spirited 
 ballads. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 129 
 
 The following postscript to one of the letters 
 written from Dove Nest may here be inserted ; 
 its subject furnishes a pleasant contrast to the 
 vivacity of the next extract. 
 
 " I must tell you how very much Mr. Words- 
 worth was pleased with ' The St. Cecilia,' par- 
 ticularly with the nightingale verse." 
 
 The lines in question (afterwards published 
 among the " National Lyrics") were written to 
 illustrate a picture of St. Cecilia with attendant 
 angels, by Andrea Celesti. Mrs. Hemans had 
 been much struck with the mingled calmness 
 and inspiration which her apprehensive imagina- 
 tion had discovered, and greatly enhanced, in 
 the countenance of the principal figure. She 
 always loved to trace an under-current of sad- 
 ness, some dim intimation of a world unseen 
 and spiritual, even in the gayest and most care- 
 less music, and the serenity of the countenance 
 of St. Cecilia had strongly impressed her mind 
 
 g 5 
 
130 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 by its contrast with so favourite a superstition ; 
 the impression gave its colour to her poem. 
 The second verse of the following was Mr. 
 Wordsworth's favourite. 
 
 " Say, by what strain, through cloudless ether swell- 
 ing. 
 Thou hast drawn down those wanderers from the 
 skies ? 
 Bright guests ! even such as left of yore their dwelling 
 For the deep cedar shades of Paradise. 
 
 " What strain?— Oh! not the nightingale's, when 
 showering 
 
 Her own heart's life-drops on the burning lay — 
 She stirs the young woods in their time of flowering, 
 
 And pours her strength, but not her grief, away. 
 
 rt And not the exile's," &c. &c. 
 
 " But thou !— the spirit which at eve is filling 
 All the hushed air, and reverential sky, 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 131 
 
 Founts, leaves, and flowers, with solemn rapture 
 thrilling, 
 This is the soul of thy rich harmony. 
 
 " This bears up high those breathings of devotion, 
 Wherein the currents of thy heart gush free ; 
 
 Therefore no world of sad and vain emotion, 
 Is the dream-haunted music-land for thee !" 
 
 " Dove Nest. 
 
 * " My dear , 
 
 " I have too long left unacknowledged your 
 welcome letter, but the wicked world does so 
 continue to persecute me with notes, and parcels, 
 and dispatches, that, even here, I cannot find 
 half the leisure you would imagine. Yesterday 
 I had three visiting cards — upon which I look 
 with a fearful and boding eye — left at the house, 
 whilst I was sitting, in the innocency of my 
 heart, thinking no harm, by the side of the lake. 
 Imagine visiting cards at Dove's Nest ! Robinson 
 Crusoe's dismay at seeing the print of the man's 
 
132 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 foot in the sand could have been nothing, abso- 
 lutely nothing, to mine, when these evil tokens of 
 'young ladies with pink parasols' met my dis- 
 tracted sight, on my return from the shore. En 
 revanche, however, I have just received the most 
 exquisite letter ever indited by the pen of man, 
 from a young American, who being an inhabitant 
 of No. , , is certainly not likely to trou- 
 ble me with anything more than his ' spiritual at- 
 tachment,' as Mr. of is pleased to call 
 
 it. He, that is, my American, must certainly not 
 be the 6 walking-stick,' but the very leaping - 
 pole of friendship. Pray read, mark, learn, and 
 promulgate for the benefit of the family, the fol- 
 lowing delectable passage. * How often have I 
 sung some touching stanza of your own, as 1 
 rode on horseback of a Saturday evening, from 
 the village academy to my house a little distance 
 out of town ; and saw through the waving cedars 
 and pines, the bark roof and the open door of 
 some pleasant wigwam, where the young comely 
 maidens were making their curious baskets, or 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 133 
 
 mocasins, or wampum-belts, and singing their 
 4 To-gas-a-wana, or evening song P How often 
 have I murmured ' Bring flowers ' or the * Voice 
 of Spring,' as thus I pondered along! How 
 often have I stood on the shore of the Cayuga, 
 the Seneca, the Oneida, and the Skanateles, and 
 called to mind the sweetness of your strains !' 
 I see you are enchanted, my dear — — , but 
 this is not all : ' the lowliest of my admirers,' as 
 the amiable youth entitles himself, begs permis- 
 sion to be for once my ' cordonnierj and is about 
 to send me a pair of Indian mocasins, with my 
 ' illustrious name interwoved in the buckskin 
 of which they are composed, with wampum 
 beads.' If I receive this precious gift before I 
 return to Liverpool, I shall positively make my 
 appearance, en squaw, the very first evening I 
 
 come to street; and pray tell Dr. 
 
 that with these mocasins, and a blanket to cor- 
 respond, I shall certainly be able to defy all the 
 rigours of the ensuing winter. I am much dis- 
 appointed to find that there is no prospect of 
 
134 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 your visiting this lovely country. I am sure 
 
 that nothing would do so much good as a 
 
 brief return to its glorious scenery: there is 
 balm in the very stillness of the spot I have 
 chosen. The c majestic silence' of these lakes, 
 perfectly soundless and waveless as they are, ex- 
 cept when troubled by the wind, is to me most 
 impressive. O what a poor thing is society in 
 the presence of skies and waters and everlasting 
 hills ! You may be sure I do not allude to the 
 dear intercourse of friend with friend — that 
 would be dearer tenfold — more precious, more 
 hallowed in scenes like this. Oh ! how I wish 
 you were here !".... 
 
 In inserting the following letter, as well 
 as two or three others which will be found 
 in a later section of these memorials, a word of 
 explanation, perhaps of apology, is requisite. It, 
 and they are published for the sake of the ex- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 135 
 
 cellent truths they contain, too valuable to 
 be withheld, — by one who has passed through the 
 struggle —from those who may be aspiring after 
 the precarious honours, and are willing to en- 
 counter the certain cares of literary life, in 
 preference to undertaking the duties of some 
 profession less exciting, more steady, and more 
 profitable. The following was addressed to the 
 writer upon the intervention of an obstacle 
 which bade fair to destroy for ever the hopes 
 and dreams of many years. 
 
 " Dove Nest, July 11th. 
 
 " My dear , 
 
 " I am sure you will believe that I have 
 read your letter with a full and most sincere 
 participation of the varied feelings it expresses. 
 As for your imps, poor dear little things ! so 
 great is my compassion for them, that I, even I, 
 would at this moment of tender feeling, will- 
 ingly uncork them all, though I believe the con- 
 sequences would be little less awful than those 
 
136 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 of emptying the bag of winds. But to speak 
 more seriously, 
 
 c Let nought prevail against you, nor disturb 
 Your cheerful faith/ 
 
 You will not be c cribbed and cabined ' by the 
 influence of your daily toils : no, you will rise 
 from them, as all minds gifted for worthier 
 things have risen, with a pure and buoyant joy, 
 into a world where they cannot enter. Tell me 
 one instance of a generous spirit, ..... 
 which has sunk under the mere necessity for 
 steadfast and manly exertion. Many, many, I 
 believe, have been lost and bewildered for want 
 of having this clear path marked out for them. 
 I am convinced that you will be all the better 
 for having your track so defined, and for know- 
 ing when and where you may turn aside from 
 it to gather flowers upon which no soil of earthi- 
 ness will have fallen. I could not write thus, if 
 I thought that one precious gift was to be sacri- 
 ficed to the employment upon which you have 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 137 
 
 entered. You know that I believe you to be 
 endowed with powers for the attainment of ex- 
 cellence, and where such powers do exist, I also 
 believe them to be unconquerable. How very 
 gravely have I written to you ! If you were 
 sitting here beside me, I could hardly have 
 spoken so: but I really have only wished to 
 cheer and comfort 'my trusty cousin,' and I 
 know he will not let me prove a false pro- 
 phetess, However, I think that there is but 
 little danger, and that with the prospect of your 
 
 immediately commencing the and then 
 
 composing the .... and writing out 
 
 the Italian tale, besides about fifty pretty little 
 entremets, of which I know nothing, the poor 
 imps may take comfort in their bottles on the 
 mantel-piece, while the 'Jish do their duty ' in 
 
 the fryingpan below I am now writing 
 
 a rather longer piece, though but slowly, and 
 when it is completed I mean to send up one of 
 your poems with it; I hope my compliance 
 with his request will have so pleased him, that 
 
138 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 he will see a thousand beauties in the com- 
 position of the c proper useful young man ' by 
 whom mine will be escorted. I wish that 
 same useful young man was near me just at 
 present: I am going out upon the lake with 
 the boys, and if our united giddiness does 
 not get us into some difficulty or other, it will 
 be sufficiently marvellous. To be sure I shall 
 keep the precious mocasin letter— it will be 
 the very key-stone of our edifice.* Do you 
 know that I was actually found out here last 
 night by a party of American travellers. . . . 
 O words of fear ! — and they came and stayed all 
 the evening with me, and I was obliged to play 
 Vaimable, and receive compliments, &c. &c. &c, 
 here, even here, on the very edge of Winander- 
 mere. In other respects, I am leading the most 
 primitive life — we literally ■ take no note of 
 time/ as there happens to be no clock in the 
 
 * Mrs. Hemans had often spoken playfully of making 
 a collection of the whimsical letters with which she 
 was assailed. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 139 
 
 house. To be sure we get an eleemosynary 
 pinch of time now and then, (as one might a 
 pinch of snuff,) when any one happens to call 
 
 with a watch, but that is a rare event 
 
 I shall be anxious to hear from you again, 
 and to know that the imps are in a happier 
 
 state 
 
 " Ever your very faithful cousin, 
 
 « F. H." 
 
 " I believe I shall have to trouble you and 
 — and to make me up a parcel before 
 
 long : Mr. Wordsworth wants to read a little of 
 Schiller with me, and he is not to be had at 
 Ambleside; and I want some chocolate — and 
 that cannot be had at Ambleside — and a black 
 silk spencer, after divers ' moving accidents by 
 field and flood,' wants a rifacciamento — neither 
 can that be had at the all-needing Amble- 
 side ; but I must write the affecting particulars 
 to ." 
 
140 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 " Dove Nest. 
 
 * " My dear , 
 
 " I must frankly own that it is my necessi- 
 ties which impel me so soon to address you 
 again. From the various dilapidations which my 
 wardrobe has endured since I came into this 
 country, I am daily assuming more and more 
 the appearance of 'a decayed gentlewoman;' 
 and if you could only behold me in a certain 
 black gown, which came with me here in all the 
 freshness of youth, your tender heart would be 
 melted into tearful compassion. The ebony 
 bloom of the said dress is departed for ever : the 
 waters of Winandermere, (thrown up by oars in 
 unskilful hands,) have splashed and dashed over 
 it, the rains of Rvdal have soaked it, the winds 
 from Helm-crag have wrinkled it, and it is alto- 
 gether somewhat in the state of 
 
 ' Violets plucked, which sweetest showers, 
 May ne'er make grow again.' 
 
 Three vards of black silk, however, will, I be- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 141 
 
 lieve, restore me to respectability of appearance, 
 if will add a supply of cho- 
 colate, without which there is no getting through 
 
 the fatigue of existence for me — and if or 
 
 your brother will also send me a volume or 
 
 two of Schiller — not the plays, but the poems — 
 to read with Mr. Wordsworth, I shall then 
 have a complete brown-paper full of happiness. 
 
 Imagine, my dear , a bridal present made 
 
 by Mr. Wordsworth, to a young lady in whom 
 he is much interested — a poet's daughter, too ! 
 You will be thinking of a broach in the shape 
 of a lyre, or a butterfly-shaped aigrette, or a 
 forget-me-not ring, or some such * small gear ' — 
 nothing of the sort, but a good, handsome, sub- 
 stantial, useful-looking pair of scales, to hang 
 up in her store-room ! ' For you must be 
 aware, my dear Mrs. Hemans,' said he to me 
 very gravely, * how necessary it is occasionally 
 for every lady to see things weighed herself/ 
 « Poveretta me !* I looked as good as I could, 
 and, happily for me, the poetic eyes are not very 
 
142 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 clear-sighted, so that I believe no suspicion de- 
 rogatory to my notability of character, has yet 
 flashed upon the mighty masters mind : indeed 
 I told him that I looked upon scales as particu- 
 larly graceful things, and had great thoughts of 
 having my picture taken with a pair in my 
 hand." .... 
 
 ? Dove Nest Cottage, Ambleside, July 20th, 1830. 
 " My dear Mr. L , 
 
 " A letter which I received this morning from 
 Liverpool mentions your having returned home, 
 and I will therefore no longer delay writing to 
 you, as you may perhaps wish to know my pre- 
 sent address. I fear you have given up your 
 intention of visiting the Lakes, as your last letter 
 made no mention of it. The weather is indeed 
 any thing but alluring, though there are few, 
 even of the most lowering days here, among 
 which one cannot get out of doors in a paren- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 143 
 
 thesis, such as the culinary regions where you 
 now are very seldom afford. I am anxious to 
 know whether you received my little volume, 
 which was sent for you to the Athenaeum : very 
 little of its contents would be new to you, 
 though the arrangement of the whole might, I 
 hope, afford you some pleasure. You were quite 
 right about the name of 'my Cid,' as the old 
 Spanish chroniclers call him : it is Diaz, and 
 not Diar, and he is a personage for whom I have 
 so much respect, that it would have grieved me 
 to see his 'style and title' falsified. I remained 
 at Mr. Wordsworth's rather more than a fort- 
 night, and then came to my present residence, 
 a lonely, but beautifully situated cottage on the 
 banks of Winandermere. I am so much de- 
 lighted with the spot, that I scarcely know how 
 I shall leave it The situation is one of the 
 deepest retirement ; but the bright lake before 
 me, with all its fairy barks and sails, glancing 
 like 'things of life* over its blue water, prevents 
 the solitude from being overshadowed by any 
 
144 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 thing like sadness. I contrive to see Mr. 
 Wordsworth frequently, but am little disturbed 
 by other visitors : only the other evening, just 
 as I was about to go forth upon the lake, a card 
 was brought to me. Think of my be- 
 ing found out by American tourists in Dove's 
 
 Nest ! * I wish , and , and , (for 
 
 they were all impending over me,) were in the 
 arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam !' exclaimed 
 I, most irreverently : but however, they brought 
 credentials I could not but acknowledge. The 
 young ladies, as I feared, brought an Album 
 concealed in their shawls, and it was levelled at 
 me like a pocket-pistol before all was over. 
 
 When you see Mrs. , will you tell her 
 
 that I have just had a very kind and pleasant 
 letter from Lady Dacre : tell her, also, that I 
 am going to read some of Schiller with Mr. 
 Wordsworth. I know that she will understand 
 that high enjoyment." . . . 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 145 
 
 " Dove Nest, Thursday. 
 
 " My dear Mr. , 
 
 " Having received 's parcel in safety, I 
 
 have now two kind letters to thank you for . . . 
 
 Will you tell , with my best remembrance, 
 
 that Mr. Wordsworth thinks he shall be quite 
 able to read the small edition of Schiller : he is 
 now gone for a few days to his friend Lord 
 Lowther's ; but I hope, on his return, to read 
 with him some of my own Jlrst loves in Schiller — 
 'The Song of the Bell,' 'Cassandra,' or <Thek- 
 la's Spirit-voice,"* with none of which he is ac- 
 quainted. Indeed, I think he is inclined to 
 undervalue German literature from not knowing 
 its best and purest master-pieces, f Goethe's 
 writings cannot live,' he one day said to me, 4 be- 
 cause ' they are not holy P I found that he had 
 unfortunately adopted this opinion from an at- 
 tempt to read Wilhelm Meister, which had in- 
 spired him with irrepressible disgust. However, 
 I shall try to bring him into a better way of 
 
 VOL. II. h 
 
146 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 thinking, if only out of my own deep love for 
 what has been to me a source of intellectual joy 
 so cheering and elevating. I did not accomplish 
 my visit to Coniston last Saturday ; the < cloud 
 land' was too impervious to be entered. . . . 
 Is it not very strange, and hateful, and weariful, 
 that, wherever I go, some odd old creature is 
 sure to fall in love with me just out of spite ? I 
 am quite sure that if I went to Preston, Miss 
 (do you remember that long, thin, deadly- 
 looking mansion with her name on the door ?) 
 would attach herself to me with the adhesive 
 pertinacity of the Old Man of the Sea. This 
 is really a part of my miseries which I do not 
 think you have ever taken into proper con- 
 sideration, or sympathised with as the case de- 
 serves. If you would but pity me enough, you 
 cannot imagine how consolatory I should find 
 
 it 
 
 " You would scarcely know Charles if you 
 were to see him now ; he has broken forth into 
 almost tameless vivacity. He wants very much 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 147 
 
 to write to you, but I thought, as you hear from 
 me so often, it would not be necessary to impose 
 upon you so juvenile a correspondent. I was 
 greatly shocked a few days since to hear of the 
 
 death of Mrs. at Florence. It seemed 
 
 quite suddenly, in one of those spasms of the 
 heart which the physicians had predicted would 
 
 end fatally ; and Mr. has returned alone 
 
 to England. Just at this time last year I was 
 with them, witnessing all their preparations for 
 their Italian journey. I remember his being 
 very much affected by a verse which I played 
 and sung — 
 
 ' She faded 'midst Italian flowers, 
 The last of that bright band.' 
 
 I have got into a shocking habit, for which you 
 will not thank me, of crossing my letters ; but I 
 always fancy I have so much to say when I 
 write to you, that the paper is never half long 
 enough. Will you tell that I shall cer- 
 tainly make her first lady of the wardrobe, for 
 her skill in choosing silks, whenever my long- 
 
 h 2 
 
148 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 expected accession to the throne takes place. I 
 am going this evening, for two or three days, to 
 Grasmere ; but if 1 do not fall into Dungeon 
 Ghyll, which I am to visit thence, I shall be 
 back at Dove's Nest on Sunday. 
 
 " Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 " Felicia Hemans." 
 
 After having remained for some weeks at 
 Dove Nest, Mrs. Hemans was induced, by 
 pressing invitations, again to visit Scotland. Of 
 this second northern journey, I have but few 
 memorials: the greater part of her time was 
 spent at Milburn Tower, the seat of her vene- 
 rable friend, Sir Robert Liston,— whence the 
 following fragments were written. 
 
 " Mr. Jeffrey called upon me yesterday, and 
 I was unluckily gone to Edinburgh, but;we dine 
 with him on Friday. I anticipate much enjoy- 
 ment from his brilliance, but do hope he will not 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 149 
 
 quiz Wordsworth.* I could not bear that after 
 the affectionate interest shown me by the latter, 
 and continued to the very last moment of my 
 stay in the neighbourhood. . . I rejoice that 
 you have been so much pleased with Miss Kem- 
 ble, it is so delightful to submit one's mind, fully, 
 entirely to the spell of genius. I never could 
 understand the pleasure of criticising. I have 
 one thing more to say before I conclude. You 
 will probably, in consequence of my visit to 
 Scotland, hear reports with regard to a change 
 of residence for me ; be assured, that feeling 
 towards you as towards a most valued friend, I 
 
 * The following extract from a subsequent letter 
 refers to the visit in question. 
 
 " We passed a delightful day, our host being in the 
 full glow of conversation, unequalled in rapid bril- 
 liance of imagery and illustration, (something like 
 Paganini's lightning passages ;) yet so easy, playful, 
 and natural, that its brightness never seemed in the 
 least fatiguing, which that of almost all the other spark, 
 ling people I ever met, at some time or other appeared 
 to me." 
 
150 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 should communicate to you any change of im- 
 portance on which I had resolved, and therefore 
 believe nothing that you do not hear from my- 
 self. 
 
 " Most truly yours, 
 
 " F. Hemans." 
 
 ..." Imagine my dismay on visiting Mr. Flet- 
 cher's sculpture-room, on beholding at least six 
 Mrs. Hemans, placed as if to greet me in every 
 direction. There is something absolutely fright- 
 ful in this multiplication of one's self to infinity. 
 Apropos de bottes, Mr. Fletcher is anxious to 
 know whether his ' images', as Mr. 's ser- 
 vants call them, are well placed in the Liverpool 
 exhibition, and I promised that I would ask you 
 to call there some day and judge for him. Will 
 you write and let me know ? Oh how I wish you 
 could be here ! how you would love this fair 
 place with all its gorgeous flowers and leafy 
 stillness!" 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 151 
 
 It was during this visit at Milburn Tower, 
 that Mrs. Hemans formed a friendship, which 
 led her to visit Dublin on her way homeward ; 
 and ultimately to decide on removing her resi- 
 dence from Wavertree to that city. The change, 
 it will be seen, was, on the whole, beneficial. 
 She was sure to attach to herself kind and 
 energetic friends wherever she went ; and no re- 
 sidence in a town could be more thoroughly 
 exhausting and unprofitable than was hers at 
 Wavertree — a village, but possessing not one 
 single privilege or advantage which belongs to 
 the country. Before, however, this step was 
 finally arranged, Mrs. Hemans passed over into 
 Wales, — the last time she ever visited the home 
 of her youth, — to consult her brother upon the 
 subject : and it was late in the year ere she re- 
 returned to us, with the saddening news that 
 her departure from our neighbourhood was 
 determined upon. 
 
152 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Fragments of correspondence — Journey through An- 
 glesey — Aurora Borealis — Light-house — Passage 
 from Mr. Bowdler's writings— Monument by Thor- 
 waldsen — Personification in art and poetry — Goethe 
 —Rogers ' f * Italy "—Titian's portraits— Longevity 
 of artists — Lessons in music — Evening spent with a 
 celebrated linguist — Mr. Roscoe — Mr. Hare's pam- 
 phlets — Gibbon's H Sappho"— Character of Mrs. He- 
 mans in the "Athenaeum" — Life and Letters of 
 Weber — The repose of old portraits — Young's Ham- 
 let — The Cyclops proved light-houses — Howitt's 
 "Book of the Seasons" — Poetical tributes — Wan- 
 dering female singer — Wearisome dinner-party — 
 Mrs. Hemans' pleasure in composing melodies — 
 " Prayer at Sea after Battle" — Preparations for her 
 departure from England — Shelley's poems— Vulgar 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 153 
 
 patronage — Collection of drawings — "Tancredi" — 
 Discontinuance of pensions from the Royal Society 
 of Literature. 
 
 The winter which followed this long absence, 
 so important in its consequences to the happi- 
 ness of the few remaining years of Mrs. Hemans' 
 life, on the whole, passed over rather sadly. 
 The state of a person about to make any change 
 in life, be it only a change of residence, must 
 always be one of unsettlement and restraint: 
 the mind is strangely divided between what it is 
 giving up, and what it is hoping to gain ; and it 
 is difficult to sit down and undisturbedly enjoy 
 the passing hours when they are felt to be last 
 hours. It is true that Mrs. Hemans constantly 
 spoke of frequent visits to England; that she 
 fancied the distance between Liverpool and 
 Dublin was not so great as finally to close, 
 though it might interrupt, her intercourse with 
 those who, for so long a time, had been] almost 
 her daily companions ; — but the old communion 
 was broken, and we could not but feel, that 
 
 h 5 
 
154 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 though she still remained among us, as gracious, 
 as affectionate as ever, her thoughts were ho- 
 vering round the new home, in which she looked 
 to find the repose and the shelter which had 
 been denied to her in our busy, commercial 
 neighbourhood. In procuring the advantages of 
 education for her sons, she expected, and with 
 reason, to be more fortunate than she had been 
 in Liverpool. 
 
 Of the fragments of correspondence which 
 follow, the larger portion were addressed to one 
 of her new Irish friends. They require no fur- 
 ther prefatory remark. 
 
 " I thought Anglesey, through which I tra- 
 velled the next day, without exception, the most 
 dreary, culinary-looking land of prose I ever 
 beheld. I strove in vain to conjure up the 
 ghost of a Druid, or even of a tree, on its wide 
 mountainous plains, which, I really think, Na- 
 ture must have produced to rest herself after the 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 155 
 
 strong excitement of composing the Caernarvon- 
 shire hills. But I cannot tell you how much I 
 wanted to express my feelings when at last that 
 bold mountain-chain rose upon me, in all its 
 grandeur, with the crowning Snowdon, (very su- 
 perior, I assure you, in c shape and feature,' to 
 our friend Ben Lomond,) maintaining his 'pride 
 of place' above the whole ridge. And the 
 Menai bridge, which I thought I should scarcely 
 have noticed in the presence of those glorious 
 heights, really seems, from its magnificence, a 
 native feature of the scene, and nobly asserts 
 the pre-eminence of mind above all other things. 
 I could scarcely have conceived such an union 
 of strength and grace ; and its chain- work is so 
 airy in appearance, that to drive along it seems 
 almost like passing through the trellis of a 
 bower : it is quite startling to look down from 
 any thing which looks so fragile, to the immense 
 
 depth below My journey lay along 
 
 the sea-shore rather late at night, and I was 
 surprised by quite a splendid vision of the 
 
156 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 northern lights, on the very spot where I had 
 once, and once only, before seen them in early 
 childhood. They shot up like slender pillars of 
 white light, with a sort of arrowy motion, from 
 a dark cloud above the sea; their colour varied, 
 in ascending, from that of silver to a faint orange, 
 and then a very delicate green : and sometimes 
 the motion was changed, and they chased each 
 other along the edge of the cloud, with a daz- 
 zling brightness and rapidity. I was almost 
 startled by seeing them there again ; and after so 
 long an interval of thoughts and years, it was 
 like the effect produced by a sudden burst of 
 familiar and yet long-forgotten music." 
 
 " I did not observe any object of interest on 
 my voyage from Wales, excepting a new beacon 
 at the extremity of the Liverpool Rock, and 
 which I thought a good deal like the pictures of 
 the Eddystone light-house. There was some- 
 thing to me particularly stern and solemn in its 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 157 
 
 appearance, as it rose darkly against a very wild 
 sky, like a 'pillar of cloud' with a capital of 
 deep-coloured fire : but perhaps the gloom and 
 stormy effect of the evening might have very 
 much aided the impression left upon my fancy." 
 
 " Your opinion of the 6 Spirit's Return' has 
 given me particular pleasure, because I prefer 
 that poem to anything else I have written : but 
 if there be, as my friends say, a greater power 
 in it than 1 had before evinced, I paid dearly 
 for the discovery, and it almost made me 
 tremble as I sounded 'the deep places' of my 
 soul." 
 
 * "I have just been much struck with this 
 passage, from a work of the late John Bowdler's : 
 
 * I cannot but point to this passage as indicating 
 the first dawning of that healthier and loftier state of 
 mindj to which Mrs. Hemans rose during the few last 
 years of her life. She had always been submissive to 
 
158 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 I cannot help, in some measure, applying it to 
 myself: — * Could the veil which now separates 
 us from futurity be drawn aside, and those re- 
 gions of everlasting happiness and sorrow which 
 strike so faintly on the imagination be pre- 
 sented fully to our eyes, it would occasion, I 
 doubt not, a sudden and strange revolution in 
 our estimate of things. Many are the distresses 
 for which we now weep in suffering or sympathy, 
 that would awaken us to songs of thanksgiving ; 
 many the dispensations which now seem dreary 
 and inexplicable, that would fill our adoring 
 hearts with thanksgiving and joy.' " 
 
 " Truly, in this capital to the land of Prose, 
 there is not much to gratify a feeling for the 
 beautiful ; but I should have liked you to have 
 been with me a few days since, when I went to 
 
 the vicissitudes of her lot : but she had yet to learn to 
 contemplate them with serenity. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 159 
 
 visit a monument by Thorwaldsen, lately arrived 
 here. It represents a dying female, supported 
 by her husband, who is bending over her. No- 
 thing can be more admirable than the perfect 
 abandon of her figure, the utter, desolate help- 
 lessness of the sinking head and hands, so true 
 and yet so graceful : it is like looking at a 
 broken flower. But, unfortunately, the sculptor 
 has thought proper to introduce a man with 
 wings and an hour-glass, at the foot of the 
 couch, looking not one bit more ideal than the 
 man without wings at the head. Now I never 
 could, in my severest illness and most visionary 
 state of mind, imagine either Time or Eternity 
 entering my room with the doctor or one of my * 
 brothers, and standing at my bed-side: and I 
 heartily wish that some skilful exorcist would 
 banish these evil genii from the realms of paint- 
 ing and sculpture altogether, and lay them qui- 
 etly, with other goblins, at the bottom of the Red 
 Sea." .... 
 
160 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Mrs. Hemans' dislike to all allegorical per- 
 sonification was great. I hardly remember, even 
 in her very earliest poems, — written at the time 
 when, paradoxical as it may seem, the most ar- 
 tificial forms and images are most in request — a 
 single instance of her having recourse to the 
 Muses, or the Graces, or the Virtues, or any of 
 the established divinities. In another letter, 
 written about this time, she gaily says, " I quite 
 agree with you as to personification in poetry. 
 I would send them all, from the ' Nymph with 
 placid eye, 1 even to ' Inoculation, heavenly maid,"* 
 along with the marble Times and Eternities, 
 down the Red Sea, for ever and a day." 
 
 The next note, it will be seen, refers to the 
 same subject 
 
 " My dear , 
 
 " I was very remiss in not sooner acknow- 
 ledging the arrival of the little parcel duly con- 
 veyed by Claude, and thus causing you so much 
 additional trouble; but I came home late and 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 161 
 
 tired on Friday evening, which prevented my 
 writing, and I had a vague idea I should see 
 some of you on Sunday. 
 
 " I went with Mrs. to town the other 
 
 day, and found she was going to visit Thorwald- 
 sen's work. I was sorry to relinquish the idea 
 of seeing it with you, but its beauty, truth, and 
 simplicity charmed me greatly. The only thing 
 I disliked was the man with wings, whom I 
 thought very inferior to the man without them, 
 on the other side of the monument ; but the per- 
 fect abandon of the dying figure is admirable. 
 I think the subject you suggested for sculpture, 
 though a very noble one, would rather want 
 some central point, something for the eye and 
 mind to rally round at once. What can we have 
 for the principal figure ? We must decide upon 
 this point when next we meet, which I hope will 
 be very soon. Poor Goethe ! how sad to think 
 that so calmly bright a career should have so 
 stormy a close ! It will be almost like parting 
 with a familiar face to know that he is indeed 
 
162 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 gone. I had read the passage to which you re- 
 fer in c Carlyle,' and mentioned it to my informant, 
 on the subject of his infidelity ; but no argument 
 could pierce through the thick mantle of self- 
 complacency in which he had been pleased to 
 wrap himself." . . . 
 
 The prospect of Goethe's death was a thing 
 deeply to affect one who valued his writings with 
 such entire and reverential sincerity as Mrs. 
 Hemans. A few months previous to this time, 
 she had collected the best of her poems, with 
 the intention of offering them to the sage of 
 Weimar : some chance or misadventure, how- 
 ever, prevented their reaching their destination. 
 
 . . . . " Have you seen Rogers' ' Italy, 1 
 with its exquisite embellishments ? The whole 
 book seems to me quite a triumph of art and 
 taste; some of Turner's Italian scenes, with 
 their moon-lit vestibules and pillared arcades, the 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 163 
 
 shadows of which seem almost trembling on 
 the ground as you look at them, really might be 
 fit representations of Armida's enchanted gar- 
 dens : and there is one view of the temples of 
 Paestum, standing in their severe and lonely 
 grandeur on the shore, and lit up by a flash of 
 lightning, which brought to my mind those lines 
 of Byron, 
 
 f As 1 gazed, the place 
 
 Became Religion, and the heart ran o'er 
 With silent worship of the great of old.' " 
 
 . . . . " I have not yet read Northcote's 
 Life of Titian, but I was much struck with a 
 passage I lately saw quoted from it, relating to 
 that piercing intellectual eagle-look which I have 
 so often remarked in Titian's portraits. ' It is 
 the intense personal character,' Northcote says, 
 1 which gives the superiority to those portraits 
 over all others, and stamps them with a living 
 and permanent interest. Whenever you turn to 
 look at them, they appear to be looking at you. 
 
164 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 There seems to be some question pending be- 
 tween you, as if an intimate friend or an invete- 
 rate foe were in the room with you. They 
 exert a kind of fascinating power, and there is 
 that exact resemblance in individual nature 
 which is always new and always interesting/ I 
 suppose it was a feeling of this kind which made 
 Fuseli exclaim on seeing Titian's picture of 
 Paul the Third with his two nephews, ' that is 
 history !' " 
 
 . . . " The account which you sent me 
 of the longevity of artists, (a privilege which I, 
 at least, am far from envying them,) seemed con- 
 firmed or rather accounted for, in some degree, 
 by a paper I was reading on the same day. It 
 is written, with great enthusiasm, on the * Plea- 
 sures of Painting/ and the author (Hazlitt, I 
 believe) describes the studies of the artist as 
 a kind of sanctuary, a ' city of refuge ' from 
 worldly strife, envy and littleness ; and his com- 
 munion with nature as sufficient to fill the void, 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 165 
 
 and satisfy all the cravings of heart and soul. 
 I wonder if this indeed can be ; I should like to 
 go by night with a magician to the Coliseum, (as 
 Benvenuto Cellini did,) and call up the spirits 
 of those mighty Italian artists, and make them 
 all tell me whether they had been happy ; but 
 it would not do to forget, as he also did (have 
 you ever read those strange memoirs of his ?) 
 the spell by which the ghosts were laid, as the 
 consequences were extremely disagreeable." . . 
 
 # "lam taking lessons in music 
 
 from James Z. Herrmann, who comes to me 
 
 * This gentleman, an artist in the best sense of the 
 word, had already set two of Mrs. Hemans' songs to 
 music of a very high order. The " Far away" is one 
 of the most exquisite things we have in the shape of 
 music joined with English words; and the " Dirge at 
 Sea," (though almost placed out of popular reach by 
 the difficulty of its accompaniment,) is a noble and 
 characteristic song to some of her most spirited words. 
 Opportunity and energy are alone wanting to place 
 Mr. Herrmann in the first rank of modern composers. 
 
166 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 every week, and I should like him as a master ex- 
 ceedingly, were it not that I am sure I give him 
 the toothache whenever I play a wrong note, 
 and a sympathising pang immediately shoots 
 through my own compassionate heart. I am 
 learning Pergolesi's noble ' Stabat Mater,' which 
 realizes all that I could dream of religious 
 music, and which derives additional interest from 
 its being the last work in which the master- 
 spirit breathed forth its enthusiasm." . . . 
 
 ....." Since I last wrote to you, I 
 have received a visit from a remarkable person, 
 with whom I should like to make you acquaint- 
 ed His mind is full, even to over- 
 flowing, of intelligence and original thought. It 
 
 is -, the distinguished linguist, of whom I 
 
 shall speak : besides his calling upon me, I also 
 passed an evening in his society, and he talked 
 to me the whole time. I do not know when I have 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 167 
 
 heard such a flow of varying conversation — odd 
 — original— brilliant— animating; — any and every 
 one of these epithets might be applied to it ; it 
 is like having & flood of mind poured out upon 
 you, and that, too, evidently from the strong ne- 
 cessity of setting the current free, not from any 
 design to shine or overpower. I think I was 
 most interested in his descriptions of Spain, a 
 country where he has lived much, and to which 
 he is strongly attached ; he spoke of the songs 
 which seem to Jill the airs of the south, from the 
 constant improvisation of the people at their 
 work; he described as a remarkable feature of 
 the scenery the little rills and water-courses 
 which were led through the fields and gardens, 
 and even over every low wall, by the Moors of 
 Andalusia, and which yet remain, making the 
 whole country vocal with pleasant sounds of 
 waters ; he told me also several striking anec- 
 dotes of a bandit chief in Murcia, a sort of 
 Spanish Rob] Roy, who has carried on his pre- 
 datory warfare there for many years, and is so 
 
168 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 adored by the peasantry, for whose sake he 
 plunders the rich, that it is impossible for the 
 government ever to seize upon him. Some ex- 
 pressions of the old Biscayan language, the 
 Basque he called it, which he translated for me, 
 I thought beautifully poetical. The sun is 
 called, in that language, ' that which pours the 
 day,' and the moon, ' the light of the dead.' 
 Well, from Spain he travelled, or rather shot 
 off, like Robin Good-fellow, who could 
 
 ' put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes/ 
 
 away to Iceland, and told me of his having seen 
 there a MS. recording the visit of an Icelandic 
 prince to the court of our old Saxon king, Athel- 
 stan — then to Paris — (not the Iceland prince, 
 
 but ) — Brussels — Warsaw — with a sort of 
 
 ' Open Sesame,' for the panorama of each court 
 and kingdom. All I had to complain of was, 
 that, being used to a sort of steam-boat rapidity, 
 both in bodily and mental movements, , 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 169 
 
 while gallantly handing me from one room to 
 another, rushed into a sort of gallopade which 
 nearly took my breath away. On mentioning 
 this afterwards to a gentleman who had been 
 of the party, he said, * What could you expect 
 from a man who has been handing armed Croats 
 instead of ladies, from one tent to another ? for 
 I believe it is not very long since my ubiquitous 
 friend visited Hungary/ A striking contrast to 
 all this, was a visit I lately paid to old Mr. 
 Roscoe, who may be considered quite as the 
 father of literature in this part of the world, 
 though it must be owned that his child is at 
 present in anything but a flourishing state. 
 However, he is a delightful old man, with a fine 
 Roman style of head, which he had adorned with 
 a green velvet cap to receive me in, because, as 
 he playfully said, i he knew I always admired 
 him in it' Altogether he put me rather in 
 mind of one of Rembrandt's pictures, and as he 
 sat in his quiet study, surrounded by busts, and 
 books, and flowers, and with a beautiful cast of 
 
 VOL- VI. I 
 
170 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 r 
 Canova's Psyche in the back-ground, I thought 
 that a painter who wished to make old age look 
 touching and venerable, could not have had a 
 better subject. I must, however, confess my 
 ill-behaviour, notwithstanding all the respect 
 with which the scene inspired me. The good 
 old gentleman was showing me a series of en- 
 gravings from the early Italian masters, and 
 pointing out very gravely the characteristic dif- 
 ferences of style, when, all at once, upon his un- 
 rolling one which represents Hercules distress- 
 ingly placed between a dowdy Virtue, and a 
 great fat Pleasure, I was so strongly reminded 
 of a scene which you may remember, that I 
 burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Mr. 
 Roscoe, a good deal perplexed apparently, asked 
 the cause, and as it was impossible to ex- 
 plain to him the whole mystery, I could only 
 reply, looking as good as I could, * that it really 
 was impossible to help laughing at Pleasure's 
 gouty-looking feet.' " 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 171 
 
 . . . . " I send you two pamphlets by 
 Mr. Julius Hare, (a friend of Wordsworth's,) 
 which I think you will admire for their high 
 tone of eloquence ; although the subject of one 
 of them, the Defence of Niebuhr,* will probably 
 not interest you much more than it did myself. 
 There are, however, some noble passages, trans- 
 lated from « Niebuhr's Appeal to the German 
 People,' which almost, as Sir Philip Sidney 
 said of Chevy Chace, * stir the heart like the 
 sound of a trumpet/ The other work of Mr. 
 
 * At this time Mrs. Hemans only regarded Niebuhr 
 as one of the iconoclasts — as merely a sceptical in- 
 quirer into the traditions of antiquity ; and it will be 
 remembered with what small complacency or tolera- 
 ration she was prepared to regard any destroyer of the 
 ancient legends in which her imagination took such 
 great delight. The details of the Roman historian's 
 private life, the traits of his character, which have 
 shown to us the simple and amiable man, as well as 
 the severe and laborious scholar, had not then been 
 given to the public. 
 
 i 2 
 
172 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Hare's is a sermon called « the Children of 
 Light."' .... 
 
 . . . . " Since I wrote last, I have been 
 quite confined to the house, but before I caught 
 my last very judicious cold, I went to see an ex- 
 quisite piece of sculpture, which has been lately 
 sent to this neighbourhood from Rome, by Gib- 
 son, with whose name as an artist you are most 
 likely familiar. It is a statue of Sappho, repre- 
 senting her at the moment she receives the 
 tidings of Phaon's desertion. I think I prefer 
 it to almost anything I ever saw of Canova's, as 
 it possesses all his delicacy and beauty of form, 
 but is imbued with a far deeper sentiment 
 There is a sort of willowy drooping in the figure 
 which seems to express a weight of unutterable 
 sadness, and one sinking arm holds the lyre 
 so carelessly, that you almost fancy it will drop 
 while you gaze. Altogether, it seems to speak 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 173 
 
 piercingly and sorrowfully of the nothingness of 
 fame, at least to woman. There was a good col- 
 lection of pictures in the same house, but they 
 were almost unaccountably vulgarized in my 
 sight by the presence of the lonely and graceful 
 statue." 
 
 . ..." I send you a number of the Athenaeum, 
 (which seems almost the best literary journal of 
 the day,) for the sake of an account it contains 
 of the Necker family and Madame de Stael, 
 which I think particularly interesting. From the 
 style, I imagine it to be written by a friend of 
 
 mine, Miss Jewsbury I send another 
 
 number, in which T think you will read with 
 interest a paper, by the sudden appearance of 
 which, with the portentous title ' Felicia He- 
 mans,' I was somewhat startled yesterday morn- 
 ing. Some parts of it are, however, beautifully 
 written, though I hope you will quite enter into 
 my feelings when I utterly disclaim all wish for 
 
174 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 the post of ; Speaker to the Feminine Literary 
 House of Commons."* 
 
 . ..." I have been reading a great deal during 
 all this gloomy winter, and have been charmed 
 lately by an account of the life of my favourite 
 musician, Weber, f with extracts from his letters ; 
 
 * In spite of the fault of taste in its very first sen- 
 tence, here alluded to by Mrs. Hemans, the character 
 in question (from the pen of Miss Jewsbury) is written 
 with great truth, and elegance, and discrimination. It 
 would be superfluous to quote from it, save, perhaps, 
 the fanciful simile in its closing paragraph. " She is a 
 permanent accession to the literature of her country ; 
 she has strengthened intellectual refinement, and 
 beautified the cause of virtue. The superb creeping- 
 plants of America often fling themselves across the 
 arms of mighty rivers, uniting the opposite banks by 
 a blooming arch : so should every poet do to truth and 
 goodness — so has Felicia Hemans often done, and been, 
 poetically speaking, a bridge of flowers." 
 
 f In the Foreign Quarterly Review. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 175 
 
 the flow of affectionate feeling in these, the 
 love he everywhere manifests of excellence for 
 its own sake, the earnestness and truth of heart 
 revealed in all his actions, — these things make 
 up a character, like his own music, of perfect 
 harmony. Is it not delightful, a foundation of 
 gladness to our own hearts, when we are able 
 to love what we admire ? I shall play the waltz, 
 and those beautiful airs from Der Freischutz, 
 with tenfold pleasure after reading the me- 
 moir." .... 
 
 . ..." I was much interested a few days ago 
 in looking over some beautiful engravings of 
 antique English portraits. I wonder whether 
 you were ever impressed by what struck me 
 much during an examination of them, the 
 superior character of repose by which they are 
 distinguished from the portraits of the present 
 day. I found this, to a certain degree, the pre- 
 dominant trait in every one of them ; not any 
 
176 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 thing like nonchalance or apathy, but a certain 
 high-minded self-possession, something like what 
 I think the ' Opium Eater ' calls ' the brooding 
 .of the majestic intellect over all.' I scarcely 
 ever see a trace of this quiet, yet stately sweet- 
 ness in the expression of modern portraits; 
 they all look so eager, so restless, so trying to 
 be tveillt; I wonder if this is owing to the 
 feverish excitement of the times in which we 
 live, for I should suppose that the world has 
 never been in such a hurry during the whole 
 course of its life before." .... 
 
 .... "I wish I could be with you to see Young's 
 performance of Hamlet, of all Shakspeare's 
 characters the one which interests me most; I 
 suppose from the never-ending conjectures in 
 which it involves one's mind. Did I ever men- 
 tion to you Goethe's beautiful remark upon it? 
 He says, that Hamlet's naturally gentle and 
 tender spirit, overwhelmed with its mighty tasks 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 177 
 
 and solemn responsibilities, is like a China vase, 
 fit only for the reception of delicate flowers, 
 but in which an oak tree has been planted, the 
 roots of the strong tree expand, and the fair 
 vase is shivered." .... 
 
 . ..." I have lately met with an exquisite little 
 book, a work upon the Classics, just published, 
 by Henry Coleridge ; it is written with all the 
 fervour and much of the rich imagination and 
 flow of 'words that burn,' which characterize 
 the writings of his celebrated relative." .... 
 
 .... " Some Quarterly Reviews have lately 
 been sent to me, one of which contains an article 
 on Byron, by which I have been deeply and sor- 
 rowfully impressed ; his character, as there 
 pourtrayed, reminded me of some of those old 
 eastern cities, where travellers constantly find a 
 squalid mud hovel built against the ruins of a 
 gorgeous temple ; for, alas ! the best part of that 
 
 i 5 
 
178 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 fearfully mingled character is but ruin — the 
 wreck of what might have been" .... 
 
 . ..." I hope you observed in one of the Edin- 
 burgh Journals, which I lately sent you on that 
 account, a precious theory of a distinguished 
 engineer, that all the Cyclops of old were 
 Light-Houses. So I suppose Ulysses only 
 blew out the lantern, on a memorable occasion 
 celebrated in the Odyssey: but then how the 
 light-house Polyphemus came to run about the 
 shore in that extraordinary manner, and made 
 such a noise that he awoke all his brothers and 
 cousin-beacons along the coast, Mr. Stevenson, 
 the engineer, ought, I think, to have explained." 
 
 Mrs. Hemans writes of Howitfs " Book of the 
 Seasons" as " a little book which has quite 
 charmed me. Do you know, I think that the 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 179 
 
 rumours of political strife and convulsion now 
 ringing round us on all sides, make the spirit 
 long more intensely for the freshness and purity 
 and stillness of nature, and take deeper delight 
 in everything that recalls these lovely images. 
 I am sure I shall forget all sadness, and feel as 
 happy as a child, or a fawn, when I can be free 
 again amongst hills and woods. I long for them 
 ' as the hart for the water-brooks."* " . . . . 
 
 . ..." I think you will have pleasure in reading 
 the lines which have been lately addressed to 
 me, by Dr. Butler, of Shrewsbury, whose name, 
 as that of an elegant classic scholar, I dare say 
 is familiar to you : I should be sorry not to dis- 
 tinguish such a tribute from and other 
 
 effusions of the Voly-treacle school." 
 
 Few writers have been approached with so 
 much homage in rhyme as Mrs. Hemans. Most 
 
180 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 • 
 
 of it was sickly and foolish enough to merit her 
 whimsical epithet: every now and then, how- 
 ever, she was touched by an effusion of pure 
 feeling uttered in graceful verse, which showed 
 all the brighter in contrast with other tributes 
 she received. I believe the verses which she 
 preferred above the rest, were some lines by Mrs. 
 C. G. Godwin, which appeared in one of the 
 annuals ; but they could hardly be more heart- 
 warm or welcome, than the poems, — for there are 
 more than one, — addressed to her by her faith- 
 ful and enthusiastic friend, Miss Jewsbury. A 
 stanza or two from one of these may not be out 
 of place here. 
 
 " I know thee but a form of earth, 
 
 1 know thy wondrous mind, 
 Linked ever by its tears and mirth 
 
 To all of earthly kind ; 
 A flower's thy strength, a child's thy glee, 
 
 And all thy moods of heart, 
 Though restless as the billowy sea, 
 
 In beauty come and part. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 181 
 
 Thou art of earth in mind and will, 
 Yet a soul's spell, a vision still. 
 
 For thee, in knightly days of old 
 
 Would many a lance have rung - , 
 And minstrels at the revel bold 
 
 Thy beauty's triumphs sung ; 
 But nobler far thy present meed, 
 
 Famed with a mother's fame, 
 And made to household hearts a need, 
 
 Than all Romance may name, 
 I called thee Rose, I called thee well, 
 But woman's is thine own sweet spell." 
 
 Lays of Leisure Hours. 
 
 The next extract is without a date, but 
 may be introduced here as accompanying 
 a short series of letters to the same corres- 
 pondent. 
 
182 MEMORIALS OF 
 TO MR. L 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " I could not but pity the unhappy state in 
 which you must have concluded your last letter, 
 with such a chorus as you describe beneath the 
 windows ; in similar circumstances I lately sent 
 out a servant to say that there was a sick lady 
 in the house, who would infallibly expire at the 
 very next blast of song, and the bagpipe, (for 
 such was the leader of the barbaric crew,) with 
 a humanity greater than could have been ex- 
 pected from its savage education, immediately 
 departed. One sometimes does hear a sweet 
 female voice among a wandering band, and then 
 I think the ideas of desolation and homeless- 
 ness, with which it is associated, makes the 
 sounds very touching : one such voice came 
 to my ears lately on a very stormy evening : it 
 was uncultivated, as you may suppose, but had 
 a mournful and piercing sweetness, which, ming- 
 ling as it did with the fitful gusts of the storm, 
 lingered some time in my imagination, and 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 183 
 
 gave rise to the little song # I enclose : if you 
 think it suitable to music it shall be your own, 
 
 as no one has yet seen it I dined the 
 
 other day O what a day ! what 
 
 a crew of men ! Had I possessed the power of 
 the Enchantress Queen in the Arabian Nights, 
 I should certainly, like her majesty, have taken 
 a little water in my hand, and throwing it by 
 turns in the face of each, have exclaimed, 
 according to the necromantic formula, ' Quit 
 the human form which thou disgracest, and 
 assume that of an ox :' by these desirable means, 
 had they been in my power, some insufferable 
 
 * This was " To a wandering female singer." 
 
 * * * 
 
 Thou hast wept, and thou hast parted, 
 
 Thou hast been forsaken long, 
 Thou hast watched for steps that came not back, 
 
 I know it by thy song. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 These lines are published among Mrs. Hemans' 
 Poetical Remains. 
 
184 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 men would have been got rid of, and some very 
 good oxen (I have no doubt) joined to society.* 
 I long to see your song of the Cid, which I feel 
 assured will be, as Sir Walter Scott somewhere 
 says, ' a strain to turn back the flight ? neither 
 the words of that or the other piece have been 
 promised to any one, and you know I prefer 
 their being accompanied by your music to any 
 other attendance." 
 
 About this time, Mrs. Hemans began to de- 
 rive great pleasure from the discovery of a power 
 which is always more or less possessed by those 
 of a nature as musical as hers; that of com- 
 posing melodies ; or, — to speak critically, — 
 
 * In referring to a similar party in another letter, 
 she says quaintly, " I can well conceive your suf- 
 ferings yesterday ; the remembrance of my own on 
 a nearly similar occasion, when I was c bounded on the 
 
 east,' as geographers say, by , is yet but too 
 
 vivid." .... 
 
MRS. HEMANS* 
 
 1B5 
 
 of putting together into a rhythmical form, 
 such wandering and unclaimed fragments of 
 music as float' through the memory — in fact, 
 the difficulty is always rather to note down 
 such fancies than to originate them. 
 
 " The newly-discovered power," she says in 
 a letter, " if such it may be called, to which I 
 have alluded, is that of composing melodies, by 
 which I have been visited in the strangest man- 
 ner. I have really succeeded in putting down 
 a great many airs to lyric pieces of my own, 
 which, though simple, as you may suppose, yet 
 seem to me to express the character of the 
 
 words. Mr. L , to whom I showed them, 
 
 was so much pleased, that he has kindly ar- 
 ranged them with symphonies and accompani- 
 ments, arrayed in which drapery they really 
 make quite an imposing appearance, and I anti- 
 cipate much pleasure in playing them to you, 
 though I dare say I shall be visited with some 
 nervous terrors when that awful moment arrives. 
 But they have been really a great delight to me, 
 
186 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 amidst a thousand annoyances which, as the 
 Latin Grammar sagely observes, * now to enu- 
 merate would be tedious.' I dare say Columbus 
 was not much more rejoiced on discovering the 
 New World, than I, when I had really caught 
 and caged my first melody." . . . 
 
 TO MR. l . 
 
 " March 5th, 1831. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " I send you the last song of our set. I re- 
 member you wished for a boat-song, and I think 
 this will be susceptible (I am sure that it is a 
 wrong word, but I have no other word at hand) 
 of good musical effect, which you will give so 
 well. I hope you will find no family likenesses 
 between Vs and Vs and v's strong enough to 
 produce a Comedy of Errors. I return your 
 musical Bijou ; and feeling myself the happy 
 possessor of two copies of last year's, I beg 
 your acceptance of the one which accompanies 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 187 
 
 your own back. The stream of melody has been 
 in such full flow since you were here that I 
 think my being on the eve of departure is ra- 
 ther a fortunate circumstance for you, as other- 
 wise these new inspirations would leave you no 
 prospect of a quiet life. If you have no better 
 engagement, do you think you could come here 
 on Sunday evening? That monster known by 
 the name of the People is tormenting me at pre- 
 sent to such a degree, that I scarcely know when 
 I shall have another evening. That 'mighty 
 minster's bell,' really sounds so magnificent, that 
 I am sure my story of the French artiste with 
 the sauce piquante and the old slippers, must 
 be a case exactly in point. . . A painful sus- 
 picion is flashing over my mind that I am be- 
 ginning to write more illegibly than ever. 
 Before my words, therefore, are lost in a vapour 
 of sublime obscurity, 
 
 " Believe me very truly yours, 
 
 " F. H." 
 
188 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 TO MR. L- 
 
 " March 20th, 1831. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " I have been making a noble effort to put 
 down some of these melodies intelligibly, so as 
 to save you some part of the very irksome task 
 you have so kindly imposed upon yourself. I 
 tried to perform this mighty deed according to 
 the plan you recommended, and shall be very 
 glad if you think I have given some token of 
 dawning reason, and if any of the airs seem to 
 you worth arranging. My own favourite is the 
 Italian girl's hymn, though I cannot make my- 
 self at all certain that it does not belong to 
 some injured person whom I have uninten- 
 tionally plundered. Do tell me if this measure 
 would be intractable for composition. 
 
 ' A voice of prayer arose 
 Through evening's bright repose, 
 
 When the sea-fight was done : 
 The sons of England knelt, 
 With hearts that now could melt, 
 For on the wave the battle had been won. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 189 
 
 Round their tall ship the main 
 Heaved with a dark red stain, 
 
 Caught not from sunset's cloud ; 
 While with the tide swept past 
 Pennon and shivered mast, 
 Which to the Ocean Queen that day had bowed.' 
 
 " I wrote the piece a short time since with the 
 title of 4 Prayer at Sea,'' and was more pleased 
 with it than I often am with my own perform- 
 ances. I should particularly like to have it set 
 by you, if you do not object to the matter, as 
 otherwise I fear it will be caught and sacrificed 
 by some ignoble hand. 
 
 " A parenthesis in my letter occasioned by a 
 visit three hours long, has completely driven out 
 of my mind all the rest that I had to say. I 
 am so wearied now, that I conclude like an 
 Italian scena — non posso piil. 
 
 " Ever truly yours, &c. 
 
 "F.H." 
 
190 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 TO MR. L- 
 
 " March 22nd, 1831. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " I am very glad that you perceive some signs 
 of advancing intellect in my musical MS.— and 
 still more rejoiced that you consent to rescue the 
 lines I now inclose from their impending ruin. 
 
 " I have the pleasure to inform you that you 
 have attained a degree of indistinctness posi- 
 tively sublime in the name of the day upon 
 which you promise to visit me next. I was, as 
 the Lady Cherubina says in the Heroine, * ter- 
 ribly ill off for mysteries,' before the arrival of 
 your note ; but this deficiency is now most hap- 
 pily supplied. Reasoning from analogy instead 
 of wisdom, (is not that a sentence worthy of 
 
 himself?) I should conclude it 
 
 to be Tuesday, but then it has, if my senses 
 fail me not, a dotted i : it seems to have 
 rather too many letters for Friday, and into 
 Wednesday it cannot be metamorphosed, even on 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 191 
 
 the antiquarian system that 'consonants are 
 changeable at pleasure and vowels go for nothing/ 
 8 The force of nature can no further go ;' 
 therefore, I return the awful hieroglyphic for 
 your inspection, and unless it should be intended 
 to emulate that celebrated hand of Mr. Jeffrey's, 
 ' which is neither to be read by himself or any 
 one else,' I beg for some further light." 
 
 " March 31st, 1831. 
 
 " My dear Mr. , 
 
 " I was not able to send you the book yester- 
 day, but it does itself the pleasure of waiting 
 upon you this morning, and is accompanied by a 
 Literary Souvenir, which I beg you to accept 
 and keep ( for ever and a day' in remembrance 
 of me. I also send you a relic which I am sure 
 you will value, a note of Reginald Heber's, with 
 some advice respecting the plot of a tragedy on 
 
192 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 which I had consulted him : as I have several 
 other papers and letters of his, I can well spare 
 you this, and am sure that no one will prize it 
 more. 
 
 " I am beginning to be much engaged with 
 the troublesome preparations for my departure. 
 Certainly poetry is a mere * waif and stray , in 
 this work-day world of ours ; when I find my 
 unfortunate self surrounded by trunks and boxes, 
 and packing cases, and bills and accounts^ 
 and other such uncouth monsters, I get per- 
 fectly bewildered, and wonder into what terra 
 incognita I have been transported. Is it not 
 very disagreeable to waken out of one's plea- 
 sant ideal world, and find that one must do 
 things for one's self after all, and notwithstand- 
 ing all the protestations of a hundred knights 
 and squires who declare that their ' swords shall 
 leap out of the scabbard'' at a single word, in 
 one's cause ? — Pray are you at all superstitious ? 
 I am perfectly haunted by an ominous verse of 
 Campbell's — 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 193 
 
 e The boat hath left a stormy land, 
 
 A stormy sea before her ; 
 *But O, too strong- for human hand, 
 
 The tempest gathered o'er her/ 
 
 and wonder what it bodes me. I am expecting 
 one pleasure in the midst of all these plagues, a 
 
 visit from my old friend Sir , who is coming 
 
 to see me next week on his way to town. If I 
 have an opportunity, I should like to introduce 
 him to you. He is to dine with the King on the 
 1st of April, and with me I hope (what a pi- 
 quant contrast !) on the 6th." 
 
 TO MR. l . 
 
 "April 3rd, 1831. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " I send you the other volume of Shelley, 
 
 * The two last lines have been added to make the 
 quotation clear to those, if such there be, who may 
 not happen to be familiar with the verse : it is from 
 « Lord Ullin's Daughter." 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
194 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 which I stupidly forgot to bring yesterday. I 
 think you will admire the earnest eloquence of 
 Mrs. Shelley's preface ; and the lines written in 
 the Bay of Naples seem to me quite a union of 
 music and picture in poetry. Can anything be 
 more beautiful than 
 
 ' The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 
 Is flashing round me, and I hear 
 The music of its measured motion ?' 
 
 I do not think I can leave this citta dolente 
 ( Wavertree, I mean, for I must remain in Liver- 
 pool some days longer) until Saturday next, so 
 that I hope you will have quite time to read all that 
 is interesting in the volume. When I returned 
 home yesterday, I indulged the incendiary tastes 
 I had confessed to you, by making a large bonfire 
 of letters. The quantity of sentiment that went 
 to heap the pyre was prodigious, and would, I 
 am sure, have filled ' twelve French romances, 
 neatly gilt/ Did you observe any lurid tinge of 
 conflagration in the skies above ? Amongst 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 195 
 
 these records, half-melancholy, half ludicrous, of 
 past follies and fancies and dreams, I found two 
 
 letters from , which I thought had been 
 
 destroyed long since. I was going to add them 
 to my beacon-fire, but I thought, as curious 
 traits of character, I would show them to you 
 first. Can you conceive anything so innately, 
 so unutterably vulgar, as the style of mind they 
 betray ? the attempt at patronage, the low-bred 
 enumeration of great names, which, so arranged, 
 almost remind me of the list in the Bath Guide, 
 
 ' Lord Cram and Lord Vultur, 
 Sir Brandish O'Cultur, 
 With Marshal Carowzer 
 And old Lady Mouser.' 
 
 I answered these precious documents, certainly 
 without unpoliteness, but with some portion of 
 what Miss Jewsbury calls my 'passive disdain,* 
 a quality in which she considers me particularly 
 rich. If you will bring them with you to- 
 morrow evening, we will make another confla- 
 gration." .... 
 
 k 2 
 
196 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 TO MR. L . 
 
 "April 6th, 1831. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " I return to you the very interesting collec- 
 tion of Mr. 's drawings, which I had great 
 
 pleasure in looking over yesterday evening. I 
 only regret that there were no names to them, 
 as I am prevented from particularising those 
 which I most admired ; but I recognized Tivoli, 
 and was especially struck with one representing 
 the interior of a church. There is also an ex- 
 quisite little hermitage buried among trees, 
 where I should like to pass at least a month 
 after all my late fatigues, and hear nothing but 
 the sound of leaves and waters, and now and 
 then some pleasant voice of a friend. I did 
 not quite understand a message which Henry 
 brought me about the dedication or advertise- 
 ment to those drawings. Did Mr. wish 
 
 to ask my opinion of it ? I am just the reverse 
 of Iago, who calls himself ■ nothing if not cri- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 197 
 
 tical,' but it seems to me that there is some little 
 awkwardness in the commencement. ' Making 
 the following drawings/ has rather an abrupt 
 sound for the opening of a sentence, has it not ? 
 
 I cannot help feeling interested in Mr. 
 
 from all I have heard you say of him ; and, if you 
 think it would gratify him, I would send you a 
 few lines to be prefixed to this work, in which I 
 should try to express in poetry what I imagine 
 he wishes to convey — that the spirit of the artist 
 was wandering over the sunny fields of Italy, 
 whilst he himself was confined to the bed of 
 sickness. I could not do it very soon, as I am 
 likely to be hurried for some time, but probably 
 he does not wish to publish his work imme- 
 diately I fear I must give up the 
 
 concert, I feel so inexpressibly weary from 
 having to superintend a thousand things which 
 I never thought of in my life before. I will try 
 to have my harp sent to your care in a day or 
 two, and I will also trouble you with the charge 
 of some music-books. I send you a letter of 
 Campbell's for your collection. I must only beg 
 
198 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 you to keep it for yourself, and not to give it 
 away." 
 
 TO MR. L 
 
 " April 10, 1831. 
 
 " I find that I must trouble you with the care 
 of several more Italian books. I was compelled 
 to choose between Tasso and Ariosto, and fear 
 you will hardly approve my preference of the 
 former, but there is much in the story of his 
 sufferings which intensely interests me, and, 
 perhaps, deepens my reverence for his poetry. 
 
 " Will you laugh, or pity me a little, when I 
 tell you that I absolutely cried this morning 
 from mere fatigue ? I think I never, not even 
 in times of real affliction, felt my spirits so 
 exhausted as at present. I would give anything 
 to be going into the country, and to live among 
 trees and flowers till I feel the spirit of poetry 
 come back again — it is quite put to flight by 
 petty cares, which I think are almost as much at 
 
MRS. HEMANS. * 199 
 
 variance with it as fashionable dinners. There 
 is a most severe and really well-written review 
 in Fraser's Magazine this month, upon Moore's 
 life of Byron." ..... 
 
 TO MR. l. . 
 
 " April 19, 1S31. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " I cannot tell you how much I shall value 
 your beautiful token of remembrance :* nothing 
 could be at once so acceptable to my tastes, and 
 so delightfully associated with all my recollec- 
 tions of you as this glorious opera; and I quite 
 agree with you that it is impossible for anything 
 so essentially full of beauty, so composed 'for 
 eternity,' ever to become hackneyed to feeling 
 and imagination, notwithstanding its countless 
 wrongs from the hands of Goths, Vandals, and 
 young ladies. You must not suppose, however, 
 — though I shall treasure this book more than 
 all the others of my musical library — that I shall 
 
 * The Opera of Tancredi. 
 
200 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 need anything to remind me of you. One so 
 haunted as I am by the ceaseless cry of * Alone, 
 alone/ retains no transitory remembrance of 
 those who have had power sometimes to bid 
 that voice be silenced. 
 
 " You will be surprised to hear, that not- 
 withstanding my healthful looks, of which you 
 so cruelly informed me yesterday morning, Dr. 
 , who visited me after you were gone, posi- 
 tively forbid the intended excursion to Ince,* 
 and gave me most serious admonitions with re- 
 gard to that complaint of the heart from which 
 I suffer. He says that nothing but great care 
 and perfect quiet will prevent its assuming a 
 dangerous character; and I told him that he 
 might as well prescribe me the powdered dia- 
 monds which physicians of the olden time or- 
 dered for royal patients. I must own that this 
 has somewhat deepened the melancholy impres- 
 sions under which I am going to Ireland, for I 
 cannot but feel assured that he is right 
 
 * The seat of Henry Blundell, Esq., famous for its 
 fine collection of statuary. 
 
MRS. REMANS* 201 
 
 " Will you not dislike .... more than ever 
 when I tell you that our friend Mr. Roscoe is actu- 
 ally to be deprived of a pension which he received 
 from the Royal Society of Literature ? I learned 
 this from the Mr. , whom I told you I ex- 
 pected to see, but he begged me not to make it 
 generally known at present. Mathias also, one 
 of our most distinguished Italian scholars, now 
 a very old man in narrow circumstances, is to 
 undergo a similar privation. Is it not a miser- 
 able piece of economy in an English king to re- 
 trench a thousand a- year (for all these literary 
 pensions amounted to no more) from men of let- 
 ters in advanced age ? I feel quite grieved about 
 Mr. Roscoe, for besides that I am afraid he can 
 ill spare it, the wound to his feelings seemed to 
 be so great. I can scarcely think of it without 
 tears, when I recollect his touching expression of 
 feebleness united with so much that is venerable. 
 I mean to sail, if I possibly can, to-morrow, and 
 shall write to you as soon as I am a little settled 
 in Dublin, where I hope we shall meet in the 
 
 k 5 
 
202 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 autumn. I have had a very good account of 
 my two boys ; I am quite amused to hear from 
 
 their master, that little has already excited 
 
 a general musical taste in the school, and has 
 actually persuaded all the boys to subscribe for 
 a music-master." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. *2()3 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans' departure from England — Letters from 
 Kilkenny — Catholic and Protestant animosity— Pic- 
 tures at Lord Ormonde's—Visit to Woodstock — 
 Parallel between the poems of Mrs. Hemans and 
 Mrs. Tighe — Raphael's great Madonna— Kilfane— 
 Water-birds — Deserted churchyard — Visit to a Con- 
 vent— Passage in Symmons' Translation of the 
 Agamemnon — Kilkenny — Irish politics — " The 
 Death-song of Alcestis" — Dublin Musical Festival 
 — Paganini—" Napoleon's Midnight Review" — Fur- 
 ther Anecdotes of Paganini — Letters from the county 
 Wicklow— Glendalough— The Devil's Glen— Wood 
 scenery — Letters from Dublin— Miniature by Robert- 
 son—Society of Dublin — " The Swan and the Sky- 
 lark " — Difficulty in procuring new books. 
 
 In the spring of 1831, Mrs. Hemans took leave 
 of England, for the last time. From this point, 
 
204 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 therefore, my memorials of her life and literary 
 pursuits (always inseparably connected) must, of 
 necessity, be slighter than those of the time of 
 daily personal intercourse. But it was her 
 happy fortune, wherever she went, to attach a 
 few faithful friends to her, and it was her nature 
 to prefer the society of those few to the suc- 
 cess and celebrity which she might, at will, 
 have commanded in wider and more brilliant 
 circles. To one of the small household band 
 which she drew around her in Dublin, I am 
 largely indebted for details of the manner of 
 her life and the direction of her mind, during 
 the last years of her pilgrimage ; and for extracts 
 from that familiar correspondence, in which she 
 loved to journalize the thoughts and impressions 
 of the passing hours, for the benefit of those for 
 the time nearest and dearest to her. Her more 
 general letters to her friends in England will 
 readily be distinguished from these. 
 
 After a short stay in Dublin, Mrs. Hemans 
 paid a visit to her brother, who was then sta- 
 tioned in the county of Kilkenny. The follow- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 205 
 
 ing letters, were written while she was under his 
 roof. 
 
 TO MR. L- 
 
 " Hermitage, near Kilkenny, June 21, 1831. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " The sight of your letter awoke in me, I can 
 assure you, not a few ' compunctious visitings,' 
 as I think you must have imagined I had forgot 
 past times and all your kindness to me. This 
 is, however, far from having been the case; I 
 have again and again both spoken of you and 
 thought of you, and intended to write ; but I can 
 give you no idea of the strange, unsettled, agi- 
 tated life I have been leading since I came to 
 this country : obliged, amidst a thousand inward 
 anxieties, to give my time and attention to the 
 claims of a new society; and perpetually inter- 
 rupted by a state of health more tremulous than 
 usual. I must not lead you to suppose that I 
 have been altogether unhappy since my leaving 
 
206 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 England : I have, on the contrary, found more of 
 happiness and true kindness here than I have 
 expected — still peace and leisure have been far 
 from me, and I have scarcely been able to write 
 aline." .... 
 
 ee Hermitage, Kilkenny, June, 22nd, 1831. 
 . . . . " I arrived here on Saturday last. 
 I left Dublin with great regret, for amidst many 
 anxieties much and unexpected happiness had 
 
 met me there My brother is 
 
 still in Clare, but we expect him very shortly. 
 
 is a perfect heroine : she has sent her 
 
 men servants out of the house to make room 
 for my boys ; and we are quite unprotected ex- 
 cept by my brother's name. I must say, / feel 
 sometimes a little nervous at night, particularly 
 after hearing of the attacks made upon houses 
 to procure arms, with which our dwelling is 
 
 known to be amply supplied This 
 
 county is, however, tolerably quiet; but the 
 spirit of hatred existing between Protestant and 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 207 
 
 Papist, is what I could never have conceived 
 had I not visited these scenes. Yesterday even- 
 ing I was taking a quiet walk beside the beau- 
 tiful river Nore, everything looking bright, and 
 still, and peaceful around me, when I met one 
 of my brother's men there with pistols stuck in 
 his belt, which I was told he always carried, on 
 account of his being a Protestant I asked a 
 young clergyman who visits us to attend me to 
 a Catholic place of worship, as I wished to hear 
 the service ; he said that he would most will- 
 ingly escort me anywhere else, and, as far as 
 his own feelings were concerned, would go with 
 me even there, but probably the consequence 
 would be the desertion of almost all his con- 
 gregation. You may imagine that I did not 
 choose to press the point. I hope in my next 
 letter to send you the lines on Naples. I can- 
 not tell you how much I regret being of so little 
 use to you this year ; but my life, in this land of 
 agitation, has partaken of all that characterises 
 the country. I have indeed found some hap- 
 
208 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 piness, for which I am grateful, but no peace, 
 no leisure — and have been scarcely able to write a 
 line. Still I love Ireland, and feel that I shall do 
 so still more. My health has not improved lately. 
 " I am most faithfully yours, 
 
 « F. H." 
 
 . . . . " I saw a few beautiful pictures 
 at Lord Ormonde's the other day. One of those 
 which struck me the most was a Madonna of 
 Corregio's ; so still, so earnest, so absorbed in its 
 expression of holy love, that it realized my 
 deepest conception of the character. What I 
 thought most remarkable was, that all this ex- 
 pression is given to a countenance with nearly 
 closed eyes, for the eyelids fall so heavily— I 
 should rather say softly, over them." . . . 
 
 . . . . " I wish to give you an account 
 of a rather interesting day which I lately passed, 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 209 
 
 before its images become faint in my recollec- 
 tion. We went to Woodstock, the place where 
 the late Mrs. Tighe, whose poetry has always 
 been very touching to my feelings, passed the 
 latest years of her life, and near which she is 
 buried. The scenery of the place is magnifi- 
 cent, of a style which I think I prefer to every 
 other ; wild profound glens, rich with every hue 
 and form of foliage, and a rapid river sweeping 
 through them, now lost and now lighting up. the 
 deep woods with sudden flashes of its waves. 
 Altogether it reminded me more of Haw- 
 thornden, than any thing I have seen since — 
 though it wants the solemn rock-pinnacles of 
 that romantic place. I wish I could have been 
 alone with Nature and my thoughts, but, to my 
 surprise, I found myself the object of quite a re- 
 ception. The Chief Justice and many other per- 
 sons had been invited to meet me, and I was to 
 be made completely the lady of the day. There 
 was no help for it, though I never felt so much 
 as if I wanted a large leaf to wrap me up and 
 
210 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 shelter me from all curiosity and attention. 
 Still one cannot but feel grateful for kindness, 
 and much was shown me. I should have told 
 you, that Woodstock is now the seat of Mr. and 
 
 Lady Louisa Tighe Amongst 
 
 other persons of the party was Mr. Henry 
 
 Tighe, the widower of the poetess 
 
 He had just been exercising, I found, one of his 
 accomplishments in the translation into Latin 
 of a little poem of mine, and I am told that his 
 version is very elegant. We went to the tomb, 
 ' the grave of a poetess,' where there is a 
 monument by Flaxman : it consists of a recum- 
 bent female figure, with much of the repose, the 
 mysterious sweetness of happy death, which is 
 to me so affecting in monumental sculpture. 
 There is, however, a very small Titania-look- 
 ing sort of figure with wings, sitting at the head 
 of the sleeper, and intended to represent Psyche, 
 which I thought interfered wofully with the 
 singleness of effect which the tomb would have 
 produced : unfortunately, too, the monument is 
 
MRS. HfcMANS. 211 
 
 carved in a very rough stone, which allows 
 no delicacy of touch. That place of rest made 
 me very thoughtful ; I could not but reflect on 
 the many changes which had brought me to the 
 spot I had commemorated three years since, 
 without the slightest idea of ever visiting it; 
 and though surrounded by attention and the 
 appearance of interest, my heart was envying 
 
 the repose of her who slept there 
 
 .' " Mr. Tighe has just sent me 
 
 his Latin translation of my lines, ' The Graves 
 of a Household.' It seems very elegant as far 
 as I can venture to judge, but what strikes me 
 most is the concluding thought, (so peculiarly 
 belonging to Christianity,) and the ancient lan- 
 guage in which it is thus embodied, 
 
 ' Si nihil ulterius mundo, si sola voluptas 
 Esset terrenis — quid feret omnis Amor ?' 
 
 I suppose the idea of an affection powerful and 
 spiritual enough to over sweep the grave, (of 
 course the beauty of such an idea belongs not 
 
212 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 to me, but to the spirit of our faith,) is not to 
 be found in the loftiest strain of any classic 
 writer." 
 
 It could hardly be expected that such a visit 
 as the one described in the foregoing extract 
 should pass without its record. In an earlier 
 letter, Mrs. Hemans had said, " I think I shall 
 feel much interest in visiting 'the grave of a 
 
 poetess.' - her poetry has always 
 
 touched me greatly, from a similarity which I 
 imagine I discover between her destiny and my 
 own." The lyric* which was written after 
 she had seen a place already visited by her 
 in imagination, contains little more than the 
 
 * Published among the " National Lyrics," and 
 beginning 
 
 " I stood where the lip of song lay low, 
 Where the dust had gathered on beauty's brow, 
 Where stillness hung on the heart of love, 
 And a marble weeper kept watch above." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 213 
 
 thoughts intimated in the letter, versified with 
 some additional incident and imagery : and it 
 may be noted as amongst the curiosities of au- 
 thorship, that the earlier verses, produced under 
 the strong influence of the imagination alone, 
 are happier, because simpler, than those which 
 may be called the offspring of memory. " The 
 Grave of a Poetess," (published among the 
 " Records of Woman,") is throughout full of 
 feeling, and of a spirit more cheerful, — because 
 better able . to raise itself above the cares, and 
 changes, and partings of earth, — than that which 
 breathes in the poems of the gifted but melan- 
 choly author of " Psyche." Its moral is com- 
 prehended in the two last stanzas. 
 
 " Thou hast left sorrow in thy song, 
 
 A voice not loud, but deep ! 
 The glorious bowers of earth among, 
 
 H<Jw often didst thou weep ! 
 
 Where couldst thou fix on mortal ground, 
 Thy tender thoughts and high ? 
 
 Now peace the woman's heart hath found, 
 And joy the poet's eye ! ' 
 
214 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 On turning again to the " Psyche," a poem 
 full of musical verse, delicate thought, and 
 happy personification, it has been impossible 
 not to recognise the great general simila- 
 rity of mind which existed between its author 
 and Mrs. Hemans : whether in her mood 
 of hope and buoyancy, and complete aban- 
 donment to the art in which she was so well 
 skilled, or in her sadder hours of lonely thought, 
 and night-watching, and melancholy " panting 
 upon the thorns of life." The stanza, for in- 
 stance, which opens the fifth canto of the 
 <{ Legend of Love," has an enthusiasm and har- 
 mony of numbers common to both. 
 
 ** Delightful visions of my lonely hours, 
 Charm of my life, and solace of my care ! 
 
 Ah ! would the muse but lend proportioned powers, 
 And give the language, equal to declare 
 The wonders which she bids my fancy share, 
 
 When, wrapt in her, to other worlds I fly, 
 See angel-forms unalterably fair, 
 
 And hear the inexpressive harmony, 
 
 That seems to float on air, and warble through the sky." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 215 
 
 Again, in the " Verses written at the com- 
 mencement of the Spring of 1802," there is a 
 remarkable coincidence of sentiment, and even 
 of imagery, with Mrs. Hemans' " Breathings of 
 Spring; 1 '* one of those poems in which her 
 deepest and most abiding feelings were uncon- 
 sciously uttered. In both the sights and sounds 
 of the season are invoked — in both is wrought 
 out Byron's most beautiful, yet most bitter 
 thought, 
 
 c I turned from all she brought, to all she could not 
 bring V 
 
 but far the most fully and sweetly by the later 
 poetess, as, turning from the " fairy-peopled 
 world of flowers " and " the bright waters," and 
 
 " thejoyous leaves 
 
 Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade," 
 
 — she asks, earnestly and sadly, 
 
 " But what awak'st thou in the heart, O spring ! 
 The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs, 
 
 * Published with the " Records of Woman." 
 
216 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Thou, that giv'st back so many a buried thing, 
 
 Restorer of forgotten harmonies ; 
 Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art, 
 What wak'st thou in the heart ? 
 
 " Too much, O there too much ! — We know not well 
 
 Wherefore it should be thus — but, roused by thee, 
 What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep 
 cell 
 Gush for the faces we no more shall see ; 
 How are we haunted in the wind's low tone, 
 By voices that are gone ! 
 
 " Looks of familiar love, that never more, 
 Never on earth, our aching eyes shall greet, 
 
 Past words of welcome to our household door, 
 And vanished smiles and sounds of parted feet ; 
 
 Spring, 'mid the murmurs of thy flowering trees, 
 Why, why reviv'st thou these ? 
 
 u Vain longings for the dead 
 
 The parallel between the writings of Mrs. 
 Tighe and Mrs. Hemans might be wrought out 
 to a far greater extent ; but it is better to indi- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 217 
 
 cate than to exhaust. Those who are interested in 
 comparative criticism will, I think, find that 
 there is a difference of twenty years of the his- 
 tory of poetry between the imagery and epithets 
 employed by these two accomplished women. 
 In the sonnet, perhaps, Mrs. Tighe has the ad- 
 vantage, Mrs. Hemans never having wholly at- 
 tained the power of compression which is a 
 requisite essential to compositions of this diffi- 
 cult but exquisite class. On the other hand, most 
 of the poems by the authoress of " Psyche" ad- 
 dressed to individuals, or written to commemorate 
 some particular domestic trial or blessing, — sin- 
 cere and earnest though they be,— are less touch- 
 ing than the more indistinct allusions to the ten- 
 derness of a mother, to the sweet confidence be- 
 tween sisters, to the reliance of woman upon him 
 she loves worthily, and to the desolateness of 
 heart when change or death sever any of these 
 holy ties, — which are to be found in Mrs. He- 
 mans' lyrics and scenes, and which may be all 
 considered but as so many utterances of her own 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
218 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 feelings. How much more healthy, indeed, is 
 the dispensation under which poets live now, 
 when feeling and emotion are, as it were, fused 
 into verse, while the sacredness of the secret 
 heart is respected ; than that under which sorrow 
 and joy were openly parcelled out, and paraded 
 in the " light of common day ;" — when strains of 
 lamentation for the heaviest affliction, or of that 
 joy with which no stranger should intermeddle, 
 were publicly poured forth, without reserve, and, 
 may it not almost be surmised, without much deep 
 or sincere feeling ? As an instance, — let Miss 
 Seward's pompous elegy on the death of her 
 early-called sister, whose name, for the occasion, 
 was refined into " Alinda," be compared with 
 " the Graves of a Household," or the " Haunted 
 Mansion," — and our writers and readers will 
 have no cause to regret the more natural days in 
 which they live. 
 
 Before returning from this digression to cor- 
 respondence and anecdote, it may be mentioned, 
 that another proof of the deep and peculiar in- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 219 
 
 terest with which Mrs. Hemans regarded Mrs. 
 Tighe, may be found in a sonnet, (published 
 among the " Poetical Remains,") on " Records of 
 immature genius," which was written after 
 reading some of her earlier poems in manuscript. 
 It might be applied with strict and beautiful 
 significance to all but the latest works of its 
 writer. 
 
 c Oh ! judge in thoughtful tenderness of those 
 Who, richly dowered for life, are called to die 
 
 Ere the soul's flame, through storms, hath won re- 
 pose 
 In truth's divinest ether still and high ! 
 Let their mind's riches claim a trustful sigh ! 
 
 Deem them but sad sweet fragments of a strain, 
 First notes of some yet struggling harmony, 
 
 By the strong rush, the crowding joy and pain 
 Of many inspirations met, and held 
 From its true sphere." 
 
 . ..." I do not think I mentioned to you hav- 
 
 l 2 
 
220 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 ing seen, at Woodstock, a large and beautifully 
 painted copy of Raphael's ' great Madonna/ as 
 it is called, — the one at Dresden : I never was 
 enabled to form so perfect an idea of this noble 
 work before. The principal figure certainly 
 looks the ' Queen of Heaven/ as she stands 
 serenely upon her footstool of clouds ; but there 
 is, I think, rather a want of human tenderness 
 in her calm eyes, and on her regal brow. I 
 visited yesterday another beautiful place some 
 miles from us. (I am very sorry that the neigh- 
 bourhood has lately been seized with quite a 
 mania of making parties for me.) Kilfane, how- 
 ever, the scene of yesterday's reunion, is a very 
 lovely spot, quite in a different style of beauty 
 from Woodstock ; soft, rich, and pastoral-looking. 
 Such a tone of verdure I think I never beheld 
 anywhere : it was quite an emerald darkness, 
 a gorgeous gloom, brooding over velvet turf, and 
 deep, silent streams, from such trees as I could 
 fancy might have grown in Armida's enchanted 
 wood. Some swans upon the dark waters made 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 221 
 
 me think of another line of Spenser's, in which 
 he speaks of the fair Una, as 
 
 { Making- a sunshine in the shady place.' 
 
 The house contains some interesting works of 
 art; amongst others, a very beautiful bust of 
 Raphael, which was new to me. It is rather like 
 
 what I think \ face might be in manhood ; 
 
 the eye mild and earnest, the long hair widely 
 parted, and the noble brow with that high intel- 
 lectual serenity throned upon it, which I cannot 
 but consider as characterizing the loftiest order 
 of genius." .... 
 
 . ..." I forgot to tell you of a beautiful remark 
 that I heard made lately in conversation, (it is 
 not very often one hears anything worth record- 
 ing,) it came from the Chief Justice, when I met 
 him at Kilfane ; I think it was with regard to 
 some of Canova's beautiful sculpture in the 
 
222 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 room, that he said, * Is not Perfection always 
 affecting?'' I thought he was quite right, for 
 the highest degree of beauty in any art, certainly 
 always excites, if not tears, at least the inward 
 feeling of tears." . . * 
 
 ....." The graceful play of water-birds is 
 always particularly delightful to me ; those bright 
 creatures convey to my fancy a fuller impression 
 of the joy of freedom than any others in nature, 
 perhaps because they seem the lords of two 
 elements. The enjoyment of having wings, and 
 being able to bathe them too, this torrid weather, 
 must be enviable : I have heard that in Corsica, 
 the sun, during the dog-days, is called the ' Lion- 
 Sun ;' I am sure his present dealings with us 
 are quite lion-like in their ferocity." . . 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 223 
 
 . . . " I have discovered a very striking 
 scene in this neighbourhood since I last wrote 
 to you — a wild and deserted Catholic church- 
 yard; but I believe I must describe it when I 
 write next, that I may not be too late for this 
 day's post." . . . 
 
 . . . " I will now describe to you the scene 
 I mentioned in my last letter as having so much 
 impressed me. It was a little green hill, rising 
 darkly and abruptly against a very sunny back- 
 ground of sloping corn-fields and woods. It ap- 
 peared smooth till near the summit, but was 
 there crested— almost castellated indeed — by 
 what I took for thickly-set, pointed rocks, but, 
 on a near approach, discovered to be old tomb-, 
 stones, forming quite a little ' city of the silent/ 
 I left our car to explore it, and discovered some 
 ruins of a very affecting character: — a small 
 church, laid open to the sky, forsaken and moss- 
 grown ; its font lying overturned on the green 
 sod; some of the rude ornaments themselves 
 
224 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 but ruins. One of these, which had fallen 
 amongst thick heath and wild-flowers, was sim- 
 ply a wooden cross with a female name upon it, 
 and the inscription, ' May her soul rest in peace !' 
 You will not wonder at the feeling which 
 prompted me to stoop and raise it up again. 
 My memory will often revert to that lonely spot, 
 sacred to the hope of immortality, and touched 
 by the deep quiet of the evening skies." . . . 
 
 . . . " I paid a visit some days ago to the 
 convent here, but was told at the gate that I 
 could not be admitted, as i the ladies were not to 
 speak a word for eight days.' In an unwonted 
 spirit of self-congratulation, I turned away, and 
 rather think that, actuated by the same spirit, / 
 spoke words enough for eight days in the one 
 following." .... 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 225 
 
 , . . " I have just been reading in Black- 
 wood some extracts from what seems to be a 
 splendid translation of the Agamemnon of 
 iEschylus, by a Mr. Symmons. One passage, 
 describing the beacon-fires which announce the 
 taking of Troy, and send on the tidings from 
 hill to hill, as the light borne in a torch-race, is 
 really written — I should rather say transfused 
 into 6 words that burn.' # I am going to order 
 the book, which I see is much commended for 
 
 * Possibly this magnificent passage, so well ren- 
 dered by the translator in question, may have arrested 
 Mrs. Hemans* attention more forcibly than even its 
 intrinsic power would warrant, by striking a peculiar 
 chord of her imagination. Her descriptions of the 
 effects of fire are always singularly impulsive and 
 spirited. Thus in M The Bride of the Greek Isles," 
 (Records of Woman,) — 
 
 " Man may not fetter, nor ocean tame 
 
 The might and the wrath of the rushing flame ! 
 It hath twined the mast, like a glittering snake 
 That coils up a tree from a dusky brake ; 
 
 L 5 
 
226 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 the fidelity, as well as poetic spirit, of the trans- 
 lation." . . . 
 
 It hath touched the sails, and their canvas rolls 
 Away from its breath into shrivell'd scrolls ; 
 It hath taken the flag's high place in air, 
 And reddened the stars with its wavy glare, 
 And sent out bright arrows, and soared in glee. 
 To a burning mount 'midst the moonlight sea." . . 
 
 And again, in " The Shepherd Poet of the Alps," 
 published among the tc Poetical Remains " — 
 
 " Thus woke the dreamer one weary night — 
 
 There flashed through his dungeon a swift, strong 
 
 light : ' 
 
 He sprang up — he climbed to the grating-bars, — 
 It was not the rising of moon or stars 
 But a signal flame from a peak of snow, 
 Itock'd through the dark skies to and fro. 
 There shot forth another — another still — 
 A hundred answers of hill to hill ! 
 Tossing like pines in the tempest's way, 
 Joyously, wildly, the bright spires play, 
 And each is hailed with a pealing shout, 
 For the high Alps waving their banners out !" 
 
MRS. HEM AN S. 2*27 
 
 . . . " Kilkenny is a singular-looking old 
 place, full of ruins, or rather fragments of ruins . 
 bits of old towers and abbey-windows ; and its 
 wild, lazzaroni-lookmg population, must, I should 
 think, be tremendous when in a state of excite- 
 ment. Many things in the state of this country, 
 even during its present temporary quiet, are 
 very painful to English feeling. It is scarcely 
 possible to conceive bitterness and hatred ex- 
 isting in the human heart, when one sees nature 
 smiling so brightly and so peacefully all round ; 
 and yet those dark feelings do exist here to a 
 degree which I could scarcely have believed 
 possible. . . . Religion, or rather religious 
 animosity, is carried to a height which I could 
 not have conceived possible ; and I am some- 
 times painfully reminded of Moore's lines, where 
 he speaks of the land in which 
 
 . . ' hearts fell off that ought to twine, 
 And man profaned what God had given ; 
 Till some were heard to curse the shrine 
 Where others knelt to heaven/ 
 
228 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 But I will not dwell upon these dark sub- 
 jects." . . . 
 
 From a further letter, dated Kilkenny, and 
 written just before Mrs. Hemans returned to 
 Dublin— 
 
 . . . "I am very glad to leave this place, 
 with its wearisome politics, which seem to weave 
 such a net over one's mind, that I have some- 
 times felt as I imagine the redoubtable hero 
 Gulliver must have done, with the countless, 
 tiny threads of the Lilliputians entangling him 
 in all directions. How intense is sometimes the 
 wish for freedom, for nature, for ! the wings of 
 the morning' to fly away, when narrow and 
 worldly spirits are contending around one ! 
 There is pain in that passionate desire, and yet 
 I cannot but see in it the revelation of a higher 
 nature, of a being which must have an immortal 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 229 
 
 home, of a thirst which is not to be quenched 
 but by ever-living waters." . . . 
 
 During her visit to Hermitage, Mrs. Hemans 
 wrote more than usual, possibly under the happy 
 influence of the situation of her retreat and the 
 scenery around it; a delightful contrast to the 
 barren flatness of the environs of Liverpool. " I 
 find it," she says, in one of her letters, " a pretty 
 little cottage; and though the surrounding 
 country is rather pleasant than beautiful, still 
 there is a sweet view from the upper win- 
 dows, and in particular from mine: I see a 
 blue range of mountains from where I am 
 now sitting to write, and I hear the sounds of 
 the river." Here she composed many scenes 
 and lyrics, to one of which (the Death -song of 
 Alcestis) an interesting allusion will be found in- 
 the next fragment. She was able to read, too, 
 more uninterruptedly than she had done for 
 some years. She now, for the first time, made 
 
230 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 friendship with Coleridge's collected works, to 
 her great delight; and she was so much inte- 
 rested with his correspondence with Sir H. 
 Davy, which also came before her about this 
 time, (in Dr. Paris* life of the philosopher,) 
 as to transcribe a great part of it. It will be 
 seen by the course of her reading, and the 
 occasional notices of books which follow, that 
 the tone of her mind was deepening, as well 
 as becoming healthier; that an increased dis- 
 position to consider the conditions which bind 
 man to another and loftier destiny than he 
 fulfils in this short-lived world, was taking the 
 place of her former more exclusive and ima- 
 ginative subjects of contemplation. The great 
 truths of religion, in short, (I use the word in no 
 sectarian sense,) were beginning to gain a posi- 
 tive ascendency over her mind, — to be regarded 
 no longer as mere matters of speculation, high- 
 toned and picturesque, but as the moving prin- 
 ciples of her daily life. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 231 
 
 . . . " It 'was with some difficulty that I 
 refrained from making Alcestis express the hope 
 of an immortal reunion : I know this would be 
 out of character, and yet could scarcely imagine 
 how love so infinite in its nature could ever 
 have existed without the hope (even if undefined 
 and unacknowledged) of a 'heavenly country,' 
 an unchangeable resting-place. This awoke in 
 me many other thoughts with regard to the 
 state of human affections, their hopes and their 
 conflicts in the days of the * gay religions, full of 
 pomp and gold,' which offering, as they did, so 
 much of grace and beauty to the imagination, 
 yet held out so little comfort to the heart Then 
 I thought how much these affections owed to a 
 deeper and more spiritual faith, to the idea of a 
 God who knows all our inward struggles, and 
 pities our sufferings. I think I shall weave all 
 these ideas into another little poem, which I 
 will call 'Love in the ancient world.' Tell me 
 if you like the thought." . . . 
 
232 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 The Musical Festival, held in Dublin in the 
 autumn of the year 1831, brought Paganini to 
 that city. The humours of his reception there 
 will never be forgotten by those who chanced to 
 witness them; and it might be told how the 
 light-hearted gossoons and girleens of Dublin 
 crowded round his carriage, with fervent and 
 noisy curiosity, equal, in its effect at least, to 
 the more intelligently musical furore of the 
 easily-moved population of the Italian cities ; — 
 how, upon his appearing at the theatre, where 
 the performances were held, " the gods" insisted 
 upon his mounting the piano-forte, that they 
 might be treated with an ample and satisfactory 
 view of his spectral and shadowy figure. But a 
 more interesting, if less lively, description of the 
 effect produced by his appearance, and his won- 
 der-working music, will be found in the next 
 
 v. 
 
 ^y extracts. #* 
 
 . . . " To begin with the appearance of the 
 ' foreign wonder/— it is very different from what 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 233 
 
 the indiscriminating newspaper accounts would 
 lead you to suppose: he is certainly singular- 
 looking; pale, slight, and with long, neglected 
 hair ; but I saw nothing whatever of that wild 
 Jire, that almost ferocious inspiration of mien, 
 which has been ascribed to him ; —indeed I 
 thought the expression of his countenance rather 
 that of good-natured and mild enjouement, than of 
 anything else,— and his bearing altogether simple 
 and natural. His first performance consisted of 
 a tema, with variations, from the beautiful 
 Preghiera in " Mose :" here I was rather disap- 
 pointed, but merely because he did not play 
 alone. I suppose the performance on the single 
 string required the support of other instruments ; 
 but he occasionally drew from that string a tone 
 of wailing, heart-piercing tenderness, almost too 
 much to be sustained by any one whose soul 
 can give the full response. It was not, however, 
 till his second performance, on all the strings, 
 that I could form a full idea of his varied magic 
 A very delicate accompaniment on the piano did 
 
234 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 not in the least interfere with the singleness of 
 effect in this instance. The subject was the 
 Venetian air, ' Come to me when day-light 
 sets' — how shall I give you an idea of all the 
 versatility, the play of soul, embodied in the 
 variations upon that simple air? Imagine a 
 passage of the most fairy-like delicacy, more 
 aerial than you would suppose it possible for 
 human touch to produce, suddenly succeeded by 
 an absolute parody of itself; the same notes re- 
 peated with an expression of absolute comic 
 humour, which forced me to laugh, however re- 
 luctantly : — it was as if an old man, the 'Ancient 
 Mariner' himself, were to sing an impassioned 
 Italian air, in a snoring voice, after Pasta. 
 Well, after one of these sudden travesties, for 
 I can call them nothing else, the creature would 
 look all around him, with an air of the most de- 
 lighted bonhommie, exactly like a witty child, 
 who has just accomplished a piece of successful 
 mischief. The pizzicato passages were also 
 wonderful ; the indescribably rapid notes seemed 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 235 
 
 flung out in sparks of music, with a triumphant 
 glee which conveys the strongest impression I 
 ever received of Genius rejoicing over its own 
 bright creations. But I vainly wish that my 
 words could impart to you a full conception of 
 this wizard-like music. 
 
 " There was nothing else of particular inte- 
 rest in the evening's performance ; — a good deal 
 of silvery warbling from Stockhausen, but I 
 never find it leave any more vivid remembrance 
 on my mind than the singing of birds. I am 
 wrong, however,— I must except one thing, 
 6 Napoleon's Midnight Review,' — the music of 
 which, by Neukomm, I thought superb. The 
 words are translated from the German : they 
 describe the hollow sound of a drum at mid- 
 night, and the peal of a ghostly trumpet arous- 
 ing the dead hosts of Napoleon from their sleep 
 under the northern snows, and along the 
 Egyptian sands, and in the sunny fields of Italy. 
 Then another trumpet-blast, and the chief him- 
 self arises, ' with his martial cloak around him,' 
 
236 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 to review the whole army; and thus it con- 
 cludes — ' the pass-word given is — France ; the 
 answer — St. Helene.' The music, which is of 
 a very wild supernatural character, a good deal 
 in Weber's incantation style, accords well with 
 this grand idea : the single trumpet, followed by 
 a long, rolling, ominous sound from the double- 
 drum made me quite thrill with indefinable feel- 
 ings. Braham's singing was not equal to the 
 instrumental part, but he did not disfigure it by 
 his customary and vulgarizing graces. 
 
 In a subsequent letter, Mrs. Hemans again 
 lingers upon the delight she had received from 
 Paganini's matchless performances. 
 
 y, • 
 ^s ^ . . . "I enclose you a programme of 
 the concert at which I again heard this triumph- 
 ant music last night. It is impossible for me 
 to describe how much of intense feeling its full- 
 swelling dreamy tones awoke within me. His 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 237 
 
 second performance (the Adagio a doppie corde) 
 made me imagine that I was then^ first waken- 
 ing in what a German would call the ■ music 
 land.' Its predominant expression was that of 
 overpowering passionate regret; such, at least, 
 was the dying languor of the long sostenuto 
 notes, that it seemed as if the musician was 
 himself about to let fall his instrument, and sink 
 under the mastery of his own emotion. It re- 
 minded me, by some secret and strange analogy, 
 of a statue I once described to you, representing 
 Sappho about to drop her lyre in utter desola- 
 tion of heart. This was immediately followed 
 by the rapid flashing music — for the strings 
 were as if they sent out lightning in their glee — 
 of the most joyous rondo by Kreutzer you can 
 imagine. The last piece, the 'Dance of the 
 Witches,' is a complete exemplification of the 
 grotesque in music — some parts of it imitate the 
 quavering, garrulous voices of very old women, 
 half scolding, half complaining — and then would 
 come a burst of wild, fantastic, half-fearful glad- 
 
238 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 ness. I think Burns' ' Tarn O'Shanter' (not Mr. 
 Thorn's — by way of contrast to Sappho) some- 
 thing of a parallel in poetry to this strange pro- 
 duction in music. I saw more of Paganini's 
 countenance last night, and was still more 
 pleased with it than before ; the original mould 
 in which it has been cast, is of a decidedly fine 
 and intellectual character, though the features 
 are so worn by the wasting fire which appears 
 his vital element." 
 
 . ,. .„ — ttl did not hear Paganini again 
 after the performance I described to you, but I 
 
 received a very eloquent description from 
 
 of a subsequent triumph of his genius. It was 
 a concerto, of a dramatic character, and intended, 
 as I was told, to embody the little tale of a 
 wanderer sinking to sleep in a solitary place at 
 midnight. He is supposed to be visited by a 
 solemn and impressive vision, imaged in music 
 of the most thrilling style. Then, after all his 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 239 
 
 lonely fears and wild fantasies, the day-spring 
 breaks upon him in a triumphant rondo, and all 
 is joy and gladness." .... 
 
 " related to me a most 
 
 interesting conversation he had held with Paga- 
 nini in a private circle. The latter was de^ 
 scribing to him the sufferings (do you re- 
 member a line of Byron's, 
 
 1 The starry Galileo, with his woes,) 
 
 by which he pays for his consummate excellence. 
 He scarcely knows what sleep is, and his nerves 
 are wrought to such almost preternatural acute- 
 ness, that harsh, even common sounds, are often 
 torture to him: he is sometimes unable to 
 bear a whisper in his room. His passion for 
 music he described as an all-absorbing, a con- 
 suming one ; in fact, he looks as if no other life 
 than that etherial one of melody were circulating 
 within his veins : but he added, with a glow of 
 triumph kindling through deep sadness ' metis 
 e'est un don du ceil !' I heard all this, which 
 
240 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 was no more than I had fully imagined, with a 
 still deepening conviction, that it is the gifted 
 beyond all others — those whom the multitude 
 believe to be rejoicing in their own fame, strong 
 in their own resources — who have most need of 
 true hearts to rest upon, and of hope in God 
 to support them." .... 
 
 The next extracts are dated from the county of 
 Wicklow, at a later period of the same autumn. 
 
 " I was" very unwell for some 
 
 days after my arrival here, as the mountains gave 
 me so stormy a reception, that I reached this 
 place with the dripping locks of a mermaid, and 
 never was in a condition so utterly desolate. 
 In the midst of my annoyances from the rain 
 and storm, I was struck by one beautiful effect 
 upon the hills ; it was produced by a rainbow, 
 diving down into a gloomy mountain pass which 
 it seemed really to Jlood with its coloured glory. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 241 
 
 I could not help thinking that it was like our 
 religion, piercing and carrying brightness into the 
 depths of sorrow and of the tomb. All the rest 
 of the scene round that one illumined spot, was 
 wrapt in the most lowering darkness. My im- 
 pressions of the country here have not hither- 
 to been very bright ones — but I will not yet 
 judge of it : the weather is most unfavourable, 
 and I have not quite recovered the effect of my 
 first day's adventures. The day before yester- 
 day, we visited the Vale of the Seven Churches 
 and Lake Glendalough ; the day was one of a 
 kind which I like ; soft, still, and grey, such as 
 makes the earth appear ' a pensive but a happy 
 place.' I was a little disappointed in the 
 scenery. I think it possesses much more for 
 the imagination than the eye, though there are 
 certainly some striking points of view ; particu- 
 larly that where * a round tower of other days ' 
 rises amidst the remains of three churches, the 
 principal one of which, (considered, I find, 
 as quite the Holy of holies,) is thickly sur- 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
242 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 rounded with tombs. I was also much pleased 
 with a little wild waterfall, quite buried among 
 the trees ; its many cascades fell into pools of a 
 dark green transparency, and in one of these I 
 observed what seemed to me a remarkable 
 effect. The body of water threw itself into its 
 deep bed with scarcely any spray, and left an 
 almost smooth and clear surface, through which, 
 as if through ice, I saw its foamy clouds rising 
 and working tumultuously from beneath. In 
 following the course of this fall down very slip- 
 pery mossy stones, I received from our guide 
 (a female) the very flattering compliment of 
 being ' the most courageousest and lightest-foot- 
 edest lady ' she had ever conducted there. This, 
 I think, is worthy of being recorded with the 
 one paid me by Sir Walter Scottfs old game- 
 keeper, in the woods of Abbotsford. We after- 
 wards went upon the lake, the dark waters and 
 treeless shores of which have something impres- 
 sive in their stern desolation, though I do not 
 think the rocks quite high enough for grandeur. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 243 
 
 Several parties have been arranged for me to 
 visit other celebrated scenes in the neighbour- 
 hood, but I do not think that St. Kevin, who, I 
 suppose, presides over the weather here, seems 
 more propitious to female intrusion than of 
 old." 
 
 . ..." It is time that I should tell you 
 something of my adventures among these wild 
 hills since I last wrote. I must own that the 
 scenery still disappoints me, though I do not 
 dare to make the confession openly. There 
 certainly are scenes of beauty, lying deep, like 
 veins of gold, in the heart of the country, but 
 they must, like these veins, be sought through 
 much that is dreary and desolate. I have been 
 more struck with the Devil's Glen, (I wish it 
 had any other name,) than all the other spots 
 I have visited; it is certainly a noble ravine, 
 a place where you might imagine the mountain 
 
 m 2 
 
244 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Christians of old making their last stand, fight- 
 ing the last battle of their faith : a deep glen of 
 rocks cleft all through by a sounding stream of 
 that clear brown ' cairn-gorm' colour, which, 
 I think, Sir Walter somewhere describes as 
 being among the characteristics of mountain 
 
 waters 
 
 . . . . " To-day has been one of most perfect 
 loveliness. I enjoyed the change of the wild 
 rough mountains for the softer wood landscapes, 
 as we approached Powerscourt. I think I love 
 wood-scenery best of all others, for its kindly 
 look of shelter." 
 
 This chapter cannot be better closed than by 
 a few letters addressed to her English friends, 
 dated at a later period of the year, and in the 
 course of the following spring. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 245 
 
 " 2, Upper Pembroke Street, Dublin, Nov. oth. 
 
 " My dear , 
 
 " I cannot for a moment delay telling you of 
 the kindly and touching memories which the 
 
 sight of the (only just received) has 
 
 excited in my mind. I am sure your friendship 
 will have suggested any reason but forgetfulness 
 
 for my long, long silence Be assured 
 
 that these recollections are there for ever, 
 though the sickness of the spirit makes me 
 often seem very, very fitful in expressing them. 
 I returned from the country rather wearied than 
 refreshed, as I unfortunately found myself an 
 object of much curiosity^ and, in gratitude 
 I ought to add, attention ; still it fatigued my 
 spirits, which were longing for full and quiet 
 communion with nature. On my return to 
 Dublin, I became a sufferer from the longest 
 and severest attack of heart-palpitation I have 
 ever experienced ; it was accompanied by almost 
 daily fainting-fits, and a languor quite indescrib- 
 able. From this state I have again arisen, and 
 
246 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 that with an elasticity which has surprised 
 myself. I am now much better: my friends are 
 re-assembled for the winter, so that my spirits 
 are in a far more composed state, and I do hope 
 that I shall now be able to write to you much 
 
 more frequently I shall write to you 
 
 again in a day or two by a young artist, Mr. 
 Robertson, whom I wish to introduce to your 
 acquaintance, and it will give me pleasure if 
 you can in any way serve. I think you will be 
 interested in seeing a picture which he has 
 lately painted of me, and another of Charles. 
 The latter is thought to be a most delightful 
 likeness ; in the former, he is considered to have 
 succeeded in the face, but to have failed in the 
 figure ; indeed, he has proposed, himself, making 
 a complete alteration in the latter, but has been 
 prevented by a want of time, both on his part 
 and my own." .... 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 247 
 
 TO MR. L . 
 
 "Dec. 9th, 1831. 
 
 . . . " I really was delighted to hear from 
 you again, and the more so as you had been 
 frequently in my thoughts for several days pre- 
 viously, in consequence of my having met with 
 a gentleman who seemed to be well acquainted 
 with you, though he could not give me your 
 present address 
 
 " You know how my health varies with every 
 emotion of my mind, and will not wonder that 
 it should have suffered severely from my anxiety : 
 but this is now passed, and if it be true that 
 there is 
 
 c Nessun maggior dolore, 
 Che ricordarsi del tempo felice, 
 Nella miseria/ .... 
 
 I think the reverse would be applicable to 
 remembered sorrow when the spirit has regained 
 peace. I hope our correspondence will not be 
 again interrupted for so long a time. Pray 
 
248 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 come over to Ireland, and let us have some of 
 our pleasant hours again. I cannot promise 
 that you would find much to attract you in the 
 society of Dublin, where there is little of real 
 intellectual taste, and more, in my opinion, of 
 show and splendour than real refinement ; but 
 this last is a point on which I am so very fasti- 
 dious, that I ought to distrust my own judg- 
 ment I go out very little, and find my 
 
 tastes daily becoming more retired and more 
 and more averse to the glitter of fashionable 
 society. I should not forget to tell you how 
 much I was enchanted with Paganini, whom I 
 heard at the Musical Festival here : his is cer- 
 tainly the most spiritual of music ; such a power 
 must be almost consuming to its possessor, and 
 his appearance quite confirms this impression : 
 it reminds me of some lines of Byron's, referring, 
 I believe, to Rousseau ; 
 
 . . . . ( Like a tree 
 On fire with lightning, with etherial flame. 
 Kindled he seems and blasted ' .... 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 249 
 
 " I am longing to hear some of your music 
 again, and to have it again united to my words. 
 I lately wrote a little poem, the f Swan and the 
 Skylark, 1 (I think you would find it in this 
 month's number of Blackwood,) which brought 
 you to my mind, because I thought of the power 
 and expression you would give to the contrasted 
 songs contained in it — the death-song of the 
 Swan, and the Lark's triumphal chaunt. I have 
 also written another, which I should particularly 
 like you to set, because I think it one of my 
 best efforts ; it is called the * Death-song of Al- 
 cestis, 1 and is in the Amulet for this year. If you 
 think any part of it adapted for music, I should 
 be exceedingly gratified by its being joined to 
 yours. I have not written anything which has 
 pleased myself more. . . I shall soon be writ- 
 ing to Miss Jewsbury, and will not fail to give 
 your message about the songs. I am very sorry 
 to say that she is soon going to India, in which 
 country Mr. Fletcher has obtained a chaplaincy. 
 One can indeed ill afford to lose a friend in this 
 
 M 5 
 
250 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 cold harsh world, more especially a gifted friend. 
 How few have the least influence over one's feel- 
 ings or imagination ! I was truly concerned to 
 
 hear of Mr. *s death, for I felt how much 
 
 you would lose in him, and it is not easy for 
 refined characters to attach themselves anew. 
 Life has few companions for the delicate 
 minded,^ 
 
 "2, Upper Pembroke Street, Dublin, Dec. 29th 1831. 
 
 " Your kind long letter was most welcome, 
 arriving, as it did, at a time when I have been 
 used to derive cheerfulness, or at least support, 
 either from your presence, or some mark of your 
 remembrance. It found me quite alone; my 
 brother had taken my elder boys to pass their 
 holidays at Killaloe, and even little Charles was 
 gone on a visit of a few days, which I could not 
 be selfish enough to refuse him. But I can give 
 you a better account of myself than has for a 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 251 
 
 long time been in my power : my spirits and 
 health are both greatly revived, and though I 
 am yet unequal to any continuous exertion of 
 mind, still I am not without hope, that if I go 
 on improving, all my energies may be restored to 
 me. I owe much to the devoted kindness of 
 a friend, to whom I cannot be sufficiently grate- 
 ful. I almost fear being too sanguine ; but how 
 often have you urged me to 'hope on, hope 
 ever V You ask me what I have been reading 
 lately : the access to new books here is not 
 nearly as easy as in England, at least for me ; 
 and, in consequence, I have been much thrown 
 back upon our old friends, especially the Germans, 
 Goethe, and Schiller, and Oehlenschlaeger more 
 especially, and I think I love them more and 
 more for every perusal, so that I cannot re- 
 gret the causes which have rendered my con- 
 nexion with them more intimate than ever. I 
 need scarcely tell you how every page is 
 fraught with kindly and pleasant recollections of 
 you and all our happy and intellectual inter- 
 
252 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 course. If you have had anything new of 
 Tieck's — indeed, any of his works from Ger- 
 many lately, (except * SternbakTs Wander ungen, 1 
 which I possess,) I should be very glad if you 
 could lend them to me for a time. I have only 
 met with one German scholar since I came to 
 Ireland, and with him I had only a few hours of 
 passing intercourse. It is very long since I have 
 heard from Dr. Channing, or any of my Ameri- 
 can friends ; indeed, I grieve to say that I do 
 not deserve to hear from them, for the languor 
 of mind and heart which has so long been creep- 
 ing over me, makes letter-writing, except to the 
 very few who understand me, a task more irk- 
 some than I can describe ; the consequence has 
 been that I have nearly dropped all merely 
 literary correspondents. I had, however, lately, 
 a very pleasant letter from Mr. Wordsworth, 
 though he seems to look upon the present pros- 
 pects of both England and Ireland with anticipa- 
 tions of the most gloomy character. May I beg 
 you would be kind enough to look amongst the 
 
MRS. HEMANS* 253 
 
 books which I left in your care, for a Dictionary 
 of the Bible, in one volume, and also for Cum- 
 berland's Observer, in four volumes. I am wish- 
 ing for reference to both these works . , . The 
 young artist of whom I spoke to you lately has 
 greatly altered and improved his picture of me ; 
 every one now is struck with the likeness, and 
 I can perceive it strongly myself;* he has made 
 also a very delightful portrait of little Charles. 
 I must tell you of the latter, that he has now 
 gone to school, and was very successful in his 
 Christmas examination, having won three pre- 
 miums. Tell I shall be able to send her 
 
 no account of the court costume this winter, as 
 I now enjoy my liberty and retirement so much, 
 that I have come to the resolution of not risquing 
 them by attendance at the drawing-rooms. 
 With affectionate regards to all at your fireside, 
 " I am faithfully yours, 
 
 " F. H." 
 
 * This is the portrait prefixed to these " Memo- 
 rials" — a faithful and graceful likeness. 
 
•254 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 The last days of Poets — Their duties — Mrs. Hemans' 
 favourite books— Extracts from familiar correspon- 
 dence — Scriptural studies— Miss Kemble's tragedy 
 — Thoughts during sickness — Extracts from " Scenes 
 and Hymns of Life" — " Norwegian Battle Song " — 
 Cholera in Dublin — Mr. Carlyle's criticism — Irish 
 society in town and country — tf The Summer's Call " 
 —New Year's Eve— Triumphal entry of O'Connell — 
 Repeated attacks of illness — Fiesco — Second part of 
 Faust— Translation of the first part — Visit from her 
 sister— Excursion into Wicklow — New volumes of 
 poems — Sacred poetry — Coleridge — " Scenes and 
 Hymns of Life " — Letters to a friend entering lite- 
 rary life— Stories of Art— Philip van Artavelde — 
 Death of Mrs. Fletcher — Visit to a mountain tarn — 
 Projected visit to England— Anticipations of death 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 255 
 
 — A poet's Dying Hymn — Jebb and Knox's corres- 
 pondence—Silvio Pellico's " Prigione " — Coleridge's 
 letter to his godchild— Retszch's outlines to Schiller's 
 "Song of the Bell." 
 
 There is no subject of contemplation more in- 
 teresting or more impressive than the last years 
 of the lives of poets. It is saddening, indeed, 
 to consider how many gifted ones have been 
 summoned from earth before their mission was 
 accomplished ; some, as it were, snatched away 
 in the midst of a whirlwind, leaving nothing be- 
 hind them save wild and forlorn fragments of 
 song—some, sinking down exhausted by long 
 wanderings through snares and mazes which 
 they had wilfully and deliberately entered — some 
 smitten with death in life, the victims of a brood- 
 ing or angry madness. But, in proportion as these 
 examples of noble spirits quenched — wasted — 
 shattered — humble our pride in human genius 
 and human intellect, it is gladdening to regard 
 the progress of those, too sensitive or scornful 
 by nature, who were permitted to live till calm- 
 
•256 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 ness, and thought, and humility, had taken the 
 places of passion, and waywardness, and self- 
 approval ; — who became not only willing to wait 
 their appointed time, but earnest to do their part 
 in serving their fellow-men, by opening the 
 innermost treasure-chambers of truth and 
 poetry, to the few who have eyes to see and 
 hearts to conceive ; or by singing simple and 
 fanciful songs in the ear of the plainer day- 
 labourer, winning him by gentle influences from 
 the too exclusive and narrowing cares of his me- 
 chanical calling. 
 
 It is with such a feeling of satisfaction that the 
 four years spent by Mrs. Hemans in Ireland are 
 to be contemplated. In outward circumstances 
 and comforts, indeed, she gained little by her 
 change of residence. If not positively com- 
 pelled to make her poetical talent available as a 
 source of profit, she still felt honourably bound 
 to exercise it unceasingly, though, by putting it 
 forth in a fragmentary form, she was hindered 
 from producing a work such as she felt she could 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 257 
 
 now mature and execute, were time permitted 
 her. " It has ever been one of my regrets," * 
 says she in one of her latest letters, " 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 con- 
 sider mere desultory effusions : — 
 
 ' Pouring myself away, 
 As a wild bird, amidst the foliage, turns 
 That which within him thrills, and beats and burns 
 
 Into a fleeting lay/ 
 
 " 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 
 
 * I have ventured to extract this letter from the 
 slight but graceful remembrances of Mrs. Hemans, 
 which Mrs. Lawrence has added to a volume of her 
 poems recently published. Was it necessary, how- 
 ever, to their completeness or authentication, that 
 all similar memorials should be denounced as trea- 
 cherous ? 
 
258 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 excellence, (if there be not too much presump- 
 tion iu the thought,) which might permanently 
 take its place as the work of a British poetess. 
 I have always, hitherto, written as if in the 
 breathing-times of storms and billows." . . . 
 Mrs. Hemans' health, from the time she left 
 England, was increasingly impaired by the re- 
 currence of severe attacks of illness, with 
 periods of convalescence few and far between ; 
 while the advancing age of the sons remaining 
 under her care, added a new anxiety to those 
 which already burthened her. But the years 
 spent by her in Dublin were probably the 
 happiest as well as the last of her life. As her 
 mind became graver, more serene, more con- 
 sistently religious, those small outward singula- 
 rities, — which are remembered against her by 
 some who can jealously or ignorantly forget the 
 counterbalancing nobleness and guilelessness of 
 her nature, and the beauty of her genius— fell 
 away from her, imperceptibly. She had learned 
 patience, experience, resignation, in her dealings 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 259 
 
 with the world — in communing with her art, 
 her mind was more than ever bent on devotedly 
 fulfilling what she conceived to be its duties. 
 Her idea of these may be gathered from a passage 
 in the papers on Goethe's Tasso — (almost the 
 one solitary prose composition of her later years) 
 — which was published in " the New Monthly 
 Magazine" of January 1834, as the first of a 
 series of " German Studies." She is speaking of 
 the poet : " His nature, if the abiding place of 
 the true light be indeed within him, is endowed 
 above all others with the tenderest and most 
 widely-embracing sympathies. Not alone from 
 the things of the everlasting hills: from the 
 storms or the silence of midnight skies, will he 
 seek the grandeur and the beauty, which have 
 their central residence in a far more majestic 
 
 temple We thus admit it essential 
 
 to his high office, that the chambers of imagery 
 in the heart of the poet must be filled with the 
 materials moulded from the sorrows, the affec- 
 tions, the fiery trials, and immortal longings of 
 
260 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 the human soul. Where love, and faith, and 
 anguish meet and contend ; where the tones of 
 prayer are wrung from the suffering spirit 
 there lie his veins of treasure; there are the 
 sweet waters ready to flow from the stricken 
 rock. But he will not seek them through the 
 gaudy and hurrying masque of artificial life ; 
 he will not be the fettered Sampson to make 
 sport for the sons and daughters of fashion. 
 Whilst he shuns no brotherly communion with 
 his kind, he will ever reserve to his nature the 
 power of self-communion, silent hours for 
 
 e The harvest of a quiet eye 
 
 That broods and sleeps on his own heart, 
 
 and inviolate retreats in the depths of his 
 being — fountains lone and still, upon which only 
 the eye of heaven shines down in its hallowed 
 serenity." 
 
 The prevailing temper of her mind may be 
 also gathered, not merely from the poems she 
 wrote, but from the books in which she took 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 261 
 
 her chief delight during the closing years of her 
 life. She fell back with eagerness upon our 
 elder English writers, without losing her plea- 
 sure in the works of such of her contemporaries 
 as she esteemed heart^sound and genuine : and 
 while a memorandum before me records the 
 strength and refreshment she found in the dis- 
 courses of Bishop Hall, and Leighton, and 
 Jeremy Taylor, — in the pages of Herbert, and 
 Marvell, and Izaak Walton, — in the eloquence and 
 thought of two modern serious authors (I mean 
 the Rev. Robert Hall, and the accomplished 
 and forcible author of " the Natural History of 
 Enthusiasm ;") it speaks also of the gratification 
 she derived from the translations and criticisms 
 of Mrs. Austin, — from Mrs. Jameson's liberal 
 and poetical notices of modern art, and her 
 " Characteristics of Women," — from Mr. Bul- 
 wer's passionate and gorgeous fictions, in par- 
 ticular his " Last Days of Pompeii," — and from 
 the « Helen " of Miss Edgeworth. A tale called 
 the " Puritan's Grave," by the late Mr. Scar- 
 
262 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 gill, shottld also be mentioned as one of her 
 favourite works of imagination. A few scattered 
 notices of other books which she read and 
 adopted, will be found in the following letters : 
 and it must not be forgotten, that, to the last, 
 she took an extraordinary pleasure in all such 
 works as describe the appearances of nature — 
 in the sketches of Gilpin, and White of Sel- 
 borne, and Miss Mitford, and the Howitts. She 
 used fancifully to call these her " green books," 
 and would resort to their pages for refreshment 
 when her mind was fevered and travel-worn. A 
 word or two more from the recollections of 
 the chief companion of her latest years may 
 be here introduced, as completing the pic- 
 ture. 
 
 " The scriptures were her daily study, and 
 she also passed much time over the writings of 
 some of our old divines, particularly Jeremy 
 Taylor, for whom she had the greatest venera- 
 tion, As to the poetry she then loved best and 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 263 
 
 read oftenest, it was, beyond all comparison, 
 Wordsworth's. Much as she had admired his 
 writings before, they became more than ever 
 endeared to her ; and it is a fact, that during 
 the four last years of her life, she never, except 
 when prevented by illness, passed a single day 
 without reading something of his. I have heard 
 her say, that Wordsworth and Shelley were once 
 the spirits contending to obtain the mastery 
 over her's : that the former soon gained the 
 ascendency, is not, I think, to be wondered at; 
 for much as she delighted in Shelley, she pitied 
 him still more. In defining the distinction 
 between the genius of Wordsworth and that of 
 Byron, I remember her saying, that it required 
 a higher power to still a tempest than to raise 
 one, and that she considered it the part of the 
 former to calm, and of the latter to disturb the 
 mind." 
 
 " While all these studies had evidently the 
 effect of rendering her more peaceful and re- 
 signed to sorrow and pain— that extreme viva- 
 
264 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 city of spirits she had formerly possessed entirely 
 vanished, and her delicate wit only flashed forth 
 at intervals of rare occurrence. She seldom 
 played during this time, save for the amusement 
 of others ; music, she said, made her so sorrow- 
 ful as to be quite painful to her." 
 
 It may be thought by some that these trifling 
 details are dwelt upon too much at length. But 
 I have felt them necessary to the perfect under- 
 standing of the mind whose history I have 
 attempted to trace. The extracts from her 
 familiar correspondence may now be resumed. 
 
 " February 3rd, 1832. 
 . . . . " I was vexed that the packet which 
 I wished to return to you, was not ready for 
 either of your two last messengers. I had been 
 prevented from making it ready and writing to 
 Miss Jewsbury, with a drawing by Charles, by 
 the dangerous illness of my servant, (the one 
 whom you remember as travelling with me, and 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 265 
 
 for whom I have a great value,) which engrossed 
 my, attention both painfully and inconveniently 
 almost from the day after I last wrote to you. 
 Not liking to trust her to the care of other ser- 
 vants, I thought it right to nurse her a good 
 deal myself, and had not even Charlie at home to 
 assist me in the office of attendance. She is now, 
 however, recovered, though I still feel the effects 
 of the anxiety and fatigue. I received the « Ob- 
 server' quite safely, and subsequently, also, the 
 
 volume by , of which I think exactly as 
 
 you do : it certainly possesses much cleverness, 
 — nothing more, and I was thoroughly tired of 
 that same Phoenix , who seemed 
 
 ' To lay her chain-stitched apron by, 
 And have a finger in the pie' — 
 
 whenever any body had any thing to do which 
 did not concern her. She appears a sort of 
 general friend of ' every-body's grandmamma :' 
 from all which collateral claims upon one I 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
266 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 shrink too feelingly not to shudder at their in- 
 troduction into works of fancy. The Bible 
 dictionary must, I imagine, be reposing in the 
 mysterious chest, and I should be very grateful 
 if, at your leisure, you could try to disinter it, 
 as it would be particularly useful to me just at 
 present. If, in the course of the same research, 
 you should happen to meet with an American 
 translation of the book of Job, which, I think, 
 may be in the same repository, I should be very 
 
 glad to have it also. Now, my dear Mr. , I 
 
 hope you will not imagine that any abstruse 
 polemical discussions are to be the fruit of these 
 requests for tomes of theologian lore : the truth 
 is, that I am at present deriving great enjoyment 
 from the attentive study of the Bible, in the 
 society of a friend who reads with me, and every 
 thing that can throw new light upon our pur- 
 suit is a source of very high gratification to 
 both. 
 
 " Is it possible that I never mentioned Paga- 
 nini to you ? I ought, indeed, to have told you, 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 267 
 
 how completely, and for the first time, my 
 
 of music was realized in hearing him ; — how I 
 seemed to- be borne up into c an ampler ether, a 
 diviner air,' whilst the spell of the mighty 
 master was upon me. I am glad that you also 
 felt and recognised it, as I was sure you would, 
 because you know I have always considered you 
 a 'much-enduring man,' in having your real 
 feeling of music questioned, c probed, vexed, and 
 criticised.' I wish I could have been near you 
 when you thus entered the true * music-land,' 
 where I felt that I breathed for the first time in 
 
 hearing Paganini I think ere long 
 
 of writing a little dramatic poem : I should be 
 very glad to know how you like the little scene I 
 have taken from the life of Blake the painter, 
 which appears in this month's Blackwood. My 
 kindest love to all the home circle." 
 
 * The word is illegible. 
 
 N 2 
 
268 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 TO MR. L- 
 
 w Upper Pembroke Street, Dublin, 
 "April 18th, 1832. 
 
 " I have just recovered from a long illness, 
 — a weary low fever, — from which I think I 
 should scarcely have revived, had not my spirits 
 been calmer, and my mind happier, than has for 
 some years been the case. During part of the 
 time, when I could neither read nor listen to 
 reading, I lay very meekly upon the sofa, re- 
 citing to myself almost all the poetry I have 
 ever read. I composed two or three melodies 
 also ; but having no one here who can help me 
 to catch the fugitives, they have taken flight 
 irrecoverably. I should like to know what you 
 have been lately composing, and to what poetry. 
 I wished much that you should have set my 
 * Swan and Sky-lark,' but think you cannot 
 have received the letter in which I mentioned 
 this desire. I have lately written what I con- 
 sider one of my best pieces — * A Poet's dying 
 Hymn:' it appeared in the last number of 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 269 
 
 Blackwood : I wish that a few of the verses 
 might strike you as being suitable for music. . . . 
 . . . " Have you not been disappointed in 
 Miss Kemble's tragedy ? — to me there seems a 
 coarseness of idea and expression in many parts, 
 which, from a woman, is absolutely startling. I 
 can scarcely think that it has sustaining power 
 to bear itself up at its present height of popu- 
 larity. But I must not allow my pen longer 
 indulgence. I only wrote from an impulse to 
 inquire after your health and welfare, and to 
 remind you of an old friend, who is always 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 
 " Felicia Hemans." 
 
 The spirit of the last letter, and of others 
 following, in which their writer speaks of the 
 manner in which, even upon her sick bed, she 
 drew comfort and relief from old associations 
 and enjoyments, — found beautiful utterance in 
 
270 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 many of her later poems. Thus, in one of the 
 " Scenes and Hymns of Life," we find a dying 
 girl addressing her mother : 
 
 • . . "I had lain 
 Silently, visited by waking dreams, 
 Yet conscious of thy brooding watchfulness, 
 Long ere I heard the sound— Hath she brought 
 
 flowers ? 
 Nay, fear not now thy fond child's waywardness, 
 My thoughtful mother ! — in her chastened soul, 
 The passion-coloured images of life, 
 Which, with their sudden, startling flush, awoke 
 So oft those bursting tears, have died away : 
 And night is there — still, solemn, holy Night, 
 With all her stars, and with the gentle tune 
 Of many fountains, low and musical, 
 By day unheard. . . ." 
 
 In this tone of melancholy resignation the 
 poem proceeds. Then follow some descriptions 
 of natural scenes and objects, fresher and more 
 minutely-faithful than any which are to be 
 found in Mrs. Hemans' earlier works. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 271 
 
 ..." this foam-like meadow sweet 
 Is from the cool, green, shadowy river-nook, 
 Where the stream chimes around th' old mossy 
 
 stones, 
 With sounds like childhood's laughter. Is that spot 
 Lovely as when our glad eyes hailed it first ? 
 Still doth the golden willow bend, and sweep 
 The clear brown wave with every passing wind ? 
 And thro* the shallower waters, where they lie 
 Dimpling in light, do the veined pebbles gleam 
 Like bedded gems ? — And the white butterflies 
 From shade to sun-streak, are they glancing still 
 Among the poplar boughs ? . . . 
 Ah ! the pale briar-rose ! touched so tenderly, 
 As a pure ocean shell, with faintest red 
 Melting away to pearliness ! I know 
 How its long, light festoons o'erarching hang 
 From the grey rock, that rises, altar-like, 
 With its high-waving crown of mountain-ash 
 'Midst the lone grassy dell. And this rich bough 
 Of honey'd woodbine tells me of the oak, 
 Whose deep midsummer gloom sleeps heavily, 
 Shedding a verdurous twilight o'er the face 
 Of the glade's pool. Methinks I see it now : 
 I look up through the stirring of its leaves 
 
272 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 To the intense blue, crystal firmament. 
 The ring-dove's wing is flitting o'er my head, 
 Casting at times a silvery shadow down 
 'Midst the large water-lilies. . ." 
 
 "ApriUth, 1832. 
 
 . . . "You will grieve to hear that I am 
 again writing under the pressure of fever, having 
 had a relapse since my last letter. Dublin is 
 very full of illness, to say nothing of the dreaded 
 cholera, which is, indeed, spreading most rapidly : 
 the alarm is, indeed, indescribable ; but you 
 know / am not one f to die, many times before 
 my death,' of fear at least, and my spirits are, on 
 my own account, perfectly composed. I did 
 indeed enter into all your feelings of regret and 
 indignation, excited by those miserable remarks 
 
 in ! and to think they should proceed 
 
 from the pen which afterwards wrote — ' Poets 
 are the guardians of admiration in the hearts 
 of the people ;' — but I am not now equal to the 
 
MRS, HEMANS. 273 
 
 expression of all I feel on a subject of such deep 
 interest to us both." .... 
 
 TO MR. L- 
 
 "Upper Pembroke Street, May 9th, 1832. 
 
 " My dear , 
 
 " I was delighted to hear from you again, 
 especially as the letter to which you allude 
 never reached me, and I had therefore been an 
 unusually long time without any tidings of you. 
 I am writing to you, literally, from a ' city of the 
 plague/ I cannot describe the strange thrill of 
 awe which possessed me, on seeing, a few days 
 since, one of the black covered litters which 
 convey infected persons to those places over 
 which might almost be inscribed Dante's 
 
 ' Lasciate ogni speranza, voi che titrate.' 
 
 The gloomy vehicle went past my windows, 
 followed by policemen armed with staves to 
 keep off the populace. Nothing ever pressed 
 
 n 5 
 
274 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 so forcibly upon me the dark reality of some 
 evil power sweeping by, like the destroying 
 Angel of Scripture. My spirits are, however, 
 perfectly composed, and I have not the least 
 intention of taking flight, which so many others 
 are doing in all directions ; the idea of terror 
 for myself would never occur to me, and I 
 should suffer far more from leaving those I love 
 in any danger, than from sharing it with them. 
 
 " To pass from this dreary subject. . . . The 
 next time I write, I will send you t a very fierce 
 thing,' as my little boys used to call such com- 
 positions, a Norwegian battle-song, which I 
 lately wrote, and which was suggested by an old 
 northern tradition. I am sure it will find 
 accordant tones in your music, or rather a power 
 to give it life. I am much pleased to hear that 
 the melody of « Go forth, for she is gone/ in- 
 debted as it was greatly to you, has met with 
 some approbation. The ' Good-night,' is so 
 simple, both in words and melody, that it might 
 perhaps please the public taste, which does not 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 275 
 
 seem very recondite. My sister is quite en- 
 chanted with the music of the Chevalier Neu- 
 komm, and mentions it in every one of her 
 letters. As I have chosen you for my musical 
 guide in taste, I should be glad to hear your 
 
 opinion of it I have not yet made an 
 
 attempt to cage any of my lately-composed 
 melodies. My illness has left me with such a 
 tendency to head -ache, that I am obliged to 
 give myself up still in a great measure to the 
 4 dolce far niente,' for which it is at least satis- 
 factory to have so good an excuse. 
 
 " Ever believe me most truly yours. 
 
 " F. H." 
 
 " If you have not yet read « Eugene Aram,' 
 pray do so. It is a work of power and pathos." 
 
 " I have been in a state of great nervous 
 suffering ever since I last wrote to you ; it is as 
 if I felt, and more particularly heard, every 
 
276 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 thing with unsheathed nerves ; a most trouble- 
 some increase of capacities to which I can only 
 hope that my dying some day £ in aromatic 
 pain,' will effectually put an end. There is a 
 line of Coleridge's 
 
 f O ! for a sleep, for sleep itself to rest in r 
 
 I believe I shall require some such quintessence 
 of repose to restore me. I have several literary 
 plans for fulfilment as soon as my health allows. 
 I enjoy much more leisure here than was the 
 case in England, which is at least one great 
 advantage." 
 
 Aug. 27th, 1832. 
 " My dear Friend, 
 " Do not imagine that I am worse because of 
 these pencilled characters, but the act of stoop- 
 ing to write has been for several months so 
 hurtful to me, that I have at length determined 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 277 
 
 on adopting this method, until the painful 
 tendency of blood to the head from which I 
 have been suffering seems to be conquered. 
 
 If you find my letters legible in this 
 
 present form, they will not retard my recovery, 
 as I can write them whilst reclining backward. 
 How I thank you for trusting me as you do ! 
 If I were not to write for a twelvemonth, you 
 would never doubt my faithful remembrance, 
 
 and you would have no cause I 
 
 thank you for directing me to the paper on 
 Boswell's Johnson in Fraser : had it not been 
 for your recommendation I should never have 
 
 opened the Magazine But this one 
 
 article, with its manly, sincere, true English 
 feeling, did indeed well repay me ; I prefer it to 
 anything I have read of Carlyle's since that 
 delightful paper on Burns : but I must own 
 I am sometimes out of patience with the fan- 
 tastic falso-Gothic of his style ; it makes all 
 his writings seem like a very bad translation 
 of fine German thoughts. I have been living 
 
278 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 amid fearful scenes since I last wrote to you : 
 the dark angel of the pestilence has been 
 sweeping down high and low; and is again 
 returned among us, apparently after having 
 retreated. There is every reason to suppose, from 
 the habits of this strange and reckless people, 
 that it will take deep root among them, and 
 long be the upas-tree of Irish soil. Your 
 Polish chief would interest me greatly, but do 
 not advise his coming to Dublin unless he has 
 private or personal reasons. The public atten- 
 tion of this place is wholly divided between 
 party politics and fashionable rivalries, nothing 
 else has the least chance of awakening it 
 You will long ago, I think, have discovered that 
 I dislike Ireland. I have, indeed, continued 
 but for one or two friends, but they are very 
 dear ones, ■ a stranger and a sojourner in this 
 land,' and I daily withdraw more and more 
 from its glaring, noisy, and unintellectual 
 society. Pray tell me when you write whether 
 you can decypher my hand in this form. It will 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 279 
 
 spare me much suffering if my friends will for a 
 time receive my correspondence thus. 
 
 M Ever most faithfully yours, 
 "F. H." 
 
 In another letter, dated from the country 
 where she was casually visiting, Mrs. Hemans 
 writes with something of her old playfulness. 
 
 " The society of the neighbourhood seems 
 as borne as usual in most country places. I 
 appear to be regarded as rather a 'curious 
 thing;' the gentlemen treat me as I suppose 
 they would the muse Calliope, were she to de- 
 scend amongst them ; that is, with much solemn 
 reverence, and constant allusions to poetry; 
 the ladies, every time I happen to speak, look 
 as if they expected sparks of fire, or some other 
 marvellous thing, would proceed from my lips, 
 as from those of the Sea-Princess in Arabian 
 
280 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 fiction. If I were in higher spirits, I should be 
 strongly tempted to do something very strange 
 amongst them, in order to fulfil the ideas I ima- 
 gine they entertain of that altogether foreign 
 monster, a Poetess, but I feel too much sub- 
 dued for such capricci at present" 
 
 After recording the opinion here expressed 
 of Irish society, there is every temptation to 
 name the exceptions, " the near and dear 
 friends," whose companionship was a compen- 
 sation for its deficiencies. But those only 
 whose names are already before the world, can, 
 with any propriety, be particularized. With the 
 family of Sir William, then Professor Hamil- 
 ton, Mrs. Hemans held frequent and friendly 
 intercourse : in Colonel D^Aguilar, she found 
 an accomplished companion in the hours of 
 health, a steadfast friend in the time of sickness; 
 and one of the sonnets, published among her 
 Poetical Remains, addressed to the venerable 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 281 
 
 Dr. Percival, commemorates another highly- 
 prized intimacy. It is affecting to think, that 
 he to whom it is addressed, should have sur- 
 vived the writer. 
 
 " Not long thy voice amongst us may be heard 
 Servant of God ! thy day is almost done, — 
 The charm now hung upon thy look and word, 
 Is that which lingers round the setting sun, 
 A power which bright decay hath meekly won, 
 Still from revering love." .... 
 
 " August, 1832. 
 
 "In my literary pursuits I fear I 
 
 shall be obliged to look out for a regular 
 amanuensis. I sometimes retain a piece of 
 poetry several weeks in my memory from actual 
 dread of writing it down. But enough of this 
 long explanation, the very length of which, 
 however, you must consider as a proof how 
 much I desire you to think of me as unchanged. 
 How sorry I was not to see your 
 
282 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 friend Neukomm ! We were playing at cross- 
 purposes the whole time of his stay in Dublin ; 
 but I did hear his organ playing, and glorious 
 it was, — a mingling of many powers. I sent, 
 too, for the volume you recommended to me, 
 the « Saturday Evening :' surely it is a noble 
 work, so rich in the thoughts that create 
 thoughts. I am so glad you liked my little 
 summer- breathing song,* I assure you it quite 
 
 * The song is "The Summer's Call/' afterwards 
 published among the National Lyrics. In the music 
 of its versification and the luxury of its natural 
 imagery, it would be difficult to find its superior in 
 modern poetry. The following two verses, I think, 
 justify this high praise. 
 
 " All the air is filled with sound, 
 Soft, and sultry, and profound ; 
 Murmurs through the shadowy grass, 
 
 Lightly stray ; 
 Faint winds whisper as they pass — 
 
 Come away ! 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 283 
 
 consoled me for the want of natural objects of 
 beauty around to heap up their remembered 
 images in one wild strain. The dark pestilence 
 has re-appeared among us. * Oh ! there have 
 been such sights within our streets ! p Well, 
 dear Cousin, farewell, most kindly; I do beg 
 you to trust in your unchanged friend, 
 
 * F. H." 
 
 Where the bee's deep music swells 
 
 From the trembling fox-glove bells, 
 
 Come away ! 
 
 Now each tree by summer crowned 
 Sheds its own rich twilight round ; 
 Glancing there from sun to shade. 
 
 Bright wings play ; 
 There the deer its couch hath made — 
 
 Come away ! 
 Where the smooth leaves of the lime 
 Glisten in their honey-time — 
 
 Come away— away !" 
 
284 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 20, Dawson Street, Jan. 29, 1833. 
 " I had begun a letter to you so long 
 since, that having been interrupted both by 
 illness and the weariness of another removal, 
 it appeared quite passte when I again looked 
 at its commencement, and I determined upon 
 writing another ; I was, indeed, grieved to think 
 of your having been so seriously ill, and to feel 
 that distance now prevented me from trying to 
 cheer you more effectively than by a letter ; and 
 my own state of health is such as to cause me 
 frequently great distress and inconvenience. 
 I do not mean so much from the actual suffering 
 attendant upon it, as from its making the exer- 
 tion of writing, at times, not merely irksome, 
 but positively painful to me ; this is, I believe, 
 caused entirely by irregular action of the heart, 
 which affects my head with oppressive fulness, 
 and sudden flushing of the cheeks and temples. 
 All my pursuits are thus constantly interfered 
 with ; but I do not wish this to convey to you 
 the language of complaint, I am only anxious 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 285 
 
 that it should give assurance of kind and grate- 
 ful recollection ; that it should convince you of 
 my being unchanged in cordial interest, and 
 silent only from causes beyond my power to 
 overrule. I thought of you all, and of you 
 especially, on New Year's-eve, which I always 
 used to pass at your hearth. I remembered my 
 own place on the sofa, my little table, and the 
 kindly < familiar faces' which used to surround 
 it, and I spoke affectionately of these things to 
 a friend who passed the evening with me. Do 
 not suppose it possible that my mind could be 
 alienated from these memories, though circum- 
 stances the most singular, perhaps, in all my 
 troubled life, have bound me to a land of stran- 
 gers, a land of storm and perplexity. ... I 
 witnessed some days since a very remarkable, I 
 might say portentous, scene — the procession of 
 O'Connell through the city after his victory. 
 He was attended by not less, it is computed, 
 than a hundred thousand followers. There is 
 something fearfully grand in the gathering of 
 
286 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 such a multitude. A harper, with harp of the 
 old national form, and many insignia of ancient 
 Ireland, preceded his triumphal car, and the 
 tri-color (much at variance with all these 
 antique associations) was displayed in every 
 form around him. But nothing struck me more 
 in the whole strange procession than the coun- 
 tenance of the demagogue himself; it was stern, 
 sullen, full of suppressed storm, instead of any 
 thing like triumphal expression ; it is said, that 
 he feared an attempt at assassination that very 
 day; certainly the character of his countenance 
 
 was dark and inscrutable I am at 
 
 present lodging in the house of some devoted 
 Catholics ; they have an altar in the house, with 
 a Madonna, before which candles are set every 
 night. I could almost have fancied myself in 
 Mrs. RatclinVs visionary world when I first 
 made the discovery. I wish you were likely to 
 visit Dublin again ; but pray write if it be not 
 hurtful to you, and tell me of yourself, and that 
 you think of me with the same interest as ever. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 287 
 
 I am commencing a volume of sacred poetry, 
 'Hymns of Life* I call them, as they are to 
 take a wide range of thought and subject. If 
 you have seen any of my late pieces tell me 
 your thoughts of them. My kindest regards 
 
 to ; I will write to him in a day or two. 
 
 When he knows that I was obliged to remove 
 almost immediately after hearing from him, he 
 will not wonder that I did not write before. 
 My love to and dear ." 
 
 Early in 1833, Mrs. Hemans was again se- 
 verely attacked by illness, which interrupted 
 her correspondence with her English friends. 
 
 Dawson Street, March 17, 1833. 
 " I am sure you will have real pleasure in 
 hearing that I begin to feel something like 
 symptoms of reviving health; perseverance in 
 
288 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 the quiescent system, which seems almost essen- 
 tial to my life, is producing by slow degrees, 
 the desired effect. You must not think that it 
 is my own fault if this system is ever departed 
 from. I desire nothing but a still, calm, medi- 
 tative life ; but this is exactly w r hat my position, 
 obliged as I am 6 to breast a stormy world alone,' 
 most precludes me from. Hence, I truly believe, 
 and from no original disorder of constitution, 
 arises all that I have to bear of sickness and 
 nervous agitation. Certainly, before this last 
 and severest attack, I had gone through enough 
 of annoyance and even personal fatigue, to try 
 a far more robust frame ; imagine three re- 
 movals, and these Irish removals, for me, be- 
 tween October and January ! Each was unavoid- 
 able, but I am now, I trust, settled with people 
 of more civilised habits, and think myself 
 likely to remain here quietly. How difficult it 
 is, amidst these weary, heart-wearing, narrow 
 cares, to keep bright and pure the immortal 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 289 
 
 spark within ! Yet I strive, above all things, to 
 be true in this, and turn, with even deeper and 
 more unswerving love, to the holy ' spirit-land,' 
 and guard it with more and more of watchful 
 care, from the intrusion of all that is heartless 
 and worldly. I find Milton, and Wordsworth, 
 and Channing, my ministering angels in this 
 resolve. I scarcely pass a day without com- 
 munion with some of their thoughts — thoughts 
 fit indeed to ' hand down the lamp of life * from 
 one age to another ; and oh, how much needed 
 in this! Dr. Channing, I fear, is not pleased 
 
 with me for my long silence I am 
 
 very glad you kindly told him of my present 
 
 illness . You cannot conceive the 
 
 difficulty of procuring respectable, and at all 
 private, lodgings in Dublin; everything is for 
 show and fashion, nothing for domestic feeling 
 and delicate health. I could not help making 
 an observation to an Irish friend this morning, 
 which was admitted to be most characteristic of 
 this country, that domestic tastes and habits 
 
 VOL. II, o 
 
290 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 here require as much apology as dissipated ones 
 in England. Fiesco* was performed in the 
 public theatre here, and, considering the undra- 
 matic taste of the place, very well received ; it 
 was splendidly got up as to scenery, &c. &c. 
 but the closing scene has a very bad effect in 
 performance, and quite convinced me that a 
 hero should never be seen tumbling down. The 
 whole was, of course, greatly curtailed. I wish 
 I had room to describe to you the ludicrous 
 effect produced by a rouged, stuffed man, who 
 recited my poor prologue, nourishing a large 
 cocked-hat in an irresistible manner, to grace all 
 my best passages. But my head will not allow 
 me to add more than that I am ever, 
 
 " most faithfully yours, 
 
 « F. H." 
 
 " Do remember me kindly to the Howitts. 
 I quite love all they write-" 
 
 * This play, it will be remembered, was translated 
 by Colonel D'Aguilar. 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 291 
 
 The next letter of the series speaks more de- 
 spondingly of the future. After having entered 
 at length into the question of establishing one of 
 her sons in mercantile life, Mrs. Hemans writes — 
 
 " I know not that I can make for him any 
 better choice than that of this profession, and 
 the many warnings which my health gives me, 
 and the increasing reluctance of my spirit (which 
 seems withdrawing itself more and more strongly 
 from earthly things as my health declines) to cope 
 with worldly difficulties, make me very anxious 
 to do what I can 6 whilst it is yet day.' . . . 
 To speak of brighter things, I cannot deny my- 
 self the pleasure of sending you, as in the good 
 days of the Saturday's post, the enclosed letter 
 for your delectation. When you have read and 
 laughed at it — for laugh you cannot help — pray 
 
 give it to to enrich a little store of such 
 
 originalities, which I believe he is collecting. Is 
 my geranium still blooming? You have not 
 
 told me of it for a long time." 
 
 o 2 
 
292 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 " June 15th, 1833. 
 
 " My dear Mr. , 
 
 " How grieved and vexed I was to miss — 
 
 you may well imagine, and to miss him, too, in 
 consequence of so complete a mistake, for I had 
 only driven for a few miles into the country on 
 the morning of his visit. Will you tell him that 
 
 my friend went on the same evening to 
 
 the hotel where his note was dated, in order to 
 make every inquiry respecting him, but could 
 get no further intelligence until I received his 
 second note. I troubled you lately with the 
 
 care of a letter to , from the sight of which 
 
 you would augur some improvement in my 
 health, which, indeed, I have cause gratefully 
 to acknowledge, though I continue my habit of 
 writing as much with pencil as I can, finding 
 the attitude far less injurious to me than that 
 required by pen and ink. I longed for you 
 very much a few days since, when the newly- 
 published conclusion of * Faust* was sent to 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 293 
 
 me by a very kind German acquaintance I have 
 lately met with. But, alas ! alas ! my poor 
 feminine intellects were soon nearly as much 
 
 bewildered as those of our good , by * that 
 
 celestial colloquy sublime ' once held with Cole- 
 ridge, and though I do not, like him, pique my- 
 self upon the i clearness of my ideas,' I really 
 was obliged to give up the perusal, finding the 
 phantasmagoria it called up before my eyes, 
 rapid and crowded enough almost to give me a 
 fever. I mean to try it again, as my German 
 friend advises me, but I shall need the assistance 
 of the fairy Order herself to clear my way 
 through the mazy dance of Ariel, the Sylphs, 
 Helen of Greece, Thales, Xenocrates, Baucis, 
 Philemon, the Sphinx, Mary Magdalen, the 
 woman of Samaria, and all the other person- 
 ages, divine and human, whose very names 
 throng the pages so as to make me dizzy. Have 
 
 you seen *s prose translation of the earlier 
 
 Faust? What think you of its spirit? He 
 seems, in my opinion, to have rather too much 
 
294 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 of the Mephistophiles spirit about himself, to 
 enter fully into the spirit of Faust At least, 
 there is something so very ungracious in his 
 heaping together the blunders of all former 
 translators, in order to raise himself upon the 
 pile, (like the bridge of dead men, in one of 
 Joanna Baillie's tragedies, described as the path 
 over which to enter the besieged city,) that I 
 am not inclined to give him * a single sous ■ of 
 
 my good will Do tell me whether 
 
 you find any difficulty in reading my pencil de- 
 spatches. I certainly ought not to add to your 
 plagues in this way." .... 
 
 The autumn of the year 1833 was most hap- 
 pily varied to Mrs. Hemans, by a very short visit 
 from her sister. " Delightful, indeed," writes 
 the latter, " was it to meet after so long a sepa- 
 ration ; but I found my dear sister sadly worn 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 295 
 
 and faded, and her health very fragile, though 
 she rallied wonderfully, and was quite her old 
 
 self while we were with her She 
 
 is at present occupied, when at all able to write, 
 on a collection of sacred lyrics, and what she has 
 named 4 Hymns of Life,' and her mind is stored 
 with many other projects, if it please God to 
 grant health for their accomplishment." In 
 another letter, written after Mrs. Hemans* de- 
 cease, reference is made to this visit. " It 
 is indeed true, that she had not reached 
 the full strength of her powers. Much as I had 
 previously known of the wonderful resources of 
 her mind, I was impressed and astonished, 
 during our visit to Dublin a year and a half 
 ago, by its developements and inspirations. . . 
 . . . Little did I think how soon that 
 awful curtain was to fall, which separates us, 
 still busied from our earthly cares, from those 
 who 
 
 c Their worldly task have done, 
 Home have gone, and ta'en their wages.' 
 
296 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 These very words she repeated to me one day 
 while I was with her, as what might soon be 
 applicable to herself, and the circumstance of 
 her sinking to rest on the Saturday evening, 
 brought them most touchingly back to my re- 
 membrance." 
 
 The later months of this year were busily 
 spent by Mrs. Hemans in arranging and pre- 
 paring for publication the three collections of 
 poems which made their appearance in the 
 course of the following spring and summer. The 
 first of these were the " Hymns for Childhood," 
 and the " National Lyrics, and Songs for Music." 
 Having already spoken of Mrs. Hemans' skill 
 and sweetness as a song-writer, and of her hap- 
 piness in perceiving and appropriating the most 
 striking traits of national character, I shall only 
 linger over the last-mentioned volume to point 
 out one poem of singular beauty which it con- 
 tains — "The Haunted House." The "Scenes 
 and Hymns of Life," however, must not be passed 
 so hastily. The strong desire which had recently 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 297 
 
 possessed their author, to devote her powers to 
 compositions of the highest and holiest order, 
 has been indicated in the foregoing letters. It 
 is almost needless to observe, that her mind, 
 naturally of too fine a structure and too keen a 
 vision to be possessed for an instant by secta- 
 rianism, was expanded, and not narrowed, by an 
 increased conscientiousness of motive and lofti- 
 ness of aim ; that she was more than ever inca- 
 pable of adding to the number of those familiar 
 and fulsome versions of Scripture so presump- 
 tuously thrust forward, and so ignorantly ac- 
 cepted as sacred poetry. She wished to enlarge 
 its sphere, — to use her own words, — u by asso- 
 ciating with its themes, more of the emotions, the 
 affections, and even the purer imaginative en- 
 joyments of daily life, than had hitherto been ad- 
 mitted within the hallowed circle." And the 
 fulfilment of this high purpose was beautifully 
 shadowed forth, if not wholly executed, in the 
 " Scenes and Hymns of Life." None, however, 
 who have ever written, have suffered from self- 
 
 o 5 
 
298 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 distrust more severely than she did, from feeling 
 the impossibility of doing justice to her own 
 conceptions, of giving adequate utterance to the 
 thoughts which arose within her, all the more 
 brightly and fervently as she approached the 
 close of her career. 
 
 * " They float before my soul, the fair designs 
 Which I would body forth to life aud power, 
 Like clouds, that with their wavering hues and lines 
 Pourtray majestic buildings: dome and tower, 
 Bright spire that through the rainbow and the 
 
 shower 
 Points to th' unchanging stars ; and high arcade, 
 Far sweeping to some glorious altar, made 
 For holiest rites : meanwhile the waning hour 
 Melts from me, and by fervent dreams o'erwrought 
 I sink." 
 
 And in a letter written about the same time as 
 
 * " Desire and Performance," written in the autumn 
 of 1834, and printed among Mrs. Hemans' " Poetical 
 Remains." 
 
MRS, HEMANS. 299 
 
 the sonnet whence the above lines are taken, 
 she says, H I find in the Athenaeum of last week* 
 a brief but very satisfactory notice of the ' Scenes 
 and Hymns:' the volume is recognised as my 
 best work, and the course it opens out called 
 a 'noble path.' My heart is growing faint — 
 shall I have power given me to tread that way 
 much further ? I trust that God may make me 
 at least submissive to his will, whatever that 
 may be." She would also say, that could she 
 ever equal Coleridge , s " Hymn in the Valley of 
 Chamouni," which she considered as the per- 
 fection of sacred poetry, she could desire no- 
 thing more. It cannot be said that she ever 
 reached the excellence of that noble production, 
 but she approached it in some of her latest 
 poems — in the " Easter Day in a Mountain 
 Churchyard," — and yet more closely in the last 
 and greatest of her lyrics, " Despondency and 
 Aspiration." 
 
 This volume of " Scenes and Hymns of Life " 
 contains also manv beautiful sonnets, or, more 
 
300 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 strictly speaking, quatuorzains ; for in none of 
 them are the rigorous and characteristic forms 
 of the legitimate sonnet observed. In this vein 
 of composition, hitherto unworked by her, Mrs. 
 Hemans found a welcome resource. She could 
 often record her passing thoughts, the precious 
 solace of her sick bed, in the small compass of 
 a sonnet, when she would have been unable to 
 summon her energies for the completion of a 
 longer work. It had now become her habit to 
 dictate her poems; and she would sometimes 
 compose and perfect long passages, or even en- 
 tire lyrics, and retain them in her memory many 
 days before they were committed to paper. 
 
 But the interest with which she threw herself 
 upon these new projects did not so far engross 
 her, as to prevent her from sympathising in the 
 good or evil fortune which befel her friends ; or 
 from bearing a part, when it was possible, in 
 forwarding their plans and wishes. Of this the 
 letters with which the memorials of the year 
 1834 open, offer a sufficient proof; the apology 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 301 
 
 for the publication of passages so exclusively 
 personal, has been already made, and I hope 
 accepted. 
 
 The next passage, — the last lively extract that 
 these pages will contain, — refers to an ex* 
 cursion into Wicklow, undertaken about this 
 time. 
 
 « August, 1833. 
 " I did not forget my promise to write last 
 night, but the weariness following another day of 
 difficulty and disappointment, took away from 
 me all power of fulfilment. I am sure you will 
 be sorry to hear that I have not yet been able 
 to leave the inn, as all the places to which I had 
 been directed proved so many will-o'-the-wisps, 
 only luring me on to one fatigue after the other. 
 Mr. Martin's lodge, Mr. Keegan's cottage, &c. 
 &c, have all vanished from the earth (if ever they 
 had « a local habitation and a name ') as com- 
 pletely as Aladdin's palace ; and as for Messrs. 
 Martin and Keegan themselves, I suspect them 
 
302 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 verily to be cavern-haunting rebel leaders, of 
 whom it is thought politic to be entirely igno- 
 rant; so stoutly did the people in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the waterfall deny any knowledge 
 of any such characters. Had I been in better 
 spirits, I could have been much amused with 
 the humours of my driver, which far out-Herod- 
 ed even those of Mr. Donelly himself; he was a 
 loquacious old man, combining into singularly 
 original harmony, the several characteristics of 
 Methodist, Irishman, and sailor, in each of which 
 capacities he seemed to conceive a sort of 
 paternal interest for the welfare of my soul and 
 body — ' Aye, ma'am dear, I'll do my best for 
 you ; I'll help you to quiet quarters ; truly, an 
 hotel that gentlemen come into singing their 
 sinful songs all through the night, is no place 
 for a lady like you.*' ' Now look to your star- 
 board side, ma'am, and tell me, would you just 
 like that cottage ?' Then his piece of parting 
 advice — w Now just get yourself a comfortable 
 dinner, and don't ask for any port wine, for it's 
 
MRS. HEMANS.' 303 
 
 confounded bad you 11 get it. — I '11 tell you the 
 truth, that I will; it's little encouragement my 
 master gives me to tell anything else for him/ 
 I am afraid I have lost a great many precious 
 pearls of eloquence, but the above will give you 
 some idea of their character. The scenery 
 round the waterfall, though of exquisite beauty, 
 is much spoiled, to my taste, by the lounging, 
 eating, and flirting groups, who disturb what 
 nature meant to be the depth of stillness and se- 
 clusion. I have heard of another cottage this even- 
 ing, respecting which Anna is gone to inquire : 
 whether it be called up solely by the Irish spirit 
 of invention, (which I am now convinced can 
 raise up cottages and lodges when demanded, 
 as readily as a southern improvisatore calls up 
 rhymes,) remains to be proved. If I am again 
 disappointed, I think I shall perhaps examine 
 the neighbourhood of Bray to-morrow. I dis- 
 like an inn so much, and always feel so parti- 
 cularly forlorn in such places, that I shall, if un- 
 successful, return very soon to Dublin. I am 
 
304 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 certainly in all things of this nature, at least 
 since I came to Ireland, a female * Murad the 
 Unlucky,* and nature evidently intended me for 
 
 his wife I hope you will not find 
 
 this, written with the very worst pen (I will not 
 say ' the worst inn's worst pen') an inn can pro- 
 duce, wholly illegible." , . , . 
 
 "Jan. 26 th, 1834. 
 
 . . . " I scarcely know, my dear » 
 
 whether or not to congratulate you on having at 
 last so gallantly launched yourself upon the 
 tumultuous yet dazzling sea, which has been so 
 long the arena of your hopes. ... I only fear 
 that you may sometimes want some one like 
 your old friend to be near you, 'to babble of 
 green fields' and primroses, and win you back 
 occasionally to childhood and nature, and all 
 fresh and simple thoughts, — from those gorgeous 
 images of many-coloured artificial life by which 
 you will be surrounded, and which may possibly, 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 305 
 
 at first, seize on your spirit with irresistible 
 sway. But I am convinced that nothing really 
 worthy and permanent in literature (such as I 
 sincerely think you have the power with steadfast 
 purpose to achieve) is ever built up except on 
 the basis of simplicity ; and I am sure that the 
 widest reach of knowledge will always have the 
 blessed tendency to make us more and more 
 like 'little children' in this respect. But you 
 will think I am going to take up one of my old 
 lectures on your love of the gorgeous, to which 
 you used so dutifully to listen in the days of the 
 Imp Mazurka. Have you forgotten that last 
 precious flight of fancy, which still startles all 
 my musical visitors when they open the 'litel 
 boke' from which its necromantic visage stares 
 into their astonished eyes ? . . . You will not, 
 1 think, be sorry to hear that many of your 
 favourite old friends among my compositions, 
 such as ' The Rhine Song,' < The Song of Delos,' 
 '. The last Lay of Sappho,' &c. &c. are about to 
 appear in a little volume published here, and 
 
306 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 entitled ' National Lyrics, and Songs for Music.' 
 ... I have many literary plans, which I am 
 sure would interest you. I have to thank my 
 God, who keeps the fountain of high thoughts 
 still, I trust, unsoiled and unexhausted in my 
 secret soul. Accept my sincere, I may say af- 
 fectionate, wishes for your well-being in all 
 things; and believe me, with an interest in 
 your career of which you must never doubt, 
 " Your faithful friend, 
 
 «F. H." 
 
 " When you write to the Howitts, I wish you 
 would give my very kind remembrance to Mary : I 
 read every thing of theirs that I can meet with." 
 
 "Feb. 9th, 1834. 
 ..." I cannot now enter into many par- 
 ticulars of your letter, which gave me sincere 
 pleasure, and have satisfied me that many of the 
 dangers I feared for you no longer exist. I de- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 307 
 
 light in the idea of your ' Stories of Art,' parti- 
 cularly the thought relating to the Middle Ages, 
 the spirit of which, in art, particularly in some 
 of their grand, thoughtful, monumental memo- 
 rials, has never, I think, been duly appreciated. 
 Did you ever read a description of that majestic 
 and singular monument, of Maximilian II., I 
 think, surrounded with its awful battalion of 
 colossal bronze figures, in a church at Inspruck ? 
 I think you might connect some very striking 
 tale, with a work so impressive and compara- 
 tively so little known." . . . 
 
 "May 8th, 1834. 
 ..." Let me not forget to tell you how sen- 
 sibly I was touched by your kind offer of resign- 
 ing to me your long-cherished fancy, the ' Tales 
 of Art.* ... I could not, however, for many 
 
 * A rumour had gone abroad that Mrs. Hemans 
 was meditating a prose work ; and the writer was 
 anxious to turn her attention to a subject which he 
 
308 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 reasons, avail myself of this sacrifice on your 
 part, my dear friend. I have now passed through 
 the feverish, and somewhat visionary, state of 
 mind, often connected with the passionate study 
 of art in early life; — deep affection and deep 
 sorrows seem to have solemnized my whole be- 
 ing, and I now feel as if bound to higher and 
 holier tasks, which, though I may occasionally 
 lay aside, I could not long wander from with- 
 out some sense of dereliction. I am sure you 
 can well understand, and will not fail to enter 
 into, all this : I hope it is no self-delusion, but 
 I cannot help sometimes feeling as if it were 
 my true task to enlarge the sphere of sacred 
 poetry, and extend its influence. When you 
 receive my volume of ' Scenes and Hymns,' you 
 will see what I mean by enlarging its sphere, 
 though my plans are as yet imperfectly deve- 
 loped. ... I am grown, as you will have ob- 
 served, extremely fond of the sonnet: I think 
 
 believed to be in consonance with her own tastes, and 
 to which none could have done more thorough justice 
 than herself. 
 
MRS. HEMANSr 309 
 
 the practice of writing it very improving, both 
 as to concentration of thought and facility of 
 language." . . • 
 
 " May 4th, 1834. 
 
 " My dear , 
 
 " A very long interval has elapsed since I last 
 wrote to you. I know well that no such inter- 
 val will ever lessen your unfailing interest in me, 
 and that you will hear with pleasure of its hav- 
 ing been one of tranquillity, at least comparative. 
 It certainly has not passed without, some im- 
 provement in my health of body and mind, and 
 I sometimes even fancy that a new spring of 
 energy is, or yet will be, given to both, from 
 the strong hopes and aspirations which occa- 
 sionally spring up within me, when the over- 
 bearing pressure of external circumstances is a 
 little removed. I have been busily employed in 
 the completion of what I do hope you will think 
 my best volume— the ' Scenes and Hymns of 
 
310 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Life ;' though Blackwood's impatience to bring 
 it out speedily has rather prevented my deve- 
 loping the plan as completely as I have wished. 
 I regard it, however, as an undertaking to be 
 carried on and thoroughly wrought out during 
 several years; as the more I look for indications of 
 the connexion between the human spirit and its 
 eternal Source, the more extensively I see those 
 traces open before me, and the more indelibly 
 they appear stamped upon our mysterious na- 
 ture. I cannot but think that my mind has 
 both expanded and strengthened during the con- 
 templation of such things, and that it will thus 
 by degrees arise to a higher and purer sphere of 
 action than it has yet known. If any years of 
 peace and affection be granted to my future 
 life, I think I may prove that the discipline of 
 storms has, at least, not been without purifying 
 and ennobling influence. I shall not have 
 wearied you, my dear friend, by what would 
 have seemed mere egotism to most others, but 
 I always feel, with reference to you, that your 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 311 
 
 regard is really best repaid by a true unfolding 
 of my mind, with its changeful inner life." . . . 
 
 « May, 1834. 
 " I have been really cheered and delighted 
 by some passages of a new work — ' Philip van 
 Artavelde ' — and more particularly by parts of 
 its noble preface contained in the Athenaeum of 
 to-day. I feel assured that you will greet as gladly 
 as myself the rising up of what appeared to be a 
 majestic mind amongst us; and the putting 
 forth of really strengthening and elevating views 
 respecting the high purposes of intellectual 
 power. I have already sent to order the book, 
 feeling that it will be quite an addition to the 
 riches of my mental estate 
 
 It was about this time that, after a long and 
 anxious period of suspense and silence, the ru- 
 mour of the death of one of Mrs. Hemans' most 
 attached friends, which had for some time been 
 
312 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 whispered about, was confirmed by the arrival 
 of letters from India. The last communications 
 which had passed between Mrs. Fletcher and 
 her English friends, had been so full of life and 
 expectation — the artless and graphic journals 
 of one to whom every strange object suggested a 
 new thought, or supplied a new spring of ex- 
 ertion — that it was difficult to believe that 
 so eager a spirit was laid at rest for ever — 
 on the threshold, as it were, of scenes and duties 
 which must have called forth all its powers. 
 The fragments immediately following, from letters 
 addressed by Mrs. Hemans to different friends, 
 refer to this melancholy event. The repetitions 
 they contain evidence the sincerity of their 
 writer's regret. 
 
 « June 28th, 1834. 
 " I was, indeed, deeply and permanently af- 
 fected by the untimely fate of one so gifted, and 
 so affectionately loving me, as our poor lost 
 friend. It hung the more heavily upon my 
 spirits as the subject of death and the mighty 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 313 
 
 future had so many many times been that of our 
 most confidential communion. How much deeper 
 power seemed to lie coiled up, as it were, in the 
 recesses of her mind, than was ever manifested to 
 the world in her writings ! Strange and sad 
 does it seem, that only the broken music of such 
 a spirit have been given to the earth — the full 
 and finished harmony never drawn forth ! Yet I 
 would rather, a thousand times, that she should 
 have perished thus, in the path of her chosen 
 duties, than have seen her become the merely 
 brilliant creature of London literary life, living 
 upon those poor succes de societe, which I think 
 utterly ruinous to all that is lofty, and holy, and 
 delicate in the nature of a highly-endowed wo- 
 
 ' ' I was ill in bed all yesterday 
 
 from having walked too much and got a little 
 wet, but am now a good deal better, though my 
 spirits have been depressed ever since the tidings 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
314 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 of my poor friend's death arrived. I never ex- 
 pected to meet her again in this life, but there 
 was a strong chain of interest between us, that 
 spell of mind on mind, which, once formed, 
 can never be broken. I felt, too, that my whole 
 nature was understood and appreciated by her, 
 and this is a sort of happiness which I consider 
 the most rare in all earthly affection. Those who 
 feel and think deeply, whatever playfulness of 
 manner may brighten the surface of their cha- 
 racter, are fully unsealed to very few indeed. 
 You must not be surprised to see me wearing a 
 slight mourning when we meet; I know she 
 
 would have put it on for me. Dearest , I 
 
 could say much more to you on her character, 
 and my own feelings with regard to her loss — 
 they have been the more solemn from this cause 
 — that the subject of death and the mighty 
 future had been many times that of our deepest 
 conversation. With all my regret, I had rather, 
 a thousand times, that she had perished thus 
 in the path of her duties and the brightness of 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 315 
 
 her improving mind, than become, what I once 
 feared was likely, the merely brilliant creature 
 of London life : that is, indeed, a worthless lot 
 for a nobly-gifted woman's nature ! I send you 
 the second volume of ' Phantasmagoria,' since 
 you liked the first, but it was the production 
 of quite an immature mind, in a youth which had 
 many disadvantages." 
 
 " July, 1834. 
 .... "Will you tell Mr. Wordsworth 
 this anecdote of poor Mrs. Fletcher ? I am sure 
 it will interest him. During the time that the 
 famine in the Deccan was raging, she heard that a 
 poor Hindoo woman had been found lying dead 
 in one of the temples at the foot of an idol, and 
 with a female child, still living, in her arms. 
 She and her husband immediately repaired to 
 the spot, took the poor little orphan away with 
 them> and conveyed it to their own home. She 
 tended it assiduously, and one of her last cares 
 
 p 2 
 
316 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 was to have it placed at a female missionary 
 school, to be brought up as a Christian. My 
 sister informs me that her terror of death seemed 
 quite subdued at the last, and that she sank 
 away quite calmly, in utter exhaustion." . . . 
 
 " July 4th, 1834. 
 " You will, I know, be glad to hear that I am 
 now much better than when Charles wrote to 
 you. I was not well when the news of our 
 poor friend's death arrived, and was much over- 
 come by it, and almost immediately afterwards, 
 
 coming to Dublin, I was obliged to exert 
 
 myself in a way altogether at variance with my 
 feelings. All these causes have thrown me 
 back a good deal, but I am now surmounting 
 them, and was yesterday able to make one of a 
 party in an excursion to a little mountain tarn 
 about twelve miles from Dublin. The strangely 
 deserted character of the country long before 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 317 
 
 this object is reached, indeed at only seven or 
 eight miles distance from the metropolis, is quite 
 astonishing to English eyes. A wide mountain- 
 tract of country, in many parts without a sign 
 of human life, or trace of culture or habitation 
 as far as the sight can reach — magnificent views 
 bursting upon you every now and then, but all 
 deep solitude, and the whole traversed by a 
 noble road, a military work I was told, the only 
 object of which seemed to be a large barrack in 
 the heart of the hills, now untenanted, but abso- 
 lutely necessary for the safety of Dublin not 
 many years since. Then we reached a little 
 lake, lying clear, and still, and dark, but spark- 
 ling all over to the sun, as with innumerable 
 fire-flies, high green hills sweeping down with- 
 out shore or path, except on one side, into its 
 very bosom, and all round the same deep silence. 
 I was only sorry that one dwelling, and that, of 
 all things, a cottage orne, stood on its bank ; 
 for though it was like a scene of enchantment 
 to enter and look upon the lonely pool and 
 
318 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 solemn mountains, through the coloured panes 
 of a richly-carved and oak-pannelled apartment, 
 still the charm of nature was in some degree 
 broken by the association of wealth and refine- 
 ment. But how my imagination is carrying me 
 away in the effort to. give you some idea of the 
 lone and wild Lough Bray ! I must return to 
 worldly matters, as I was obliged to do from the 
 wild hills and waters yesterday. I was some- 
 what surprised at rather an un- 
 
 gentlemanly review of my ' Lyrics ' — the first 
 indeed of that kind of which I ever knew my- 
 self to be the object. Very probably there may 
 be more such in existence, but you know my 
 habitual indifference to such things, (now greatly 
 increased,) and I scarcely ever read any re- 
 marks upon myself either in praise or other- 
 wise. Certainly no critic will ever have to boast 
 
 of inflicting my death-blow She 
 
 (Mrs. Fletcher) has, indeed, been taken away in 
 the very prime of her intellectual life, wlien 
 every moment seemed fraught with new trea- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 319 
 
 sures of knowledge and power, but I fully agree 
 with you that she was not born for earthly happi- 
 ness : — alas ! and those who are, can they hope 
 to find it ? I shall have wearied you, my dear 
 friend, and will say farewell." 
 
 "July, 1834. 
 . . . " Since I wrote last, I have read Philip 
 van Artavelde. It is a fine thoughtful work, 
 but certainly, I think, rather wanting — as one 
 might perhaps expect — in those ingredients of 
 imagination and passion, which, though their 
 value as the sole element of poetry has been 
 overrated, yet will always be felt to constitute 
 essential ones. The intellect is constantly ex- 
 cited by this author to examine, reflect, and 
 combine ; but the heart is seldom awakened ; 
 and I cannot think him a master-poet, who does 
 not sway both those regions, though to few is 
 given an equal domination over them. Shak- 
 speare, however, possessed it; and those who 
 
320 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 take him for their model, have no right to exalt 
 any one poetic faculty at the expense of the 
 others." 
 
 " August 6th, 1834. 
 
 " My dear , 
 
 " I fear I shall have caused you a little anxi- 
 ety, which I much regret, as you, I know, will 
 regret my heavy disappointment, when I tell you 
 that I have been obliged sorrowfully to give up 
 the hope of visiting England at present* 
 
 * Mrs. Hemans had been intending to revisit the 
 Lakes. Perhaps the natural disappointment at being 
 compelled to relinquish a favourite plan, made her 
 somewhat uncharitable to the far-famed scenery within 
 her reach ;— for in an extract from another letter, 
 written about this time, she says: — 
 
 " Last week I was induced to go for foyr days into 
 Wicklow again. We got as far as the Vale of Avoca, 
 which I think has been rather over-rated. The only 
 thing I can say I enjoyed in the least, was a walk I 
 took in the wildest part of Glenmalure, which I 
 
MRS. HEMANS. • 321 
 
 Whether from the great exertions I had made 
 to clear away all my wearisome correspondence, 
 and arrange my affairs, so as to give myself a 
 month's holiday with a free conscience, or from 
 the intense heat of weather which has long 
 greatly oppressed me, I know not ; but my fever, 
 which had not been quite subdued, returned 
 upon me the very day I last wrote to you, and 
 in a very few hours rose to such a height, that 
 my strength was completely prostrated. I am 
 now pronounced, and indeed feel myself, quite 
 unfit for the possible risk of the passage, and 
 subsequent travelling by coach ; and am going 
 this very day, or rather in the cool of the even- 
 ing, a few miles into the county of Wicklow, 
 for immediate change of air. If my health im- 
 prove in a day or two, I shall travel on very 
 quietly to get more amongst the mountains, the 
 fresh, wild, native air of which is to me always 
 
 thought more like Wales than any other part of Wick- 
 low : something about the green solitude seemed 
 native to me." 
 
 p 5 
 
322 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 an elixir vitce ; but I am going under much de- 
 pression of feeling, both from my keen sense of 
 disappointment, and because I hate wandering 
 about by myself. I will not, however, sadden you 
 by dwelling upon these things. . . Will you 
 
 give my very kind regards to ? he must 
 
 have known how the 'cares of this world,' 
 though without their accompaniment of the * de- 
 ceitfulness of riches, 1 have long entangled me, 
 and will, I am sure, forgive a silence which has 
 thus been caused, and which I have long in- 
 tended to break." 
 
 A few letters immediately following the above 
 are before me, but it is out of my power to pub- 
 lish any extracts from them, from their constant 
 reference to the party to whom they are ad- 
 dressed : and I hardly regret that I am so pre- 
 vented, for the melancholy of the series deepens 
 as it draws near its close. They speak of 
 failing health, accompanied by such depression as 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 323 
 
 makes " the grasshopper a burden," and of a mo- 
 ther's affectionate anxiety concerning those whom 
 she was so soon to leave. But it is remarkable 
 and soothing to observe the calmness and gentle 
 resignation which gathered round their writer 
 as she approached the close of her life. At an 
 earlier period of her career, it would seem as if, 
 in the times of despondency which alternated 
 with her gayer hours, she had contemplated 
 death as a deliverer — the grave a resting-place 
 earnestly to be desired. She frequently referred 
 to that touching epitaph* " Implora pace" men- 
 tioned in one of Lord Byron's letters, as the 
 words she would wish to be inscribed on her 
 own monument.* In the poems, written in her 
 most chevalresque mood, some indication of this 
 
 * This line of Pindemonte's was transcribed by her, 
 at a later period, in a book of manuscript extracts, be- 
 longing to a friend : — 
 
 " Fermossi al fin il cor che balzo tanto." 
 
 Above was written, " Felicia Hemans' epitaph." 
 
324 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 sentiment may always be traced. Thus in the 
 " Siege of Valencia," — 
 
 " Why should not He, whose touch dissolves our chain, 
 Put on his robes of beauty, when he comes 
 As a deliverer ? He hath many forms, 
 They should not all be fearful ! If his call 
 Be but our gathering to that distant land 
 For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst, 
 Why should not its prophetic sense be borne 
 Into the heart's deep stillness, with a breath 
 Of summer-winds — a voice of melody 
 Solemn yet lovely ? . . , 
 — Joy ! for the peasant, when his vintage-task 
 Is closed at eve ! But most of all, for her, 
 Who, when her life had changed his glittering robes 
 For the dull garb of sorrow, which doth cling 
 So heavily around the journeyers on, 
 Cast down its weight and slept." . . . 
 
 If such was Mrs. Hemans* feeling with re- 
 spect to death, while in the spring-time of her 
 genius, (for though the words are Ximena's 
 the thoughts were her own,) — it may be believed 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 325 
 
 that it had deepened before she reached that 
 period, when, to use her own words, " deep 
 affections and deep sorrows seemed to have 
 solemnized her whole being." But though she 
 then, as formerly, took pleasure in contemplating 
 the resting-place, the shelter, the change from 
 a harsh world to the home where 
 
 " no sorrow dims the air," 
 
 she suffered from none of the morbid impatience 
 of life which, through their works, is to be traced 
 in the minds of those who have had so many 
 fewer reasons, mental and bodily, to pray for re- 
 lease. To speak fancifully, she seemed to find in 
 every object around her, a type of the bright and 
 better land to come, which enhanced and gave a 
 significance to its beauty. This state of feeling 
 is remarkably expressed in a poem already men- 
 tioned — her " Poet's Dying Hymn," which as 
 faithfully reflects the more tranquil current of 
 her later thoughts, as the " Mozart's Requiem " 
 breathed the feverish and uncurbed aspirings of 
 
MEMORIALS OF 
 
 former years. After many high-toned verses, 
 there is a great charm in the gentle yet melan- 
 choly resignation of those that follow. 
 
 " Now thou art calling me in every gale, 
 Each sound and token of the dying day : 
 Thou leav'st me not, though early life grows pale, 
 
 I am not darkly sinking to decay- 
 But, hour by hour, my soul's dissolving shroud 
 Melts off to radiance, as a silvery cloud. — 
 I bless thee, O my God ! 
 
 And if this earth, with all its choral streams, 
 And crowning woods, and soft or solemn skies, 
 
 And mountain sanctuaries for poet's dreams, 
 Be lovely still in my departing eyes : 
 
 Tis not that fondly I would linger here, 
 
 But that thy foot-prints in its dust appear— 
 I bless thee, O my God ! 
 
 And that the tender shadowing I behold, 
 The tracery veining every leaf and flower, 
 
 ()f glories cast in more consummate mould, 
 No longer vassals to the changeful hour ; 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 327 
 
 That life's last roses to my thoughts can bring 
 Rich visions of imperishable spring; 
 
 I bless thee, O my God ! 
 
 Yes ! the young vernal voices in the skies 
 
 Woo me not back, but, wandering past mine ear. 
 
 Seem heralds of th' eternal melodies, 
 
 The spirit-music, imperturb'd and clear; 
 
 The full of soul, yet passionate no more — 
 
 Let me, too, joining those pure strains, adore! 
 I bless thee, O my God ! 
 
 Now aid, sustain me still ! To thee, I come, 
 Make thou my dwelling where thy children are, 
 
 And for the hope of that immortal home, 
 
 And for thy Son, the bright and morning star : 
 
 The sufferer and the victor-King of death— 
 
 I bless thee with my glad song's dying breath ! 
 I bless thee, O my God ! " 
 
 The illness to which Mrs. Hemans refers in 
 the last extracts, was the scarlet fever. Her re- 
 
328 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 covery was imperfect, and her extraordinary per- 
 sonal carelessness, in addition to retarding it, 
 superinduced another disorder, the ague, which 
 never left her, till it was succeeded and outgrown 
 by her last fatal malady. In the interval of 
 partial convalescence, however, which succeeded 
 the fever, her mind seemed to awake to more 
 than its usual vigour : she was never so full of 
 projects as at this period — never so happy in 
 the exercise of those powers, over which she 
 had gained full mastery. Her interest in the 
 things of life, in books, and works of art, had 
 never been more vivid, as the following extracts 
 from her familiar correspondence, — almost the 
 last which can be given, — abundantly testify. 
 
 "Sept. 12th, 1834. 
 
 " You will now, perhaps, wish for 
 
 some little account of my employments and 
 studies. As I laid aside my writing entirely 
 (for an interval of repose) about the time of 
 your departure, I can only tell you of several 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 329 
 
 books which I have read with strong and varied 
 interest. Amongst the chief of these has been 
 the Correspondence of Bishop Jebb with Mr. 
 Knox, which presents, I think, the most beau- 
 tiful picture ever developed of a noble Christian 
 friendship, brightening on and on into 'the 
 perfect day/ through an uninterrupted period 
 of thirty years. Knox's part of the correspon- 
 dence is extremely rich in original thought, and 
 the highest views of enlightened Christian 
 philosophy ; there is much elegance, < pure 
 religion,' and refined intellectual taste in the 
 Bishop's letters also, but his mind is decidedly 
 inferior both in fervour and power. Another 
 work with which I have been both impressed 
 and delighted, is one which I strongly recom- 
 mend you to procure. It is the ' Prigioni,' of 
 Silvio Pellico, a distinguished young Italian 
 poet, who incurred the suspicions of the Aus- 
 trian government, and was condemned to the 
 penalty of the carcere duro during ten years, 
 of which this most interesting work contains 
 
330 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 the narrative. It is deeply affecting from the 
 heart-springing eloquence with which he nar- 
 rates his varied sufferings : what forms, however, 
 the great charm of the work, is the gradual and 
 almost unconsciously-revealed exaltation of the 
 sufferer's character, spiritualized through suffer- 
 ing into the purest Christian excellence. It is 
 beautiful to see the lessons of trust in God and 
 love to mankind brought out more and more 
 into shining light from the depth of the dun- 
 geon-gloom, and all this crowned at last by the 
 release of the noble, all-forgiving captive, and 
 his restoration to his aged father and mother, 
 whose venerable faces seem perpetually to have 
 haunted the solitude of his cell. The book is 
 written in the most classic Italian, in one small 
 volume, and will, I am sure, be one to afford 
 you lasting delight." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 331 
 
 From a letter to her sister. 
 
 " Sept. 18th, 1834. 
 , . . . " I thought you would be interested 
 in the two sonnets* which are copied on the 
 first page. I wrote them only a few days ago, 
 (almost the first awakening of my spirit, indeed, 
 after a long sickness,) upon reading that delight- 
 ful book of Pellico's, which I procured in con- 
 sequence of what you had told me of it. I 
 know not when I have read anything which 
 has so deeply impressed me. The gradual 
 brightening of heart and soul into the ' perfect 
 day' of Christian excellence, through all those 
 fiery trials, presents, I think, one of the most 
 touching, as well as instructing pictures ever 
 contemplated. How beautiful is the scene 
 between him and Oroboni, in which they mutu- 
 ally engage not to shrink from the avowal of 
 
 * The Sonnets to •• Silvio Pellico upon reading his 
 ' Prigioni,' " and " To the same released/' published 
 among the " Poetical Remains." 
 
33*2 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 their faith, should they ever return into the 
 world ! But I could say so much on this subject, 
 which has quite taken hold of my thoughts, 
 that it would lead me to fill up my whole 
 
 letter A friend kindly brought me 
 
 yesterday the Saturday Magazine, containing 
 Coleridge's letter to his god-child. It is, indeed, 
 most beautiful, and coming from that sovereign 
 intellect ought to be received as an invaluable 
 record of faith and humility. It is scarcely 
 possible to read it without tears !".... 
 
 " Sept. 19th, 1834. 
 
 " My dear ■ , 
 
 " I should have written immediately to you 
 on Carl's return, but that he told me something 
 of a packet of books which you were about to 
 forward in a day or two, and the arrival of 
 which he was to acknowledge, and I thought it 
 would be best to send you a long united letter 
 from us both. I can, however, no longer delay 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 333 
 
 expressing to you my delightful surprise upon 
 opening your precious gift of remembrance, 
 for which, I beg you to accept, though too late 
 offered, my warmest thanks. This last noble 
 production of Retszch's # was quite new to me, 
 and you may imagine with how many bright 
 associations of friendship and poesy, every leaf 
 of it is teeming for me. Again and again have 
 I recurred to its beauty-embodied thoughts, and 
 ever with the freshness of a new delight. The 
 volume, too, is so rich in materials for sweet 
 and bitter fancies, that to an imaginative nature 
 it would be invaluable, were it for this alone. 
 But how imbued is it throughout with grace, the 
 delicate, spiritual grace breathed from the do- 
 mestic affections in the full play of their tender- 
 ness ! I look upon it truly as a religions work, 
 for it contains scarcely a design in which the 
 eternal alliance between the human soul and 
 its Creator is not shadowed forth by devotional 
 expression. How admirably does this manifest 
 
 * His outlines to Schiller's " Song of the Bell." 
 
334 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 itself in the group of the christening, the — first 
 scene of the betrothed lovers, with their up- 
 lifted eyes of speechless happiness ; and, above 
 all, in that exquisite group, representing the 
 father counting over his beloved heads after the 
 conflagration ! I was much impressed, too, by 
 that most poetic vision at the close, where the 
 mighty bell, no more to proclaim the tidings of 
 human weal or woe, is lying amidst ruins, and 
 half mantled over by a veil of weeds and wild 
 flowers. What a profusion of external beauty, 
 but above all, what a deep ' inwardness of mean- 
 ing ' there is in all these speaking things ! 
 Indeed, my dear friend, you have bestowed 
 upon me a treasure to thought, to imagination, 
 to all kindly feeling, and be assured of its being 
 
 valued at its fullest worth Have you 
 
 read Silvio Pellico's narrative of his < Prigioni V 
 it has lately interested me most deeply : how 
 beautiful a picture is presented by the gradual 
 expansion of the sufferer's mind under all its 
 fiery trials to more and more all-enduring cha- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 335 
 
 rity, tenderness, and toleration ! I have read it 
 more than once, so powerful has been its effect 
 upon my feelings. When the weary struggle with 
 wrong and injustice leads to such results, I 
 then feel that the fearful mystery of life is 
 solved for me. 
 
 " May I trouble you with a little commission ? 
 I am anxious to procure those two very small 
 American volumes of my poems, which contain 
 almost all I have written as far as the ' Forest 
 Sanctuary.' If you could obtain them for me 
 
 I shall be particularly obliged You 
 
 will not be quite satisfied with this letter unless 
 I tell you something of my health. The scarlet 
 fever has left me with a very great susceptibility 
 to cold ; but if I can overcome this by care, I 
 really think (and my physicians think also) that 
 my constitution seems now to give promise of 
 
 improvement If God ever grants me 
 
 something of domestic peace and protection, it 
 will be received as a blessing for which all my 
 future life would be one hymn of thankfulness 
 
336 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 and joy. This subject saddens me, therefore 
 it is well that I have no room left to dwell 
 upon it. 
 
 " Ever believe me, 
 
 " Most faithfully yours, 
 
 " F. H." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 337 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Increase of illness— Mrs. Hemans' calmness and resig- 
 nation — " Thoughts during Sickness " — " Despon- 
 dency and Aspiration" — Projected poem— "Antique 
 Greek Lament" — Removal to Redesdale — Last ex- 
 tract from her correspondence — Appointment of her 
 son — Her cheerfulness— Messages to her friends — 
 Her love of books— Further notices of her last hours 
 — Conclusion. 
 
 The hope expressed in the last letter proved, 
 alas ! delusive : the partial return of strength, 
 from which Mrs. Hemans augured the possibility, 
 if not the promise, of a favourable change in her 
 constitution, was but the last fitful quivering of 
 the flame of life, before it expired. A neglected 
 cold, caught (as has been already mentioned) 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
338 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 when she was but imperfectly recovered from 
 the scarlet fever, took the distressing form of 
 ague : and from that time forward her strength 
 and health declined steadily. The increasing 
 weakness of her frame made it impossible for 
 her to throw off this disorder, which was suc- 
 ceeded by a dropsical affection. 
 
 It would be fruitlessly distressing to dwell 
 upon the scenes of pain, and prostration, and 
 decay, which closed her career, had the mind of 
 the sufferer yielded with the body, and sunk 
 into the arms of death with as much agony and 
 as wearily as its mortal tabernacle. Not only, 
 however, were its powers of conception and 
 fancy undiminished, but it seemed to gain pa- 
 tience and tranquillity in proportion as disease 
 advanced; — to cling with a more entire and 
 confiding reliance to the faith which had calmed 
 its tumults, and taught it to anchor its hopes 
 upon the One " with whom there is no variable- 
 ness, neither shadow of turning." Her thoughts 
 and imaginations, during the first stage of her 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 339 
 
 illness, were recorded by Mrs. Hemans in a 
 series of sonnets, entitled " Thoughts during 
 Sickness," which were intended as a sequel to 
 a previous collection, the " Records of the 
 Autumn." The " Thoughts," — unaccountably 
 omitted in the " Poetical Remains " — were 
 published in the New Monthly Magazine for 
 March, 1835. They are intensely individual. 
 One of them, on Retzseh's design of the " Angel 
 of Death," was suggested by an impressive 
 description in Mrs. Jameson's " Visits and 
 Sketches." In another, she speculates earnestly 
 and reverently upon the direction of the flight 
 of the Spirit, when the soul and body shall 
 part; in others, again, she recurs tenderly to 
 the haunts and pleasures of childhood, which 
 had, of late, been present to her memory with 
 more than usual force and freshness. To these 
 the following sonnet refers, dated May, 1834; 
 which, as far as I am aware, has not hitherto 
 been published. 
 
 Q 2 
 
340 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 « A HAPPY HOUR. 
 
 " Oh ! what a joy, to feel that in my breast 
 The founts of childhood's vernal fancies lay 
 Still pure, tho' heavily and long repressed 
 
 By early-blighted leaves, which o'er their way 
 Dark summer-storms had heaped — but free, glad 
 play 
 Once more was given them : — to the sunshine's 
 
 glow, 
 And the sweet wood-song's penetrating flow, 
 And to the wandering primrose-breath of May, 
 And the rich hawthorn odours, forth they 
 sprung,— 
 Oh ! not less freshly bright, that now a thought 
 Of spiritual presence o'er them hung, 
 And of immortal life ! — a germ, unwrought 
 In childhood's soul to power — now strong, serene, 
 And full of love and light, colouring the whole 
 blest scene." 
 
 " Her intense love of nature," writes her 
 sister, " seemed to gain strength even as the 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 341 
 
 sorrowful conviction was more and more pressed 
 upon us, that upon the fair scenes of this world, 
 her eyes were never more to dwell. One of the 
 sonnets in question (the "Thoughts") will far 
 better express her feelings than any language of 
 mine." 
 
 " O Nature ! thou didst rear me for thine own, 
 
 With thy free singing-birds and mountain-brooks, 
 Feeding my thoughts in primrose-haunted nooks 
 
 With fairy phantasies, and wood-dreams lone. 
 
 And thou didst teach me every wandering tone 
 Drawn from the many whispering trees and waves, 
 And guide my step to founts and starry caves, 
 
 And where bright mosses wove thee a rich throne 
 'Midst the green hills ; — and now that, far estranged 
 
 From all sweet sounds and odours of thy breath, 
 Fading I lie, within my heart unchanged 
 
 So glows the love of thee, that not for death 
 Seems that pure passion's fervour — but ordained 
 
 To meet on brighter shores, thy majesty unstained." 
 
 It was after the first violence of her illness 
 had somewhat abated, that Mrs. Hemans com- 
 
842 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 menced her noble lyric, " Despondency and 
 Aspiration." # She was more than usually 
 anxious to concentrate all her powers in this 
 poem. When a second attack, which again 
 greatly reduced her strength, for a while sub- 
 sided, leaving her free from pain, she address- 
 ed herself to completing it without delay; 
 and, when it was finished, expressed, for the 
 first time, something like a presentiment of her 
 approaching departure. " I felt anxious," she 
 said, "to finish it, for whilst I was so ill, I 
 thought it might be my last work, and I 
 wished, if I could, to make it my best." 
 Her wish was granted in its fullest extent: 
 this ode, which concludes and crowns so long 
 a line of beautiful and eloquent poems, rises 
 higher in its aim, its imagery, and its versifica- 
 tion, than any of its predecessors. She de- 
 signed (for the plans and projects of life did not 
 loosen their hold upon her busy mind, till the 
 Shadow, as it were, stood on the threshold) to 
 * Published among the " Poetical Remains." 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 343 
 
 make it the prologue to a poetical work 
 which was to be called " The Christian Tem- 
 ple." The idea of such an undertaking had 
 been suggested to her by a recent perusal of 
 Schiller's "Die Gotten Griechenlands," and 
 it was her purpose, by tracing out the work- 
 ings of passion— the struggles of human affec- 
 tion — through various climes, and ages, and 
 conditions of life — to illustrate the insufficiency 
 of any dispensation, save that of an all-embrac- 
 ing Christianity, to soothe the sorrows, or sus- 
 tain the hopes, or fulfil the desires of an im- 
 mortal being whose lot is cast in a world where 
 cares and bereavements are many. 
 
 The " Antique Greek Lament " * with its 
 plaintive burden, 
 
 " By the blue waters— the restless ocean waters. 
 Restless as they with their many-flashing surges, 
 Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one !" 
 
 was the only poem of the series which was com- 
 * Published among the " Poetical Remains." 
 
344 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 pie ted : for the project, with many others, was 
 arrested by the progress of disease, which, be- 
 fore the winter closed in, had assumed an alarm- 
 ing and unequivocal aspect. It was hoped, how- 
 ever, that change of air, and complete retirement, 
 might still restore her. With this view Mrs. 
 Hemans removed early in December to the 
 summer residence of the Archbishop of Dublin, 
 which was kindly placed at her disposal ; and, it 
 would seem, derived a transient benefit from the 
 change. But the following letter was traced 
 with a faltering hand, and speaks, unconsciously, 
 the language of melancholy presentiment. 
 
 " Redesdale, near Dublin, January 27th, 1835. 
 
 " My dear , 
 
 " I think you will be glad to see a few lines 
 from myself, though I can only tell you that my 
 recovery — if such it can be called — proceeds 
 with disheartening slowness. I cannot possibly 
 describe to you the subduing effect that long ill- 
 ness has produced upon my mind. I seem to have 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 345 
 
 been passing through ■ the valley of the shadow 
 of death,' and all the vivid interests of life look 
 dim and pale around me. I am still at the 
 Archbishop's palace, where I receive kindness 
 truly heart-warm. Never could anything be 
 more cordial than the strong interest he and his 
 amiable wife have taken in my recovery. 
 
 " My dear has enjoyed his holidays here 
 
 greatly, as I should have done too, (he has been 
 so mild and affectionate,) but for constant pain 
 and sickness. 
 
 " This has fatigued me sadly. 
 
 " Believe me every truly yours, 
 
 « F. H." 
 
 " Do send my kind love to Miss — — , when 
 you have an opportunity." 
 
 It was in the course of the following month, 
 that the necessary exertion and excitement 
 
 Q 5 
 
346 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 caused to Mrs. Hemans by the appointment of 
 her fourth son to a situation in a government 
 office, was succeeded by an exaggeration of every 
 unfavourable symptom — a greater feebleness 
 of frame, and an increase of dropsical affection. 
 But she bore these not only placidly, but almost 
 cheerfully : so deeply was she impressed by a 
 sense of the public kindness which relieved her 
 mind from a heavy care, and by the private act of 
 generosity by which the nomination in question 
 was accompanied. This — honourable to thegiver 5 
 for its munificence, and for the delicacy with 
 which it was tendered: honourable to the receiver, 
 for the gratitude with which it was acknowledged 
 — a gratitude unalloyed by false shame or ser- 
 vility — is a thing not to be passed over. It 
 does the heart good to dwell upon such a proof 
 that the cares of statesmanship do not of neces- 
 sity destroy the gentler feelings of brotherly kind- 
 ness and benevolence. In every note and letter 
 which refers to this affair, Mrs. Hemans is de- 
 scribed as speaking of it as " a sunshine with- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 347 
 
 out a cloud ;" — she now felt that her days were 
 numbered, and it must indeed have been sooth- 
 ing to her, to receive so effectual an assurance 
 that she possessed friends — unknown as well as 
 known — willing and active to advance the for- 
 tunes of those whom she was so soon to leave 
 for ever ! 
 
 The desired improvement in her health not 
 having taken place, it was thought prudent 
 to remove her to Dublin early in March, in 
 order that she might be nearer to her physicians. 
 By this time, she had almost entirely lost the 
 use of her limbs, and though not wholly confined 
 to bed, was scarcely equal even to the exertion 
 of reading. She was therefore entirely thrown 
 upon the resources of her own mind ; " but 
 never," says her companion during these days, 
 " did I perceive it overshadowed by gloom. 
 The manner in which she endured pain — and 
 this, during the earlier stages of her illness, 
 was very severe — surprised even me. She never 
 murmured or expressed the slightest impatience 
 
348 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 at its long continuance. I remember her say- 
 ing to me once, in a moment of unusual anguish, 
 ' that she hoped / should never be subject to 
 what she was then enduring,' but this was the 
 utmost of her complaints." During these 
 severest periods of her disorder, she was some- 
 times delirious — and it was remarkable to ob- 
 serve, from the incoherent words she uttered, how 
 entirely the Beautiful still retained its predomi- 
 nance over her mind. As an illustrative anec- 
 dote, I may mention that one of her last casual 
 visitors introduced into her sick chamber at her 
 own express request, was Giulio Regondi, the 
 boy-guitarist — in whom she had been more than 
 usually interested — not merely by the extraordi- 
 nary musical genius and acquirement, which place 
 him so far above the common range of youthful 
 prodigies — but by that simplicity and cheerful- 
 ness of nature, which rarely remain unspoiled in 
 those, like him, perilously exposed to the flat- 
 tery and caresses of the world, at an early age. 
 Throughout the whole of Mrs. Hemans' ill- 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 349 
 
 ness, she was visited by vivid and delightful 
 dreams, to which, and to the quietness of her 
 slumber, she often thankfully referred: and 
 in answer to the sympathy expressed by the 
 few admitted to her presence, who were dis- 
 tressed to see the melancholy state in which 
 she was lying, she would say, that she had no 
 need of pity, that she lived in a fair and happy 
 world of her own, among gentle thoughts and 
 pleasant images, which were sufficient to her 
 cheerfulness. When haunted by the prompt- 
 ings of too quick a conscience, which suggested 
 to her, that her life and talents had not been 
 rendered useful to their fullest extent, she would 
 console herself with that beautiful line of 
 Milton's, 
 
 " Those also serve, who only stand and wait." 
 
 She spoke often of the far-away friends whom 
 she valued, and would send them messages of 
 kindness and comfort ; she was anxious that one 
 
350 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 (Miss Mitford) should be told of the delight 
 which her country scenes and sketches had given 
 her ; — that another, the companion of her graver 
 hours, should be assured that " the tenderness 
 and affectionateness of the Redeemer's cha- 
 racter which they had often contemplated toge- 
 ther, was now a source not merely of reliance, 
 but of positive happiness to her — the sweetness 
 of her couch."" In short, during this season of 
 decline, she was resigned, humble, most 
 studious to avoid saying or doing any thing 
 which might seem said or done for effect, and 
 invested by her patience and sweetness with a 
 dignity which almost raised her above the reach 
 of earthly consolation. The feeling can be well 
 understood which made her sister write, " that 
 at times it has almost been painful to feel one's 
 own incapacity to minister to a spirit so ethe- 
 rialised." 
 
 Towards the close of March, her malady 
 took one of those capricious turns upon which 
 the sanguine are so apt to found hopes; and which 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 351 
 
 tempt the sufferer, from feeling a momentary re- 
 lief, to imagine that a restoration to health is not 
 utterly beyond possibility. At this time, her 
 sister, who had been in attendance upon her for 
 some weeks, left her, recalled to Wales by im- 
 perative domestic claims: — her youngest bro- 
 ther and her sister-in-law remained with her till 
 she died. But the change was of short dura- 
 tion ; the letters and notes before me only detail 
 the return and progress of disease, and soon 
 cease to speak of a hope, — a chance* Her re- 
 lations had now only to stand by and await the 
 release of a spirit, ready, if not impatient, to 
 depart: — of one whose life had been troubled 
 and storm-beaten, but whose death-bed was calm 
 and most affectionately tended. 
 It now remains for me to add a few more notices 
 
 * I have purposely refrained from dwelling upon the 
 minute particulars of Mrs. Hemans' case ; these have 
 been sufficiently given in the " Recollections/' by 
 Mr. Lawrence, to which reference has already been 
 made. 
 
352 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 of thejast solemn hours of life ; for these I am in- 
 debted to her youngest son. " After all the more 
 painful part of her illness had subsided, she sank 
 into a calm and gradual state of decline : I may 
 safely say, that I never in my life, saw her so 
 happy and serene as then. Her love of books 
 became stronger than ever." It has been already 
 told, in her own words, that her love of flowers 
 remained equally strong till death. " She 
 would have a little table placed by her bed-side, 
 covered with volumes, one of which would lie open 
 before her, even when she was unable to read — 
 and she liked to be read to — for though frequently 
 she could not comprehend what she heard, the 
 sound of words seemed to lull her to placid 
 slumber. The latest volume of Wordsworth's 
 poems, which was brought to her about this time, 
 excited in her the strongest interest ; and she 
 returned, after an absence and forgetfulness of 
 many years, to the old pleasure, which, when very 
 young, she had taken in the writings of Bowles ; 
 the quiet beauty of whose poetry seemed very 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 353 
 
 congenial to her present state of mind. Almost 
 the last book which she turned over with any 
 appearance of interest, was Gilpin's " Forest 
 Scenery." 
 
 Within a short period of her decease, the 
 dropsical symptoms abated ; they were suc- 
 ceeded by hectic fever and delirium, the sure 
 precursors of dissolution. On the twenty-sixth 
 day of April she closed her poetical career, by 
 dictating the " Sabbath Sonnet," which will be 
 read and remembered as long as her name is loved 
 and cherished. From this time she sank away 
 gently but steadily, — still able to derive pleasure 
 from being occasionally read to, and on Tuesday, 
 the twelfth of May, still able to read for herself 
 a portion of the sixteenth chapter of St. John, 
 her favourite among the Evangelists. Nearly the 
 last words she was heard to utter were, on Satur- 
 day the sixteenth of May, to ask her youngest 
 son, then sitting by her bed-side, what he was 
 reading. When he told her the name of the 
 book, she said, " Well, do you like it ?" After 
 
354 MEMORIALS OF 
 
 this she fell into a gentle sleep, which con- 
 tinued almost unbroken, till evening, when, 
 between the hours of eight and nine, her spirit 
 passed away without a sigh or a struggle. 
 
 She was buried in a grave within St. Anne's 
 Church, Dawson Street, close to the house in 
 which she died ; the funeral service being per- 
 formed over her remains by the Rev. Dr. 
 Dickinson, the Archbishop's Chaplain, from 
 whom she had received the sacrament on the 
 evening of the seventeenth of March. There 
 is, as yet, no monument erected to her, save a 
 tablet in the cathedral of St. Asaph, placed 
 there by her brothers, " in memory of Felicia 
 Hemans, whose character is best pourtrayed in 
 her writings." 
 
 An elaborate summary of the principal fea- 
 tures of Mrs. Hemans' character, or of the 
 general and individual merits of her poems, can 
 hardly be necessary, if the foregoing memorials 
 
MRS. HEMANS. 355 
 
 have fulfilled the design of their editor. The 
 woman and the poetess were in her too in- 
 separably united to admit of their being con- 
 sidered apart from each other. In her private 
 letters, as in her published works, she shows 
 herself high-minded, affectionate, grateful — way- 
 ward in her self-neglect, — delicate to fasti- 
 diousness in her tastes ; — in her religion, fer- 
 vent without intolerance; — eager to acquire 
 knowledge, as eager to impart it to others, — 
 earnestly devoted to her art, and in that art to 
 the service of all things beautiful, and noble, 
 and holy. She may have fallen short of some 
 of her predecessors in vigour of mind, of some 
 of her contemporaries in variety of fancy ; but 
 she surpassed them all in the use of language, in 
 the employment of a rich, chaste, and glowing 
 imagery, and in the perfect music of her versi- 
 fication. It will be long before the chasm left 
 in our female literature by her death will be 
 worthily filled : she will be long remembered, — 
 
356 MEMORIALS OF MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 long spoken of by those who know her works, 
 yet longer by those who knew herself — 
 
 Kindly and gently, but as of one, 
 For whom 'tis well to be fled and gone, 
 As of a bird from a chain unbound, 
 As of a wanderer whose home is found. 
 So let it be ! 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Since these Memorials have been completed, 
 I have received notices of two poems, written 
 by Mrs. Hemans during her residence in Wales, 
 of which no mention is made in any of her let- 
 ters, nor any published trace to be found. 
 The one was entitled " The Secret Tribunal," 
 the other, the work of a later and better period, 
 was a dramatic poem, called " The Crusaders," 
 in which the popular ballad of " The Captive 
 Knight" was introduced. The manuscript of 
 this last was unaccountably lost, or destroyed. 
 
358 APPENDIX. 
 
 Should it ever be recovered, it might serve as 
 the nucleus of a second volume of " Poetical 
 Remains." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 IBOTSON AM) PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND. 
 
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