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MEMORIALS 


OP 

MRS.     HEMANS 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 

OF 

HER  LITERARY  CHARACTER 

FROM    HER 

PRIVATE  CORRESPONDENCE. 


BY      N\ 

*«jr 

HENRY   F.   CHORLEY. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  II. 


LONDON 

SAUNDERS  AND  OTLEY,  CONDUIT  STREET. 
1836. 


LONDON : 

IDOTSON   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\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  "  Stabat  Mater" — New  songs  by  Moore  and 
Bishop  —  Manzoni's  "Cinque  Maggio" — Godwin's 
"  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.  V 

:  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 — 
f(  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— "  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.  v 

— 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 — u  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  "  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 arid  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  L 

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.    II.  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  sera  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  unvocal  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    OF 

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  '  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  !' "  .  .  .  . 


«  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.  Remans  about  this  time. 


MRS.    HEMANS.  .9 

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  '  to  soften  rocks  i1 — «  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  I — the  tern- 

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  '  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  c  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,1  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   '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  yoimg  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  our 
cathedral,  and  also  of  the  glorious  Spanish 

*  The  "English  Soldier's  Song  of  Memory,"  published 
among  the  "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.11  . 


"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.* 

*  "  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  '  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 


MEMORIALS    OF 


of  Hazlitt's  a  great  deal  that  is  interesting,  and 
many  selections  from  those  olden  poets  which 
will  give  you  an  idea  of  their  force  and  sweet- 
ness 'drawn  from  that  well  of  English  unde- 


MRS.    HEMANS.  25 


CHAPTER  II. 

Mrs.  Hemans'  visit  to  Scotland — Her  funereal  poetry — 
Her  reception  in  Edinburgh — Anecdotes— Letters 
from  Chiefs  wood— 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." 

I  need  only  mention  a  few  lyrics,  te  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  the 
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,  1833. 


39  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, 
6  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."1  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 
4  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- 


MRS.    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.  Was  it  not  delightful  to  ramble 
through  the  fairy  ground  of  the  hills,  with  the 
6  mighty  master '  himself  for  a  guide,  up  wild 
and  rocky  paths,  over  rude  bridge,  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 


MRS.    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,  c  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  6  Am  Rhein,  am  Rhein  f  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  '  Am  Rhein,  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, 

1  '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  after  wards  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. 
"  Ever  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  ;*  fi  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  of  the  periodicals  of  1835, 
alluding  to  this  letter,  which  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. 


42  MEMORIALS    OF 

that  would  e  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 

c  crested  with  tawny  foam, 
Like  the  mane  of  a  chestnut  steed.' 

And  there  was  Sir  Walter  beside  me,  repeating, 
with  a  tone  of  feeling  as  deep  as  if  then  only  first 
wakened — 

'  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  '  Yarrow  visited  ?' 
I  was  ready  to  exclaim,  in  its  opening  words — 
6  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,  I  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  '  voices  of  the  trees  ;"*  and 
he  described  to  me  some  highland  music  of  a 
similar  imitative  character,  called  the  (  notes  of 
the  sea-birds  * — 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  Cceur  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  '  thatgifted  individual,' 
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  cairn,  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  helieve  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 ;  '  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 
Hummers  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 

e  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' 
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  !'  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 !' " 

Further  letters  of  the  same   series   contain 


one  of  his  very  great  favourites,  and  a  f  Cancionella 
Espanola'  another:  and  of  the  '  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,'  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 's 

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.  ,  «  .  I 

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.  fi  Mais  quils  se  pas- 
sent  des  orages  dufond  du  cceur!'  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  Guide'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,  who  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. 

"  c  Ah  T  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,  4  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." 


"  8,  Albyn  Place,  Edinburgh,  August  26'th,  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  Listen,  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 
ail  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  6  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  *'  Stabat  Mater" — New  songs  by  Moore  and 
Bishop  —  Manzoni's  "Cinque  Maggio" — Godwin's 
"  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 


t 


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  cM- 
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.  71 

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 


72  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 
renewr  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.  IL  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,'  the 
most  delightful  thing  in  the  world.  How  very 
truly  you  have  often  said  that  society  could 
never  be  the  sphere  for  me !  I  am  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  '  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- 
ning'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  ?' 

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 
tartanj  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  6  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- 


80  MEMORIALS    OF 

tleties.'  I  send  you  6  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, 


"  My  dear  sir, 

"  ....  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  German 
evening  soon;  I  have  found  some  fine  old 
ballads  in  the  c  Wunderhorn,'  which  1  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  Signer  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  ensuing1  winter. 


84  MEMORIALS    O*1 

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  grandfather's  head?  which  his  fancy 
wanted  to  set  before  me  in  a  charged  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  e  Daniel  O'Rourke,'  I  think  you 
'  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- 


"  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 
Mends — 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;  89 

<  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  '"  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. 


"  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  « 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  '  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.  93 

she  was  singularly  fond  of  the  society  of  old 
mem 


TO  MR.  L . 

"  April,  1830. 
"  My  dear  Sir, 

"I  am  quite  sorry  that  you  should  have  dis- 
tressed yourself  about  the  6  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  '  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  yon  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  6  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  must  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— f  Write  an  ode  to  music.'  That  fearful 
word  ode,  reminds  me  of  Manzoni,  whose  splen- 
did poem,  the  '  Cinque  MaggwJ  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 ss  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 !'  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:  "     v 


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  !  4  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,  c  for  ever  and  a  day,'  that  I,  secretly 
conscious  of  my  own  un worthiness,  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 


102  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  arid  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 


MRS.    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    OF 

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,  'Believe  it  not!' 

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  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  1  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 
4  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  Mends. 
I  must  not  forget  to  tell  you  that  he  not  only 
admired  our  exploit  in  crossing  the  Ulverston 
sands  as  a  deed  of  £  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 

'  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.    HEMANS.  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." 


"  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  visionary 
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 

*  I  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.    HEM  AN  S.  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  ?  '  I  am  delighted 
to  hear  you  ask  the  question,'  was  his  reply, 
6  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.1 " 


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.    II.  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,  \vhere  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  Grasmere  and  Rydal  Lake;  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, c  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 •-, 

"  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 

'  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  I  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 — ' 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,  1  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, 
solitary,  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  ! 
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.    HEMAtfS.  127 

the  evening  had  struck  my  imagination.  '  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 


MEMORIALS    OF 

early  annals  of  England ;  they  will  afford  me 
4  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. 

"  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.  6  How  often  have  I 
sung  some  touching  stanza  of  your  own,  as  I 
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 
'  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 :  4  the  lowliest  of  my  admirers,'  as 
the  amiable  youth  entitles  himself,  begs  permis- 
sion to  be  for  once  my  c  cordonnier,'  and  is  about 
to  send  me  a  pair  of  Indian  mocasins,  with  my 
4  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  '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  llth. 

"  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, 

'  Let  nought  prevail  against  you,  nor  disturb 
Your  cheerful  faith.' 

You  will  not  be  ( 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,  an4 
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  '  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  keystone  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 
Faimable,  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  R^dal  have  soaked  it,  the  winds 
from  Helm-crag  have  wrinkled  it,  and  it  is  alto- 
gether somewhat  in  the  state  of 

f  Violets  plucked,  which  sweetest  showers, 
May  ne'er  make  grow  again.' 

Three  yards  of  black  silk,  however,  will,  I  be- 


MRS.  HEMANSi  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  master's  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  c  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  first  loves  in  Schiller — 
6  The  Song  of  the  Bell,'  «  Cassandra,'  or  <  Thek- 
la's  Spirit-voice,"1  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.  '  Goethe's 
writings  cannot  live,'  he  one  day  said  to  me,  ( be- 
cause '  they  are  not  holy  /'  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.  n.  H 


346  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  I  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- 
sel£ 

"  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  '  "  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 
"3ook  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  place7  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  '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  I  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 
mind,  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.  REMANS.  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,'  even  to  c  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  e  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.  168 

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  I  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, 
6  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 

i 

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."  .  . 


* "  I  am  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  ajlood  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,  6  that  which  pours  the 
day,'  and  the  moon,  '  the  light  of  the  dead/ 
Well,  from  Spain  he  travelled,  or  rather  shot 
offi  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,  '  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.    II.  I 


170  MEMORIALS    OF 

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,  6  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   c  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  Stae'l, 
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  I  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." 

t  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- 


.  ..."  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 

i5 


178  MEMORIALS    OF 

fearfully   mingled   character   is   but    ruin — the 
wreck  of  what  might  have  been.1'  .... 


. ..."  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  Hewitt's  "  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 
6  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  Poly-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, 

I  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  '  bounded  on  the 

east,    as  geographers  say,  by ,  is  yet  but  too 

vivid."     . 


MRS.    HEMANS*  185 

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  enur 
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  tfs  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.    HEM  AN  S.  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  piti. 

"  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/ 
6  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, 
4  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  6  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    OP 

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  c  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 

'  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.   li.  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  c  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  lago,  who  calls  himself  '  nothing  if  not  cri- 


MRS.    HEMANS.  197 

ticalj  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  Eraser's  Magazine  this  month,  upon  Moore's 
life  of  Byron." 


TO    MR.    L. . 

"  April  19,  1£31. 

"  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  5  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.  HEMANS.  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.  '2Q3 


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 
a  line." 


"  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— jl 
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  feint  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  suice — 
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-\ook- 
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.    HEMANS.  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, 

How  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.'1  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  ;v*  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, 

'  I  turned  from  all  she  brought,  to  all  she  could  not 
bring  !' 

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 

.     .     .     *     .      "  the joyous  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  arid  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  ? 

"  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. 

'  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  arid  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  4  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  's  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  T  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  f  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  to*rrid  weather, 
must  be  enviable :  I  have  heard  that  in  Corsica, 
the  sun,  during  the  dog-days,  is  called  the  '  Lion- 
Sun  f  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  £  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 
^Eschylus,  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  t  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  "  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  "  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, 
Rock'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.  227 

.  "  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-lookiug  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,    REMANS.  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 
extracts. 

.  .  .  "  To  begin  with  the  appearance  of  the 
'foreign  wonder,'— it  is  very  different  from  what 


MRS.    HEM  AN  S.  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 
fire,  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  rny  mind  than  the  singing  of  birds.  I  am 
wrong,  however,— I  must  except  one  thing, 
4  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,  c  with  his  martial  cloak  around  him,1* 


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. 

.  .  .  .  "  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  the\\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'Shanter5  (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." 


.     .     .      .     "  I  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, 

'  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  6  mais 
c'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  tojlood  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  nattering   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  Scott's  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 

M2 


•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."  . 


{  s  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.  5th. 

"  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 

'  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 ; 

.  .  .  .  e  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  c  Swan  and  the 
Skylark,'  (I  think  you  would  find  it  in  this 
month's  number  of  Black  wood,)  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,'  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  !'  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 c  SternbaWs  Wanderungen," 
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.    HEMANSe  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  f<  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 in  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 

'  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,  shoald  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  c  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  6  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,  ( 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- 


"  Upper  Pembroke  Street,  Dublin, 
"April  18th,  1832. 

"I  have  just  recovered  from  a  long  illness, 
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.  J  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 
4  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.  .  ." 


"April  4th,  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  '  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'ntrate.' 

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  '  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  c  Go  forth,  for  she  is  gone,'  in- 
debted as  it  was  greatly  to  you,  has  met  with 
some  approbation.  The  6  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 
'  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  cin  aromatic 
pain,'  will  effectually  put  an  end.  There  is  a 
line  of  Coleridge's 

'  O !  for  a  sleep,  for  sleep  itself  to  rest  in  !' 

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.  2/7 

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 /a/so-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. 

"  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  ! '  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  ah1,  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.  Ratcliffe's  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  what  my  position, 
obliged  as  I  am  <  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.    REMANS.  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  6  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.  u.  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,  flourishing  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, 

«  R  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  *  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  c  that 

celestial  colloquy  sublime '  once  held  with  Cole- 
ridge, and  though  I  do  not,  like  him,  pique  my- 
self upon  the  « 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  '  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 

'  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, — (t  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  and  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,  "  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.1  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 
maybe."  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 
1 834  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  c  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."1  '  Now  look  to  your  star- 
board side,  ma'am,  and  tell  me,  would  you  just 
like  that  cottage  ?'  Then  his  piece  of  parting 
advice — '  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.  26th,  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,  cto  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,'  6  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  Hewitts,  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  rekting  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  IL,  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.    HEMANS,  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  arid 
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- 


.  .  ,  .  .  * c  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  feeh'ngs  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 


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  6  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,  when 
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  four  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.  3*21 

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  shah1  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  eliosir  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,"*  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  it', 
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  Ilemans'  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  caJl 
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 


326  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, 

Of  glories  cast  in  more  consummate  mould, 
No  longer  vassals  to  the  changeful  hour  ; 


MRS.  REMANS.  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.    HEMAXS.  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  along  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  lf  Silvio  Pellico  upon  reading  his 
'  Prigioni,'  "  and  "  To  the  same  released/'  published 
among  the  "  Poetical  Remains." 


332  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  religious  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  ?' 
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  c  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.    HEM  AN  S.  337 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Increase  of  illness— Mrs.  Hemans'  calmness  and  resig- 
nation—  "  Thoughts  during  Sickness" — (f  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  Retzsch'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 


"  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- 


342 


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, 

C(  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 

pleted :  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  thegiver5 
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, 
4  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, 

(e  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  tinfe,  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  the  last  solemn  hours  of  life ;  for  these  I  am  in- 
debted to  her  youngest  son.  "  After  all  the  more 
painfill  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.    HEM  AN  S.  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    AND    PALMER,    PRINTERS,    SAVOY    STREET,  STRAND, 


NEW    WORKS 

PUBLISHED    BY 

MESSRS.  SAUNDERS   AND  OTLEY. 


i. 

NEW  SERIES  OF  THE  "TWO  OLD  MEN'S  TALES." 
In  3  vols.  post  8vo. 

TALES  OF  THE  WOODS  AND  FIELDS. 

A  Second  Series  of  the  "  Two  Old  Men's  Tales." 

"  Whoever  the  author  of  these  captivating  tales  may  be,  he  has  little  need  to 
withhold  his  name.  '  The  Country  Vicarage'  is  the  first,  and  we  defy  the  most  cal- 
lous to  read  it  untouched  or  unedified.  We  confidently  predict  that  this  work  will 
acquire,  as  it  deserves,  great  and  continued  popularity." — Sunday  Times. 

II. 

NEW  WORK  BY  MR.  N.  P.  WILLIS. 
In  3  vols.  post  8vo. 

INKLINGS    OF    ADVENTURE. 

By  the  Author  of  "  PENCILLINGS  BY  THE  WAY." 

"  These  volumes  may  be  placed  among  the  most  interesting,  exciting,  and  brilliant 
of  modern  times :  they  will  be  universally  read,  and  enjoyed  by  all  who  read 
them." — New  Monthly. 

III. 

NEW  WORK  BY  MR.  BULWER. 
In  3  vols.  post  8vo. 

R    I    E    N    Z    I, 

THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES. 

By  the  Author  of  "  EUGENE  ARAM,"  &c.  &c. 

"  Distinguished  must  be  the  genius  which,  in  this  day,  can  render  a  novel  an  ob- 
ject of  such  deep  interest." — Atlas. 

IV. 

MISS  STICKNEY'S  NEW  WORK. 
In  3  vols.  post  8vo. 

HOME,    OR    THE    IRON    RULE. 
A  DOMESTIC  STORY. 

By  Miss  STICKNEY,  Author  of  "  THE  POETRY  OF  LIFE,"  and  "  PICTURES 
OF  PRIVATE  LIFE." 

"  The  present  volumes  quite  confirm  our  early  estimate  of  Miss  Stickney's  ta- 
lents. They  are  full  of  fresh  natural  feeling,  and  the  pure  spirit  of  religious 
morality  ;  there  is  a  sweetness  and  delicacy  in  her  feminine  characters,  that  give  a 
strong  interest." — Lit.  Gat. 


New  Works,  published  by  Messrs.  Saunders  and  Otley. 
v. 

NEW  WORK  BY  CAPTAIN  MARRYAT. 

In  3  Vols.  Post  8vo. 

JAPHET,    IN  SEARCH  OF    A   FATHER. 

By  the  Author  of  *'  PETER  SIMPLE,"  "  JACOB  FAITHFUL/'  Sec. 

Also  by  the  same  Author, 

THE  KING'S  OWN.     Second  Edition,  revised.     3  vols.  post  8vo. 

THE  PACHA  OF  MANY  TALES.    Third  Edition, 

JACOB  FAITHFUL.    Third  Edition. 

PETER  SIMPLE.     Third  Edition. 

"  Captain  Marryat  appears  to  us  to  stand  alone  among  the  writers  of  his  century 
iu  the  power  of  depicting  life  as  it  is." — Spectator. 
"  He  that  imagined  '  Peter  Simple,'  is  a  sea  Fielding."— Blackwood. 

VI. 
NEW  WORK  BY  MR.  GRATTAN. 

Now  ready,  in  3  Vols.  Post  8vo. 

AGNES    DE    MANSFELDT. 

By  the  Author  of  "  HIGHWAYS  AND  BYWAYS,"  "  HEIRESS  OF  BRUGES,"  &c. 

"  '  A»nes  de  Mansfeldt'  is  superior  to  any  previous  production  of  this  very  talented 
author."—  S.  Times. 

"  Mr.  Grattan's  present  work  is  very  different  from  those  which  have  gone  beforef; 
but,  iu  many  respects,  we  think  it  superior.  Some  of  his  characters  would  be  suf- 
cient  to  make  the  reputation  of  any  young  writer,  and  will  greatly  add  to  that 
which  Mr.  Grattan  has  already  so  justly  attained-" — New  Monthly. 

"  This  novel  will  be  read  with  pleasure  by  all  who  understand  and  value  good  writing, 
and  who  are  prone  to  take  a  philosophical  view  of  men's  actions  and  passions,  as 
they  work  out  the  great  revolutions  of  history." — Metropolitan. 

"  Mr.  Grattan,  as  a  novelist,  is  second  only  to  Mr.  Bulwer ;  and,  as  a  romantic 
writer,  inferior  only  to  Sir  Walter  Scott."— Bell's  Messenger. 

VII. 

HAZLITT'S  LITERARY  REMAINS. 
In  2  Vols.  8vo.  with  a  Portrait. 

LITERARY  REMAINS    OF   THE   LATE  WILLIAM 
HAZLITT. 

With  a  Notice  of  his  Life,  by  his  Son  ;  and  Thoughts  on  his  Genius  and 

Writings, 
By  E.  L.  BULWER,  Esq.  M.P.,  and  MR.  SERJEANT  TALFOURD,  M.P. 

VIII. 
POETRY  AND  PHILOSOPHY  OF  TRAVEL. 

Now  ready,  in  2  Vols.  Post  8vo.  Plates. 

ADVENTURES  IN  THE  NORTH  OF  EUROPE. 

Illustrative  of  the  Poetry  and  Philosophy  of  Travel. 
By  E.  W,  LANDOR,  Esq. 

"  There  is  unquestionably  a  great  store  of  varied  and  useful  information  blended 
with  entertainment  in  these  volumes— we  heartily  recommend  them  to  an  attentive 
perusal." — Sunday  Times. 


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