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Page. The Tombs of Platæa,
299 The View from Castri,
jb. The Festal Hour,
300 Song of the Battle of Morgarten,
301 Chorus, Translated from Manzoni's "Conte di Car. magnola,”
303 The Meeting of the Bards,
301 The Homes of England,
305 The Sicilian Captive,
ib. Ivan the Czar,
307 Carolan's Prophecy,
305 The Mourner of the Barmecides,
309 The Spanish Chapel,
310 The Captive Knight,
311 The Kaisers' Feast,
ib. Ulla, or The Adjuration,
312 The Effigies,
313 The Spirits' Mysteries,
ib. The Palm Tree, ·
314 Breathings of Spring,
ib. The Illuminated City,
315 The Spells of Home,
ih. Roman Girl's Song,
316 The Distant Ship, .
ib. The Birds of Passage,
317 Mozart's Requiem,
ib. The Image in Lava,
318 Fairy Favours,
ib. A Parting song,
319 The Bridal Day,
ib. The Ancestral Song,
320 The Magic Glass,
321 Corinne at the Capitol,
322 The Ruin,
ib. The Minster,
323 The Song of Night,
ib. The Storm Painter in his Dungeon,
324 Death and the Warrior,
323 The Two Voices,
ib. The Parting Ship, ·
326 The Last Tree of the Forest,
ib. The Streams,
Page. The Voice of the Wind,
328 The Vigil of Arms,
ib. The Heart of Bruce in Melrose Abbey,
329 Nature's Farewell,
ib. The Beings of the Mind,
330 The Lyre's lament,
331 Tasso's Coronation,
ib. The Better Land, The Wounded Eagle,
b. Sadnees and Mirth,
ib. The Nightingale's Death Song,
333 The Diver,
ib. The Requiem of Genius,
334 Triumphant Music,
335 Second Sighi,
ib. The Sea-Bird Flying Inward,
ib. The Sleeper,
336 The Mirror in the Deserted Hall,
ib. Hymn of the Mountain Christian,
337 Church Music,
ib. To a Picture of Madonna,
ib. We Return no More,
ib. The Parting of Summer,
339 The World in the Open Air,
ib. Kindred Hearts,
340 The Dial of Flowers,
ib. Our Daily Paths,
ib. The Cross in the Wilderness,
341 Last Rites,
342 The Cliffs of Dover,
ib. The Voice of Home to the Prodigal,
343 The Wakening, :
ib. The Dying Improvisatore,
314 Music of Yesterday,
ib. The Forsaken Hearth,
315 The Dreamer,
ib. The Wings of the Dove,
346 Psyche borne by Zephyrs to the Island of Pleasure, ib. The Boon of Memory,
347 The Grave of Martyrs,
ib. Dreams of Heaven
MRS. FELICIA HEMANS.
The Forest Sanctuary.
Ihr Platze aller meiner stillen Freuden,
Die Jungfrau von Orleans.
Remorse, a Tragedy.
The following Poem is intended to describe the By quenchless longings, to my soul I say, mental conflicts, as well as outward sufferings, of Oh! for the dove's swift wings, that I might filee a Spaniard, who, flying from the religious perse- away, cutions of his own country in the 16th century, takes refuge with his child in a North American
III. forest. The story is supposed to be related by
And find mine ark yet whither ?-I must bear himself amidst the wilderness which has afforded
A yearning heart within me to the grave. him an asylum.
I am of those o'er whom a breath of air
Just darkening in its course the lake's bright I.
wave, The voices of my home !-I hear them still ! And sighing through the feathery canes(1) They have been with me through the dreamy night,
To call up shadows, in the silent hour, The blessed household voices, wont to fill From the dim past, as from a wizard's cave! My heart's clear depths with unalloy'd delight! So must it be !—These skies above me spread, I hear them still, unchang'd:-though some from Are they my own soft skies?–Ye rest not here,
earth Are music parted, and the tones of mirth
IV. Wild, silvery tones, that rang through days more bright!
Ye far amidst the southern flowers lie sleeping, Have died in others,-yet to me they come, Your graves all smiling in the sunshine clear, Singing of boyhood back-the voices of my home! Save one!-a blue, lone, distant main is sweeping
High o'er one gentle head-ye rest not here! II.
'Tis not the olive, with a whisper swaying, They call me through this hush of woods, repo- Not thy low ripplings, glassy water, playing sing
Through my own chesnut groves, which fill In the gray stillness of the summer morn, They wander by when heavy flowers are closing, But the faint echoes in my vreast that dwell, And thoughts grow deep, and winds and stars And for their birth-place moan, as moans the are born;
ocean-shell.(2) E'en as a fount's remember'd gushings burst
Peace !-I will dash these fond regrets to earth,
From his strong pinion. Thou that gav'st me For Spain of old.—Yet what if rolling waven birth,
Have borne us far from our ancestral graves! And lineage, and once home,-my native Spain ! Thou shalt not feel thy bursting heart rebel My own bright land—my father's land—ny As mine hath done; nor bear what I have borne, child's !
Casting in falsehood's mould th' indignant brow What hath thy son brought from thee to the
Hear me! magnificent and ancient wild;
And mighty rivers, ye that meet the main,
As deep meets deep; and forests, whose dim
Yet there are hours when the charged heart must
Ev'n in the desert's ear to pour itself, or break!
Its hundred arms to Heaven, still freshly green,
But a wild vine around the stem hath clung,
From branch to branch close wreaths of bond-
Now hath redeem'd her birth-right of the day, thee! And won, through clouds, to Him, her own unfetter'd way!
Yet art thou lovely! Song is on thy hills-
Oh sweet and mournful melodies of Spain,
thrills Filld with the love of childhood, which I see The exile's heart, with sudden-wakening pain! Pure through its depths, a thing without dis- Your sounds are on the rocks—that I might hear guise;
Once more the music of the mountaineer!Thou that hast breath'd in slumber on my And from the sunny vales the shepherd's strain breast,
Floats out, and fills the solitary place
In the rich autumn light the vineyards lay,
And from the fields the peasant's voice was gone;
Music and mirth were hush'd the hills among,
XVIII. While to the city's gates each hamlet pour'd its
It might be that amidst the countless throng, throng.
There swelled some heart with Pity's weight XIV.
For the wide stream of human love is strong Silence upon the mountains!—But within
And woman, on whose fond and faithful breast The city's gates a rush—a press-a swell
Childhood is reared, and at whose knee the sigh Of multitudes their torrent way to win;
Of its first prayer is breathed, she, too, was nigh. And heavy boomings of a dull deep bell,
But life is dear, and the free footstep blessed, A dead pause following each—like that which
And home a sunny place, where each may fill parts
Some eye with glistening smiles, -and therefore The dash of billows, holding breathless hearts
all were still Fast in the hush of fear-knell after knell; And sounds of thickening steps, like thunder
XIX. rain, That plashes on the roof of some vast echoing
All still-youth, courage, strength!—a winter fane!
A chain of palsy, cast on might and mind! XV.
Still, as at noon a southern forest's shade,
They stood, those breathless masses of mankind; What pageant's hour approach'd !—The sullen
Still, as a frozen torrent!—but the wave gate
Soon leaps to foaming freedom-they, the brave, Of a strong ancient prison-house was thrown
Endured—they saw the martyr's place assigned Back to the day. And who, in mournful state, Came forth, led slowly o'er its threshold-stone ? That numbs each human pulse ?—they saw, and
In the red flames—whence is the withering spell They that had learn'd, in cells of secret gloom, How sunshine is forgotten !—They, to whom
thought it well. The very features of mankind were grown
XX. Things that bewilder'd !-O'er their dazzled sight,
And I, too, thought it well! That very morn They lifted their wan hands, and cower'd before
From a far land I came, yet round me clung the light!
The spirit of my own. No hand had torn
With a strong grasp away the veil which hung XVI.
Between mine eyes and truth. I gazed, 1 saw, To this man brings his brother !-Some were
Dimly, as through a glass. In silent awe
I watched the fearful rites; and if there sprung there, Who with their desolation had entwined
One rebel feeling from its deep founts up, Fierce strength, and girt the sternness of despair
Shuddering, I flung it back, as guilt's own poisonFast round their bosoms, even as warriors bind
сир. The breast-plate on for fight: but brow and cheek
XXI. Seemed theirs a torturing panoply to speak! And there were some, from whom the very mind But I was wakened as the dreamers waken Had been wrung out: they smiled-oh! start- Whom the shrill trumpet and the shriek of dread ling smile
Rouse up at midnight, when their walls are Whence man's high soul is fled !-where doth it taken, sleep the while?
And they must battle till their blood is shed
On their own threshold-floor. A path for light XVII.
Through my torn breast was shattered by the But onward moved the melancholy train,
might For their false creeds in fiery pangs to die.
Of the swift thunder-stroke-and Freedom's
tread This was the solemn sacrifice of Spain
Came in through ruins, late, yet not in vain, Heaven's offering from the land of chivalry!
Making the blighted place all green with life again. Through thousands, thousands of their race they moved
Grew fixed before them, while a people's breath Of cloud, o'ersweeping, without wind, the sky, Was hushed, and its one soul bound in the thought
Dream-like I saw the sad procession pass, of death!
And marked its victims with a tearless eye.