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1. Records of Women: with other Poems. By Felicia HEMANS. 2d Edition. 12ma
pp. 323. Edinburgh: 1828. 2. The Forest Sanctuary: with other Poems. By FELICIA HEMANS. 2d Edition, with
Additions. 12mo. pp. 325. Edinburgh: 1829. Women, we fear, cannot do every thing; While, in their perceptions of grace, proprinor even every thing they attempt. But what ety, ridicule--their power of detecting arti. they can do, they do, for the most part, excel. fice, hypocrisy, and affectation--the force and lenily-and much more frequently with an promptitude of their sympathy, and their caabsolute and perfect success, than the aspir-pacity of noble and devoted attachment, and ants of our rougher and more ambitious sex. of the efforts and sacrifices it may require, They cannot, we think, represent naturally the they are, beyond all doubt, our Superiors. fierce and sullen passions of men-nor their Their business being, as we have said, with coarser vices-nor even scenes of actual busi. actual or social life, and the colours it receives ness or contention-nor the mixed motives, from the conduct and dispositions of individand strong and faulty characters, by which uals, they unconsciously acquire, at a very affairs of moment are usually conducted on early age, the finest perception of character the great theatre of the world. For much and manners, and are almost as soon instinctof this they are disqualified by the delicacy ively schooled in the deep and more dangerof their training and habits, and the still more ous learning of feeling and emotion ; while disabling delicacy which pervades their con the very minuteness with which they make ceptions and feelings; and from much they and meditate on these interesting observaare excluded by their necessary inexperience tions, and the finer shades and variations of of the realities they might wish to describe- sentiment which are thus treasured and reby their substantial and incurable ignorance corded, trains their whole faculties to a nicety of business-of the way in which serious and precision of operation, which often disaffairs are actually managed—and the true closes itself to advantage in their application nature of the agents and impulses that give to studies of a different character. When movement and direction to the stronger cur- women, accordingly, have turned their minds rents of ordinary life. Perhaps they are also as they have done but too seldom-to the incapable of long moral or political investiga exposition or arrangement of any branch of tions, where many complex and indeterminate knowledge, they have commonly exhibited, elements are to be taken into account, and a we think, a more beautiful accuracy, and a variety of opposite probabilities to be weighed more uniform and complete justness of think. before coming to a conclusion. They are ing, than their less discriminating brethren. generally too impatient to get at the ultimate There is a finish and completeness, in short, results, to go well through with such discus- about every thing they put out of their hands, sions; and either stop short at some imper- which indicates not only an inherent taste for fect view of the truth, or turn aside to repose elegance and neatness, but a habit of nice in the shade of some plausible error. This, observation, and singular exactness of judg. however, we are persuaded, arises entirely ment. from their being seldom set on such tedious It has been so little the fashion, at any tasks. Their proper and natural business is time, to encourage women to write for publithe practical regulation of private life, in all cation, that it is more difficult than it should its bearings, affections, and concerns; and the be, to prove these truths by examples. Yet questions with which they have to deal in there are enough, within the reach of a very that most important department, though often careless and superficial glance over the open of the utmost difficulty and nicety, involve, field of literature, to enable us to explain, at for the most part, but few elements; and may least, and illustrate, if not entirely to verify, generally be better described as delicate than our assertions. No Man, we will venture to intricate ;-requiring for their solution rather say, could have written the Letters of Madame a quick tact and fine perception, than a pa- de Sevigné, or the Novels of Miss Austin, or tient or laborious examination. For the same the Hymns and Early Lessons of Mrs. Basreason, they rarely succeed in long works, bauld, or the Conversations of Mrs. Marcet. even on subjects the best suited to their ge- Those performances, too, are not only essennius; their natural training rendering them tially and intensely feminine ; but they are, equally averse to long doubt and long labour. in our judgment, decidedly more perfect than
For all other intellectual efforts, however, any masculine productions with which they either of the understanding or the fancy, and can be brought into comparison. They acrequiring a thorough knowledge either of complish more completely all the ends at man's strength or his weakness, we appre- which they aim; and are worked out with a hend them to be, in all respects, as well quali- gracefulness and felicity of execution which fied as their brethren of the stronger sex: l excludes all idea of failure, and entirely satis 60
fies the expectations they may have raised., that belongs to them, from the legends of difWe might easily have added to these in- ferent nations, and the most opposite states of stances. There are many parts of Miss Edge- society; and has contrived to retain much of worth's earlier stories, and of Miss Mitford's what is interesting and peculiar in each of them, sketches and descriptions, and not a little of without adopting, along with it, any of the Mrs. Opie's, that exhibit the same fine and revolting or extravagant excesses which may penetrating spirit of observation, the same characterise the taste or manners of the people softness and delicacy of hand, and unerring or the age from which it has been derived. truth of delineation, to which we have allud- She has transfused into her German or Scaned as characterising the purer specimens of dinavian legends the imaginative and daring female art. The same distinguishing traits of tone of the originals, without the mystical woman's spirit are visible through the grief exaggerations of the one, or the painful fierceand piety of Lady Russel, and the gaiety, the ness and coarseness of the other-she has spite, and the venturesomeness of Lady Mary preserved the clearness and elegance of the Wortley. We have not as yet much female French, without their coldness or affectation poetry; but there is a truly feminine tender- -and the tenderness and simplicity of the ness, purity, and elegance, in the Psyche of early Italians, without their diffuseness or Mrs. Tighe, and in some of the smaller pieces langour. Though occasionally expatiating, of Lady Craven. On some of the works of somewhat fondly and at large, among the Madame de Staël — her Corinne especially sweets of her own planting, there is, on the there is a still deeper stamp of the genius of whole, a great condensation and brevity in
Her pictures of its boundless de- most of her pieces, and, almost without exvotedness—its depth and capacity of suffering ception, a most judicious and vigorous con-its high aspirations—its painful irritability, clusion. The great merit, however, of her and inextinguishable thirst for emotion, are poetry, is undoubtedly in its tenderness and powerful specimens of that morbid anatomy its beautiful imagery. The first requires no of the heart, which no hand but that of a wo- explanation ; but we must be allowed to add man's was fine enough to have laid open, or a word as to the peculiar charm and character skilful enough to have recommended to our of the latter. sympathy and love. There is the same ex- It has always been our opinion, that the quisite and inimitable delicacy, if not the very essence of poetry-apart from the pathos, same power, in many of the happier passages the wit, or the brilliant description which of Madame de Souza and Madame Cottin—to may be embodied in it, but may exist equally say nothing of the more lively and yet melan- in prose—consists in the fine perception and choly records of Madame de Staël
, during her vivid expression of that subtle and mysterious long penance in the court of the Duchesse de Analogy which exists between the physical Maine.
and the moral world—which makes outward But we are preluding too largely; and must things and qualities the natural types and em. come at once to the point, to which the very blems of inward gifts and emotions, or leads heading of this article has already admonish- us to ascribe life and sentiment to every thing ed the most careless of our readers that we that interests us in the aspects of external are tending. We think the poetry of Mrs. nature. The feeling of this analogy, obscure Hemans a fine exemplification of Female and inexplicable as the theory of it may be, is Poetry—and we think it has much of the per- so deep and universal in our nature, that it fection which we have ventured to ascribe to has stamped itself on the ordinary language the happier productions of female genius. of men of every kindred and speech : and
It may not be the best imaginable poetry, that to such an extent, that one half of the and may not indicate the very highest or most epithets by which we familiarly designate commanding genius; but it embraces a great moral and physical qualities, are in reality so deal of that which gives the very best poetry many metaphors, borrowed reciprocally, upon its chief power of pleasing; and would strike this analogy, from those opposite forms of us, perhaps, as more impassioned and exalt- existence. The very familiarity, however, of ed, if it were not regulated and harmonised the expression, in these instances, takes away by the most beautiful taste. It is singularly its poetical effect—and indeed, in substance, sweet, elegant, and tender-touching, per- its metaphorical character. The original sense haps, and contemplative, rather than vehe- of the word is entirely forgotten in the derivament and overpowering; and not only finished tive one to which it has succeeded; and it throughout with an exquisite delicacy, and requires some etymological recollection to even severity of execution, but informed with convince us that it was originally nothing else a purity and loftiness of feeling, and a certain than a typical or analogical illustration. Thus sober and humble tone of indulgence and we talk of a sparkling wit, and a furious blast piety, which must satisfy all judgments, and -a weighty argument, and a gentle stream allay the apprehensions of those who are most -without being at all aware that we are afraid of the passionate exaggerations of poetry. speaking in the language of poetry, and transThe diction is always beautiful, harmonious, ferring qualities from one extremity of the and free --and the themes, though of great sphere of being to another. In these cases, variety, uniformly treated with a grace, orig- accordingly, the metaphor, by ceasing to be inality and judgment, which mark the same felt, in reality ceases to exist, and the analogy master hand. These themes she has occa- being no longer intimated, of course can prosionally borrowed, with the peculiar imagery duce no effect. But whenever it is intimated, it does produce an effect; and that effect we jable in some little pieces, which seem at first think is poetry.
sight to be purely descriptive—but are soon It has substantially two functions, and ope- found to tell upon the heart, with a deep rates in two directions. In the first place, moral and pathetic impression. But it is in when material qualities are ascribed to mind, truth nearly as conspicuous in the greater part it strikes vividly out, and brings at once be- of her productions; where we scarcely meet fore us, the conception of an inward feeling with any striking sentiment that is not ushered or emotion, which it might otherwise have in by some such symphony of external nabeen difficult to convey, by the presentment ture-and scarcely a lovely picture that does of some bodily form or quality, which is in- not serve as an appropriate foreground to stantly felt to be its true representative, and some deep or lofty emotion. We may illusenables us to fix and comprehend it with a force trate this proposition, we think, by opening and clearness not otherwise attainable; and, either of these little volumes at random, and in the second place, it vivifies dead and inani- taking what they first present to us.—The mate matter with the attributes of living and following exquisite lines, for example, on a sentient mind, and fills the whole visible Palm-tree in an English garden: universe around us with objects of interest
“ It wav'd not thro' an Eastern sky, and sympathy, by tinting them with the hues
Beside a fount of Araby ; of life, and associating them with our own It was not fann'd by southern breeze passions and affections. This magical opera- In some green isle of Indian seas, tion the poet too performs, for the most part,
Nor did iis graceful shadow sleep in one of two ways—either by the direct O'er stream of Afric, lone and deep. agency of similies and metaphors, more or " But far the exil'd Palm-tree grew Jess condensed or developed, or by the mere
'Midst foliage of no kindred hue;
Thro’ the laburnum's dropping gold graceful presentment of such visible objects
Rose the light shaft of orient mould, on the scene of his passionate dialogues or
And Europe's violets, faintly sweet, adventures, as partake of the character of
Purpled the moss-beds at his feet. the emotion he wishes to excite, and thus form an appropriate accompaniment or pre
“ There came an eve of festal hours
Rich music fillid that garden's bowers: paration for its direct indulgence or display.
Lamps, that from flowering branches hung, The former of those methods has perhaps On sparks of dew soft colours flung, been most frequently employed, and certainly And bright forms glanc'd-a fairy showhas most attracted attention. But the latter, Under the blossoms, to and fro. though less obtrusive, and perhaps less fre- " But one, a lone one, 'midst the throng. quently resorted to of set purpose, is, we are
Seem'd reckless all of dance or song: inclined to think, the most natural and effica- He was a youth of dusky mien,
Whereon the Indian sun had beencious of the two; and it is often adopted, we
Of crested brow, and long black hairbelieve unconsciously, by poets of the highest
A stranger, like the Palm-tree, there ! order;—the predominant emotion of their minds overflowing spontaneously on all the
And slowly, sadly mov'd his plumes,
Glittering athwart the leafy glooms: objects which present themselves to their
He pass'd the pale green olives by, fancy, and calling out from them, and colour- Nor won the chesnut flowers his eye; ing with their own hues, those that are natu- But, when to that sole Palm he came, rally emblematic of its character, and in ac
Then shot a rapture through his frame ! cordance with its general expression. It would " To him, to him its rustling spoke! be easy to show how habitually this is done, The silence of his soul it broke! by Shakespeare and Milton especially, and It whisper'd of his own bright isle, how much many of their finest passages are
That lii the ocean with a smile;
Aye, to his ear that native tone indebted, both for force and richness of effect,
Had something of the sea-wave's moan! to this general and diffusive harmony of the external character of their scenes with the
“ His mother's cabin home, that lay
Where feathery cocoas fringd the bay ; passions of their living agents—this harmonis
The dashing of his brethren's oar; ing and appropriate glow with which they The conch-note heard along the shore ; kindle the whole surrounding atmosphere, All thro' his wakening bosom swept; and bring all that strikes the sense into unison He clasp'd his country's Tree—and wept ! with all that touches the heart.
“Oh! scorn him not !:-The strength, whereby But it is more to our present purpose to The patriot girds himself to die, say, that we think the fair writer before us is Th' unconquerable power, which fills eminently a mistress of this poetical secret
The freeman batiling on his bills
These have one fountain, deep and clear. and, in truth, it was solely for the purpose
The same whence gush'd that child-like tear!" illustrating this great charm and excellence in her imagery, that we have ventured upon The following, which the author has named, this little dissertation. Almost all her poems “Graves of a Household,” has rather less of are rich with fine descriptions, and studded external scenery, but serves, like the others, over with images of visible beauty. But these to show how well the graphic and pathetic are never idle ornaments: all her pomps have may be made to set off each other : a meaning; and her flowers and her gems are
They grew in beauty, side by side. arranged, as they are said to be among Eastern
They fillid one home with glee, lovors, so as to speak the language of truth
Their graves are sever'd, far and wide, and of passion. This is peculiarly remark- By mount, and stream, and sea !
" The same fond mother bent at night
In a young ongnted spirit! Manhood rears
A haughly brow; and Age has done with tears; She had each folded Hower in sight,
But Youth bows down to mis'ry, in amaze
At the dark cloud o'ermantling its fresh days, “ One, midst the forests of the West,
And thus it was with her. A mournful sight By a dark stream is laid,
In one so fair-for she indeed was fairThe Indian knows his place of rest,
Not with her mother's dazzling eyes of light. Far in the cedar shade.
Hers were more shadowy, full of thought and
pray'r; “ The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one!
And with long lashes o'er a while-rose cheek, He lies where pearls lie deep:
Drooping in gloom, yet tender still and meek. He was the lov'd of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.
“ One sunny morn, “ One sleeps where southern vines are drest
With alms before her castle gate she stood, Above the noble slain :
Midst peasant.groups ; when, breathless and o'er. He wrapt his colours round his breast, On a blood-red field of Spain.
And shrouded in long robes of widowhood,
A stranger through them broke :--The orphan maid “ And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
With her sweet voice, and proffer'd hand of aid, Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd; She faded 'midst Italian flowers,
Turn'd to give welcome : But a wild sad look
Met hers; a gaze that all her spirit sbook ;
And that pale woman, suddenly subdued
Knelt at her feet, and bath'd them with such tears Whose voices mingled as they pray'd
As rain the hoarded agonies of years (press'd Around one parent knee!
From the heart's urn; and with her white lips “ They that with smiles lit up the hall,
The ground they irode; then, burying in her vest And cheer'd with song the hearth,
Her brow's deep flush, sobb'd out — Oh! unAlas! for Love, if thou wert all,
defil'd! And nought beyond, oh earth!"
I am thy Mother-spurn me not, my child !!
“ Isaure had pray'd for that lost mother; wept We have taken these pieces chiefly on ac- O'er her stain’d memory, while the happy slept count of their shortness : But it would not be in the hush'd midnight ; stood with mournful gaze fair to Mrs. Hemans not to present our readers Before yon picture's smile of other days, with one longer specimen—and to give a por- Which weigh'd her being to the earth with shame.
But never breath'd in human ear the name tion of her
graceful narrative along with her what marvel if the anguish, the surprise, pathetic descriptions. This story of “The The dark remembrances, the alter'd guise, Lady of the Castle,” is told, we think, with Awhile o'erpower'd her 2-from the weeper's touch great force and sweetness :
She shrank !—'Twas but a moment-yet too much
For that all-bumbled one ; its mortal stroke “ Thou seest her pictur'd with her shining hair, Came down like lightning, and her full heart broke
(Fam'd were those tresses in Provençal song) At once in silence. Heavily and prone Half braided, half o'er cheek and bosom fair
She sank, while, o'er her castle's threshold-stone, Let loose, and pouring sunny waves along Those long fair tresses-they still brighily wore Her gorgeous vest. A child's right hand is roving their early pride, though bound with pearls no 'Midst the rich curls, and, oh! how meekly loving Its earnest looks are lifted to the face,
Bursting their fillet, in sad beauty roll'd, Which bends to meet iis lip in laughing grace ! And swept the dust with coils of wavy gold. Yet that bright lady's eye meihinks hath less
“Her child bent o'er her-call'd her—'Twas Of deep, and still, and pensive tenderness,
too lateThan might beseem a mother's: On her brow Dead lay the wanderer at her own proud gate! Something too much there sits of native scorn,
The joy of courts, the star of knight and bard, And her smile kindles with a conscious glow. (tell How didst thou fall, O bright-hair’d Ermengarde !" - These may be dreams! But how shall Woman Of woman's shame, and not with tears ?-She sell! The following sketch of "Joan of Arc in That mother left that child !--weni hurrying by Rheims," is in a loftier and more ambitious Its cradle-haply not without a sigh ;
vein ; but sustained with equal grace, and as Haply one moment o'er its rest serene She hung-But no! it could not thus have been,
touching in its solemn tenderness. We can For she went on !-forsook her home, her hearth, afford to extract but a part of it:All pure affection, all sweet household mirth, To live a gaudy and dishonour'd thing,
Within, the light, Sharing in guili the splendours of a king.
Through the rich gloom of pictur'd windows
flowing, “Her lord, in very weariness of life,
Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight, Girt on his sword for scenes of distant strife; The chivalry of France, their proud heads bowing He reck'd no more of Glory :-Grief and shame In mariial vassalage !-while 'midst the ring, Crush'd out his fiery nature, and his name And shadow'd by ancestral tombs, a king Died silently. A shadow o'er his halls
Received his birthright's crown. For this, the hymn Crept year by year; the minstrel pass'd their walls ; Swell’d out like rushing waters, and the day The warder's horn hung mute : - Meantime the With the sweet censer's misty breath grew dim, child,
As through long aisles it floated, o'er th' array On whose first flow'ring thoughts no parent smild, of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, alone A gentle girl, and yet deep-hearted, grew
And unapproach'd, beside the altar stone, (ing, Into sad youth: for well, too well she knew With the white banner, forth like sunshine stream. Her mother's tale! Its memory made the sky And the gold helm, through clouds of fragrance Seem all too joyous for her shrinking eye;
gleaming, Check'd on her lip the flow of song, which fain Silent and radiant stood ?- The helm was rais'd, Would there have linger'd; fushd her cheek to And the fair face reveal'd, that upward gaz’d, If met by sudden glance; and gave a tone (pain, Intensely worshipping ;-a still, clear face, Of sorrow as for something lovely gone,
Youthful but brighily solemn !- Woman's cheek Even to the spring's glad voice. Her own was low And brow were there, in deep devotion meek, And plaintive!-Oh! there lie such depth of woes Yet glorified with inspiration's trace !
A triumphant strain,
“There went a swift bird singing past my cellA proud rich stream of warlike melodies,
O Love and Freedom! ye are lovely things ! Gush'd through the portals of the antique fane, With you the peasant on the hills may dwell, And forth she came.
And by the sireams ; But 1—the blood of kings. “The shouts that fill'd
A proud unmingling river, through my veins The hollow heaven tempestuously, were still'd
Flows in lone brightness, -and its
gifts are chains ! One moment; and in that brief pause, the tone,
--Kings !-! had silent visions of deep bliss, As of a breeze that o'er her home had blown,
Leaving their thrones far distant! and for this Sank on the bright maid's heart !- Joanne !'
I am cast under their triumphal car,
An insect to be crush'd!
There would be rescue if this were not so. Under one roof? - Joanne !'-that murmur bruke Thou'rt at the chase, thou’rt at the festive board, With sounds of weeping forth!--She turn’d-- | Thou’rt where the red wine free and high is pour'd, she knew
Thou'rt where the dancers meet !-a magic glass Beside her, mark'd from all the thousands there, Is set within my soul, and proud shapes pass, In the calm beauty of his silver hair,
Flushing it o'er with pomp from bower and hall! The stately shepherd! and the youth, whose joy
I see one shadow, stateliest there of all, -From his dark eye flash'd proudly; and the boy, Thine!—What dost Thou amidst the bright and fair, The youngest-born, that ever lov'd her best!
Whisp'ring light words, and mocking my despair ?” * Father! and ye my brothers !'-On the breast Of that grey sire she sank—and swiftly back, The following, though it has no very distinct Even in an instant, to the native track
(more! object or moral, breathes, we think, the very Her free thoughts flow'd.--She saw the pomp no The plumes, ihe banners !--To her cabin door,
spirit of poetry, in its bright and vague picAnd to the Fairy's Fountain in the glade,
turings, and is well entitled to the name it Where her young sisters by her side had play'd, bears—“ An Hour of Romance:"And to the hamlet's chapel, where it rose Hallowing the forest into deep repose,
" There were thick leaves above me and around, Her spirit turn'd. -The very wood-note, sung,
And low sweet sighs, like those of childhood's In early spring-time by the bird, which dwelt Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound (sleep, Where o'er her father's roof the beech-leaves hung,
As of soft showers on water! Dark and deep Was in her heart; a music heard and felt, Lay the oak shadows o'er the turf, so still Winning her back to nature !-She unbound They seem'd but pictur'd glooms: a hidden rill The helm of many battles from her head,
Made music, such as haunts us in a dream, And, with her bright locks bow'd to sweep the Under the fern-lufts: and a tender gleam ground,
Of soft green light, as by the glow-worm shed, Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said,
Came pouring thro’ the woven beech-boughs * Bless me, my father, bless me! and with thee, And steep'd the magic page wherein I read (down, To the still cabin and the beechen-tree,
Of royal chivalry and old renown; Let me return !'"
A tale of Palestine.- Meanwhile the bee
Swept past me with a tone of summer hours, There are several strains of a more passion- A drowsy bugle, wafting thoughts of flowers, ate character; especially in the two poetical Blue skies and amber sunshine : brightly free, epistles from Lady Arabella Stuart and Pro-On filmy wings the purple dragon-fly perzia Rossi. We shall venture to give a few Shot glancing like a fairy javelín by; lines from the former . The Lady Arabella And a sweet voice of sorrow told the dell
Where sat the love wood-pigeon : tras of royal descent; and having excited the
But ere long, fears of our pusillanimous James by a secret All sense of these things faded, as the spell union with the Lord Seymour, was detained Breathing from that high gorgeous tale grew strong in a cruel captivity, by that heartless monarch, On my chain'd soul ! _'Twas not the leaves I till the close of her life-during which she is A Syrian wind the Lion-banner stirr'd, (beardsupposed to have indited this letter to her Thro' its proud, floating folds! - iwas not the
Singing in secret thro' its grassy glen;- (brook, lover from her prison house :
A wild shrill trumpet of The Saracen ** My friend, my friend! where art thou ? Day by Peal'd from the desert's lonely heart, and shook day,
The burning air !-Like clouds when winds are Gliding, like some dark mournful stream, away,
O'er glitt'ring sands flew steeds of Araby; (high, My silent youth flows from me! Spring, the while, And jents rose up, and sudden lance and spear Comes
, and rains beauty on the kindling boughs Flash'd where a fountain's diamond wave lay clear, Round hal
, and hamlet : Summer, with her smile, Shadow'd by graceful palm-trees! Then the shout Fills the green forest ;-young hearts breathe Of merry England's joy swell’d freely oui,
Sent thro' an Eastern heaven, whose glorious hue Brothers. long parted, meet; fair children rise
Made shields dark mirrors to its depth of blue! Round the glad board : Hope laughs from loving And harps were there ;-I heard their sounding
As the waste echo'd to the mirth of kings."Ye are from dingle and fresh glade, ye flowers ! The bright masque faded !-Unto life's worn track, By some kind hand to cheer my dungeon sent ; What call'd me from its flood of glory back ? O'er you the oak shed down the summer showers, A voice of happy childhood !-and they pass'd, And the tark's nest was where your bright cups Banner, and harp, and Paynim trumpet's blasi bent,
Yet might I scarce bewail the splendours gone, Quivering to breeze and rain-drop, like the sheen My heart so leap'd to that sweet laughter's tone." of twilight stars. *On you Heaven's eye hath been, Through the leaves pouring its dark sultry blue There is great sweetness in the following Into your glowing hearts ; ihe bee to you Harh murmur'd, and the rill.-My soul grows faint
portion of a little poem on a "Girl's Schoul :".. With passionate' yearning, as its quick dreams paint " Oh ! joyous creatures! that will sink to resi, Your haunts by dell and stream,--the green, the Lightly, when those pure orisons are done, free,
As birds with slumber's honey-dew opprest, The full of all sweet sound,--the shut from me! 'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun