I wish not it was mine to wear Flushed honour's sunny crown I only wish the bliss of life,- The trumpet's taunt in battle field, What peace can all their honours yield? Though praise and pomp to eke the strife, I mourn not that my lot is low, I sigh not that Fate made me so, I am content-for well I see What all at last shall find,- I see the world pass heedless by, For either wealth or power; They are but men, and I'm a man Proud, too, that life gives all she can, A calm and quiet mind. When friends depart, as part they must, That leave us like the summer dust, Though left the last behind, A prop and friend I still shall have, FELICIA HEMANS. THE POET AND HER POETRY. [MRS. HEMANS was born in Duke Street, Liverpool, in the year 1793. Her father was a native of Ireland; her maiden name was Browne, and at an early age, she was married to Mr. Hemans, an officer in the army. This marriage was unhappy; she was estranged from her husband, and lived many years in retirement, enlivened principally by the correspondence of the most celebrated literary characters. She first lived at St. Asaph, in Wales; three years at Wavertree, near Liverpool, and latterly at Dublin; where she died on Saturday night, the 16th of May, 1835, aged 41. Mrs. Hemans may be well stiled the "Poet of the Affections." She may not have possessed the graphic power of depicting scenes of common life, displayed by some, nor the lofty imaginations of others; but as to the feelings and the affections of our nature, none tuned the lyre more exquisitely. In all that relates to woman, her suffering, her constancy, her love, she is perhaps the first of female poets, and what enhances her writings to us, is, that both in subject and in style, they are purely English; English in their sentiments, feelings and affections. Towards the latter end of her life, Mrs. Hemans became still more deeply embued with true religious feeling, and a sweet sonnet written a few days before her death, shows that she possessed that calm and halcyon peace of mind, which is imparted alone, by the blessed hope of immortality.] EXTRACTS FROM MRS. HEMANS'S WORKS. BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing! "We have swept o'er the cities, in song renown'd,— Silent they lie, with the deserts around! We have cross'd proud rivers, whose tide hath roll'd And what have ye found in the monarch's dome, Oh, joyous birds, it hath still been so ! "A change we have found there, and many a change! Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange ! Gone are the heads of the silvery hair, And the young that were, have a brow of care, And the place is hush'd, where the children play'd— Nought looks the same, save the nest we made !" Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth, THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?. We ask not such from thee. Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal Argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main! Yet more, the depths have more !-Thy waves have roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry ! Yet more! the billows and the depths have more! Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whom To thee the love of woman hath gone down ; Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks and beauty's flowery crown ; Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee,Restore the Dead, thou Sea! THE BETTER LAND. "I hear thee speak of the better land, "Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, "Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold? "Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! THE RETURN TO POETRY. Once more the eternal melodies from far, G G |