Memoir of the Life and Writings of Mrs. HemansLea and Blanchard, 1839 - 291 pages |
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Abbotsford admiration affecting affectionate afterwards alluded amidst amongst Angus Fletcher Asaph beautiful blessed boys breath bright Bronwylfa brother called character dark dear death deep delight Dublin enjoyment excitement expression eyes fancy father favourite fear feeling FELICIA HEMANS flowers gentle Grasmere green happy haunt heard heart Hemans Hemans's hope idea imagination impression interest Joanna Baillie Kilkenny kind kindly late letter literary Liverpool look Lord Byron mind mother mountain nature never night noble passed picture pleasure poem poet poetry racter recollection repose Rhyllon River Clwyd Robert Liston scarcely scene seems Silvio Pellico Sir David Wedderburn Sir Walter Sir Walter Scott sister solemn song sonnet sorrow soul spirit strange suffering sweet tastes tears tender things thou thought tion tone voice volume waters Wavertree whilst wish words Wordsworth writings written wrote wylfa
Popular passages
Page 197 - Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. To Be, contents his natural desire, He asks no Angel's wing, no Seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Page 107 - His steps are not upon thy paths— thy fields Are not a spoil for him— thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth — there let him lay.
Page 310 - Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Page 221 - Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices, to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive...
Page 39 - SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn: A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
Page 276 - In darkness, and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!
Page 314 - Sonnet," the last strain of the "sweet singer," whose harp was henceforth to be hung upon the willows. "How many blessed groups this hour are bending, Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way Toward spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending, Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallow'd day! The halls, from old heroic ages grey, Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play, VOL.
Page 313 - Towards spire and tower, midst shadowy elms ascending, Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day ! The halls from old heroic ages grey Pour their fair children forth ; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play, Send out their inmates in a happy flow, Like a freed vernal stream.
Page 288 - DEAR GODCHILD, I offer up the same fervent prayer for you now, as I did kneeling before the altar, when you were baptized into Christ, and solemnly received as a living member of his spiritual body, the Church. Years must pass before you will be able to read, with an understanding heart, what I now write. But I trust that the all-gracious God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of Mercies, who, by his...
Page 269 - I AM not One who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk, — Of friends, who live within an easy walk, Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight : And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk, These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night. Better than such discourse doth silence long, Long, barren silence...