Memorials of Mrs. Hemans: With Illustrations of Her Literary Character from Her Private Correspondence, Volume 2 |
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Abbotsford Alcestis Ambleside amidst Athenĉum beautiful believe bright Byron called certainly character Chiefswood dark dear Sir death deep delightful Dublin Duc de Chartres effect excited expression eyes fancy favorite fear feeling Felicia Hemans flowers give glad Glen Wood graceful Grasmere happy hear heard heart Hemans hope idea imagine impression interest Kilkenny kind kindly lady lake last wrote lately letter Liverpool look Lord Byron melody mind nature never noble passage passed pleasure poems Poetical Remains poetry regret remember repose Rhine Song Rydal Rydal Mount Sappho scarcely scenery Scenes and Hymns Scotland seems Silvio Pellico Sir Walter Sir Walter Scott solemn sonnet speak spirit strong sure sweet tell thee things thou thought tion told tone verse voice volume wandering Wavertree weary wild wish words Wordsworth write written yesterday
Popular passages
Page 82 - Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep...
Page 157 - 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 meet, Past words of welcome to our household door, And vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feet,— Spring!
Page 232 - ... often connected with the passionate study of art in early life; deep affections and deep sorrows seem to have solemnized my whole being, 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 without some sense of dereliction. 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...
Page 81 - The ground is laid out in rather an antiquated style, which, now that nature is beginning to reclaim it from art, I 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.
Page 193 - The outward shows of sky and earth, Of hill and valley, he has viewed ; And impulses of deeper birth Have come to him in solitude. In common things that round us lie Some random truths he can impart, The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
Page 191 - 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 excellence, (if there be not too much presumption 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.
Page 70 - 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 meditative 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 richly shaded grounds, and hearing him speak of the old English writers, particularly Spenser, whom he loves, as he himself expresses it, for his
Page 74 - I am charmed with Mr. Wordsworth, whose kindness to me has quite a soothing influence 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 pony when I ride ; and I begin to talk with him as with a sort of paternal...
Page 106 - I thought Anglesey, through which I travelled, 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, monotonous plains, which I really think nature must have produced to rest herself, after the strong excitement of composing the Caernarvonshire hills. But I cannot tell you how...