The woods? oh! solemn are the boundless woodsOf the great Western World, when day declines,And louder sounds the roll of distant floods,More deep the rustling of the ancient pines;When dimness gathers on the stilly air,And mystery seems o'er every leaf to brood,Awful it is for human heart to bearThe might and burden of the solitude!
Yet, in that hour, midst those green wastes, there sateOne young and fair,?and oh! how desolate!But undismay'd; while sank the crimson light,And the high cedars darken'd with the night,Alone she sate; tho' many lay around,They, pale and silent on the bloody ground,Were sever'd from her need and from her wo,Far as Death severs Life. O'er that wild spotCombat had rag'd, and brought the valiant low,And left them, with the history of their lot,Unto the forest oaks. A fearful sceneFor her whose home of other days had beenMidst the fair halls of England! but the loveWhich fill'd her soul was strong to cast out fear,And by its might upborne all else above,She shrank not?mark'd not that the dead were near. Of him alone she thought, whose languid headFaintly upon her wedded bosom fell;Memory of aught but him on earth was fled,While heavily she felt his life-blood wellFast o'er her garments forth, and vainly boundWith her torn robe and hair the streaming wound,Yet hoped, still hoped!?Oh! from such hope how longAffection wooes the whispers that deceive,Ev'n when the pressure of dismay grows strong,And we, that weep, watch, tremble, ne'er believeThe blow indeed can fall! So bow'd she thereOver the dying, while unconscious prayerFill'd all her soul. Now pour'd the moonlight down,Veining the pine-stems thro' the foliage brown,And fire-flies, kindling up the leafy place,Cast fitful radiance o'er the warrior's face,Whereby she caught its changes: to her eye,The eye that faded look'd through gathering haze,Whence love, o'ermastering mortal agony,Lifted a long, deep, melancholy gaze, When voice was not: that fond, sad meaning pass'd?She knew the fulness of her wo at last!One shriek the forests heard,?and mute she lay,And cold; yet clasping still the precious clayTo her scarce-heaving breast. O Love and Death!Ye have sad meetings on this changeful earth,Many and sad! but airs of heavenly breathShall melt the links which bind you, for your birthIs far apart. Now light, of richer hueThan the moon sheds, came flushing mist and dew;The pines grew red with morning; fresh winds play'd,Bright-colour'd birds with splendour cross'd the shade,Flitting on flower-like wings; glad murmurs brokeFrom reed, and spray, and leaf, the living stringsOf Earth's Eolian lyre, whose music wokeInto young life and joy all happy things.And she too woke from that long dreamless trance,The widow'd Edith: fearfully her glance Fell, as in doubt, on faces dark and strange,And dusky forms. A sudden sense of changeFlash'd o'er her spirit, ev'n ere memory sweptThe tide of anguish back with thoughts that slept;Yet half instinctively she rose, and spreadHer arms, as 'twere for something lost or fled,Then faintly sank again. The forest-bough,With all its whispers, wav'd not o'er her now,?Where was she? Midst the people of the wild,By the red hunter's fire: an aged chief,Whose home look'd sad?for therein play'd no child?Had borne her, in the stillness of her grief,To that lone cabin of the woods; and there,Won by a form so desolately fair,Or touch'd with thoughts from some past sorrow sprung,O'er her low couch an Indian matron hung;While in grave silence, yet with earnest eye,The ancient warrior of the waste stood by, Bending in watchfulness his proud grey head,And leaning on his bow.And life return'd,Life, but with all its memories of the dead,To Edith's heart; and well the sufferer learn'dHer task of meek endurance, well she woreThe chasten'd grief that humbly can adore,Midst blinding tears. But unto that old pair,Ev'n as a breath of spring's awakening air,Her presence was; or as a sweet wild tuneBringing back tender thoughts, which all too soonDepart with childhood. Sadly they had seenA daughter to the land of spirits go,And ever from that time her fading mien,And voice, like winds of summer, soft and low,Had haunted their dim years; but Edith's faceNow look'd in holy sweetness from her place,And they again seem'd parents. Oh! the joy,The rich deep blessedness?tho' earth's alloy,
Fear, that still bodes, be there?of pouring forthThe heart's whole power of love, its wealth and worthOf strong affection, in one healthful flow,On something all its own!?that kindly glow,Which to shut inward is consuming pain,Gives the glad soul its flowering time again,When, like the sunshine, freed.?And gentle caresTh' adopted Edith meekly gave for theirsWho lov'd her thus: her spirit dwelt the while,With the departed, and her patient smileSpoke of farewells to earth;?yet still she pray'd,Ev'n o'er her soldier's lowly grave, for aidOne purpose to fulfil, to leave one traceBrightly recording that her dwelling-placeHad been among the wilds; for well she knewThe secret whisper of her bosom true,Which warn'd her hence. And now, by many a wordLink'd unto moments when the heart was stirr'd,By the sweet mournfulness of many a hymn,Sung when the woods at eve grew hush'd and dim,By the persuasion of her fervent eye,All eloquent with child-like piety,By the still beauty of her life, she stroveTo win for heaven, and heaven-born truth, the lovePour'd out on her so freely.?Nor in vainWas that soft-breathing influence to enchainThe soul in gentle bonds: by slow degreesLight follow'd on, as when a summer breezeParts the deep masses of the forest shadeAnd lets the sunbeam through:?her voice was madeEv'n such a breeze; and she, a lowly guide,By faith and sorrow rais'd and purified,So to the Cross her Indian fosterers led,Until their prayers were one. When morning spreadO'er the blue lake, and when the sunset's glowTouch'd into golden bronze the cypress-bough, And when the quiet of the Sabbath timeSank on her heart, tho' no melodious chimeWaken'd the wilderness, their prayers were one.?Now might she pass in hope, her work was done!And she was passing from the woods away;The broken flower of England might not stayAmidst those alien shades; her eye was brightEv'n yet with something of a starry light,But her form wasted, and her fair young cheekWore oft and patiently a fatal streak,A rose whose root was death. The parting sighOf autumn thro' the forests had gone by,And the rich maple o'er her wanderings loneIts crimson leaves in many a shower had strown,Flushing the air; and winter's blast had beenAmidst the pines; and now a softer greenFring'd their dark boughs; for spring again had come,The sunny spring! but Edith to her homeWas journeying fast. Alas! we think it sadTo part with life, when all the earth looks glad In her young lovely things, when voices breakInto sweet sounds, and leaves and blossoms wake:Is it not brighter then, in that far climeWhere graves are not, nor blights of changeful time,If here such glory dwell with passing blooms,Such golden sunshine rest around the tombs?So thought the dying one. 'Twas early day,And sounds and odours with the breezes' play,Whispering of spring-time, thro' the cabin-door,Unto her couch life's farewell sweetness bore;Then with a look where all her hope awoke,'My father!'?to the grey-hair'd chief she spoke?'Know'st thou that I depart?'?'I know, I know,'He answer'd mournfully, 'that thou must goTo thy belov'd, my daughter!'?'Sorrow notFor me, kind mother!' with meek smiles once moreShe murmur'd in low tones; 'one happy lotAwaits us, friends! upon the better shore;For we have pray'd together in one trust,And lifted our frail spirits from the dustTo God, who gave them. Lay me by mine own,Under the cedar-shade: where he is gone,Thither I go. There will my sisters be,And the dead parents, lisping at whose kneeMy childhood's prayer was learn'd?the Saviour's prayerWhich now ye know?and I shall meet you there,Father and gentle mother!?ye have boundThe bruised reed, and mercy shall be foundBy Mercy's children.'?From the matron's eyeDropp'd tears, her sole and passionate reply;But Edith felt them not; for now a sleep,Solemnly beautiful, a stillness deep,Fell on her settled face. Then, sad and slow,And mantling up his stately head in wo,'Thou'rt passing hence,' he sang, that warrior old,In sounds like those by plaintive waters roll'd.
'Thou'rt passing from the lake's green side,And the hunter's hearth away;For the time of flowers, for the summer's pride,Daughter! thou canst not stay.
Thou'rt journeying to thy spirit's home,Where the skies are ever clear!The corn-month's golden hours will come,But they shall not find thee here.
And we shall miss thy voice, my bird!Under our whispering pine;Music shall midst the leaves be heard,But not a song like thine.
A breeze that roves o'er stream and hill,Telling of winter gone,Hath such sweet falls?yet caught we stillA farewell in its tone.
But thou, my bright one! thou shalt beWhere farewell sounds are o'er;Thou, in the eyes thou lov'st, shalt seeNo fear of parting more.
The mossy grave thy tears have wet,And the wind's wild moanings by,Thou with thy kindred shalt forget,Midst flowers?not such as die.
The shadow from thy brow shall melt,The sorrow from thy strain,But where thine earthly smile hath dwelt,Our hearts shall thirst in vain.
Dim will our cabin be, and lone,When thou, its light, art fled;Yet hath thy step the pathway shownUnto the happy dead.
And we will follow thee, our guide!And join that shining band;Thou'rt passing from the lake's green side?Go to the better land!'
The song had ceas'd, the listeners caught no breath,That lovely sleep had melted into death.
About the author
About the poet
Felicia Hemans was an English poet.
Ancestry
Felicia Heman's paternal grandfather was George Browne of Passage, co. Cork, Ireland; her maternal grandparents were Elizabeth Haydock Wagner (d. 1814) of Lancashire and Benedict Paul Wagner (1718–1806), wine importer at 9 Wolstenholme Square, Liverpool. Family legend gave the Wagners a Venetian origin; family heraldry an Austrian one. The Wagners' country address was North Hall near Wigan; they sent two sons to Eton College. Of three daughters only Felicity married; her husband George Browne joined his father-in-law's business and succeeded him as Tuscan and imperial consul in Liverpool.
Early Life and Works
Felicia Dorothea Browne was the fourth of six Browne children (three boys and three girls) to survive infancy. Of her two sisters, Elizabeth died about 1807 at the age of eighteen, and Harriett Mary Browne (1798–1858) married first the Revd T. Hughes, then the Revd W. Hicks Owen. Harriett collaborated musically with Felicia and later edited her complete works (7 vols. with memoir, 1839). Her eldest brother, Lt-Gen. Sir Thomas Henry Browne KCH (1787–1855), had a distinguished career in the army; her second brother, George Baxter CB, served in the Royal Welch Fusiliers 23rd foot, and became a magistrate at Kilkenny in 1830 and chief commissioner of police in Ireland in 1831; and her third brother, Claude Scott Browne (1795–1821), became deputy assistant commissary-general in Upper Canada.
Felicia was born in Liverpool, a granddaughter of the Venetian consul in that city. Her father's business soon brought the family to Denbighshire in North Wales, where she spent her youth. They made their home near Abergele and St. Asaph (Flintshire), and it is clear that she came to regard herself as Welsh by adoption, later referring to Wales as "Land of my childhood, my home and my dead". Her first poems, dedicated to the Prince of Wales, were published in Liverpool in 1808, when she was only fourteen, arousing the interest of no less a person than Percy Bysshe Shelley, who briefly corresponded with her. She quickly followed them up with "England and Spain" [1808] and "The domestic affections", published in 1812, the year of her marriage to Captain Alfred Hemans, an Irish army officer some years older than herself. The marriage took her away from Wales, to Daventry in Northamptonshire until 1814.
During their first six years of marriage, Felicia gave birth to five sons, including Charles Isidore Hemans, and then the couple separated. Marriage had not, however, prevented her from continuing her literary career, with several volumes of poetry being published by the respected firm of John Murray in the period after 1816, beginning with "The Restoration of the works of art to Italy" (1816) and "Modern Greece" (1817). "Tales and historic scenes" was the collection which came out in 1819, the year of their separation.
Later life
From 1831 onwards, she lived in Dublin, where her younger brother had settled, and her poetic output continued. Her major collections, including The Forest Sanctuary (1825), Records of Woman and Songs of the Affections (1830) were immensely popular, especially with female readers. Her last books, sacred and profane, are the substantive Scenes and Hymns of Life and National Lyrics, and Songs for Music. She was by now a well-known literary figure, highly regarded by contemporaries such as Wordsworth, and with a popular following in the United States and the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. When she died of dropsy, Wordsworth and Walter Savage Landor composed memorial verses in her honour.
Legacy
Felicia Hemans' works appeared in nineteen individual books during her lifetime. After her death in 1835 they were republished widely, usually as collections of individual lyrics and not the longer, annotated works and integrated series that made up her books. For surviving women poets, like Britons Caroline Norton and Elizabeth Letitia Landon , Americans Lydia Sigourney and Frances Harper, the French Amable Tastu and German Annette Von Droste Hulshoff, and others, she was a valued model, or (for Elizabeth Barrett Browning) a troubling predecessor; and for male poets including Tennyson and Longfellow, an influence less acknowledged. To many readers she offered a woman's voice confiding a woman's trials; to others a lyricism apparently consonant with Victorian chauvinism and sentimentality. Among the works she valued most were the unfinished "Superstition and Revelation" and the pamphlet "The Sceptic," which sought an Anglicanism more attuned to world religions and women's experiences. In her most successful book, "Records of Woman" (1828), she chronicles the lives of women, both famous and anonymous.
Hemans' poem The Homes of England (1827) is the origin of the phrase stately home in English. The first line of the poem runs, "The stately Homes of England".
Despite her illustrious admirers, her stature as a serious poet gradually declined, partly due to her success in the literary marketplace. Her poetry was considered morally exemplary, and was often assigned to schoolchildren; as a result, Hemans came to be seen a poet for children rather than taken seriously on the basis of her entire body of work. A jocular reference by Saki in The Toys of Peace suggests simultaneously that she was a household word and that Saki did not take her seriously. Schoolchildren in the U. S. were still being taught The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England ("The breaking waves dashed high/On a stern and rock-bound coast...") in the middle of the 20th century. But by the 21st century, The Stately Homes of England refers to Noël Coward's parody, not to the once-famous poem it parodied, and Felicia Hemans was remembered popularly for her poem, "Casabianca".
However, Hemans' critical reputation has been re-examined in recent years. Her work has resumed a role in standard anthologies and in classrooms and seminars and literary studies, especially in the U. S. It is likely that further poems will be familiar to new readers, such as "The Image in Lava," "Evening Prayer at a Girls' School," "I Dream of All Things Free," "Night-Blowing Flowers," "Properzia Rossi," "A Spirit's Return," "The Bride of the Greek Isle," "The Wife of Asdrubal," "The Widow of Crescentius," "The Last Song of Sappho," and "Corinne at the Capitol."
Casabianca
First published in August 1826 the, poem Casabianca by Felicia Hemans depicts Louis de Casabianca who perished in the Battle of the Nile. The poem was very popular from the 1850’s on and was memorized in elementary schools for literary practice. The poem depicts what happened on the ship the Orient as Commander Louis de Casabianca died due to refusing to flee his post. Other poetic figures such as Elizabeth Bishop and Samuel Butler allude to the poem in their own works.
"Speak, father!' once again he cried, 'If I may yet be gone!" And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
The poem is sung in ballad form (abab) and consists of a boy asking his father whether he had fulfilled his duties, as the ship continues to burn after the magazine catches fire. Martin Gardner and Michael R. Turner made modern day parodies that were much more upbeat and consisted of boys stuffing their faces with peanuts and breads. This contrasted sharply with the solemn image created in Casabianca as Hemans wrote it.
England and Spain, or, Valor and Patriotism
Her second book, England and Spain, or, Valor and Patriotism, was published in 1808 and was a narrative poem honoring her brother and his military service in the Peninsular War. The poem called for an end of the tyranny of Napoleon Bonaparte and for a long lasting peace after the war. The poem is very patriotic towards Great Britain as seen in Heman’s multiple references to “Albion” which is an older name for the isles of Great Britain.
“ For this thy noble sons have spread alarms, And bade the zones resound with BRITAIN's arms!”
It is seen throughout this poem that Felicia Hemans is alarmed with the thought of war but her overall pride of nationality overcome this fear. She saw all of the fighting as useless bloodshed and a waste of human life. “England and Spain” was used by her to spread her message across Europe, that the wars were senseless and that peace should resume.