Felicia Hemans (1793-1835)
[Felicia Dorothea Browne]; b. Liverpool; dg. of a man who walked out on his family and went to Canada; m. Capt. Alfred Hemans, an Irishman who served in the Kings Own Foot, who was wounded in retreat to Corunna, making an imperfect recovery; retired without pay; walked out on his family in 1818, apparently shamed by her success as a poet; her best-known work was Records of Woman (1828), incl. Gertrude, or Fidelity till Death, and Indian Womans Death Song;
her celebrated poem Casabianca (The boy stood on the burning deck ... [&c.; as infra
]), appearing in The Forest Sanctuary
(1829); other works incl. Translations from Camoens and Other Poets
(1818); many innocuous volumes of verse; Mrs. Hemans lived mostly at St Asaph, N. Wales, but spent her last five years in Dublin, and is buried in St. Annes Church [Dawson St.]. ODQ OCEL ODNB
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See rep. edition, The Domestic Affections (1812) [Revolution and Romanticism 1782-1834] (Spelsbury: Woodstock Bks. 1995), 172pp.
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George Saintsbury, Short History of English Literature (1922 edn.), p.717, writes that Mrs. Hemans (1793-1835) was a native of Liverpool who wrote a great quantity of fluent and not unmelodious verse of a strongly sentimental kind.
Benedict Kiely, Drink to the Bird ( London: Methuen 1991), quotes her lines at the grave of Mary Tighe of Psyche fame: I stood beside thy lowly grave / Spring odours breathed around, / And music, in the river wave, / Passed with a lulling sound. (Kiely, op. cit., p.40.)
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Keening?: Darkly the could of night comes rolling on; / Darker is they repose, my fair-haired son. / Silent and dark. / There is blood upon the threshold / Whence thy step went forth at morn, / Like a dancers in its fleetness, / Oh, my bright first-born. [End stanza]. Extract given in W. G. Wood-Martin, on Keening, in Traces of the Elder Faiths of Ireland; quoted in Justin McCarthy, Irish Literature (1904), with the introductory remark: The following keen of an Irish mother over her dead son was written by Mrs Hemans, in imitation of this peculiar style of lamentation.
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battles wreck,
Shone round him oer the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud though childlike form.
The flames rolled on; he would not go
Without his fathers word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud, Say, Father, say,
If yet my task is done!
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
Speak, Father!once again he cried,
If I may yet be gone! -
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair;
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair;
And shouted but once more aloud,
My Father! must I stay?
While oer him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendor wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound;
The boy - Oh! where was he? -
Ask of the winds, that far around
With fragments strewed the sea; -
With shroud, and mast, and pennon fair
That well had borne their part, -
But the noblest thing that perished there
Was that young, faithful heart.
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Note: Casabianca, the 13-yr old. son of the Admiral of the Orient, stayed at his post after the ship which his father commanded during the Battle of the Nile had taken fire and all guns had been abandoned, dying when the vessel exploded.
Bring Flowers, Young Flowers
Bring flower, young flowers, for the festal
To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured;
Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and
Their breath floats on the southern gale,
And the touch of the sun-beam hath waked the
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows -
Bring flowers to stew in the conquerors path,
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath;
He comes with the spoils of nations back -
The wine be crushed in his chariots track -
The turf looks red where he won the day -
Bring flowers to strew in the conquerors way.
Bring flowerws, for the bride to wear;
They were born to blush in her shining hair;
She is leaving the hosue of her childish mirth,
She has bid farewell to her fathers hearth,
Her place is now by anothers side -
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young
Bring flowers, place flowers, oer the bier to
A crown for the brown of the early dead!
For this, through the eaves has the white rose
For this, in the weeks was the violent nurst;
Though they smile in vain for hwat once was
The are loves last gift - bring flowers, bring
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel to
They are Natures offering, their place is there;
They speak of hope to the fainting heart;
With a voice of promise they come and part -
They sleep in dust through the winter hours;
They break forth in glory - bring flowers, bring
The New-York Mirror, and Ladies Literary Gazette (Sat., 5 August, 1826) - The Minstrel [end sect.] (p.16.)Also given here, along with several with poems by unnamed writers): "Lines" - on the painting of "Pharoahs Submssion by Haydon. In the Gallery of the British Institution. (... Exodus Chap. xxii, ver. 31.) [Available at Google Books - online; accessed 24.03.2012.]
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Arthur Quiller Couch, ed., Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1918 (new ed. 1929) incls. selection.
Oxford Dict. of Quotations, gives extracts from The Better Land, Casabianca, The Childs First Grief [Oh call my brother back to me/I cannot play alone]; The Graves of a Household, [title] The Homes of England [The stately homes of England / How beautful they stand / Amid their tall ancestral trees / Oer all the pleasant land ... The cottage homes of England! / By thousands on her plains], and The Hour of Death, and Tale of the Secret Tribunal [In the busy haunts of men ... ].
Margaret Drabble, ed., Oxford Companion of English Literature (OUP: 1985), incls. incidental reference under Thomas Davis, The Young Irishman of the Middle Classes, lecture to the TCD Historical Society, 1839; reprinted in three installments in The Nation, 1848, and quotes passing away, passing away (from Passing Away) [FDA1]. See also Irish Book Lover, Vol. 4.
University of Ulster Library (Morris Collection) holds Felicia Dorothy Brown Hemans, Poems (1880).
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