Young smiling Hope, attendant on thy way,
Shall gild thy path with mild celestial ray.
Descend once more, thou daughter of the sky!
Cheer every heart, and brighten every eye;
Justice, thy harbinger, before thee send,
Thy myrtle-sceptre o'er the globe extend:
Thy cherub-look again shall soothe mankind,
Thy cherub-hand the wounds of discord bind;
Thy smile of heaven shall every muse inspire,
To thee the bard shall strike the silver lyre.
Descend once more! to bid the world rejoice-
Let nations hail thee with exulting voice,
Around thy shrine with purest incense throng,
Weave the fresh palm, and swell the choral song!
Then shall the shepherd's flute, the woodland
reed,
The martial clarion and the drum succeed;
Again shall bloom Arcadia's fairest flowers,
And music warble in Idalian bowers.
Where war and carnage blew the blast of death,
The gale shall whisper with Favonian breath;
And golden Ceres bless the festive swain,
Where the wild combat redden'd o'er the plain.
These are thy blessings, fair benignant maid!
Return, return, in vest of light array'd!
Let angel-forms and floating sylphids bear
Thy car of sapphire through the realms of air:
With accents milder than Æolian lays,
When o'er the harp the fanning zephyr plays,
Be thine to charm the raging world to rest,
Diffusing round the heaven that glows within thy
breast!
O Thou! whose fiat lulls the storm asleep!
Thou, at whose nod subsides the rolling deep!
Whose awful word restrains the whirlwind's force,
And stays the thunder in its vengeful course;
Fountain of life! Omnipotent Supreme !
Robed in perfection! crown'd with glory's beam!
Oh! send on earth thy consecrated dove,
To bear the sacred olive from above;
Restore again the blest, the halcyon time,
The festal harmony of nature's prime!
Bid truth and justice once again appear,
And spread their sunshine o'er this mundane
sphere;
Bright in their path, let wreaths unfading bloom,
Transcendant light their hallow'd fane illume;
Bid war and anarchy for ever cease,
And kindred seraphs rear the shrine of Peace;
Brothers once more, let men her empire own,
And realms and monarchs bend before the throne,
While circling rays of angel-mercy shed
Eternal haloes round her sainted head!
THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS, AND OTHER POEMS.
[In 1812, another and much smaller volume, entitled The Domestic Affections, and other Poems, was given to the worldthe last that was to appear with the name of Felicia Browne; for, in the summer of the same year, its author exchanged that appellation for the one under which she has become so much more generally known. Captain Hemans had returned to Wales in the preceding year, when the acquaintance was renewed which had begun so long before at Gwrych; and as the sentiments then mutually awakened continued unaltered, no further opposition was made to a union, on which (however little in accordance with the dictates of i worldly prudence) the happiness of both parties seemed so entirely to depend.-Memoir, p. 24.]
ADDRESSED TO AN AGED FRIEND.
THOUGH youth may boast the curls that flow
In sunny waves of auburn glow;
As graceful on thy hoary head
Has Time the robe of honour spread,
And there, oh! softly, softly shed
His wreath of snow!
As frost-work on the trees display'd
When weeping Flora leaves the shade,
E'en more than Flora, charms the sight;
E'en so thy locks of purest white
Survive, in age's frost-work bright,
Youth's vernal rose decay'd!
To grace the nymph whose tresses play
Light on the sportive breeze of May,
Let other bards the garland twine,
Where sweets of every hue combine;
Those locks revered, that silvery shine,
Invite my lay!
Less white the summer cloud sublime,
Less white the winter's fringing rime;
Nor do Belinda's lovelier seem
(A Poet's blest immortal theme)
Than thine, which wear the moonlight beam
Of reverend Time!
Long may the graceful honours smile,
Like moss on some declining pile;
O much revered! may filial care
Around thee, duteous, long repair,
Thy joys with tender bliss to share,
Thy pains beguile!
Long, long, ye snowy ringlets, wave!
Long, long, your much-loved beauty save!
May bliss your latest evening crown,
Disarm life's winter of its frown,
And soft, ye hoary hairs, go down
In gladness to the grave!
And as the parting beams of day
On mountain-snows reflected play,
And tints of roseate lustre shed;
Thus, on the snow that crowns thy head,
May joy, with evening planet, shed
TO MY MOTHER.
Ir e'er from human bliss or woe
I feel the sympathetic glow;
If e'er my heart has learn'd to know
The generous wish or prayer;
Who sow'd the germ with tender hand?
Who mark'd its infant leaves expand?-
My mother's fostering care.
And if one flower of charms refined
May grace the garden of my mind,
"Twas she who nursed it there :
She loved to cherish and adorn
Each blossom of the soil;
To banish every weed and thorn
That oft opposed her toil!
And oh! if e'er I sigh'd to claim
The palm, the living palm of fame,
The glowing wreath of praise;
If e'er I wish'd the glittering stores
That Fortune on her favourite pours;
"Twas but that wealth and fame, if mine,
Round thee with streaming rays might shine,
And güd thy sun-bright days!
Yet not that splendour, pomp, and power
Might then irradiate every hour;
For these, my mother! well I know,
On thee no raptures could bestow ;-
But could thy bounty, warm and kind,
Be, like thy wishes, unconfined,
And fall as manna from the skies,
And bid a train of blessings rise,
Diffusing joy and peace;
The tear-drop, grateful, pure, and bright, For thee would beam with softer light Than all the diamond's crystal rays, Than all the emerald's lucid blaze;
And joys of heaven would thrill thy heart To bid one bosom-grief depart,
One tear, one sorrow cease!
Then, oh! may Heaven, that loves to bless,
Bestow the power to cheer distress;
Make thee its minister below,
To light the cloudy path of woe;
To visit the deserted cell,
Where indigence is doom'd to dwell;
To raise, when drooping to the earth,
The blossoms of neglected worth;
And round, with liberal hand, dispense
The sunshine of beneficence!
But ah! if Fate should still deny
Delights like these, too rich and high;
If grief and pain thy steps assail,
In life's remote and wintry vale;
Then, as the wild Eolian lyre
Complains with soft entrancing number,
When the lone storm awakes the wire,
And bids enchantment cease to slumber;
So filial love, with soothing voice,
E'en then shall teach thee to rejoice;
E'en then shall sweeter, milder sound,
When sorrow's tempest raves around;
While dark misfortune's gales destroy,
The frail mimosa-buds of hope and joy!
ON HIS RETURN FROM SPAIN, AFTER THE FATAL RETREAT UNDER SIR JOHN MOORE, AND THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA.
THOUGH dark are the prospects and heavy the hours, Though life is a desert, and cheerless the way; Yet still shall affection adorn it with flowers, Whose fragrance shall never decay!
And lo! to embrace thee, my Brother! she flies, With artless delight, that no words can bespeak; With a sunbeam of transport illuming her eyes, With a smile and a glow on her cheek!
From the trophies of war, from the spear and the shield,
From scenes of destruction, from perils unblest; Oh! welcome again, to the grove and the field, To the vale of retirement and rest.
Then warble, sweet muse! with the lyre and the voice,
Oh! gay be the measure and sportive the strain;
For light is my heart, and my spirits rejoice
To meet thee, my Brother! again.
When the heroes of Albion, still valiant and true,
Were bleeding, were falling, with victory crown'd,
How often would fancy present to my view
The horrors that waited thee round!
How constant, how fervent, how pure was my
That Heaven would protect thee from danger and harm;
That angels of mercy would shield thee with care, In the heat of the combat's alarm!
How sad and how often descended the tear,
(Ah, long shall remembrance the image retain !) How mournful the sigh, when I trembled with fear
I might never behold thee again!
But the prayer was accepted, the sorrow is o'er, And the tear-drop is fled, like the dew on the rose;
Thy dangers, our tears, have endear'd thee the
And my bosom with tenderness glows.
And oh! when the dreams, the enchantments of youth,
Bright and transient, have fled like the rain
My affection for thee, still unfading in truth, Shall never, oh! never decay!
No time can impair it, no change can destroy, Whate'er be the lot I am destined to share ; It will smile in the sunshine of hope and of joy, And beam through the cloud of despair!
(WITH THE BRITISH ARMY IN PORTUGAL.)
How many a day, in various hues array'd,
Bright with gay sunshine, or eclipsed with shade,
How many an hour, on silent wing is past,
O my loved Brother! since we saw thee last!
Since then has childhood ripen'd into youth,
And fancy's dreams have fled from sober truth;
Her splendid fabrics melting into air,
As sage experience waved the wand of care!
Yet still thine absence wakes the tender sigh,
And the tear trembles in affection's eye!
When shall we meet again?-with glowing ray,
Heart-soothing hope illumes some future day;
Checks the sad thought, beguiles the starting
tear,
And sings benignly still-that day is near!
She, with bright eye, and soul-bewitching voice,
Wins us to smile, inspires us to rejoice;
Tells that the hour approaches, to restore
Our cherish'd wanderer to his home once more;
Where sacred ties his manly worth endear,
To faith still true, affection still sincere!
Then the past woes, the future's dubious lot,
In that blest meeting shall be all forgot!
And joy's full radiance gild that sun-bright hour,
Though all around th' impending storm should
lower.
Now distant far, amidst the intrepid host, Albion's firm sons, on Lusitania's coast, (That gallant band, in countless dangers tried, Where glory's pole-star beams their constant guide,)
Say, do thy thoughts, my Brother, fondly stray
To Cambria's vales and mountains far away?
Does fancy oft in busy day-dreams roam,
And paint the greeting that awaits at home?
Does memory's pencil oft, in mellowing hue,
Dear social scenes, departed joys renew;
In softer tints delighting to retrace
Each tender image and each well-known face?
Yes, wanderer! yes! thy spirit flies to those
Whose love, unalter'd, warm and faithful glows.
Lorn Echo of these mouldering walls, To thee no festal measure calls;
No music through the desert halls,
Awakes thee to rejoice!
Lend to the gale a rich perfume, And grace the ruin in its fall!
How still thy sleep! as death profound-
As if, within this lonely round,
A step-a note a whisper'd sound
Had ne'er aroused thy voice!
Thou hear'st the zephyr murmuring, dying,
Thou hear'st the foliage waving, sighing;
But ne'er again shall harp or song,
These dark deserted courts along,
Disturb thy calm repose.
The harp is broke, the song is fled,
The voice is hush'd, the bard is dead;
And never shall thy tones repeat
Or lofty strain or carol sweet
With plaintive close!
Proud Castle! though the days are flown When once thy towers in glory shone; When music through thy turrets rung, When banners o'er thy ramparts hung, Though 'midst thine arches, frowning lone, Stern Desolation rear his throne; And Silence, deep and awful, reign Where echo'd once the choral strain; Yet oft, dark ruin! lingering here, The Muse will hail thee with a tear; Here when the moonlight, quivering, beams, And through the fringing ivy streams, And softens every shade sublime, And mellows every tint of TimeOh here shall Contemplation love, Unseen and undisturb'd, to rove; And bending o'er some mossy tomb, Where Valour sleeps or Beauties bloom, Shall weep for Glory's transient day And Grandeur's evanescent ray; And listening to the swelling blast, Shall wake the Spirit of the PastCall up the forms of ages fled, Of warriors and of minstrels dead,
Who sought the field, who struck the lyre, With all Ambition's kindling fire!
Nor wilt thou, Spring! refuse to breathe
Soft odours on this desert air;
Refuse to twine thine earliest wreath,
And fringe these towers with garlands fair!
Sweets of the wild, oh! ever bloom Unheeded on this ivied wall!
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