ΤΟ

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, Esq.

IN TOKEN OF DEEP RESPECT

FOR HIS CHARACTER, AND FERVENT GRATITUDE

FOR MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL BENEFIT

DERIVED FROM REVERENTIAL COMMUNION

WITH THE SPIRIT OF HIS POETRY,

THIS VOLUME

IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY

FELICIA HEMANS.

PREFACE.

I TRUST I shall not be accused of presumption for the endeavour which I have here made to enlarge, in some degree, the sphere of Religious Poetry, by associating with its themes more of the emotions, the affections, and even the purer imaginative enjoyments of daily life, than may have been hitherto admitted within the hallowed circle.

It has been my wish to portray the religious spirit, not alone in its meditative joys and solitary aspirations, (the poetic embodying of which seems to require from the reader a state of mind already separated aud exalted,) but likewise in those active influences upon human life, so often called into victorious energy by trial and conflict, though too often also, like the upward-striving flame of a mountain watch-fire, borne down by tempest showers, or swayed by the current of opposing winds.

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I have sought to represent that spirit as penetrating the gloom of the prison and the deathbed, bearing healing on its wings" to the agony of parting love-strengthening the heart of the wayfarer for "perils in the wilderness"-gladdening the domestic walk through field and woodland and springing to life in the soul of childhood, along with its earliest rejoicing perceptions of natural beauty.

Circumstances not altogether under my own control, have, for the present, interfered to prevent the fuller development of a plan which I yet hope more worthily to mature; and I lay this little volume before the public with that deep sense of deficiency which cannot be more impressively taught to human powers, than by their reverential application to things divine.

1834.

F. H.

THE ENGLISH MARTYRS.

A SCENE OF THE DAYS OF QUEEN MARY.

"Thy face

Is all at once spread over with a calm

More beautiful than sleep, or mirth, or joy!

I am no more disconsolate."

WILSON.

Scene in a Prison.

EDITH alone.

Edith. MORN once again! Morn in the lone dim

cell,

The cavern of the prisoner's fever dream,

And morn on all the green rejoicing hills,

And the bright waters round the prisoner's home,
Far, far away! Now wakes the early bird
That in the lime's transparent foliage sings,
Close to my cottage lattice-he awakes,

To stir the young leaves with his gushing soul,
And to call forth rich answers of delight

From voices buried in a thousand trees,

Through the dim starry hours. Now doth the lake

Darken and flash in rapid interchange

Unto the matin breeze; and the blue mist

Rolls, like a furling banner, from the brows

Of the forth-gleaming hills and woods that rise
As if new-born. Bright world! and I am here!
And thou, O thou! the awakening thought of whom
Was more than dayspring, dearer than the sun,
Herbert! the very glance of whose clear eye
Made my soul melt away to one pure

fount

Of living, bounding gladness!—where art thou? My friend my only and my blessed love! Herbert, my soul's companion!

Gom.

[GOMEZ, a Spanish Priest enters. Daughter, hail!

I bring thee tidings.

Ed.

Heaven will aid my soul

Calmly to meet whate'er thy lips announce.

Gom. Nay, lift a song of thanksgiving to Heaven, And bow thy knee down for deliverance won!

Hast thou not pray'd for life? and would'st thou not Once more be free?

Ed.

Have I not pray'd for life?

I, that am so beloved! that love again

With such a heart of tendrils?

know'st

Heaven! thou

The gushings of my prayer! And would I not
Once more be free? I that have been a child
Of breezy hills, a playmate of the fawn
In ancient woodlands from mine infancy!
A watcher of the clouds and of the stars,
Beneath the adoring silence of the night;
And a glad wanderer with the happy streams,
Whose laughter fills the mountains! Oh! to hear
Their blessed sounds again!