The Poems of Felicia Hemans
As from all nature’s voices one reply,
But one--was given.
“Earth has _no_ heart, fond dreamer! with a tone
To send thee back the spirit of thine own--
Seek it in heaven.”
DRAMATIC SCENE BETWEEN BRONWYLFA AND RHYLLON.
[In the spring of 1825, Mrs Hemans removed from Bronwylfa to Rhyllon,
another house belonging to her brother, not more than a quarter of a
mile from the former place, and in full view from its windows. The
distance being so inconsiderable, this could, in fact, scarcely be
considered as a removal. The two houses, each situated on an eminence
on opposite sides of the river Clwyd, confronted each other so
conveniently, that a telegraphic communication was established between
them, (by means of a regular set of signals and vocabulary, similar
to those made use of in the navy,) and was carried on for a season
with no little spirit, greatly to the amusement of their respective
inhabitants.
Nothing could be less romantic than the outward appearance of Mrs
Hemans’s new residence--a tall, staring brick house, almost destitute
of trees, and unadorned (far, indeed, from being thus “adorned the
most”) by the covering mantle of honeysuckle, jessamine, or any such
charitable drapery.[337] Bronwylfa, on the contrary, was a perfect
bower of roses, and peeped out like a bird’s nest from amidst the
foliage in which it was embosomed. The contrast between the two
dwellings was thus playfully descanted upon by Mrs Hemans, in her
contribution to a set of _jeux d’esprit_ called the Bronwylfa Budget
for 1825.--_Memoir_, p. 87-88.]
Bronwylfa,[338] _after standing for some time in silent contemplation
of_ Rhyllon, _breaks out into the following vehement strain of
vituperation_.
You ugliest of fabrics! you horrible eyesore!
I wish you would vanish, or put on a visor!
In the face of the sun, without covering or rag on,
You stand and outstare me, like any red dragon.
With your great green-eyed windows, in boldness a host,
(The only green things which, indeed, you can boast,)
With your forehead as high, and as bare as the pate
Which an eagle once took for a stone or a slate,[339]
You lift yourself up, o’er the country afar,
As who would say, “Look at me!--here stands great R!”
I plant--I rear forest trees--shrubs great and small,
To wrap myself up in--_you_ peer through them all!
With your lean scraggy neck o’er my poplars you rise;
You watch all my guests with your wide saucer eyes.
(_In a paroxysm of rage._)
You monster! I would I could waken some morning,
And find you had taken French leave without warning;
You should never be sought like Aladdin’s famed palace.
You spoil my sweet temper--you make me bear malice:
For it is a hard fate, I _will_ say it and sing,
Which has fix’d me to gaze on so frightful a thing.
Rhyllon--(_with dignified equanimity_.)
Content thee, Bronwylfa, what means all this rage?
This sudden attack on my quiet old age?
I am no _parvenu_: you and I, my good brother,
Have stood here this century facing each other;
And _I_ can remember the days that are gone,
When _your_ sides were no better array’d than my own.
Nay, the truth shall be told--since you flout me, restore
The tall scarlet woodbine you took from my door!
Since my baldness is mocked, and I’m _forced_ to explain,
Pray give me my large laurustinus again.
(_With a tone of prophetic solemnity._)
Bronwylfa! Bronwylfa! thus insolent grown,
Your pride and your poplars alike must come down!
I look through the future (and far I can see,
As St Asaph and Denbigh will answer for me,)
And in spite of thy scorn, and of all thou hast done,
From my kind heart’s brick bottom, I pity thee, Bron!
The end of thy toiling and planting will be,
That thou wilt want sunshine, and ask it of me.
Thou wilt say, when thou wakest, looking out for the light,
“I suppose it is morning, for Rhyllon looks bright;”
While I--my green eyes with their tears overflow.
(_Tenderly._)
Come!--let us be friends, as we were long ago.”
[337] Its conspicuousness has since been a good deal modified by
the lowering of one storey, and by the growth of the surrounding
plantations.
[338] Bronwylfa is pronounced as written _Bronwylva_; and perhaps the
nearest English approach to the pronunciation of Rhyllon, would be by
supposing it to be spelt _Ruthln_, the _u_ sounded as in but.
[339] Bronwylfa is here supposed to allude to the pate of Æschylus,
upon which an eagle dropped a tortoise to crack the shell.
[In spite, however, of the unromantic exterior of her new abode,
the earlier part of Mrs Hemans’s residence at Rhyllon may, perhaps,
be considered as the happiest of her life; as far, at least, as the
term happiness could ever be fitly applied to any period of it later
than childhood. The house, with all its ugliness, was large and
convenient, the view from its windows beautiful and extensive, and its
situation, on a fine green slope, terminating in a pretty woodland
dingle, peculiarly healthy and cheerful. Never, perhaps, had she more
thorough enjoyment of her boys than in witnessing, and often joining
in, their sports in those pleasant breezy fields, where the kites
soared so triumphantly, and the hoops trundled so merrily, and where
the cowslips grew as cowslips had never grown before. An atmosphere
of home soon gathered round the dwelling; roses were planted and
honeysuckles trained, and the rustling of the solitary poplar near her
window was taken to her heart like the voice of a friend. The dingle
became a favourite haunt, where she would pass many dreamlike hours of
enjoyment with her books, and her own sweet fancies, and her children
playing around her. Every tree and flower, and tuft of moss that
sprang amidst its green recesses, was invested with some individual
charm by that rich imagination, so skilled in
“Clothing the palpable and the familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn.”
Here, on what the boys would call ‘mamma’s sofa’--a little grassy
mound under her favourite beech-tree--she first read _The Talisman_,
and has described the scene with a loving minuteness in her _Hour of
Romance_:--
“There were thick leaves above me and around,
And low sweet sighs, like those of childhood’s sleep,
Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound
As of soft showers on water. Dark and deep
Lay the oak shadows o’er the turf--so still
They seem’d but pictured glooms; a hidden rill
Made music--such as haunts us in a dream--
Under the fern-tufts; and a tender gleam
Of soft green light, as by the glow-worm shed,
Came pouring through the woven beech-boughs down.”
Many years after, in the sonnet “To a Distant Scene,” she addresses,
with a fond yearning, this well-remembered haunt:--
“Still are the cowslips from thy bosom springing,
O far-off grassy dell!”
How many precious memories has she hung round the thought of the
cowslip--that flower, with its “gold coat” and “fairy favours,” which
is, of all others, so associated with the “voice of happy childhood,”
and was to her ever redolent of the hours when her
“Heart so leapt to that sweet laughter’s tone!”
Another favourite resort was the picturesque old bridge over the
Clwyd, and when her health (which was subject to continual variation,
but was at this time more robust than usual) admitted of more
aspiring achievements, she delighted in roaming to the hills; and the
announcement of a walk to Cwm,[340] a remote little hamlet, nestled
in a mountain hollow, amidst very lovely sylvan scenery, about two
miles from Rhyllon, would be joyously echoed by her elated companions,
to whom the recollection of these happy rambles must always be
unspeakably dear. Very often, at the outset of these expeditions, the
party would be reinforced by the addition of a certain little Kitty
Jones, a child from a neighbouring cottage, who had taken an especial
fancy to Mrs Hemans, and was continually watching her movements. This
little creature never saw her without at once attaching herself to
her side, and confidingly placing its tiny hand in hers. So great
was her love for children, and her repugnance to hurt the feelings
of any living creature, that she never would shake off this singular
appendage, but let little Kitty rejoice in her “pride of place,” till
the walk became too long for her capacity, and she would quietly fall
behind of her own accord.--_Memoir_, p. 87-93.]
[340] Pronounced “Coom.”
RECORDS OF WOMAN.
TO
MRS JOANNA BAILLIE,
THIS VOLUME, AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF GRATEFUL RESPECT AND ADMIRATION, IS
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR.[341]
“Mightier far
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway
Of magic, potent over sun and star,
Is love, though oft to agony distrest,
And though his favourite seat be feeble woman’s breast.” Wordsworth.
“Das ist sas Loos des Schonen auf der erde.” Schiller.
[341] [“The little volume, ‘Records of Woman,’ which you kindly gave
me permission to inscribe to you,” wrote Mrs H. to Mrs Joanna Baillie,
“is now in the press, and I hope I shall soon be able to send you a
copy; and that the dedication, which is in the simplest form, will be
honoured by your approval. Mr Blackwood is its publisher.”
Mrs Hemans always spoke with pleasure of her literary intercourse with
Mr Blackwood, in whose dealings she recognised all that uprightness
and liberality which belonged to the sterling worth of his character.
The “Records of Woman,” the first of her works published by him, was
brought out in May 1828. This volume was, to use the words of its
author the one in which “she had put her heart and individual feelings
more than in any thing else she had written;” and it is also, and
perhaps consequently, the one which has held its ground the most
steadily in public favour.--_Memoir_, p. 136.]
ARABELLA STUART.
[“The Lady Arabella,” as she has been frequently entitled, was
descended from Margaret, eldest daughter of Henry VII., and
consequently allied by birth to Elizabeth as well as James I. This
affinity to the throne proved the misfortune of her life, as the
jealousies which it constantly excited in her royal relatives,
who were anxious to prevent her marrying, shut her out from the
enjoyment of that domestic happiness which her heart appears to have
so fervently desired. By a secret but early discovered union with
William Seymour, son of Lord Beauchamp, she alarmed the cabinet of
James, and the wedded lovers were immediately placed in separate
confinement. From this they found means to concert a romantic plan of
escape; and having won over a female attendant, by whose assistance
she was disguised in male attire, Arabella, though faint from recent
sickness and suffering, stole out in the night, and at last reached
an appointed spot, where a boat and servants were in waiting. She
embarked; and at break of day a French vessel engaged to receive
her was discovered and gained. As Seymour, however, had not yet
arrived, she was desirous that the vessel should lie at anchor for
him; but this wish was overruled by her companions, who, contrary to
her entreaties, hoisted sail, “which,” says D’Israeli, “occasioned
so fatal a termination to this romantic adventure. Seymour, indeed,
had escaped from the Tower; he reached the wharf, and found his
confidential man waiting with a boat, and arrived at Lee. The time
passed; the waves were rising; Arabella was not there; but in the