Felicia Dorothea Browne was the maiden name of Mrs. Hemans. She was born in Liverpool, September 25th, 1793, and died May 16th, 1835, aged forty-one. Her father, who was a merchant, having experienced some reverses in business, removed his family to Wales. In 1812 she married Captain Hemans, but the union was not a happy one: in 1818 he went to Italy, and they never met again. Mrs. Hemans remained in Wales, her time being fully occupied by her poetical labors and the education of her five boys. Ill health, however, pressed upon her, and she prematurely experienced decay of the springs of life. She died at the house of her brother, Major Browne, in Dublin. She had begun to publish her poetry as early as her fifteenth year. She wrote several long poems of merit, and "The Vespers of Palermo," a tragedy; but it is in her short lyrical pieces that she is happiest. Some of these compare not unfavorably with the best in the THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. They grew in beauty side by side, One 'mid the forests of the West, The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one- He was the loved of all, yet none One sleeps where southern vines are dressed He wrapped his colors round his breast The last of that bright band. 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. 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 o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapped the ship in splendor wild, And streamed above the gallant child There came a burst of thunder-sound- With fragments strewed the sea!— With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, SONNET ON GRASMERE. Wordsworth said to Mrs. Hemans: "I would not give up the mists that spiritualize our mountains for all the blue skies of Italy." She seems to have shared in his admiration of the scenery about Grasmere. O vale and lake, within your mountain urn, Their place with holiest harmonies. Fair scene, THE MESSENGER-BIRD. Some of the Brazilians pay veneration to a bird that sings mournfully in the night-time. They say it is a messenger which their friends and relations have sent, and that it brings them news from the other world.-See PIOART'S Ceremonies and Religious Customs. Thou art come from the spirits' land, thou bird; We know that the bowers are green and fair And we know they have quenched their fever's thirst From the Fountain of Youth ere now, For there must the stream in its freshness burst Which none may find below! And we know that they will not be lured to earth From the land of deathless flowers, By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth, Though their hearts were once with ours; Though they sat with us by the night-fire's blaze, And heard the tales of our fathers' days But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain, We call, and they answer not again: Doth the warrior think of his brother there, We call them far through the silent night, |