MRS. HEMANS.

(1794-1835.)

BORN at Liverpool, where her father (whose name was Browne) was engaged as a merchant. Felicia Browne began to write poetry before she was nine years of age; and her mother, a woman of intellectual culture and taste, encouraged her in the pursuit. In 1812 Miss Browne became the wife of Captain Hemans. The union, however, was not a happy one, and just before the birth of their fifth son a separation took place, Mrs. Hemans going to live with her widowed mother, near St. Asaph (North Wales). Here she devoted herself to literature, and the education of her family. In 1828 went to reside at Wavertree, near Liverpool; afterwards removed to Dove's Nest, near Windermere, for one summer, and finally settled in Dublin, where she died in 1835, and was interred in St. Anne's Church. Mrs. Hemans's principal works are:-Hymns for Childhood; The Songs of the Affections, etc., including some of the most beautiful lyrical pieces in the language.

*

** For permission to insert the accompanying specimens of Mrs. Hemans's poetry, the editor is indebted to the kindness of Messrs. Blackwood & Son.

THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

CHILD, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away;
Mother, with thine earnest eye,
Ever following silently;

Father, by the breeze of eve,
Called thy harvest-work to leave,—
Pray ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart and bend the knee.

Traveller, in the stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band;
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone ;
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell
Sailor, on the darkening sea,—
Lift the heart and bend the knee.

;

Warrior, that from battle won
Breathest now at set of sun;
Woman, o'er the lowly slain
Weeping on his burial plain;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie,

Heaven's first star alike ye see,—

Lift the heart and bend the knee.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

THEY grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one home with glee :
Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.
The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight-
Where are those dreamers now?

One midst the forests of the West,
By a dark stream, is laid;

The Indian knows his place of rest
Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one;

He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the loved of all, yet none

O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest
Above the noble slain;

He wrapt his colours round his breast
On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;

She faded midst Italian flowers,
The last of that bright band.

And, parted thus, they rest who played
Beneath the same green tree,

Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee !

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheered with song the hearth,—
Alas for love, if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, oh earth!

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

THE stately homes of England!
How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O'er all the pleasant land!

The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry homes of England!

Around their hearths by night,

With gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!

There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told;
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

The blessed homes of England!
How softly on their bowers

Is laid the holy quietness

That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church bells' chime Floats through their woods at morn,

All other sounds in that still time

Of breeze and leaf are born.

The cottage homes of England!

By thousands on her plains,

They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves,
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the birds beneath their eaves.

The free fair homes of England!
Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be reared
To guard each hallowed wall.
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God.

THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY.

(1800-1859.)

BORN at Rothley Temple, in Leicestershire. Became a member of Trinity College, Cambridge, in his nineteenth year. On quitting the University, he entered Lincoln's Inn as a law student, and was called to the bar in 1826. When in his twenty-fifth year he wrote his celebrated essay on Milton for the "Edinburgh Review." Entered the House of Commons in 1830 as member for Calne. In 1834 he went to India in the service, and on his return in 1839 was elected member for Edinburgh. Lost his seat in 1847 (but re-elected in 1852 without any effort of his own), and then devoted himself to literary pursuits. Created a peer in 1857; died in 1859; and was buried in Poet's Corner, Westminster Abbey.

Macaulay's prose works are:-The History of England from the Accession of James II., and Essays. His chief poetical productions are :-The Spanish Armada; The Battle of Ivry; and Lays of Ancient Rome.

THE SPANISH ARMADA.*

ATTEND all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise,

I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,

When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;

Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,

At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile :

At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial

grace;

And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in

chase.

Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;

The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty

hall;

Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast; And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many

a post.

With his white hair unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff comes;

Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums;

The yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear an ample space,

For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace;

* The Editor is indebted to the courtesy of Messrs. Longmans & Co. for permission to insert this ballad.