more piquant in its character. "I wish you would make the Bishop laugh with a saying of George's, which entertained me a good deal—“Oh, mamma ! I'm in the most delightful place in my Virgil nowI'm in Tartarus!" She had always taken great interest in the description of the Christmas domestic festivals in Germany-. the "Christmas Tree," the mutual presents between parents and children, and all the innocent mysteries and pretty surprises which travellers have described so often, but none with so much truth and nature as Coleridge in his letter from Ratzeburg, published in The Friend. Amongst her own little group, something of a similar celebration was always attempted. However wearied or harassed she might be, the claims of this joyous season were never remitted. The fate of poetic heroes and heroines would remain in abeyance, whilst juvenile mimes and mysteries were going on at the fireside; and for the moment nothing seemed so important as the invention of different devices for the painted bags of bonbons destined to adorn the boughs of the "Christmas Tree." Even in the midst of all her dramatic vexations, she could write completely con amore- "The boys were very happy yesterday evening with a plain twelfth cake of their own, when, just as it had been despatched, and the little ones were gone to bed, there arrived a much more splendid one from the Bishop, so we are to have a thirteenth night this evening. Charlie lays claim to what he calls the 'Coronation,' from the top of the above-named cake, as he says he 'always has the coronations from the top of the Bishop's cakes.'" About this time, Mrs. Hemans was engaged in the composition of another tragedy, entitled De Chatillon, or, The Crusaders; in which, with that deference to fair criticism which she was always ready to avow, and to act upon, she made it her purpose to attempt a more compressed style of writing, avoiding that redundancy of poetic diction which had been censured as the prevailing fault of The Vespers. It may possibly be thought that in the composition in question she has fallen into the opposite extreme of want of elaboration; yet in its present state, it is, perhaps, scarcely amenable to criticism, for by some strange accident, the fair copy transcribed by herself was either destroyed or mislaid in some of her subsequent removals, and the piece was long considered as utterly lost. Nearly two years after her death, the original rough MS., with all its hieroglyphical blots and erasures, was discovered amongst a mass of forgotten papers; and it has been a task of no small difficulty to decypher it, and complete the copy now first given to the world. Allowances must, therefore, be made for the disadvantages under which it appears, thus deprived of her own finishing touches, and with no means of ascertaining how far it may differ from the copy so unaccountably missing. In the autumn of 1824, she began the poem which, in point of finish and consecutiveness, if not in popularity, may be considered her principal work, and which she herself inclined to look upon as her best. "I am at present," she wrote to one always interested in her literary occupations, "engaged upon a poem of some length, the idea of which was suggested to me by some passages in your friend Mr. Blanco White's delightful writings. It relates to the sufferings of a Spanish Protestant, in the time of Philip the Second, and is supposed to be narrated by the sufferer himself, who escapes to America. I am very much interested in my subject, and hope to complete the poem in the course of the winter." The progress of this work was watched with great interest in her domestic circle, and its touching descriptions would often extract a tribute of tears from the fireside auditors. When completed, a family consultation was held as to its name. Various titles were proposed and rejected, till that of The Forest Sanctuary was suggested by her brother, and finally decided upon. Though finished early in 1825, the poem was not published till the following year, when it was brought out in conjunction with the Lays of Many Lands, and a collection of miscellaneous pieces, most of which had previously appeared in the New Monthly Magazine, or in some of the various annuals, from whose editors Mrs. Hemans was now receiving continual overtures. The number and urgency of these applications was already beginning to be half tormenting, half amusing, though nothing in comparison with the "Vallombrosa"-like showers of these "autumnal leaves" which used to come pouring down upon her in after years, when the annual fever had reached its height. It was interesting to observe the manner in which any new idea, accidentally suggested in the course of her reading, would take hold of her imagination, 'Letters from Spain by Don Leucadio Doblado. awakening, as with an electric touch, a whole train of associations and developements. Most truly, in her case, was exemplified Mr. Wordsworth's observation respecting poetic sensibility, in which he says, that "the more exquisite it is, the wider will be the range of a poet's perceptions, and the more will he be incited to observe objects, both as they exist in themselves, and as reacted upon by his own mind." 1 By her, objects were never seen simply "as they exist in themselves." Every thing brought its own appeals to thought and memory; and every sight and sound in nature awakened some distinct echo in her heart. The very rustling of the trees spoke to her in tones full of meaning. It was one of her favourite fancies that each tree had its peculiar language, suited to its character for majesty, solemnity, or grace, and that she could distinguish with closed eyes the measured tones of the oak or elm, the funereal sighs of the cypress, or the sensitive murmurs of the willow or poplar! From some particular train of association, she took great delight in seeing the waving boughs of trees through a church window. All legends and superstitions regarding trees and flowers, were peculiarly dear to her. When alluding to these, and similar fables, she would often quote the well-known lines from Schiller "Wage du zu irren und zu träumen, Hohen sinn liegt oft in kind'schem spiel."" 1See Preface to the First Volume of Wordsworth's Poetical Works. 2" Oh! fear thou not to dream with waking eye: : There lies deep meaning oft in childish play." One of her favourites amongst the many traditions of this nature, was the Welsh legend regarding the trembling of the aspen,' which, with a kindred superstition relating to the spotted arum, will be found mentioned in the Woodwalk and Hymn, in Scenes and Hymns of Life. And in the two sonnets, entitled Thoughts connected with Trees," which form part of the Records of the Spring of 1834, she has revealed to us yet more distinctly how much "deep meaning" their "kindly whisperings" and "old sweet leaf sounds" brought home to her breast. 66 The howling of the wind at night had a very peculiar effect upon her nerves-nothing in the least approaching to the sensation of fear, as few were more exempt from that class of alarms usually called nervous; but working upon her imagination to a degree which was always succeeded by a reaction of fatigue and exhaustion. The solemn influences thus mysteriously exercised, are alluded to in many of her poems, particularly in The Song of Night, and in The Voice of the Wind. 1A somewhat similar tradition appears to exist in Denmark, as shown by a poem of Ingemann's, of which a translation was given in the Foreign Quarterly Review for June, 1830. "Among the many congenial ideas she found in the writings of Richter, the following passage relating to Night was singularly in unison with her own feelings:-The earth is every day overspread with the veil of Night, for the same reason as the cages of birds are darkened, that we may the more readily apprehend the higher harmonies of thought in the hush and quiet of darkness. Thoughts, which day turns into smoke and mist, stand about us in the night as lights and flames, even as the column which fluctuates above the crater of Vesuvius, in the day time appears a pillar of cloud, but by night a pillar of fire.'" |