286 MRS. HEMANS. 



England's dead ; and in the agony and triumph of 

 moral energy in her Gertrude. The subject of these 

 last verses might have seemed too horrible for poe- 

 try ; but with the commanding power of true genius, 

 and the strong sympathy of high feeling, she has 

 brought to view all its moral sublimity ; throwing a 

 pall over what is hideous in physical suffering. But 

 besides the poems entitled to be placed in the same 

 class with those which have been named, there are 

 others written with far less display of genius, but 

 pleasing, correct, in good taste, elegant, or animated. 

 These would have entitled their author to a distin- 

 guished rank among poets. Those of a higher order, 

 and there are many such, are permanent accessions 

 to the literature of the world. They have increased 

 the means of human refinement and virtue. 



The works of Mrs. Hemans are eminently distin- 

 guished, by moral beauty, and the noble expression 

 of high sentiments. Images of what is lovely, 

 affecting, and glorious in human character are re- 

 flected from her mind as from an unsullied mirror. 

 Of this her last volume affords some of the most 

 striking examples. It is the praise of this lady, that 

 her literary course was one of continual improvement. 

 With the exception, perhaps, of her tragedies, she 

 has, heretofore, given to the world no long poem of 

 equal power with her Forest Sanctuary, from which 

 the following are extracts : — 



The voices of my home, — I hear thera still, 

 They have been with me through the dreamy night — 

 The blessed household voices, wont to fill 

 My heart's clear depths with unalloy'd delight; 

 I hear them still, unchanged : — though some from earth 

 Are music parted, and the tones of mirth — 

 Wild, silvery tones, that rang through days more bright. 

 Have died in others, — yet to me they come, 

 Singing of boyhood back — the voices of my home. 



They call me through this hush of woods, reposing 

 In the grey stillness of the summer morn. 

 They wander by when heavy flowers are closing. 

 And thoughts grow deep, and winds and stars are born ; 



