Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Dark lowers our fate,
And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;
But nothing, till that latest
Which severs thee from nature, shall

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep
~ Psalm cvii
23, 24
HE that in venturous barks hath been  A wanderer on the deep,

OH
blest art thou, whose steps may
Through the green paths of vale and grove,
Or, leaving all their charms below,

A
IL was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young,
Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful mother sung
—"Ianthis

The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed;
And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,

On His Birthday, 27 August, 1825
OU wak'st from happy sleep to play  With bounding heart, my boy
Before thee lies a long bright day  Of summer and of joy
Thou hast no heavy thought or dream  To cloud thy fearless eye;

EP, fiery clouds o'ercast the sky, Dead stillness reigns in air,
There is not e'en a breeze, on high The gossamer to bear
The woods are hushed, the waves at rest, The lake is dark and still,
Reflecting, on its shadowy breast, Each f...

EN the soft breath of Spring goes
Far o'er the mountains of the North,
How soon those wastes of dazzling
With life, and bloom, and beauty glow

I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth
Genesis ix
13
FT falls the mild, reviving shower  From April's changeful skies,

I made a mountain-brook my guide Thro' a wild Spanish glen,
And wandered, on its grassy side, Far from the homes of men
It lured me with a singing tone, And many a sunny glance,
To a green spot of beauty lone, A haunt for old romanc...

The bark that held a prince went down, The sweeping waves roll'd on;
And what was England's glorious crown To him that wept a son
He lived—for life may long be borne Ere sorrow break its chain;—Why comes not death to those who mourn

OH thou
the musing, wakeful pow'r,
That lov'st the silent, midnight hour,
Thy lonely vigils then to keep,