unfortunate. She was totally ignorant of housewifery, and could as easily have managed the spear of Minerva as her needle. It was from observing these deficiencies, that, one day while she was under my roof, I purposely directed her attention to household economy, and told her I had purchased Scales which I intended to present to a young lady as a wedding present; pointed out their utility (for her especial benefit) and said that no ménage ought to be without them. Mrs Hemans, not in the least suspecting my drift, reported this saying, in a letter to a friend at the time, as a proof of my simplicity. Being disposed to make large allowances for the faults of her education and the circumstances in which she was placed, I felt most kindly disposed towards her, and took her part upon all occasions, and I was not a little affected by learning that after she withdrew to Ireland, a long and severe sickness raised her spirit as it depressed her body. This I heard from her most intimate friends, and there is striking evidence of it in a poem written and published not long before her death. These notices of Mrs Hemans would be very unsatisfactory to her intimate friends, as indeed they are to myself, not so much for what is said, but what for brevity's sake is left unsaid. Let it suffice to add, there was much sympathy between us, and, if opportunity had been allowed me to see more of her, I should have loved and valued her accordingly; as it is, I remember her with true affection for her amiable qualities, and, above all, for her delicate and irreproachable conduct during her long separation from an unfeeling husband, whom she had been led to marry from the romantic notions of inexperienced youth. Upon this husband I never heard her cast the least reproach, nor did I ever hear her even name him, though she did not wholly forbear to touch upon her domestic position; but never so that any fault could be found with her manner of adverting to it.] WHEN first, descending from the moorlands, I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide Along a bare and open valley, The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide.* When last along its banks I wandered, * Compare Yarrow visited (September 1814), (Vol. VI. p. 41).—Ed. * The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer,* Nor has the rolling year twice measured, The rapt One, of the godlike forehead, || Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, Or waves that own no curbing hand, Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, Compare Yarrow revisited (1831), (Vol. VII. p. 268.)—ED. + Scott died at Abbotsford, on the 21st September 1832, and was buried in Dryburgh Abbey.-ED. Hogg died at Altrive, on the 21st November 1835.-ED. ? Coleridge died at Highgate, on the 25th July 1834.—ED. || Compare the Stanzas written in my pocket copy of Thomson's Castle of Indolence (Vol. II., p. 305.)— "Profound his forehead was, though not severe ¶ Lamb died in London, on the 27th December 1834.--ED. -ED. As if but yesterday departed, No more of old romantic sorrows, For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid! With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten, And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead. UPON SEEING A COLOURED DRAWING OF THE BIRD OF PARADISE IN AN ALBUM. [I cannot forbear to record that the last seven lines of this Poem were composed in bed during the night of the day on which my sister Sara Hutchinson died about 6 p.m., and it was the thought of her innocent and beautiful life that, through faith, prompted the words"On wings that fear no glance of God's pure sight, No tempest from his breath." The reader will find two poems on pictures of this bird among my Poems. I will here observe that in a far greater number of instances than have been mentioned in these notes one poem has, as in this case, grown out of another, either because I felt the subject had been inadequately treated, or that the thoughts and images suggested in course of composition have been such as I found interfered with the unity indispensable to every work of art, however humble in character.] WHO rashly strove thy Image to portray? Thou buoyant minion of the tropic air; How could he think of the live creature-gay With a divinity of colours, drest George Crabbe died at Trowbridge, Wiltshire, on the 3d of February 1832.-ED. In all her brightness, from the dancing crest The motions that it graces-and forbear Or in the diver's grasp fetched up from caves Plumes that might catch, but cannot keep, a stain; Resplendent Wanderer! followed with glad eyes Eastern Islanders have given A holy name-the Bird of Heaven! And even a title higher still, The Bird of God!* whose blessed will She seems performing as she flies Over the earth and through the skies. In never-wearied search of Paradise Region that crowns her beauty with the name She bears for us-for us how blest, Compare Robert Browning's poem on Guercino's picture of The Guar dian-Angel at Fano "Thou bird of God." -ED. How happy at all seasons, could like aim Uphold our Spirits urged to kindred flight On wings that fear no glance of God's pure sight, Above a world that deems itself most wise When most enslaved by gross realities! DESPONDING Father! mark this altered bough,* Knits not o'er that discolouring and decay Nor fret thou At like unlovely process in the May Of human life: a Stripling's graces blow, Fade and are shed, that from their timely fall To hope-in Parents, sinful above all. [Suggested on the road between Preston and Lancaster where it first gives a view of the Lake country, and composed on the same day, on the roof of the coach.] FOUR fiery steeds, impatient of the rein Whirled us o'er sunless ground beneath a sky Compare the Excursion (Vol. V. p. 130), and the Sonnet beginning — "Surprised by joy, impatient as the wind," (Vol. VI. p. 71.)—Ed. |