CHAP. XVIII.

MODERN FEMALE POETS -MRS. TIGHE MRS. HEMANS.

MISS LANDON-MRS. JOANNA BAILLIE.

TOWARDS the end of the last century, and the beginning of the present, we had a number of female writers who, in the exercise of the highest imaginative and descriptive power, excelled all their predecessors. The first of these was Mrs. Tighe, an Irish lady, the daughter of the Rev. William Blachford. Her "Psyche," a fine poem in the Spenserian stanza, was the most sustained poetic effort that had then been given to the world by the female mind. It is a poem to read as a whole, rather than to quote in isolated passages. A luxurious dreamy sweetness pervades the descriptions, and gives them a peculiar charm, while the easy elegance of the flowing language attests the complete power of the poet over her theme. This gifted lady lived much in seclusion, suffering from ill health, and died at her husband's beautiful seat, Woodstock, near Kilkenny, in the south of Ireland, at the comparatively early age of thirty-seven. The scenery in which the last days of the poet were passed is that in which

Spenser wandered when he wrote his "Fairy Queen." And no region is more calculated by its wild luxuriance to call up visions of beauty and delight than the whole of the south-east district of Ireland. Mrs. Tighe excelled also in the short poem: the following has a beauty far beyond the mere charm of the graceful verse.

THE LILY.

"How wither'd, perish'd, seems the form
Of yon obscure unsightly root!
Yet from the blight of wintry storm,
It hides secure the precious fruit.

"The careless eye can find no grace,
No beauty in the scaly folds,
Nor see within the dark embrace
What latent loveliness it holds.

"Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales,
The lily wraps her silver vest,

'Till vernal suns and vernal gales

Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.

"Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap,
The undelighting slighted thing;
There in the cold earth buried deep,
In silence let it wait the Spring.

"Oh! many a stormy night shall close
In gloom upon the barren earth,
While still, in undisturb'd repose,
Uninjur'd lies the future birth.

"And ignorance with sceptic eye,

Hope's patient smile shall wondering view;
Or mock her fond credulity,

As her soft tears the spot bedew.

"Sweet smile of hope, delicious tear!

The sun, the shower, indeed shall come;
The promis'd verdant shoot appear,

And nature bid her blossoms bloom.

“And thou, O virgin Queen of Spring!
Shalt from thy dark and lowly bed,
Bursting thy green sheath's silken string,
Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed;

"Unfold thy robes of purest white,

Unsullied from their darksome grave;
And thy soft petals' silvery light
In the mild breeze unfetter'd wave.

"So Faith shall seek the lowly dust,

Where humble sorrow loves to lie,
And bid her thus her hopes entrust,
And watch with patient cheerful eye;

"And bear the long, cold wintry night;

And bear her own degrading doom;
And wait till heaven's returning light,

Eternal Spring! shall burst the gloom."

It was to the memory of Mrs. Tighe that Mrs. Hemans wrote her "Grave of a Poetess." Some years afterwards, Mrs. Hemans visited the scene, which previously she had only seen in imagination,

and wrote some graceful stanzas that were followed by an epitaph of great tenderness and beauty.

"Farewell, belov'd and mourn'd! We miss awhile
Thy tender gentleness of voice and smile,

And that bless'd gift of heaven to cheer us lent —
That thrilling touch divinely eloquent,

Which breath'd the soul of prayer, deep, fervent, high,
Through thy rich strains of sacred harmony.
Yet from those very memories there is born
A soft light pointing to celestial morn:
Oh! bid it guide us where thy footsteps trod,
To meet at last 'the pure in heart' with God."

There was considerable similarity in the genius of Mrs. Tighe and Mrs. Hemans; the same affluence of imagery, the same susceptibility to the beauties of nature, the same tender grace. But in deep pathos and elevated Christian spirituality, Mrs. Hemans undoubtedly surpassed all her feminine predecessors.

The incidents of the life of Mrs. Hemans are as well known as her poetry. Born 1793 in Liverpool, her father of Irish, her mother of Italian and German extraction, removing in her seventh year to Grwych in North Wales, the lovely intelligent child, surrounded by happy influences of natural scenery and human sympathy, grew up a creature of light and love. Poetry, music, drawing, languages, were not merely the studies, but the delights, of her childhood and

youth. Loving retirement, she derived all the advantages that seclusion in the bosom of an affectionate and intelligent family circle could confer. Once, and once only, she visited the metropolis (in her eleventh year), and, though of course, interested, went back to rural quietude more than ever prepared to enjoy it.

An early, and, it is thought, unhappy marriage was the sad termination of this joyous youth. After a few years she returned to her mother's roof. Captain Hemans visited the Continent, and for the remaining seventeen years of her life did not return. Five sons were their mother's care and consolation. Mrs. Hemans had never laid aside the studies she loved so well. She wrote from her earliest years. Her first published poem dates back to her eighth year. Her first effusions were chiefly tributes of affection, birthday stanzas, &c. In her fourteenth year she wrote a poem "England and Spain," which, for command of language, power of versification, and historical knowledge, was a remarkable production for a young girl. She then made many elegant translations from the Italian and Spanish, which were much admired. Many of her youthful stanzas had a martial glow that surprises those who remember the gentle sweetness of her character. But her brothers and her affianced husband being of the military profession, naturally