#Felicia Dorothea Hemans

[thefollyflaneuse]

The Arbour, Dove Nest, Rydal, Cumbria

This unassuming little garden arbour has provided shelter for some of the greats of the 19th century – although the name of only one will be widely recognised today. It was built as a retreat in the grounds of a little villa called Dove Nest, which overlooked the great lake of Windermere. Continue reading The Arbour, Dove Nest, Rydal, Cumbria

[poetsmatter]

The stately homes of England, How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam; And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.

The blessed homes of England! How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds, in that still time, Of breeze and leaf are born.

The cottage homes of England! By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, And round the hamlet fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves; And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves.

The free, fair homes of England! Long, long, in hut and hall, May hearts of native proof be reared To guard each hallowed wall! And green forever be the groves, And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God!

The stately homes of England by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

[violettesiren]

How sweet to mark the softened ray, O'er the ocean lightly play; Now no more the billows rave, Clear and tranquil is the wave; While I view the vessel glide, O'er the calm cerulean tide.

Now might fays, and fairy bands, Assemble on these "yellow sands;" For this the hour, as poets tell, That oft they leave the flowery cell, And lead the sportive dance along, While spirits pour the choral song.

The moonbeam sheds a lustre pale, And trembles on the distant sail; And now the silvery clouds arise, To veil the radiance of the skies; But soon I view the light serene, Gild again the lovely scene.

Sea Piece by Moonlight by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

[motifcollector]

Elizabeth Bishop, "Casabianca," after the poem of the same name by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

[tolkienmatters]

The boy stood on the burning deck   Whence all but he had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck   Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,   As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood,   A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on���he would not go   Without his Father's word; That father, faint in death below,   His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud–'say, Father, say   If yet my task is done?' He knew not that the chieftain lay   Unconscious of his son.

'Speak, father!' once again he cried,   'If I may yet be gone!' And but the booming shots replied,   And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,   And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death   In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,   'My father! must I stay?' While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,   The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,   They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child,   Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound–    The boy–oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around   With fragments strewed the sea!–

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,   That well had borne their part– But the noblest thing which perished there   Was that young faithful heart.

Casabianca by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

[105nt]

The Festal Hour by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

This is the epigraph to Chapter 10 of The Ink Black Heart. I am reading all the epigraphs very gradually and doodling bits because I find it relaxing.

I think if you'd known Felicia Hemans in her heyday you'd have suggested she try writing something a bit more cheerful. This one trawls through history to demonstrate that it's risky having a night off for fun and frolics, because that's when things tend to go pear-shaped. This might be true but it's gloomy.

[boyfhee]

i woke up, went on tumblr.com like one does, and the first thing i see is “to you, with love” reblogged for me. 

so i closed the app. screamed a bit into a pillow. and came back to write this.

THE THING IS.. i read that work, im pretty sure i even left an ask but it was more shy, timid (?)in a sense - “thank u, this was beautiful ,i cried.”cuz i was overwhelmed lol <- the lol is to make is seem more causal as if my heart didnt feel like it was punched ^^

but i remember vividly going through heeseung hashtag and seeing this for the first time.. and the title was cute, i was like “oh fluff”. i had not read the genre or warnings notes before diving into it….

so u can imagine my reaction to this sentence…

“however, heeseung’s death changed that for you.” BTW  ofc the best time to read angst its dead into the night with taylor swift playing on my headphones :>

if i remember correctly, you deleted it (?) and then posted it again? i read it the very first time it was uploaded. this might have been a changing point cuz i didn't read angst.. not in it full potential like that before this and know im knees deep 

i finished reading it. and time kinda froze. the concept of hearing the voice of the love of your life. when things were good, were fine. i wept. BUT hearing them talk about what future could hold for both of u? knowing what u know now? literally curled with my phone in my hand and bawled my eyes out

promises… the forever heartbreaking factor of life.. what are they? meant to be broken or kept.. maybe neither.. i hate them… they give false hope for those who long and yearn to be reassure and make u believe that a single person could hold such a power over the universe… well, heeseung certainly couldn't.. no matter how genuinely his heart was beating while he said “forever”

wow, im in my feels again, i just loved it, truly loved it and cherished it for so long, in my own little world with spiraling thoughts about this, 

thank u thank u thank u  thank u!!!!!!!!!!! ur works mean the world to me

im sorry for making u sad with my ask, but i cant help it :] u made me feel too much !!!!!!!!!!

i loved the poem. the flashbacks from the fic hit me like a truck. whats ur favorite poem? ^^ i would love to read some if u have a recommendation

thanks for the little career stuff note, i appreciate it a lot truly

thank u in general, ure the coolest writer,  love u too 

ps. hee angst ?? i might die tho

                                               - > swift anonie ♡♡♡

ANON MAY I INTEREST YOU IN ANOTHER THOUGHT I HAD . about 'to you, my love' being set after 'if lovesick was a person' 😁😁 IT FITS SO WELL im so devastated actually . and that's why they tell u to read the warnings but who am i to say bc i straight up jump to the content ( i like surprises ) also i didn't delete it, my brother deleted my whole acc before i remade under the same user and reposted it 😭 oh but im so honoured that was the beginning of your angst reading arc, you should not be missing out on such a genre

and ur thoughts on promises, umm i can't say you're all wrong but i think they can serve as a driving force to do something? like some sort of motivation, or a reason idk . obvs, not saying that empty promises should be made. actually i dont have any opinion here, head empty. please never apologise for sending sad asks or wtv, i enjoy reading ur thought processes ure really really cool 🫵💗 as for poem recs hmm; i wandered lonely as a cloud by willian wordsworth, cadabianca by felicia dorothea hemans, la belle dame sams merci by john keats, rain before dawn, on a play twice seen and marching streets by fitzgerlad ( anything by him and emily dickinson is worth reading ) that's all i have on the top of my head

and no, thank u for taking ur time to write these asks, you're even cooler than me fr ☝️

[julesofnature]

Come away, Elves, while the dew is sweet, Come to the dingles where Fairies meet; Know that the lilies have spread their bells O'er all the pools in our forest dells; Stilly and lightly their vases rest On quivering sleep of the water's breast, catching the sunshine through leaves that throw To their scented bosoms an emerald glow; and a star from the depth of each pearly cup, A golden star unto Heaven looks up, As if seeking its kindred where bright they lie, Set in the blue of the summer sky. Come away! under arching boughs we'll float, Making those urns each a Faerie boat We'll row them with reeds o'er the fountains free, And a tall flag-leaf shall our streamer be, And we'll send out wild music so sweet and low, It shall seem from the bright flower's heart to flow, As if 'twere breeze with a flute's low sigh, Or water drops train'd into melody. Come away! for the midsummer sun grows strong, And the life of the lily may not be long.

‘Water-lilies’ by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

[ramblebrambleamble]

Felicia Dorothea Hemans

---

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.

[ukdamo]

Casabianca

Felicia Dorothea Hemans -  Young Casabianca, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the Battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion of the vessel.

The boy stood on the burning deck  Whence all but he had fled; The flame that lit the battle’s wreck  Shone round him o’er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,  As born to rule the storm— A creature of heroic blood,  A proud though child-like form.

The flames rolled on. He would not go  Without his father’s word; That father, faint in death below,  His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud:—“Say, father! say  If yet my task is done!” He knew not that the chieftain lay  Unconscious of his son.

“Speak, father!” once again he cried,  “If I may yet be gone!” And but the booming shots replied,  And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,  And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death  In still yet brave despair;

And shouted but once more aloud,  “My father! must I stay?” While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud,  The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,  They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child  Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder-sound—  The boy—oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around  With fragments strewed the sea!—

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,  That well had borne their part; But the noblest thing which perished there  Was that young faithful heart!

[themaninthegreenshirt]

The Homes of England by Felicia Dorothea Hemans [1827]

The Stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O’er all the pleasant land; The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry Homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light. There woman’s voice flows forth in song, Or childish tale is told; Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old. The blessèd Homes of England! How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell’s chime Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds, in that still time, Of breeze and leaf are born. The cottage Homes of England! By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o’er the silvery brooks, And round the hamlet-fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves; And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves. The free, fair Homes of England! Long, long in hut and hall, May hearts of native proof be reared To guard each hallowed wall! And green forever be the groves, And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child’s glad spirit loves Its country and its God. Felicia Dorothea Hemans [1793–1835] 

[historymeetsliterature]

Casabianca

The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but he had fled; The flame that lit the battle’s wreck, Shone round him o’er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though childlike form.

The flames rolled on – he would not go, Without his father’s word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud – ‘Say, father, say If yet my task is done?’ He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son.

‘Speak, father!’ once again he cried, ‘If I may yet be gone!’ – And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath And in his waving hair; And look’d from that lone post of death, In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud, ‘My father! must I stay?’ While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound – The boy – oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea!

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part, But the noblest thing which perished there, Was that young faithful heart.

Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1793-1835)

[rwvansant]

Happy Thankgiving-Have an old poem

Happy Thankgiving-Have an old poem

Felicia Dorothea Hemans, ‘The Landing of the Pilgrims’. The breaking waves dashed high,On a stern and rock-bound coast,And the woods against a stormy skyTheir giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung darkThe hills and waters o’er,When a band of exiles moored their barkOn the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes,They, the true-hearted came;Not with the roll of the stirring…

[violettesiren]

From the bright stars, or from the viewless air, Or from some world unreached by human thought. Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there, And if thy visions with the past be fraught, Answer me, answer me! Have we not communed here of life and death? Have we not said that love, such love as ours, Was not to perish as a rose's breath, To melt away, like song from festal bowers? Answer, oh! answer me! Thine eye's last light was mine -- the soul that shone Intensely, mournfully, through gathering haze -- Didst thou bear with thee to the shore unknown, Nought of what lived in that long, earnest gaze! Hear, hear, and answer me! Thy voice -- its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone Thrilled through the tempest of the parting strife, Like a faint breeze: -- oh, from that music flown, Send back one sound, if love's be quenchless life, But once, oh! answer me! In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush, In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep, When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush, Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep -- Spirit! then answer me! By the remembrance of our blended prayer; By all our tears, whose mingling made them sweet; By our last hope, the victor o'er despair; -- Speak! if our souls in deathless yearnings meet; Answer me, answer me! The grave is silent: -- and the far-off sky, And the deep midnight -- silent all, and lone! Oh! if thy buried love make no reply, What voice has earth! -- Hear, pity, speak, mine own! Answer me, answer me!

To A Departed Spirit by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

[detroitlib]

Felicia Dorothea Hemans (25 September 1793 – 16 May 1835) 

English poet. Two of her opening lines, The boy stood on the burning deck and The stately homes of England, have acquired classic status. (Wikipedia)

From our stacks: Frontispiece “Felicia Hemans. From the original Bust by Angus Fletcher.” from The Poetical Works of Felicia Hemans. Complete in One Volume. With a Memoir, By Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. A New Edition, from the Last London Edition, with all the Introductory Notes. Elegantly Illustrated from Original Designs. New York: W. I. Pooley, 1868.

[another-rogues-paradise]

Rip: “Captain dons cap, enters cabin to assist passengers.”

(There’s a pause, then Leonard starts to giggle, trying and failing to suppress his laughter. A moment later Martin also starts trying to choke back his chuckles.)

Rip: What?

Leonard: Does what?!

Rip: Assists passengers. What? What’s so funny?

Martin: No, no, no – before that.

Rip: “Captain dons cap, enters cabin to …”

(Leonard and Martin lose it, bursting out into sustained laughter.)

Martin: “Dons cap”?!

Leonard: “Captain dons cap”!

Martin: Oh yeah! You have to don your cap before dealing with a fire!

Leonard: Otherwise how will the fire know who the captain is?!

Rip: It’s for the passengers.

(Martin starts quoting from the poem Casabianca by Felicia Dorothea Hemans.)

Martin: “The boy stood on the burning deck / Whence all but he had fled.”

(Leonard deliberately re-writes the next lines.)

Leonard: “His heart was in his mouth but, lo! / His cap was on his head”!