Felicia Dorothea Hemans

(25 September 1793 – 16 May 1835 / Liverpool, England)

Quotations

  • ''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.''
    Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1783-1835), British poet. Casabianca (l. 1-8). . . Family Book of Best Loved Poems, The. David L. George, ed. (1952) Doubleday & Company.
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  • ''There came a burst of thunder sound;
    The boy—Oh! where was he?
    MAsk of the winds, that far around
    With fragments strewed the sea;—''
    Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1783-1835), British poet. Casabianca (l. 32-35). . . Family Book of Best Loved Poems, The. David L. George, ed. (1952) Doubleday & Company.
  • ''The breaking waves dashed high
    On a stern and rock-bound coast,''
    Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1783-1835), British poet. The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers (l. 1-2). . . Family Book of Best Loved Poems, The. David L. George, ed. (1952) Doubleday & Company.
  • ''What sought they thus afar?
    Bright jewels of the mine?
    The wealthy of seas, the spoils of war?—
    They sought a faith's pure shrine!

    Ay, call it holy ground,
    The soil where first they trod;
    They have left unstained what there they found,—
    Freedom to worship God.''
    Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1783-1835), British poet. The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers (l. 33-40). . . Family Book of Best Loved Poems, The. David L. George, ed. (1952) Doubleday & Company.
  • ''And the heavy night hung dark
    The hills and waters o'er,
    When a band of exiles moored their bark
    On the wild New England shore.''
    Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1783-1835), British poet. The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers (l. 5-8). . . Family Book of Best Loved Poems, The. David L. George, ed. (1952) Doubleday & Company.

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Flight of the Spirit

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Whither, oh! whither wilt thou wing thy way?
What solemn region first upon thy sight
Shall break, unveiled for terror or delight?
What hosts, magnificent in dread array,
My spirit! when thy prison-house of clay

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