Felicia Dorothea Hemans

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

Felicia Dorothea Hemans Poems

121. The Home Of The Spirit 4/8/2010
122. The Indian Lover. Morning Song. 4/8/2010
123. To My Mother 4/8/2010
124. Gertrude, Or Fidelity Till Death 4/8/2010
125. Invocation 4/8/2010
126. Ulla, Or The Adjuration 4/8/2010
127. War-Song Of The Spanish Patriots 4/8/2010
128. Costanza 4/8/2010
129. The Rock Of Cader Idris 4/8/2010
130. The Memorial Pillar 4/8/2010
131. The Last Wish 4/8/2010
132. Corinne At The Capitol 3/26/2012
133. The Distant Ship 4/8/2010
134. Moorish Bridal Song 4/8/2010
135. To My Eldest Brother, With The British Army In Portugal 4/8/2010
136. The Emigrant 4/8/2010
137. The Farewell To The Dead 4/8/2010
138. The Crusader's Return 4/8/2010
139. The Peasant Girl Of The Rhone 4/8/2010
140. Juana 4/8/2010
141. An Hour Of Romance 4/8/2010
142. The Indian City 4/8/2010
143. The Switzer's Wife 4/8/2010
144. The Sicilian Captive 4/8/2010
145. England And Spain 4/8/2010
146. The Abencerrage : Canto Iii. 4/8/2010
147. The Voice Of Spring 4/8/2010
148. The Statue Of The Dying Gladiator 4/8/2010
149. The Suliote Mother 4/8/2010
150. The Grave Of A Poetess 4/8/2010
151. Fairy Favours 4/8/2010
152. The Abencerrage : Canto Ii. 4/8/2010
153. Design And Performance 1/1/2004
154. The Graves Of A Household 4/8/2010
155. Greek Funeral Chant Or Myriologue 4/8/2010
156. The Homes Of England 4/8/2010
157. To Wordsworth 4/8/2010
158. The Bride Of The Greek Isle 4/8/2010
159. The Abencerrage : Canto I. 4/8/2010
160. Ancient Greek Song Of Exile 4/8/2010
Best Poem of Felicia Dorothea Hemans

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 roll'd on...he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He call'd aloud..."Say, father,say
If yet my task is done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once ...

Read the full of Casabianca

Sabbath Sonnet

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How many blessed groups this hour are bending,
Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way
Towards spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending,
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day!

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