Met the frank welcome and the cordial smile,
And well their hearts can share, though unexpress’d,
Each thought, each feeling, of the soldier’s breast.
[5] These verses were written about the same time as the preceding humorous epitaphs.
[As, in the present collected edition of the writings of Mrs Hemans, chronological arrangement has been for the first time strictly attended to, a selection from her Juvenile compositions has been given, chiefly as a matter of curiosity—for her real career as an authoress cannot be said to have commenced before the publication of the section which immediately follows.
In a very general point of view, the intellectual history of Mrs Hemans’ mind may be divided into two distinct and separate eras—the first of which may be termed the classical, and comprehends the productions of her pen, from “The Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy,” and “Modern Greece,” down to the “Historical Scenes,” and the “Translations from Camoens;” and the last, the romantic, which commences with “The Forest Sanctuary,” and includes “The Records of Woman,” together with nearly all her later efforts. In regard to excellence, there can be little doubt that the last section as far transcends the first as that does the merely Juvenile Poems now given, and which certainly appear to us to exhibit occasional scintillations of the brightness which followed. Even after the early poetical attempts of Cowley and Pope, of Chatterton, Kirke White, and Byron, these immature outpourings of sentiment and description may be read with an interest which diminishes not by comparison.]
THE RESTORATION OF THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY.
[“The French, who in every invasion have been the scourge of Italy, and have rivalled or rather surpassed the rapacity of the Goths and Vandals, laid their sacrilegious hands on the unparalleled collection of the Vatican, tore its masterpieces from their pedestals, and, dragging them from their temples of marble, transported them to Paris, and consigned them to the dull sullen halls, or rather stables, of the Louvre.... But the joy of discovery was short, and the triumph of taste transitory.”—Eustace’s Classical Tour through Italy, vol. ii. p. 60.]
“Italia, Italia! O tu cui die la sorte
Dono infelice di bellezza, ond’ hai