Invoke the Heaven that knows thy sorrow’s truth,
By all the softening memories of youth—
By every hope that cheered thine early day—
By every tear that washes wrath away—
By every old remembrance long gone by—
By every pang that makes thee yearn to die;
And learn at length how deep and stern a blow
Man’s hand can strike, and yet no pity show!”
What force! what passion! Never has Mrs. Hemans written thus,—few indeed have done so except Byron.
We must pass “The Dream” with a single other quotation. It is on the evening hour, and is sweet as a moonlit landscape, or a child’s dream of heaven.