Records Of Woman And Other Poems

Felicia Hemans (1793-1835), one of the most influential and widely-read poets of the nineteenth century, wrote Records of Woman in 1828 at the height of her long career. In the series, which includes nineteen poems about exemplary lives, Hemans explores what it means to be a woman, challenging traditional beliefs while at the same time reinforcing persistent stereotypes. Her work celebrates the lives, events, and imagined thoughts of unremembered women from different cultures and time periods whose deeds show nobility of spirit and inner strength. In her introduction, Paula Feldman examines how Hemans's poetry shaped and was shaped by nineteenth-century literary tastes, and she reconsiders the aesthetic value of Hemans's work and the current understanding of the nature of Romanticism.

This collection of poems by Felicia Hemans, a prominent poet of the Romantic era, deals with themes of love, nature, and female identity. The title poem, 'Records of Woman', is a tribute to female heroism and reflects the author's interest in historical subjects. This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work is in the "public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

Excerpt from Records of Woman: With Other Poems A captive, and alone, and far from thee, My love and friend! Yet fostering, for thy sake, A quenchless hope of happiness to be; And feeling still my woman's spirit strong, In the deep faith which lifts from earthly wrong, A heavenward glance. I know, I know our love Shall yet call gentle angels from above, By its undying fervour; and prevail, Sending a breath, as of the spring's first gale, Thro' hearts now cold; and, raising its bright face. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1850 edition. Excerpt: ...my weary soul thou hast wrung of grief and fear, Come to me from the ocean's dead! Awake, arise, appear!" Was it her yearning spirit's dream? Or did a pale form rise, And o'er the hushed wave glide and gleam, With bright, still, mournful eyes? "Have the depths heard? They have! My voice prevails: thou'rt there, Dim from thy watery grave--O thou that wert so fair! Yet take me to thy rest! There dwells no fear with love; Let me slumber on thy breast, While the billow rolls above! Where the long-lost things lie hid, where the bright ones have their home, We will sleep among the ocean's dead. Stay for me, stay!--I come!" There was a sullen plunge below, A flashing on the main; And the wave shut o'er that wild heart's woe--Shut, and grew still again. TO WORDSWORTH Thine is a strain to read among the hills, The old and full of voices, --by the source Of some free stream, whose gladdening presence fills The solitude with sound; for in its course Even such is thy deep song, that seems a part Of those high scenes, a fountain from their heart. Or its calm spirit fitly may be taken To the still breast in sunny garden bowers, .Where vernal winds each tree's low tones awaken, And bud and bell with changes mark the hours. There let thy thoughts be with me, while the day Sinks with a golden and serene decay. Or by some hearth where happy faces meet, When night hath hushed the woods with all their birds, There, from some gentle voice, that lay were sweet As antique music, linked with household words; While in pleased murmurs woman's lips might move, And the raised eye of childhood shine in love. Or where the shadows of dark solemn yews Brood silently o'er some lone burial-ground, Thy verse hath power that brightly might diffuse A breath, a...