ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
, "To Mrs. Hemans" The Literary Gazette (7 July 1821) 428.
1809: Anna Laetitia Barbauld
1820: Lord Byron
1820: John Taylor Coleridge
1821: Bp. Reginald Heber
1821: Bernard Barton
1822: James Harley
1825 ca.: John Wilson
1826: J. R. P.
1827: George Bancroft
1827: C. W.
1828 ca.: Thomas Campbell
1828: John Wilson
1828: William Cullen Bryant
1829: Sir Walter Scott
1829: Thomas Campbell
1829: Anne Grant
1829: Sarah Josepha Hale
1829: Charles W. Thomson
1829: Elizabeth Margaret Chandler
1829: Francis Jeffrey
1830: George Barrell Cheever
1830: Rev. George Barrell Cheever
1830: S. B. C.
1832: Thomas Enort Smith
1833: Thomas Medwin
1833: Allan Cunningham
1835: Sara Coleridge
1835: John Wilson
1835: Willis Gaylord Clark
1836: Mary Russell Mitford
1836: Henry Fothergill Chorley
1836: Rose Lawrence
1843: William Wordsworth
1846: John Dix
1848: Rufus W. Griswold
1850: George Gilfillan
1851: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1853: Frederic Rowton
1855: Sarah Josepha Hale
1858: Cyrus Redding
1871: S. C. Hall
1880: A. Mary F. Robinson
1882: Margaret Oliphant
1882: Epes Sargent
1812: William Cowper
1812: William Hayley
1812: Sir Walter Scott
1812: Mary Tighe
1814: Bernard Barton
1817: James Hogg
1818: William Roscoe
1819: William Wordsworth
1820: Dr. Nathan Drake
1820 ca.: John Scott of Amwell
1820: Jeremiah Holmes Wiffen
1821: Felicia Hemans
1822: Letitia Elizabeth Landon
1822: Charles Lloyd
1823: Charles Lamb
1823: Rev. John Mitford
1824: William Cowper
1827: Mary Howitt
1827: Sir Philip Sidney
1828: Mary Howitt
1828: William Howitt
1830: William Blake
1830: James Hogg
1840 ca.: John Evelyn
1843: Allan Cunningham
1846: Rev. William Branwhite Clarke
1848: Samuel Rogers
Lady! if I for thee would twine
The IVY-WREATH, can feeling trace
No cause why, on a brow like thine,
The Muse might fitly place
Its verdant foliage — "never sere,"
Of glossy, and of changeless hue?
Ah! yes, there is a cause most dear
To Truth, and Nature too.
It is not that it long hath been
Combin'd with thoughts of festal rite;
The cup which thou hast drunk, I ween,
Not always sparkled bright!
Nor is it that it hath been twined
Round VICT'RY'S brow in days gone by;
Such glory has no power to blind
Thy intellectual eye.
For thou canst look beyond the hour
Elated by the wine-cup's thrall,
Beyond the Victor's proudest power,
Unto the end of all!
And therefore would I round thy brow
The deathless wreath of Ivy place,
For well thy song has prov'd — that thou
Art worthy of its grace.
Had earth, and earth's delight alone—
Unto thy various strains giv'n birth;
Than had I o'er thy temples thrown
The fading flowers of earth:
And trusting that e'en those — pourtray'd
By thee in song, would spotless be,
The Jasmine's, Lily's, Hare-bell's braid,
Should brightly bloom for thee.
But thou to more exalted theme
Hath nobly urg'd the Muses' claim;
And other light before thee beams
Than Fancy's meteor flame.
And from thy harp's entrancing strings
Strains have proceeded more sublime
Than e'er were waken'd by the things
Which appertain to TIME!
Yes! Female Minstrel! thou hast set,
Even to the MASTERS OF THE LYRE,
An eloquent example! — yet
How few have caught thy fire!—
How few of their most lofty lays
Have to Religion's cause been given,
And taught the kindling soul to raise
Its hopes, its thoughts to Heaven!
Yet this, at least, has been thy aim;
For thou "hast chos'n that better part,"
Above the lure of worldly fame,
To touch — and teach the heart!
To touch it by no slight appeal
To feelings — in each heart confest;
To teach — by truths that bear the seal
GOD hath himself imprest!
And can those flowers, which bloom to fade,
For thee a fitting wreath appear?
No! wear thou, then, the Ivy-braid,
Whose leaves are never sear!
It is not gloomy — brightly play
The sunbeams on its glossy green;
And softly on its sleeps the ray
Of moon-light — all serene.
It changes not, as seasons flow
In changeful, silent course along;
Spring finds it verdant, leaves it so—
It outlives Summer's song.
Autumn no wan, or russet stain
Upon its fadeless glory flings,
And Winter o'er it sweeps in vain,
With tempest on his wings.
"Then wear thou this" — THE IVY CROWN!
And though the bard who twines it be
Unworthy of thy just renown,
Such wreath is, worthy thee.
For her's it is, who, truly wise,
To Virtue's cause her powers hath given;
Whose page the "Gates of Hell" defies,
And points to those of HEAVEN!