ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Charles W. Thomson, "To Mrs. Felicia Hemans" The Ariel [Philadelphia] 2 (11 July 1829) 41.
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
Charles W. Thomson:
1829: Felicia Hemans
Heaven's own pure ray has lighted up thy heart,
Fair minstrel of the soft and plaintive lyre!
And shown thee mysteries, which no human art
Of earthly culture ever could inspire.
Thine is the gift, the glorious gift, to see
All that is bright and beautiful around—
To gather lofty thoughts from every tree,
And hear rich melodies in every sound!
The whispers of the breeze! These to thee
Are full of fantasies sublime and grand;
And every murmur of the dark blue sea
Sends thee an echo from the Muse's land.
For thee the running brooks have each a song—
To thee the forests speak a language known—
The faintest note which music breathes along—
And thy heart strikes a sympathetic tone.
The burning stars, that shine along the sky,
Speak to thy spirit with their tongues of fire,
And lead thee to imaginations high—
Bright minstrel of the sweet and pensive lyre!
Yes! the blue sky — the storm — the rolling sea—
A cloud — the sun-rise — star-light — and the dew
Smiles upon nature's face! There are to thee
Alive with fancies beautiful and true.
Things — that to other eyes, whose bounded gaze
Sees nought beyond external beauties shine,
Afford no pleasure — wrapp'd in earthly haze,
Are redolent of ecstasy to thine!
The "voice of spring," that speaks from her wild flowers,
Has power to reach into thy inmost soul:
The song of summer birds from forest bowers
Fall o'er thy spirit like a shadowing stole.
Thou read'st the bubbling fountains; voices live
In the wild winds for thee; and thou may'st claim
The power which can to "airy nothings give
A local habitation and a name."
Favoured of Heaven! Yet destined still to know
Those ills which unprovided genius brings—
Like birds, whose music gathers from below
The death-shot doomed to paralyze their wings!
Yet, though the tempest hurtles wildly by,
And thy frail bark is toss'd upon the wave,
Thou still canst own, with faith's unawav'ring eye,
A hope in One omnipotent to save!
With such a hope lift up thy radiant lyre—
Strike with an energy that knows not wrong—
And Heaven's bright sun shall gild with quiv'ring wire,
And spread a widening halo round thy song!