THE LAST WISH. But as the combat closed, they found And pour'd forth on each other's neck The mists o'er boyhood's memory spread The faces of the holy dead Rose as in vanish'd years; The Rhine, the Rhine, the ever blest, Oh! was it then a time to die? A ball swept forth-'twas guided well- Happy, yes, happy thus to go! A passing touch of change or chill, And they, between whose sever'd souls, A gulf is set, a current rolls For ever to divide ; Well may they envy such a lot, Whose hearts yearn on-but mingle not 185 THE LAST WISH. Well may I weep to leave this world-thee-all these beautifu woods, and plains, and hills."—Lights and Shadows. Go to the forest shade, Seek thou the well known glade, Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie And bathed in hues of Summer's midnight sky. A breath of May and of the wood's repose; For I in sooth, depart With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glows. Fain would I stay with thee- Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours! Catches, in glassy rest, The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers. The water-lilies tremble there e'en now; Bring me those flowers to cool my fever'd trow! Then, as in Hope's young days, Of the rich garden to its grassy mound; Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around. Well know'st thou that fair tree A murmur of the bee Dwells ever in the honey'd lime above; For on that spot we first reveal'd our love. Gather one woodbine bough, Of the bower'd cottage which I bade the mark, Through dim wood lanes we pass'd, While dews were glancing to the glowworm's spark Haste! to my pillow bear Those fragrant things and fair; My hand no more may bind them up at eve- One bright dream round me waft Of life, youth, summer-all that I must leave! The grove, the stream the hamlet vale to trace- When I am gone, may be The spirit bound to each familiar place. In the deep wood and by the fountain side; Rove where we two have roved, Forgetting her that in her Spring-time died! FAIRY FAVORS. FAIRY FAVORS. -- Give me but Something whereunto I may bind my heart. WOULD'ST thou wear the gift of immortal bloom? With balm from the gardens of genii brought; When the young all scatter'd like rose leaves lie Would'st thou have empire, by sign or spell, Would'st thou call the spirits of shore and steep And would not fear, at my coming then, The human love for whose founts I yearn! Would'st thou then read through the hearts of those And learn if the trusted be false or true! Keep, keep the gem, that I still may trust, Though my heart's wealth be but pour'd on dust! Say, then, what boon of my power shall be 187 Oh! give me no sway o'er the powers unseen, Whose thoughts' free current with mine may blend ANNOTATIONS ON "RECORDS OF WOMAN," &c. WE feel certain that every admirer of the genius of Mrs. Hemans will be obliged to us for here reprinting, almost at length, the adm rable Critique on her writings which appeared in the XCIXth Num ber of the Edinburgh Review. The acumen, the clear sightedness, the taste, and elegance of Lord Jeffrey, are evident throughout. "Women, we fear, cannot do every thing; nor even every thing they attempt. But what they can do, they do, for the most part, excellently-and much more frequently with an absolute and perfect success, than the aspirants of our rougher and more ambitious sex. They cannot, we think, represent naturally the fierce and sullen passions of men-nor their coarser vices-nor even scenes of actual business or contention-and the mixed motives, and strong and faulty characters, by which affairs of moment are usually conducted on the great theatre of the world. For much of this they are disqualified by the delicacy of their training and habits, and the still more disa bling delicacy which pervades their conceptions and feelings; and from much they are excluded by their actual inexperience of the realities they might wish to describe-by their substantial and incurable ignorance of business-of the way in which serious affairs are actually managed-and the true nature of the agents and impulses that give movement and direction to the stronger currents of ordinary life. Perhaps they are also incapable of long moral or political investigations, where many complex and indeterminate elements are to be taken into account, and a variety of opposite probabilities to be weighed before coming to a conclusion. They are generally too impatient to get at the ultimate results, to go well through with such discussions; and either stop short at some imperfect view of the truth, or turn aside to repose in the shadow of some plausible error. This, however, we are persuaded, arises entirely from their being seldom set on such tedious tasks. Their proper and natural business is the practical regulation of private life, in all its bearings, affections, and concerns; and the questions with which they have to deal in that most important department, though often of the utmost difficulty and nicety, involve, for the most part, but few elements; and may generally be letter described as delicate than intricate-requiring for their solution rather a quick tact and fine perception than a patient or laborious examination. For the same reason, they rarely succeed in long works, even on subjects the best suited to their genius; their natural training rendering them equally averse to long doubt and long labor. RECORDS OF WOMAN, &c. 189 "For all other intellectual efforts, however, either of the understanding or the fancy, and requiring a thorough knowledge either of man's strength or his weakness, we apprehend them to be, in all respects, as well qualified as their brethren of the stronger sex ; white, in their perceptions of grace, propriety, ridicule-their power of detecting artifice, hypocisy, and affectation—the force and promptitude of their sympathy, and their capacity of noble and devoted attachment, and of the efforts and sacrifices it may require, they are, beyond all doubt, our superiors. Their business being, as we have said, with actual or social life, and the colors it receives from the conduct and dispositions of individuals, they unconsciously acquire, at a very early age, the finest perception of character and manners, and are almost as soon instinctively schooled in the deep and dangerous learning of feeling and emotion; while the very ininuteness with which they make and meditate on these interesting observations, and the finer shades and variations of sentiment which are thus treasured and recorded, trains their whole faculties to a nicety and precision of operation, which often discloses itself to advantage in their application to studies of a very different character. When women, accordingly, have turned their minds-as they have done but too seldom-to the exposition or arrangement of any branch of knowledge, they have commonly exhibited, we think, a more beautiful accuracy, and a more u..iform and complete justness of thinking, than their less discriminating brethren. There is a finish and completeness about every thing they put out of their hands, which indicates not only an inherent taste for elegance and neatness, but a habit of nice observation, and sin gular exactness of judgment. "It has been so little the fashion, at any time, to encourage wo men to write for publication, that it is more difficult than it should be to prove these truths by examples. Yet there are enough, within the reach of a very careless and superficial glance over the open field of literature, to enable us to explain, at least, and illustrate, if not entirely to verify, our assertions. No man, we will venture to say, could have written the letters of Madame de Sevigné, or the novels of Miss Austin, or the hymns and early lessons of Mrs. Barbauld, or the conversations of Mrs. Marcet. These performances, too, are not only essentially and intensely feminine, but they are, in our judgment, decidedly more perfect than any masculine productions with which they can be brought into comparison. They accomplish more completely all the ends at which they aim, and are worked out with a gracefulness and felicity of execution which excludes all idea of failure, and entirely satisfies the expectations they may have raised. We might easily have added to these instances. There are many parts of Miss Edgeworth's earlier stories, and of Miss Mitford's sketches and descriptions, and not a little of Mrs. Opie's, that exhibit the same fine and penetrating spirit of observation, the same softness and delicacy of hand, and unerring truth of delineation, to which we have alluded as characterising the pure specimens of fe male art. The same distinguishing traits of a woman's spirit are visible through the grief and the piety of Lady Russell, and the gaiety, the spite, and the venturesomeness of Lady Mary Wortley. We have not as yet much female poetry; but there is a truly feminine tenderness, purity, and elegance, in the Psyche of Mrs. Tighe, and in some of the smaller pieces of Lady Craven. On some of the works of Madame de Staël-her Corinne especially-there is a still deeper stamp of the genius of her sex. Her pictures of its boundless devotedness-its depth and capacity of suffering-its high aspirations-its painful irritability, and inextinguishable thirst for emotion, are powerful specimens of that morbid anatomy of the heart, which |