# Felicia Hemans in The Literary Gazette 1821/To Mrs. Hemans

The Literary Gazette, 7th July 1821
[Being ourselves delighted with the beautiful poem to The Ivy, by Mrs. Hemans, in our No. 231, it is a pleasure to find, that it has made a similar impression on poetical minds. Our last contained a tribute from a bard of the finest sense, and the following congenial lines are from the pen of Mr. B. Barton, whose Muse has raised the Society of Friends among the Children of Song.]-Ed.
TO MRS. HEMANS.
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 drank, I ween,
 Not always sparkles bright!
Nor is it that it hath been twin'd
 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;
Then had I o'er thy temples thrown
 The fading flowers of earth:
And trusting that e'en these—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 themes
 Hast 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 sere!
It is not gloomy—brightly play
 The sunbeams on its glossy green;
And softly on it 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!