born, a.d. 1794. died, a.d. 1835.

AMONGST her many gifted daughters there is not one which Ireland has greater reason to feel proud of than the subject of this sketch. There is no record of any other Irishwoman—save the “Speranza” of our own day and the “Psyche” of three-quarters of a century ago–having so successfully wooed the Muse. Few writers have been so fortunate in their literary careers as was Felicia Dorothea Hemans. Adverse or unjust criticism was a thing she had but little experience of, save when—at the early age of eleven—she published her first volume of poems, for in after years the reviewers seemed to have banded together to endeavour to find expressions strong enough illustrative of their admiration of her genius. She was essentially a Christian poet, and in perusing her voluminous works the reader cannot fail to be impressed by her marvellous perception of the true and the beautiful. These attributes, added to her extreme womanliness, constitute the chief charms of her poetry. Whatever subject she descanted upon, or whatever scene she described, her metaphors are always of refined and exceeding beauty. Her moral perceptions were so pure and noble that she seemed to shed a heavenly radiance upon the earthly subjects of her verse. All her poetry—from her very earliest efforts—has a tinge of sadness prevading it; as though she ever realised the fleeting nature of earthly beauty.