Of soft green light, as by the glow-worm shed,
Came pouring through the woven beech-boughs down.”
Many years after, in the sonnet “To a Distant Scene,” she addresses, with a fond yearning, this well-remembered haunt:–
“Still are the cowslips from thy bosom springing,
O far-off grassy dell!”
How many precious memories has she hung round the thought of the cowslip–that flower, with its “gold coat” and “fairy favours” which is, of all others, so associated with the “voice of happy childhood,” and was to her ever redolent of the hours when her
“Heart so leapt to that sweet laughter’s tone!”
Another favourite resort was the picturesque old bridge over the Clwyd, and when her health (which was subject to continual variation, but was at this time more robust than usual) admitted of more aspiring achievements, she delighted in roaming to the hills; and the announcement of a walk to Cwm,[1] a remote little hamlet, nestled in a mountain hollow, amidst very lovely sylvan scenery, about two miles from Rhyllon, would be joyously echoed by her elated companions, to whom the recollection of these happy rambles must always be unspeakably dear. Very often, at the outset of these expeditions, the party would be reinforced by the addition of a certain little Kitty Jones, a child from a neighbouring; cottage, who had taken an especial fancy to Mrs. Hemans, and was continually watching her movements. This little creature never saw her without at once attaching herself to her side, and confidingly placing its tiny hand in hers. So great was her love for children, and her repugnance to hurt the feelings of any living creature, that she never would shake off this singular appendage, but let little Kitty rejoice in her “pride of place,” till the walk became too long for her capacity, and she would quietly fall behind of her own accord.–Memoir, p. 87–93.]
- ↑ Pronounced “Coom.”
