Posts tagged ‘1813’

Monday, 12 June 2017

The High Immortal Gods are Free by Bacchylides

The high immortal gods are free
From taint of man’s infirmity;
Nor pale diseases round them wait,
Nor pain distracts their tranquil state.

From: Merivale, John Herman, Poems, Original and Translated, Volume 1, 1838, William Pickering: London, p. 238.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=lsZJAAAAIAAJ)

Date: 5th century BCE (original in Greek); 1813 (translation in English)

By: Bacchylides (5th century BCE)

Translated by: John Herman Merivale (1779-1844)

Sunday, 27 April 2014

After a Season of Storm by Edward Thurlow

Yet I am weary of this restless woe,
This hubbub in the empire of the air,
That storm on storm doth still engender so,
As if the skies were never to be fair;
Forsooth the Earth, that is to ruin heir,
‘Gin to avise her ancient heritage,
And, having wrestled long with blust’ring care,
In shaking with infirmity of age:
Or, otherwise, let this alternate stage
Pass to sweet mirth from woeful tragedy;
Too long it has been rent with warlike rage,
Lacking the softer voice of comedy:
In timely change our true affections lie;
Grief without end will make e’en Virtue die!

From: http://spenserians.cath.vt.edu/TextRecord.php?action=GET&textsid=35885

Date: 1813

By: Edward Thurlow (1781-1829)

Saturday, 30 June 2012

Kind Love Is A Lightsome Thing by Allan Cunningham

What lifts the heart of youthood gay?
What thowes the frost of dotage gray?
What charms the hermitage and town?
‘Tis love that warms the world aroun’.

The mavis loves the breath of spring,
That mirth and music back does bring;
And builds his nest, and loud doth sing,
“Kind love is a lightsome thing.”

With love the grasshopper made bold,
Plumes his crisp’d wings of green and gold;
And on the sunward bank reclin’d,
Chirms amorous in the sunny wind.

The damsel who could hearken cold,
To wonders which of love were told;
Now listens sweet, and answers kind,
Loves pleasant trouble fills her mind.

Dear then by burn banks and by bow’rs,
To sit and wooe ‘mang new come flow’rs;
And hold, with beauteous damsel kind,
Delicious commerce of the mind.

But, ah! more dear is winter cold,
When snow-wreaths lie on height and hold;
In darkest shade to tryste our maid,
And lock her in love’s warmest fold.

Some lovers court with letters brade,
Some with rich tokens wooe their maid;
And some in short love grips will wooe,
And that’s the kindliest way to do.

From: Cunningham, Alan, Songs: Chiefly in the Rural Language of Scotland, 1813, Smith & Davy: London, pp. 55-56.
(http://books.google.com.au/books?id=od8IAAAAQAAJ&pg=PA3&dq=allan+cunningham+songs&hl=en&sa=X&ei=fsDJT_GtJKmQiQfd44zVBg&ved=0CDsQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q&f=false)

Date: 1813

By: Allan Cunningham (1784-1842)