Posts tagged ‘1834’

Tuesday, 13 June 2017

Sonnet I by John Herman Merivale

Yon party zealot, ignorant as warm,
Has taunted me with change—a charge untrue.
I ne’er was one with that deceitful crew,
Who mean Destruction when they roar ” Reform;”
My purpose ever to prevent the storm
‘Tis theirs to excite. The wholesome air I drew
With my first breath was Loyalty. I grew
In childhood reverence of her sacred form:
And, as she beam’d upon my youthful eye,
Link’d with her mountain sister Liberty,
In holiest union, all the more she won
My love and worship; and so made me shun
The fellowship of those who madly try
To rend asunder what heaven join’d in one.

From: Merivale, John Herman, Poems, Original and Translated, Volume 2, 1838, William Pickering: London, pp. 296-297.

Date: 1834

By: John Herman Merivale (1779-1844)

Sunday, 5 January 2014

Strew the Way with Flowers by Ludwig Christoph Heinrich Hölty

O strew the way with rosy flowers,
And dupe with smiles thy grief and gloom!
For tarnished leaves and songless hours
Await thee in the tomb.
Lo, in the brilliant festal hall
How lightly youth and beauty tread!
Yet, gaze again : the grass is tall
Above their charnel bed.

In blaze of noon the jewelled bride
Before the altar plights her faith :
Ere weep the skies of eventide
Her eyes are dulled in death.
Then sigh no more. If life be brief,
So are its woes ; and why repine?
Pavilioned bv the linden leaf.
We’ll quaff the chaliced wine.

Wild music from the nightingale
Comes floating on the loaded breeze.
To mingle in the bowery vale
With hum of summer bees;
Then taste the joys that God bestows,
The beaded wine, the faithful kiss!
For while the tide of pleasure flows.
Death bares his black abyss.

In vain the zephyr’s breath perfumes
The house of death ; in vain its tones
Shall mourn at midnight round the tombs
Where sleep our blackening bones.
The star-bright bowl is broken there.
The witchery of the lute is o’er.
And, wreck of wrecks! there lie the fair
Whose beauty wins no more.

From: Mangan, James Clarence, His Selected Poems with a study by the editor Louise Imogen Guiney, 1897: Lamson, Wolffe and Company: Boston and New York, pp. 213-14.

Date: 1776 (German); 1834 (translated)

By: Ludwig Christoph Heinrich Hölty (1748-1776)

Translated by: James Clarence Mangan (1803-1849)

Monday, 13 February 2012

The Owl Disturbs the Bard’s Sleep by Dafydd Ap Gwilym

Wretched owlet! worthless bird!
Always are her accents heard;
She must ever wail and cry―
While the stars are in the sky!
I can never rest or sleep
For the noise she loves to keep!
With the bat she lives together,
In the rainy―snowy weather!
Every day my ear she tears
With her shrieks and hideous airs―
Every night all slumber flies
(At her wild salute) my eyes;
I am vexed the long night through,
With her vile “to-hoo to-hoo!”
I believe that with these yells,
She the dogs of night impels!
Filthy and untoward fowl,
With fat head, and hideous howl,
Forehead broad, and ruddy breast―
Foe of mice, with mouse-hued vest!
Worthless thing with formal port,
Dingy hue, and leafy court;
With demure and solemn face―
Goblin of the feathered race!

Her each bird a buffet gives―
It is strange that still she lives!
More she utters on the hill,
Than the nightingale―at night;
But in hollow tree, she still
Guards her head―in the day-light!
Bird of Gwyn ap Neath! too long,
Her unseemly form I’ve known;
Dolt of darkness! whose harsh song
By the thieves is deemed their own;
How I hate her luckless tone!

Never shall I want a lay,
Though her voice were far away.
Firebrands, till the frost is past,
In each ivy-bush I’ll cast!

From: Gwilym, Dafydd ap, Translations into English verse from the poems of Dafydd ap Gwilym, a Welsh bard of the fourteenth century, 1834, Henry Hooper: London, pp. 76-77. (

Date: 1834 (published)

By: Dafydd ap Gwilym (c1320-c1380)