Posts tagged ‘1864’

Sunday, 18 March 2018

Nor Fifty, Nor Fifteen as Brides are Dear by Onestes

Nor fifty, nor fifteen as brides are dear;
The last I pity and the first revere.
Dried grapes, or green I like not; the ripe fruit,
Luscious and lovely, best with Cypria suit.

From: MacGregor, Robert Guthrie, Greek Anthology, with Notes, Critical and Explanatory, ?1864, Nissen & Parker: London, p. 78.

Date: ? BCE (original in Greek); ?1864 (translation in English)

By: Onestes (? BCE)

Translated by: Robert Guthrie MacGregor (1805-1869)

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

The First Meeting of Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere by Sallie Bridges

The Lady Guinevere was crown’d,
And all Prince Arthur’s Table Round
Their fealty came to yield.
She sat, the very fairest queen
That England’s realm had ever seen,
Beside the bravest king, I ween,
E’er handled weapon sharp and keen
Or sceptre learn’d to wield.

The golden circlet jewell’d rare
Shone through the wealth of braided hair
That wreathed her perfect head;
With crimson robe and snowy vest,
And gems on arms and rounding breast,
It seem’d to every knightly guest
To be a hope supremely blest
For her his blood to shed.

As one by one their bearded lips
Just press’d her slender finger-tips,
In token of their zeal,
She bore her part with regal grace,
That show’d the throne was fitting place
For blood of Leodegraunce’s race;
And who before such peerless face
Would hesitate to kneel?

But when, unhelmeted and tall,
Sir Launcelot trode across the hall
And bow’d before the throne,
A sudden meeting of their eyes
Quick caused the eddying blood to rise,
To flush her cheek with richer dyes,
Each echoing the other’s sighs,
As his hand touch’d her own.

And thus, an instant, all forgot
Was royal mien and queenly lot
In joy of passion’s birth;
The heart-pulse leapt through all her frame;
Love’s dawning broke in rosy flame
Of blushing clouds that went and came
As Launcelot vow’d henceforth her name
Should be his star on earth!

A moment, and the spell was o’er:
The woman was a queen once more,
And Launcelot, loyal knight;
But ever through that festal day,
Mid tournament or mock-mêlée,
Their glances caught each other’s ray;
And Arthur praised her that alway
Her blushes were so bright!

From: Bridges, Sallie, Marble Isle, Legends of the Round Table and Other Poems, 1864, J. P. Lippincott and Co: Philadelphia, pp. 167-169.

Date: 1864

By: Sallie Bridges (?-?)

Friday, 28 June 2013

Reproach Reproved by Henry Taylor

Reproach me not; for if my love run high,
Unjust complainings may well drain it dry:
Reproach me not; if love run low, reproach
Did never yet set dried-up love abroach.

From: Taylor, Henry, The Poetical Works of Henry Taylor, Volume III, 1864, Chapman and Hall, Piccadilly: London, p. 248.

Date: 1864

By: Henry Taylor (1800-1886)

Sunday, 19 February 2012

I Am by John Clare

I am! yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost.

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
And e’en the dearest–that I loved the best–
Are strange–nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil’d or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below–above the vaulted sky.


Date: 1864

By: John Clare (1793-1864)

Sunday, 20 November 2011

Life is but a Dream by Charles Dodgson

A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear

Long has paled that sunny sky;
Echoes fade and memories die;
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die;

Ever drifting down the stream
Lingering in the golden gleam
Life, what is it but a dream?


Date: 1864

By: Charles Dodgson (1832-1898) (pen name Lewis Carroll)