Posts tagged ‘1867’

Wednesday, 14 November 2018

Sonnet by Elbridge Jefferson Cutler

The flag is folded; for the battle’s din,
The cry of trumpet and the blaze of gun,
The thunderous rush of squadrons closing in,
The stifled groan, the triumph-shout, are done.

And Peace is come, with passionless, mild eyes,—
A mother’s eyes, a mother’s tenderness;
Calmed by her touch the weary nation lies,
And feels her dewy breath upon his face.

But Time cannot avail, with all his years,
Some chasms in our riven hearts to fill,
Whence misty memories rise to break in tears,
And ghosts of buried hopes that haunt us still,

Yet bring a kind of joy,—the solemn trust
That form is more than unsubstantial dust.

From: Cutler, Elbridge Jefferson, War Poems, 1867, Little, Brown, and Company: Boston, pp. 46-47.
(https://archive.org/details/warpoems00cutliala/)

Date: 1867

By: Elbridge Jefferson Cutler (1831-1870)

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Thursday, 17 August 2017

Fragment 4 by Simonides of Ceos

Who at Thermopylæ stood side by side,
And fought together and together died,
Under earth-barrows now are laid in rest,
Their chance thrice-glorious, and their fate thrice-blest:
No tears for them, but memory’s loving gaze;
For them no pity, but proud hymns of praise.
Time shall not sweep this monument away—
Time the destroyer; no, nor dank decay.
This not alone heroic ashes holds;
Greece’s own glory this earth-shrine enfolds—
Leonidas, the Spartan king; a name
Of boundless honour and eternal fame.

From: Fitz-Gerald, Maurice Purcell (transl. and ed.), The Crowned Hippolytus of Euripides, Together with a Selection from the Pastoral and Lyric Poets of Greece, Translated into English Verse, 1867, Chapman and Hall: London, p. 211.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=LIQCAAAAQAAJ)

Date: c480 BCE (original in Greek); 1867 (translation in English)

By: Simonides of Ceos (c556-468 BCE)

Translated by: Maurice Noel Ryder Purcell FitzGerald (1835-1877)

Thursday, 31 December 2015

On New Year’s Eve by Frederic(k) Edward Weatherly

We left behind rich lights that cast
A mingled glow about the room;
We left the farewell-words, and past
With lingering footsteps into gloom;
And “Dying,” sang in mournful swells,
The Year is dying,” rang the bells,
On New Year’s eve.

The farewell-words with wishes blent,
Good wishes for the coming year,
That rang, as down the hill we went
Into the village, on our ear;
And “Dying,” sang in mournful swells,
The Year is dying,” rang the bells,
On New Year’s eve.

A merry party, two by two,
Homeward the shining road we prest,
And paused to hear the bells, and view
The stars asleep on heaven’s wide breast.
And “Dying,” sang in mournful swells,
The Year is dying,” rang the bells,
On New Year’s eve.

Not long: and borne by hands unheard,
The dead Year, in his shadowy pall,
Swept heavenwards, and with whispered word
We parted ’neath the garden-wall.
And “Welcome,” sang in joyful swells,
O Year, we hail thee!” rang the bells,
On New Year’s morn.

1867.

From: Weatherly, Frederick Edward, Muriel, The Sea-King’s Daughter; and Other Poems, 1870, T. Shrimpton & Son: Oxford, p. 101-102.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=CbNcAAAAcAAJ)

Date: 1867

By: Frederic(k) Edward Weatherly (1848-1929)

Wednesday, 21 May 2014

O May I Join the Choir Invisible! by George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans)

O may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
Of miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
To vaster issues.

So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing a beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor, anxious penitence is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air;
And all our rarer, better, truer self,
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burden of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better—saw rather
A worthier image for the sanctuary
And shaped it forth before the multitude,
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love—
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread forever.

This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow.

May I reach
That purest heaven—be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.

From: http://www2.hn.psu.edu/faculty/jmanis/geliot/OhMayIJoin.pdf

Date: 1867

By: George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans) (1819-1880)

Friday, 8 March 2013

Failure by Jean Ingelow

We are much bound to them that do succeed;
But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound
To such as fail. They all our loss expound;
They comfort us for work that will not speed,
And life—itself a failure.  Ay, his deed,
Sweetest in story, who the dusk profound
Of Hades flooded with entrancing sound,
Music’s own tears, was failure. Doth it read
Therefore the worse? Ah, no! so much, to dare,
He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne.—
So much to do; impetuous even there,
He pours out love’s disconsolate sweet moan—
He wins; but few for that his deed recall:
Its power is in the look which costs him all.

From: Ingelow, Jean, Poems by Jean Ingelow in Two Volumes, Volume II, 1896, Roberts Brothers: Boston.
(http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/13224/pg13224.html)

Date: 1867

By: Jean Ingelow (1820-1897)

Tuesday, 22 November 2011

Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

From: http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/arnold/writings/doverbeach.html

Date: 1867

By: Matthew Arnold (1822-1888)