Posts tagged ‘1871’

Saturday, 14 May 2022

The Song of the Sirens by Alexander Stuart Strachan/Strahan

Come where the woods are wooing
With fragrant flowers and fair;
Come where the doves are cooing
Love notes on every air.

Come where the wave is strewing
With pink-lipped shells the shore;
Come where the tide is flowing
O’er golden-sanded floor.

Come where the sunlight straying
Mellows us as we swim;
Come where the waters playing
Dimple each rosy limb.

Come to us, come where never
North wind unkindly blows;
Come to us, come and ever
Here in our arms repose.

Come where no storms are breaking,
Come where  no tempests rend;
Come where love knows no waking,
Come where love knows no end.

From: Strachan, A., “The Song of the Sirens” in The Dark Blue, Volume 1, Issue 2, 1 April 1871, p. 189.

Date: 1871

By: Alexander Stuart Strachan/Strahan (1833-1918)

Friday, 10 August 2018

The Haunted Shore by Wathen Mark Wilks Call

I walk’d at sunset by the lonely waves,
When Autumn stood about me, gold and brown;
I watch’d the great red Sun, in clouds, go down,
An orient King, that ‘mid his bronzèd slaves
Dies, leaning on his sceptre, with his crown.
A hollow moaning from innumerous caves,
In green and glassy darkness sunk below,
Told of some grand and ancient deed of woe,
Of murdered kings that sleep in weltering graves.
Still thro’ the sunshine wavering to and fro,
With sails all set, the little vessels glide;
Mild is the Eve and mild the ebbing Tide,
And yet that hollow moaning will not go,
Nor the old Fears that with the sea abide.

From: Call, Wathen Mark Wilks, Golden Histories, etc., 1871, Smith, Elder & Co.: London, p. 257.

Date: 1871

By: Wathen Mark Wilks Call (1817-1890)

Tuesday, 29 October 2013

The Doomed Ship by William Morris

The doomed ship drives on helpless through the sea,
All that the mariners may do is done
And death is left for men to gaze upon,
While side by side two friends sit silently;
Friends once, foes once, and now by death made free
Of Love and Hate, of all things lost or won;
Yet still the wonder of that strife bygone
Clouds all the hope or horror that may be.

Thus, Sorrow, are we sitting side by side
Amid this welter of the grey despair,
Nor have we images of foul or fair
To vex, save of thy kissed face of a bride,
Thy scornful face of tears when I was tried,
And failed neath pain I was not made to bear.


Date: 1871

By: William Morris (1834-1896)

Friday, 26 October 2012

Vanitas by Jane Francesca Agnes (Elgee) Wilde

The glory of Life is fleeting;
Its splendour passeth away,
As the tints and odours meeting
In the flowers we twined to‐day.

How brightly, in varied light,
They reflected the morning sun;
But the chilling dews of the night
Withered them one by one.

So the stream of Existence floweth
O’er the golden sands of youth,
In the light of a joy that gloweth
From the depths of its love and truth.

But heavy, and cold, and fast,
The gathering clouds uprise,
Eclipsing the light, which cast
On the waters a thousand dyes.

And onward, in sullen endeavour,
Like a stream in a sunless cave,
It floweth in darkness ever:
Yet—could we thus reach the grave!

But we wake to a sorrow deeper—
The knowledge of all we have lost;
And the light grows fainter and weaker
As we’re borne from youth’s sunny coast.

Yet onward with drifting motion,
Still farther from life and light;
Around us a desert Ocean—
Above us eternal Night.

From: Wilde, Lady, Poems. The Brothers. A Scene from ’98, 1871, Cameron & Ferguson: Glasgow, pp. 80-81.

Date: 1871

By: Jane Francesca Agnes (Elgee) Wilde (1821-1896)

Friday, 10 February 2012

The Owl and The Pussy-Cat by Edward Lear

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
    In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
    Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
    And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
      What a beautiful Pussy you are,
          You are,
          You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
    How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
    But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
    To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
    With a ring at the end of his nose,
          His nose,
          His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

‘Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
    Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’
So they took it away, and were married next day
    By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
    Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
    They danced by the light of the moon,
          The moon,
          The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.


Date: 1871

By: Edward Lear (1812-1888)