Posts tagged ‘1876’

Friday, 10 May 2019

Sleep by Joseph Ellis

Thief of the mind — he, at the term of toil,
Serpent-like creeps upon the jaded sense
Till, when no longer we can make defence,
He doth us bind ; anon we crack the coil.
Fresh as an amaranth the trickster foil
And, with renascent courage, chase him thence!
Ah, then eftsoons his wiles will recommence.
So of nigh half our days he doth us spoil:
O life no life — O death not death indeed.
Is there not joy unsought and love unfound.
Know we all sights and sounds in Nature’s store,
Do not our thoughts new thoughts for ever breed?
Rise, as the dormouse or the drowsy hound,
Sleep we, and sleep, and sleep — to wake no more?

From: Ellis, Joseph, Caesar in Egypt, Costanza, and Other Poems, Third Edition, 1885, Reeves & Turner: London, p. 153.

Date: 1876

By: Joseph Ellis (1815-1891)

Sunday, 15 January 2017

Light on the Clouds by Augusta Theodosia Drane

I question not their vision keen
Who scan the pure transparent air
To mark each cloudlet floating there
As stains upon the pure serene.

Such gauzy films are veils, they say,
That come between us and our end;
And human lovings do but tend
To hide the greater Love away.

They count the heart a heap of dust
To chasten only and deny:
I know them holier far than I,
And yet I hold another trust.

For I have seen those cloudlets shine
With glory blazoned from above,
And I have known a human love
Reflect on earth a ray divine.

From: Drane, Augusta Theodosia, Songs in the Night and Other Poems, 2nd Edition, 1887, Burns & Oates: London and Catholic Publication Society Co: New York,, pp. 137-137.

Date: 1876

By: Augusta Theodosia Drane (1823-1894)

Wednesday, 10 June 2015

Home by Dorothy (Dora) Greenwell

Two birds within one nest;
Two hearts within one breast;
Two spirits in one fair,
Firm league of love and prayer,
Together bound for aye, together blest.

An ear that waits to catch
A hand upon the latch;
A step that hastens its sweet rest to win:
A world of care without,
A world of strife shut out,
A world of love shut in.

From: Greenwell, Dora, Poems by Dora Greenwell (Selected) with an Introduction by William Dorling, 1889, Walter Scott: London, p. xxiv.

Date: 1876

By: Dorothy (Dora) Greenwell (1821-1882)

Friday, 22 May 2015

The Werewolf by Mary Anne Grueber Watson Sealy Bushby

‘Twas at the middle hour of night;
And though the moon gave her pale light,
O’er the haunted wood a thick mist hung
And the wind was howling its leaves among.
In a cart along that way so wild
A peasant was driving his wife and child.

“For the fairy folks thou need’st fear not,
They dance ‘neath the moon on yon green spot.
Should the screech-owl cry from yonder marsh
Say a prayer, nor heed its voice so harsh.
Whate’er thou seest, be not afraid,
But clasp the child,” the father said.

“Forward, old horse! Behind yon tree
Our church’s steeple I can see.
Get on! But hold, a moment stop–
The linch-pin is about to drop;
‘Tis crack’d–I’ll cut a stick, my dear;
Hold fast the child, and have no fear!”

An hour alone she might have sat,
When a noise she heard–“Oh, what is that?”
Lo! a coal-black hound! She sees and knows
The werewolf! while his teeth he shows,
And glares upon her child, she flings
Her apron o’er it as he springs.

His sharp teeth bite it; but she cries
To God for help, away he flies.
Her arms the helpless babe enfold,
She sits like a statue, pale and cold.
But soon her husband’s by her side,
And onwards now they safely ride.

Arrived at home, a light is brought;
She starts, as with some horrid thought:
“What? Husband! husband! can these be
Threads hanging from thy teeth I see?
Thou art thyself a werewolf then!”
“Thy words,” he said, “have set me free again!”


Date: 1876

By: Mary Anne Grueber Watson Sealy Bushby (1802-1876)

Monday, 12 January 2015

To Mr. Butt by Samuel Ferguson

Isaac, the generous heart conceives no ill
From frank repulse. The marriage-suit denied
Turns love to hatred only where ’tis Pride,
Not true Love, woos: Love holds her lovely still,
Let sharp Remembrance bring what stings it will;
And when he sees her children by her side,
For her, for them, for him with them allied,
Blessings and prayers the manly breast will fill.
Lovely she stands, though she has said thee nay,
And sad expectance clothes her brow in gloom,
While guardians tyrannous withhold her dower;
Now shows the soul’d magnanimous assay,
And when her day in that High Court shall come,
Plead in your old love’s cause with double power.

From: Ferguson, Samuel, Poems of Sir Samuel Ferguson with an Introduction by Alfred Perceval Graves, M.A., 1918, Phoenix Publishing Company Ltd: Dublin, p. 104.

Date: 1876

By: Samuel Ferguson (1810-1886)

Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Sonnet by Oliver Madox Brown

No more these passion-worn faces shall men’s eyes
Behold in life. Death leaves no trace behind
Of their wild hate and wilder love, grown blind
In desperate longing, more than the foam which lies
Splashed up awhile where the showered spray descries
The waves whereto their cold limbs were resign’d;
Yet ever doth the sea-wind’s undefin’d
Vague wailing shudder with their dying sighs.
For all men’s souls ‘twixt sorrow and love are cast
As on the earth each lingers his brief space,
While surely nightfall comes where each man’s face
In death’s obliteration sinks at last
As a deserted wind-tossed sea’s foam-trace–
Life’s chilled boughs emptied by death’s autumn-blast.

From: Rossetti, William M. and Hueffer, F. (eds), The Dwale Bluth, Hebditch’s Legacy and Other Literary Remains of Oliver Madox Brown, 1876, Tinsley Brothers: London, p. 285.

Date: 1876

By: Oliver Madox Brown (1855-1874)

Tuesday, 10 September 2013

Time by John William Inchbold

Ask Time, swift-footed, to return again,
Would flowers he gathered shine with morning dew.
And touch our hearts as once they used to do?
Would lover’s kisses now move joy as then,
Or woods and fields give keenest rapture more,
Could mountains upward draw our wearied feet,
Where for companions clouds alone we meet?
Dare joy walk with us on the ocean shore?
If Time revived would any know his face?
Rejoice to see his overburdened back,
Or talk with perfect freedom as of old. —
The weight of memory helps not now the race.
Through deadened sight we miss the early track.
For Time’s fierce fires at last like ours grow cold.

From: Inchbold, J W, Annus Amoris, 1876, H S King & Co: London, p. 42.

Date: 1876

By: John William Inchbold (1830-1888)

Friday, 20 July 2012

Beethoven by John Todhunter

Music as of the winds they awake,
Wailing, in the mid forest; music that raves
Like moonless tides about forlorn sea-caves
On desolate shores, where swell weird songs, and break
In peals of demon laughter; chords athirst
With restless anguish of divine desires―
The voice of a vexed soul ere it aspires
With a great cry for light; anon a burst
Of passionate joy―fierce joy of conscious might.
Down-sinking in voluptuous luxury;
Rich harmonies full-pulsed with deep delight,
And melodies dying deliciously
As odorous sighs breathed through the quiet night
By violets.  Thus Beethoven speaks for me.

From:  Todhunter, John. Laurella and Other Poems, 1876, Henry & King & Co: London,p. 219.

Date: 1876

By: John Todhunter (1839-1916)