Posts tagged ‘1890’

Thursday, 2 June 2022

Rouse Thee, Wes’tralia: Proclamation Song by Henry Ebenezer Clay

Rouse thee, Wes’tralia! Awake
From thy “Swan’s nest among the reeds;”
Cast thy broad shadow on the lake,
And strongly glide where Fortune leads!

Chorus: Onward! Onward, Wes’tralia!

Let eaglets o’er their quarry scream,—
The vulture’s brood may tear and slay,—
Thou wakest from prophetic dream
Of offspring goodlier than they!


Thy sturdy cygnets from thy side
With glancing feet scull fast and far;
They press their bosoms to the tide,
And stretch bold wings beyond the bar.


Their pennons with the breezes float
And follow fast where Fortune leads;
Till by green holms and bays remote
Are found new nests among the reeds.


Their song (for onset, not for dirge)
Shall flood the creeks of broader ways,
And, with the music of the surge,
Swell the full chant of better days.


Thy seas have pearls; from reef and mine
Flash jewels and the pride of gold:
But goodlier far those sons of thine,
Famous in story yet untold.


God and the Right thy watchword be;
Patient, yet strong to do and dare;
And thine assessors, brave and free,
Labour and Vigilance and Prayer!

Chorus: Onward! Onward, Wes’tralia!

From: H.E.C., Rouse Thee, Wes’tralia: Proclamation Song, 1890, Sands & McDougall: Perth.

Date: 1890

By: Henry Ebenezer Clay (1844-1896)

Thursday, 10 June 2021

A Dead March by William Cosmo Monkhouse

Play me a march, low-ton’d and slow—a march for a silent tread,
Fit for the wandering feet of one who dreams of the silent dead,
Lonely, between the bones below and the souls that are overhead.

Here for a while they smil’d and sang, alive in the interspace,
Here with the grass beneath the foot, and the stars above the face,
Now are their feet beneath the grass, and whither has flown their grace?

Who shall assure us whence they come, or tell us the way they go?
Verily, life with them was joy, and, now they have left us, woe,
Once they were not, and now they are not, and this is the sum we know.

Orderly range the seasons due, and orderly roll the stars.
How shall we deem the soldier brave who frets of his wounds and scars?
Are we as senseless brutes that we should dash at the well-seen bars?

No, we are here, with feet unfix’d, but ever as if with lead
Drawn from the orbs which shine above to the orb on which we tread,
Down to the dust from which we came and with which we shall mingle dead.

No, we are here to wait, and work, and strain our banish’d eyes,
Weary and sick of soil and toil, and hungry and fain for skies
Far from the reach of wingless men, and not to be scal’d with cries.

No, we are here to bend our necks to the yoke of tyrant Time,
Welcoming all the gifts he gives us—glories of youth and prime,
Patiently watching them all depart as our heads grow white as rime.

Why do we mourn the days that go—for the same sun shines each day,
Ever a spring her primrose hath, and ever a May her may;
Sweet as the rose that died last year is the rose that is born to-day.

Do we not too return, we men, as ever the round earth whirls?
Never a head is dimm’d with gray but another is sunn’d with curls;
She was a girl and he was a boy, but yet there are boys and girls.

Ah, but alas for the smile of smiles that never but one face wore;
Ah, for the voice that has flown away like a bird to an unseen shore;
Ah, for the face—the flower of flowers—that blossoms on earth no more.


Date: 1890

By: William Cosmo Monkhouse (1840-1901)

Tuesday, 24 September 2019

Peace. A Study by Charles Stuart Calverley

He stood, a worn-out City clerk —
Who’d toil’d, and seen no holiday,
For forty years from dawn to dark —
Alone beside Caermarthen Bay.
He felt the salt spray on his lips;
Heard children’s voices on the sands;
Up the sun’s path he saw the ships
Sail on and on to other lands;
And laugh’d aloud. Each sight and sound
To him was joy too deep for tears;
He sat him on the beach, and bound
A blue bandana round his ears
And thought how, posted near his door,
His own green door on Camden Hill,
Two bands at least, most likely more,
Were mingling at their own sweet will
Verdi with Vance. And at the thought
He laugh’d again, and softly drew
That Morning Herald that he’d bought
Forth from his breast, and read it through.


Date: 1890

By: Charles Stuart Calverley (1831-1884)

Saturday, 29 June 2019

In These Dark Waters by Maeda Ringai

In these dark waters
drawn up from
my frozen well…
glittering of spring.

From: Beilenson, Peter (ed. and transl.), Japanese Haiku, 1955, Peter Pauper Press: Mount Vernon, New York, p. 7.

Date: c1890 (original in Japanese); 1955 (translation in English)

By: Maeda Ringai (1864-1946)

Translated by: Peter Beilenson (1905-1962)

Monday, 20 February 2017

Paradise Lost by Frances Wynne

Fair at my feet the lake of Como lies;
I hear its murmurous ripples ebb and flow.
Around me, ranging proudly row on row,
The dreamy purple-crested mountains rise.
All bright before me when I lift my eyes
Stands quaint Varenna in the sun a-glow;
And everywhere the crowding roses blow
In this most perfect place, this paradise.

And yet my wayward thoughts will not be bound,
Nor rest at all in this enchanted ground;
They wander forth far over land and sea.
And through the London streets in chill and gloom
They thread their way to some one, wanting whom
Even Paradise is Paradise Lost for me.

Menaggio, May, 1890.

From: Wynne, Frances, Whisper!, 1893, Elkin Mathews and John Lane: London, p. 54.

Date: 1890

By: Frances Wynne (1863-1893)

Saturday, 5 September 2015

I Vex Me Not with Brooding on the Years by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

I vex me not with brooding on the years
That were ere I drew breath: why should I then
Distrust the darkness that may fall again
When life is done?    Perchance in other spheres–
Dead planets–I once tasted mortal tears,
And walked as now among a throng of men,
Pondering things that lay beyond my ken,
Questioning death, and solacing my fears.
Ofttimes indeed strange sense have I of this,
Vague memories that hold me with a spell,
Touches of unseen lips upon my brow,
Breathing some incommunicable bliss!
In years foregone, O Soul, was all not well?
Still lovelier life awaits thee.    Fear not thou!


Date: 1890

By: Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836-1907)

Saturday, 6 September 2014

The Woman in the Moon by Alexander Bathgate

A Maori Legend

High in the dull blue heaven the round-faced moon,
Paling the twinkling stars, looks calmly down
On Rona hast’ning from the slumb’ring town
Towards the lake, —her path nigh bright as noon—
To fetch fresh water, which her mother craves,
She bears a vessel: now she stays a space,
To view the mirrored moon’s reflected face;
But as she stoops she falls into the waves,
Misled by the deceptive moon’s pale ray:
She rising curses his illusive light.
Then from the heaven swoops down the god of night,
And seizing Rona, bears her quick away.
Though parted from her friends she’s still in sight.
For in the moon she will be seen always.

From: Bathgate, Alexander, Far South Fancies, 1890, Griffith Farran Okeden & Welsh: London, p. 65.

Date: 1890

By: Alexander Bathgate (1845-1930)

Wednesday, 20 August 2014

Renunciation by Oscar Fay Adams

Nay, friend, farewell! for if I loved you less,
It might be I should strive to hold you fast
In bonds of friendship you had long o’erpast,
And play the tyrant where I hoped to bless.
Yet, since my love still pleads, I fain would press
Once more your hand e’en while I seem to cast
It coldly from me with these words at last,–
I may not keep and you may not possess!

Sweet friend, believe me, it is better so,–
To part while love finds yet no cause for grief
In slowly-waning faith, lest haply you
Should one day find some flaw in me you knew
Not of, and I through tears should watch you go,
Knowing your soul in mine had lost belief.


Date: 1890

By: Oscar Fay Adams (1855-1919)

Friday, 20 December 2013

Spring Goeth All in White by Robert Seymour Bridges

Spring goeth all in white,
Crowned with milk-white may:
In fleecy flocks of light
O’er heaven the white clouds stray:

White butterflies in the air;
White daisies prank the ground:
The cherry and hoary pear
Scatter their snow around.

From: Bridges, Robert, The Shorter Poems of Robert Bridges, 1890, George Bell & Sons: London, p. 71.

Date: 1890

By: Robert Seymour Bridges (1844-1930)

Saturday, 6 April 2013

The Ballad of Lydia Pinkham by Traditional

Let us sing (let us sing) of Lydia Pinkham
The benefactress of the human race.
She invented a vegetable compound,
And now all papers print her face,

O, Mrs Brown could do no housework,
O, Mrs Brown could do no housework,
She took three bottles of Lydia’s compound,
And now there’s nothing she will shirk (she will shirk),

Mrs Jones she had no children,
And she loved them very dear.
So she took three bottles of Pinkham’s
Now she has twins every year.

Lottie Smyth ne’er had a lover,
Blotchy pimples caused her plight;
But she took nine bottles of Pinkham’s–
Sweethearts swarm about her each night.

Oh Mrs Murphy (Oh Mrs Murphy)
Was perturbed because she couldn’t seem to pee
Till she took some of Lydia’s compound
And now they run a pipeline to the sea!

And Peter Whelan (Peter Whelan)
He was sad because he only had one nut
Till he took some of Lydia’s compound
And now they grow in clusters ’round his butt.


Date: c1890

By: Traditional