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The saffron-elbowed Morning up the slope For, toilingly, each bitter beadle swung,

Of heaven canaries in her jewelled shoes,
And throws o'er Kelly-law's sheep-nibbled top
Her golden apron dripping kindly dews;
And never, since she first began to hop
Up heaven's blue causeway, of her beams
Shone there a dawn so glorious and so gay,
As shines the merry dawn of Anster mar-

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For when the first upsloping ray was flung
On Anster steeple's swallow-harbouring


Even till he smoked with sweat, his greasy


And almost broke his bell-wheel, ushering in The morn of Anster Fair with tinkle-tankling din.

And, from our steeple's pinnacle outspread,
The town's long colours flare and flap on
Whose anchor, blazoned fair in green and red,
Whilst on the boltsprit, stern, and topmast
Curls, pliant to each breeze that whistles by;


Streams the red gaudery of flags in air,
Of brig and sloop, that in the harbour lie,
All to salute and grace the morn of Anster


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And he that gazed with cold unsmitten soul, Its bell and all the bells around were rung That blockhead's heart was ice thrice baked Sonorous, jangling, loud, without a stop;|

beneath the Pole.

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Bernard Barton ward im Jahr 1784 geboren. Er stammte aus einer Quäkerfamilie, weshalb er seine erste Bildung in einem Quäkerseminar genoss, und der Quäkerdichter genannt wurde. Im J. 1806 schlug er seinen Wohnsitz zu Woodbridge in Suffolk auf, wo er in ein Wechselgeschäft trat. 1812 veröffentlichte er einen Band Gedichte anonym, unter dem Titel: Metrical Effusions, welchem 1818 ein anderer Band folgte: Poems by an Amateur. Von seinen Freunden aufgemuntert, wagte er es endlich, ein Bändchen Gedichte unter seinem Namen herauszugeben, welche, von den literarischen Zeitschriften günstig beurtheilt, mehrere Auflagen erhielten. Um das Jahr 1826 veröffentlichte er Napoleon and other Poems". Es sind seitdem mehrere Bände vermischte Gedichte von ihm erschienen, ohne jedoch seinen Ruf als Dichter zu erhöhen. Bernard Barton's Poesie trägt das Gepräge der Lauterkeit, eines frommen Gemüthes und der Milde der Secte an sich, welcher er angehört. Sein Styl ist etwas weitschweifig, im Allgemeinen aber anmuthig, fliessend und leicht, und obschon seine Sprache nicht reich an Gedanken oder originellen Bildern ist, so empfiehlt sie sich doch durch eine Wahrheit der Empfindung und einen natürlichen Ernst der Sitte, welche das Herz gewinnen und die Aufmerksamkeit fesseln.

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But a form full of beauty, of joy, and grace, I love at such an hour to mark

And features with kindness bright, Their beauty greet the night-breeze chill, Such as a Raphael would love to trace; And shine, 'mid shadows gathering dark, A creature of glory and light,

The garden’s glory still,
With a silvery cloud, to chasten each hue
Too radiant else, should arise to view.

For such, 'tis sweet to think the while,

When cares and griefs the breast invade,
Is friendship's animating smile

In sorrow's dark’ning shade.
Stanzas on the Sea.

o'er me,

Oh! I shall not forget, until memory depart, Thus it bursts forth, like thy pale cup, When first I beheld it, the glow of my heart;

Glist’ning amid its dewy tears, The wonder, the awe, the delight that stole And bears the sinking spirit up

Amid its chilling fears. When its billowy boundlessness opened be

fore me. I stood on its margin, or roamed on its strand, But still more animating far, I felt new ideas within me expand,

If meek Religion's eye may trace, of glory and grandeur, unknown till that Even in the glimmering earth-born star,


The holier hope of Grace. And my spirit was mute in the presence of

power! In the surf-beaten sands that encircled it The hope, that as thy beauteous bloom


Expands to glad the close of day, In the billow's retreat, and the breaker's So through the shadows of the tomb

, rebound,

May break forth Mercy's ray. In its white drifted foam, and its dark

heaving green, Each moment I gazed, some fresh beauty

The Solitary Tomb. And that, while I wandered on ocean's bleak


Not a leaf of the tree which stood near me And surveyed its vast surface, and heard

was stirred, its waves roar,

Though a breath might have moved it so I seemed wrapt in a dream of romantic

lightly; delight,

Not a farewell note from a sweet singing And haunted by majesty, glory, and might!

bird Bade adieu to the sun setting brightly.

was seen.

The sky was cloudless and calm, except To the Evening Primrose. In the west, where the sun was descending;

And there the rich tints of the rainbow Fair flower, that shunn'st the glare of day,

slept, Yet lov'st to open, meekly bold,

As his beams with their beauty were To evening's hues of sober gray

blending. Thy cup of paly gold;

And the evening star, with its ray clear, Be thine the offering owing long

So tremulous, soft, and tender, To thee, and to this pensive hour, Had lit up its lamp, and shot down from Of one brief tributary song,

its sphere Though transient as thy flower.

Its dewy delightful splendour.

I love to watch, at silent eve,

Thy scattered blossoms' lonely light, And have my inmost heart receive

The influence of that sight.

And I stood all alone on that gentle hill,

With a landscape so lovely before me; And its spirit and tone, so serene and still,

Seemed silently gathering o'er me.

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Yet in this rude school had his heart still

The Sky-Lark. kept

Bird of the free and fearless wing, All the freshness of gentle feeling;

Up, up, and greet the sun's first ray, Nor in woman's warm eye has a tear ever Until the spacious welkin ring


With thy enlivening matin lay:
More of softness and kindness revealing. I love to track thy heaven-ward lay:

Till thou art lost to aching sight,
And here, when the bustle of youth was past,

And hear thy numbers blithe and gay,

Which set to music morning's light. He lived, and he loved, and he died too; Oh! why was affection, which death could

outlast, A more lengthened enjoyment denied to? Songster of sky and cloud! to thee

Hath Heaven a joyous lot assign'd;

And thou, to hear those notes of glee, But here he slumbers ! and many there are Wouldst seem there in thy bliss to find:

Who love that lone tomb and revere it ; Thou art the first to leave behind And one far off who, like eve's dewy star, At day's return this lower earth, Though at distance, in fancy dwells near it. And, soaring as on wings of wind,

To spring where light and life have birth.

Bird of the sweet and taintless hour,

When dew-drops spangle o'er the lea,
Ere yet upon the bending flower

to William and Mary Howitt.
Has lit the busy humming-bee;
Pure as all nature is to thee

The breath of Spring is stirring in the wood, Thou, with an instinct half divine,

Whose budding boughs confess the genial Wingest thy fearless flight so free

gale; Up toward a yet more glorious shrine.

And thrush and blackbird tell their tender

tale; Bird of the morn! from thee might man,

The hawthorn tree, that leafless long has Creation's lord, a lesson take:

stood, If thou, whose instinct always scan

Shows signs of blossoming; the streamlet's The glories that around thee break,

flood Thus bidd'st a sleeping world awake

Hath shrunk into its banks, and in each

vale To joy and praise; oh! how much more Should mind immortal earth forsake,

The lowly violet, and the primrose pale, A man look upward to adore !

Have lured the bee to seek his wonted

food. Bird of the happy heaven-ward song!

Then up! and to your forest hunts repair, Could but the poet act thy part,

Where Robin Hood once held his revels His soul, up-borne on wings as strong

gay; As thought can give, from might start,

Yours is the greensward smooth, and vocal And with a far diviner art

spray; Than ever genius can supply,

And I, as on your pilgrimage ye fare, As thou the ear, might glad the heart, In all your sylvan' luxuries shall share And scatter music from the sky.

When I peruse them in your minstrel



William Knox wurde 1793 zu Edinburg geboren, wo sein Vater ein angesehener Yeoman (Freisasse) war. Unter dem Herzoge Buccleuch gelang es dem jungen Knox, bedeutenden Pachtereien vorzustehen, so dass er leider zu frühzeitig und unerfahren sein eigner Herr ward, und durch Verschwendung dem_Verderben entgegeneilte. Er verlebte seine letzten Jahre in seines Vaters Hause zu Edinburg, wo er schon 1825 starb. Inmitten seiner jugendlichen Verirrungen hatte er sich doch stets als achtungsvoller Sohn und treuliebender Bruder erwiesen.

Knox war ein Dichter von bedeutendem Talent, wie sich dies aus folgenden seiner geistigen Erzeugnisse ergiebt: The Lonely Hearth; Songs of Israel; The Harp of Zion

Diese seine Dichtungen athmen biblische Einfachheit und Innigkeit der Empfindung. Namentlich giebt der junge Dichter ein schönes Zeugniss von der Tiefe and Fülle seines Herzens, bei einem besonderen Entscheidungspunkt seiner Familiengeschichte, in folgenden Versen:

u. a. m.

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