Images de page

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-

[blocks in formation]

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


Description of the Heroine.

Her form was as the Morning's blithesome star,

That, capped with lustrous coronet of

The fair Earth laughs through all her bound-Rides up the dawning

less range,

[blocks in formation]

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



orient in her car, New-washed, and doubly fulgent from the streams

The Chaldee shepherd eyes her light afar,

And on his knees adores her as she gleams; So shone the stately form of Maggie Lauder, And so the admiring crowds pay homage and applaud her.

Each little step her trampling palfrey took,

Shaked her majestic person into grace, And as at times his glossy sides she strook Endearingly with whip's green silken lace, (The prancer seemed to court such kind rebuke,

Loitering with wilful tardiness of pace),
By Jove, the very waving of her arm
Had power a brutish lout, to unbrutify and


Her face was as the summer cloud, where on
The dawning sun delights to rest his rays!
Compared with it, old Sharon's vale, o'er-

With flaunting roses, had resigned its
For why? Her face with heaven's own roses
Mocking the morn, and witching men to

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;l

beneath the Pole.

[blocks in formation]


Wo to the man on whom she unaware
Did the dear witchery of her eye elance!
'Twas such a thrilling, killing, keen regard
May Heaven from such a look preserve each

tender bard!

So on she rode in virgin majesty,
And with the light and grandeur of her eye
Charming the thin dead air to kiss her lips,
Shaming the proud sun into dim eclipse;
While round her presence clustering far and

On horseback some, with silver spurs and

Her eye was as an honoured palace, where
A choir of lightsome Graces frisk and
And some afoot with shoes of dazzling buckles,
What object drew her gaze, how mean soe'er, Attended knights, and lairds, and clowns
Got dignity and honour from the glance;
with horny knuckles.


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.


What is it that stills the sigh of Sorrow,
And forbids her tears to flow?

That allows the desolate-hearted to borrow

A transient relief from woe?

It is thou, sweet Sleep! Oh then listen to me!
Be it but in thy dreams, while I sing of thee.

Could I embody the thoughts which now
Pass my soul's living tablet over,
No being more lovely and fair than thou

Not deathly and pale, like a spectre stealing
Before mortal eye could hover:
On the slumb'rer, whose eyes thy power
is sealing;

[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

Sun, and moon, and stars shine o'er thee,
See thy surface ebb, and flow;
Yet attempt not to explore thee
In thy soundless dephts below.

Whether morning's splendours steep thee
With the rainbow's glowing grace;
Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee,
"Tis but for a moment's space.


[ocr errors]

her valleys, and her mountains, Mortal man's behests obey;

Thy unfathomable fountains

Scoff his search, and scorn his sway.

Such art thou

stupendous Ocean! But if overwhelm'd by thee, Can we think without emotion What must thy Creator be?

The Sky-Lark.

Bird of the free and fearless wing,
Up, up, and greet the sun's first ray,
Until the spacious welkin ring

With thy enlivening matin lay:
I love to track thy heaven-ward lay:
Till thou art lost to aching sight,
And hear thy numbers blithe and gay,
Which set to music morning's light.

Songster of sky and cloud! to thee

Hath Heaven a joyous lot assign'd; And thou, to hear those notes of glee, Wouldst seem there in thy bliss to find: Thou art the first to leave behind

At day's return this lower earth, 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
Has lit the busy humming-bee;
Pure as all nature is to thee

Thou, with an instinct half divine,
Wingest thy fearless flight so free

Up toward a yet more glorious shrine.

Bird of the morn! from thee might man,
Creation's lord, a lesson take:
If thou, whose instinct always scan
The glories that around thee break,
Thus bidd'st a sleeping world awake

To joy and praise; oh! how much more
Should mind immortal earth forsake,
A man look upward to adore!

Bird of the happy heaven-ward song!
Could but the poet act thy part,
His soul, up-borne on wings as strong
As thought can give, from might start,
And with a far diviner art

Than ever genius can supply,

As thou the ear, might glad the heart,
And scatter music from the sky.

[blocks in formation]


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

[ocr errors]
« PrécédentContinuer »