In St. Sophia the Turkman gets, And loud in air, calls men to prayer, From the tapering summit of tall minarets. Such empty phantom, I freely grant them, But there's an anthem more dear to It's the bells of Shandon, The pleasant waters of the river JOHN STERLING. 1806-1844. [BORN at Kames Castle, Isle of Bute, July 20, 1806; son of Edward Sterling, editor of the London Times; was for a short time on the editorial staff of the Athenæum, afterwards a curate, but soon gave his attention to literary studies and pursuits. Among his works are Arthur Coningsby (1833), The Onyx Ring (1856), Minor Poems (1839), The Election (1841), and Strafford, a drama (1843). Died at Ventnor, Isle of Wight, Sept. 18, 1844.] ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY. O UNSEEN Spirit! now a calm divine Comes forth from thee, rejoicing earth and air! Trees, hills, and houses, all distinctly shine, And thy great ocean slumbers everywhere. The ship's white sail glides onward far away, Unhaunted by a dream of storm or strife. THE SPICE-TREE. THE Spice-Tree lives in the garden green; The mountain ridge against the purple Beside it the fountain flows; [HELEN SELINA SHERIDAN, sister of Caroline Norton and granddaughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, born in 1807; became, in 1825, wife of Hon. Price Blackwood, afterwards Lord Dufferin. Her husband died in 1841, and in 1862 she married the Earl of Gifford. She died June 13, 1867. Her son, the present Earl of Dufferin, is widely known as an accomplished statesman and author. Lady Dufferin was the author of many popular songs and ballads, of which The Irish Emigrant's Lament is the best known.] LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMI GRANT. I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side And the red was on your lip, Mary, The place is little changed, Mary; And the corn is green again; And I still keep list'nin' for the words You nevermore will speak. 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary; I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest, For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; But, O, they love the better still The few our Father sends! And you were all I had, Mary, My blessin' and my pride: There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was LADY NORTON (CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON). 1808-1877. [DAUGHTER of Thomas Sheridan, born in 1808; at the age of nineteen married the Hon. George C. Norton. In 1829 published the Sorrows of Rosalie; the following year achieved her success as a poetess by the production of the Undying One, which the Quarterly Review declared to be worthy of Lord Byron. Subsequent works in prose and poetry obtained a large circulation; her most quoted poem is Bingen on the Rhine. Died June 15, 1877.] |