James Brunton Stephens
James Brunton Stephens was a Scottish-born Australian poet, author of Convict Once.
Stephens was born at Borrowstounness, on the Firth of Forth, Scotland; the son of John Stephens, the parish schoolmaster, and his wife Jane, née Brunton. J. B. Stephens was educated at his father's school, then at a free boarding school and at the University of Edinburgh from 1849 to 1854 without obtaining a degree. For three years he was a travelling tutor on the continent, and from 1859 became a school teacher in Scotland. While teaching at Greenock Academy in Greenock, Stephens wrote some minor verse and two short novels ('Rutson Morley' and 'Virtue Le Moyne') which were ... more »
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James Brunton Stephens Poems
Hark how the tremulous night-wind is passing in joy-laden sighs; Soft through my window it comes, like the fanning of pinions angelic, Whispering to cease from myself, and look out on the infinite skies.
De mortuis nil ni- Si bonum: R.I.P.:— No more upbraid him:— Nay, rather plead his cause
The night was creeping on the ground; She crept and did not make a sound Until she reached the tree, and then She covered it, and sole again
A Son Of The Soil
Said the Preacher “All is Vanity!”—appending as a reason That the things we find our pleasure in are bound to pass and pall;
Maker of earth and sea, What shall we render Thee? All things are Thine! Ours but from day to day
King Billy's Skull.
THE scene is the Southern Hemisphere; The time — oh, any time of the year Will do as well as another; say June,
Born Before His Time
Brown was weeping; likewise cursing; and with amplitude of reason; For a letter had been handed him that very afternoon
A Brisbane Reverie
As I sit beside my little study window, looking down From the heights of contemplation (attic front) upon the town
1 IT was the time when geese despond, And turkeys make their wills; The time when Christians, to a man,
Macaulay's New Zealander
It little profits that, an idle man, On this worn arch, in sight of wasted halls, I mope, a solitary pelican,
A Coin Of Trajan In Australia
Through what strange winding ways of circumstance, Through what conspiracies of time and chance, By what long chain of hands, from his who pressed
I. Biggs was missing: Biggs had vanished; all the town was in a ferment; For if ever man was looked to for an edifying end, With due mortuary outfit, and a popular interment,
Knowest thou now, O Love! Oh pure from the death of thy summer of sweetness! Seest thou now, O new-born Delight of the Ransomed and Free!
The Dark Companion
There is an orb that mocked the lore of sages Long time with mystery of strange unrest; The steadfast law that rounds the starry ages Gave doubtful token of supreme behest.
Comments about James Brunton Stephens
Hark how the tremulous night-wind is passing in joy-laden sighs;
Soft through my window it comes, like the fanning of pinions angelic,
Whispering to cease from myself, and look out on the infinite skies.
Out on the orb-studded night, and the crescent effulgence of Dian;
Out on the far-gleaming star-dust that marks where the angels have trod;
Out on the gem-pointed Cross, and the glittering pomp of Orion,
Flaming in measureless azure, the coronal jewels of God;
Luminous streams of delight in the silent ...