James Lionel Michael

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

James Lionel Michael Poems

Through pleasant paths, through dainty ways,
   Love leads my feet;
Where beauty shines with living rays,
   Soft, gentle, sweet;
...

IF, as they tell in stories old,
The waters of Pactolus roll’d
Over a sand of shifting gold;
...

"Death is to us change, not consummation."
Heart of Midlothian.

A change! no, surely, not a change,
...

James Lionel Michael Biography

James Lionel Michael was an Anglo-Australian solicitor and poet. Early Life Michael was born in Red Lion Square, London, the second son of James Walter Michael, a solicitor, and his wife, Rose Lemon née Hart. Michael told his friend Joseph Sheridan Moore, that the passage on page 12 of John Cumberland, beginning "My earliest memory", gives an exact picture of his childhood. After visiting Europe, Michael was articled to his father and began to mix in artistic and literary society. Sheridan Moore states that Michael became friendly with Millais and Ruskin, and published a pamphlet which made some stir at the time, vindicating the position of the pre-Raphaelite brotherhood. Moore also says that though "always temperate and abstemious in his habits he had a talent for frittering away his money". This could have been one of the reasons for his migration to Australia. Australia Michael arrived in New South Wales on 30 July 1853 and practised as a solicitor with some success. He became friendly with Joseph Sheridan Moore who introduced him to Henry Kendall, whom he afterwards took into his office and "treated as an affectionate elder brother would a younger one". In 1857 Michael published Songs without Music, a collection of lyrics, and in 1860 John Cumberland, a long, largely autobiographical poem. In 1861 he moved to Grafton on the Clarence River and for a time practised successfully; but towards the end of his life he appears to have made enemies and was in financial difficulties. In 1864, Michael was legally separated from his wife. On the evening of Sunday 26 April 1868 Michael went for a walk dressed in a great-coat, cap and galoshes; two days later his body was found floating in the Clarence River.The medical evidence stated that there was a deep cut over the right eye "such as might be produced by falling on a broken bottle". The coroner's jury returned an open verdict, and although a set of verses Michael had written a few weeks before suggested to some people that he had contemplated suicide, the possibility of this was indignantly denied by his friend, Sheridan Moore, who declared that the evidence suggested either foul play or accident, rather than suicide. Michael married in 1854 and was survived by a son. He died heavily in debt. Michael wrote musical verse, some of which has been included in Australian anthologies. His long poem, John Cumberland, contains some good passages, however has many patches of prose. Though a minor Australian poet, Michael's encouragement of the young Kendall gives him a special interest. His friends said he had a charming personality.)

The Best Poem Of James Lionel Michael

`through Pleasant Paths'

Through pleasant paths, through dainty ways,
   Love leads my feet;
Where beauty shines with living rays,
   Soft, gentle, sweet;
The placid heart at random strays,
And sings, and smiles, and laughs and plays,
And gathers from the summer days
   Their light and heat,
That in its chambers burn and blaze
   And beam and beat.

I throw myself among the ferns
   Under the shade,
And watch the summer sun that burns
   On dell and glade;
To thee, my dear, my fancy turns,
In thee its Paradise discerns,
For thee it sighs, for thee it yearns,
   My chosen maid;
And that still depth of passion learns
   Which cannot fade.

The wind that whispers in the night,
   Subtle and free,
The gorgeous noonday's blinding light,
   On hill and tree,
All lovely things that meet my sight,
All shifting lovelinesses bright,
Speak to my heart with calm delight,
   Seeming to be
Cloth'd with enchantment, robed in white,
   To sing of thee.

The ways of life are hard and cold
   To one alone;
Bitter the strife for place and gold --
   We weep and groan:
But when love warms the heart grows bold;
And when our arms the prize enfold,
Dearest! the heart can hardly hold
   The bliss unknown,
Unspoken, never to be told --
   My own, my own!

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