John Imlah
John Imlah Poems
It was the spring-time of the year,
When flowers were budding new,
And smiled like fond and trembling hopes,
...
O! Had I an enchanter's wand,
And could con the words of potent spell,
I would hie away to the dreamy land
...
The fair summer flowers
Are faded and flown,
The leaves of the bowers
...
How fondly loves the home-sick heart
To ponder o'er the past,
And pines for scenes then far apart,
To dwell- to die at last;
...
The moon shone calmly bright
Upon the slumb'ring scene,
Ten thousand stars shone out that night,
Around their placid queen;
...
Away! away! we will sail the sea,
To find some sweet and flowery isle,
In the waste of waters, far and free
...
Old Scotland, thou art waste and wild,
And cold the sky above thee;
Yet I have loved thee from a child,
...
The shades of eve are falling
On sunset's rosy air,
The convent bell is calling
...
To sea! to sea! and give the gale,
My jovial freres, the bending sail,
And shape our course through foam and spray,
To other shores- away! away!
...
John Imlah Biography
John Imlah (1799-1846), was a Scottish poet. Imlah was the son of an innkeeper. He was born in Aberdeen on 15 November 1799. On completing his education at the grammar school, he was apprenticed as piano-tuner to a local musicseller, and ultimately secured an appointment in the London house of Messrs. Broadwood. He died of yellow fever on 9 January 1846, at St. James's, Jamaica, whither he had gone on a visit to a brother. Imlah had written poetry from his boyhood, and in 1827 he published `May Flowers,' London, 12mo, which was followed in 1841 by `Poems and Songs,' London, 12mo. He also contributed to Macleod's 'National Melodies' and the 'Edinburgh Literary Journal.')
The Best Poem Of John Imlah
Ellen Mar
It was the spring-time of the year,
When flowers were budding new,
And smiled like fond and trembling hopes,
Through morning's shining dew!
Yet fairer was the blushing cheek,
The blue eye brighter far,
That won the love of many a heart,
That sighed for Ellen Mar.
'Why joins not Ellen in the dance,
The village maiden's trip,
With rapture sparkling in her eye,
And smiling on her lip?'
A seeming stranger question'd thus,
All weary from the war,
'Ah! no, till Ronald Graeme return,
No joy for Ellen Mar.'
Down drops the cloak that wrapp'd his breast,
The cap that veiled his brow,
Rejoice thee, Ellen, for thou art
A happy maiden now.
The morning sun beheld them meet,
And evening's dewy star
Saw Ronald Graeme plight lasting truth
And love to Ellen Mar!
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5/24/2024 3:13:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
