Bernard Barton

Bernard Barton Poems

FOR Scotland's and for freedom's right
The Bruce his part had played,
In five successive fields of fight
Been conqured and dismayed;
...

BEAUTIFUL, sublime, and glorious;
Mild, majestic, foaming, free, -
Over time itself victorious,
Image of eternity!
...

I walk'd the fields at morning's prime,
The grass was ripe for mowing;
The skylark sang his matin chime,
...

LAMP of our feet whereby we trace
Our path when wont to stray;
Stream from the fount of heav'nly grace,
...

Pour your tears wild and free - balm best and holiest!
Fallen is the lofty tree, low as the lowliest;
...

Bernard Barton Biography

Bernard Barton (31 January 1784 – 19 February 1849) was known as the Quaker poet. Born of Quaker parentage in London, educated at a Quaker school in Ipswich, passed nearly all his life at Woodbridge, for the most part as a clerk in a bank. His wife died at the end of their first year of marriage. He became the friend of Southey, Lamb, and other men of letters. His chief works are The Convict's Appeal published in 1818 (see 1818 in poetry), a protest against the severity of the criminal code of the time, and Household Verses published in 1845 (see 1845 in poetry), which came under the notice of Sir R. Peel, through whom he obtained a pension of £100. With the exception of some hymns, his works are now nearly forgotten, but he was a most amiable and estimable man—simple and sympathetic. His best known hymns are Lamp of our feet, whereby we trace, Walk in the light, so shalt thou know, Fear not, Zion's sons and daughters, Hath the invitation ended?, See we not beyond the portal?, Those who live in love shall know. His daughter Lucy, who married Edward Fitzgerald, the translator of Omar Khayyám, published a selection of his poems and letters, to which her husband prefixed a biographical introduction.)

The Best Poem Of Bernard Barton

Bruce And The Spider

FOR Scotland's and for freedom's right
The Bruce his part had played,
In five successive fields of fight
Been conqured and dismayed;
Once more against the English host
His band he led, and once more lost
The meed for which he fought;
And now from battle, faint and worn,
The homeless fugitive forlorn
A hut's lone shelter sought.

And cheerless was that resting-place
For him who claimed a throne:
His canopy devoid of grace,
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed, -
Yet well I ween had slumber fled
From couch of eider-down!
Through darksome night till dawn of day,
Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay
Of Scotland and her crown.

The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,
And tinged with light each shapeless beam
Which roofed the lowly shed;
When, looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try
His filmy thread to fling
From beam to beam of that rude cot;
And well the insect's toilsome lot
Taught Scotland's future king.

Six times his gossamery thread
The wary spider threw;
In vain the filmy line was sped,
For powerless or untrue
Each aim appeared, and back recoiled
The patient insect, six times foiled,
And yet unconquered still;
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.

One effort more, his seventh and last!
The hero hailed the sign!
And on the wished-for beam hung fast
That slender, silken line;
Slight as it was, his spirit caught
The more than omen, for his thought
The lesson well could trace,
Which even 'he who runs may read,'
That Perseverance gains its meed,
And Patience wins the race.

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