James Brunton Stephens

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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.


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

De mortuis nil ni-
Si bonum: R.I.P.:—
No more upbraid him:—
Nay, rather plead his cause

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

THE scene is the Southern Hemisphere;
The time — oh, any time of the year
Will do as well as another; say June,

Brown was weeping; likewise cursing; and with amplitude of reason;
For a letter had been handed him that very afternoon

IT was the time when geese despond,
And turkeys make their wills;
The time when Christians, to a man,

It little profits that, an idle man,
On this worn arch, in sight of wasted halls,
I mope, a solitary pelican,

Through what strange winding ways of circumstance,
Through what conspiracies of time and chance,
By what long chain of hands, from his who pressed

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!

“Inasmuch as ye gave ear unto the sighing
Of the least of these the children of my care,—
Of your love from death redeemed them, or in dying
Stood between them and the shadow of despair;—

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.

A speck went blowing up against the sky
As little as a leaf: then it drew near
And broadened. -- ' It's a bird,' said I,

What happier haunt could the gods allot
For loftiest musing to sage or bard?—
Yet I would that this upper verandah did not
Look down on my beautiful Neighbour's Back-yard!

Just to miss it by a hair's breadth! Nay, not miss it! To have held it
In my hand, and ofttimes through my fingers run the swarthy ore!

KING AHASUERUS in his palace at Shu-Shàn
Gave a feast unto his princes, Tarshish, Meres, Memucàn,
And some others whose outlandish names it boots not to rehearse—

Where is thy dwelling-place? Echo of sweetness,
   Seraph of tenderness, where is thy home?
Angel of happiness, herald of fleetness,
   Thou hast the key of the star-blazon'd dome.

Upon the orient utmost of the land,
Enfranchised of the world, alone, and free,
I stood; before me, and on either hand,
The interminable solace of the sea.

James Brunton Stephens Biography

James Brunton Stephens was a Scottish-born Australian poet, author of Convict Once. Early life 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 published in Sharpe's London Magazine in 1861-63. Career in Australia Stephens migrated to Queensland, Australia, in 1866 possibly for health reasons. He was a tutor with the Barker family of squatters at Tamrookum station for some time and in 1870 entered the Queensland education department. He had experience as a teacher at Stanthorpe and was afterwards in charge of the school at Ashgrove, near Brisbane. Representations were then made to the premier, Sir Thomas McIlwraith, that a man of Stephens's ability was being wasted in a small school, and in 1883 a position was found for him as a correspondence clerk in the colonial secretary's department. He afterwards rose to be undersecretary to the chief secretary's department. Before coming to Australia Stephens had done a little writing for popular magazines, and in 1871 his first volume of poems, Convict Once, was published by Macmillan and Company, which immediately proclaimed him to be an Australian poet of importance. In 1873 a long poem, The Godolphin Arabian, was published. These were followed by The Black Gin and other Poems, 1873, and Miscellaneous Poems, 1880. The first collected edition of his poems was published in 1885, others followed in 1888, 1902 and 1912. Of these the 1902 edition is the most complete. After Stephens entered the colonial secretary's department in 1883 he was unable to do much literary work though he wrote occasionally for the press. He was suffering for some time from angina pectoris before his sudden death on 29 June 1902. He married on 10 November 1876, Rosalie Mary Donaldson, who survived him with four daughters and one son. Poetic critique Stephens was a man of medium height "with the face of a poet". Simple and natural in manner, he was modest about his own work. His over-sensitiveness to the sufferings of others made it difficult for him to resist appeals for charity to the extent of damaging his own fortunes. He was sometimes exuberant and full of humour, though occasionally the pendulum swung the other way. His sense of duty kept him working during his last illness to the end. No doubt his official papers exercised his literary talent, but it was not the best preparation for poetry of which he wrote little in later years. However, though new men were arising, he remained the representative man of letters in Australia until his death. His witty and humorous light verse is very good. Despite all changes of fashion, such poems as "The Power of Science" and "My other Chinese Cook", can still evoke laughter. The Godolphin Arabian in the metre and style of Byron's Beppo goes on its pleasant rhyming way for about three thousand lines and is still readable, but as it is not included in any collected edition, will be forgotten. Convict Once, remains one of the few long Australian poems of merit, technically it is a lesson to those writers who think it is easy to write in a long metre. Much of his other verse is admirable in its simplicity and dignity. He remained a Briton and there is little trace of his adopted country in his poetry, but his poems on federation "The Dominion of Australia" and "The Dominion" have the restrained enthusiasm that belongs to true patriotism. Perhaps if there had been less restraint and more of the surge of emotion, Stephens might have been a better poet, but his place among nineteenth century Australian men of letters will always be an honoured one. Apart from his poetry, he published a short novel, A Hundred Pounds, the libretto of an opera, and a few poetry pamphlets not already mentioned are listed in Percival Serle's Bibliography of Australasian Poetry and Verse.)

The Best Poem Of 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 immensity flowing,
   Journeying surgelessly on through impalpable ethers of peace.
How can I think of myself when infinitude o'er me is glowing,
   Glowing with tokens of love from the land where my sorrows shall cease?

Oh, summer-night of the South! Oh, sweet languor of zephyrs love-sighing!
   Oh, mighty circuit of shadowy solitude, holy and still!
Music scarce audible, echo-less harmony joyously dying,
   Dying in faint suspirations o'er meadow, and forest, and hill!

I must go forth and be part of it, part of the night and its gladness.
   But a few steps, and I pause on the marge of the shining lagoon.
Here then, at length, I have rest; and I lay down my burden of sadness,
   Kneeling alone 'neath the stars and the silvery arc of the moon.

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