Jean Ingelow

Jean Ingelow Poems

Old Albion sat on a crag of late,
And sung out—'Ahoy! ahoy!
Long life to the captain, good luck to the mate,
And this to my sailor boy

Subject given—'Light and Shade.'

She stepped upon Sicilian grass,
Demeter's daughter fresh and fair,

I took a year out of my life and story—
A dead year, and said, 'I will hew thee a tomb!
'All the kings of the nations lie in glory;'

One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;

Haply some Rajah first in ages gone
Amid his languid ladies finger'd thee,
While a black nightingale, sun-swart as he,
Sang his one wife, love's passionate orison:

Living child or pictured cherub
Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace;
And the mother, moving nearer,

While ripening corn grew thick and deep,
And here and there men stood to reap,
One morn I put my heart to sleep,

Come up the broad river, the Thames, my Dane,
My Dane with the beautiful eyes!
Thousands and thousands await thee full fain,
And talk of the wind and the skies.

When sparrows build, and the leaves break forth,
My old sorrow wakes and cries,
For I know there is dawn in the far, far north,

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers ran by two, by three;
'Pull, if ye never pulled before;

Laura, my Laura! 'Yes, mother!' 'I want you, Laura; come down.'
'What is it, mother—what, dearest? O your loved face how it pales!
You tremble, alas and alas—you heard bad news from the town?'
'Only one short half hour to tell it. My poor courage fails—

When I hear the waters fretting,
When I see the chestnut letting
All her lovely blossom falter down, I think, “Alas the day!”
Once with magical sweet singing,


There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in heaven:
I've said my 'seven times' over and over,

The yellow poplar leaves came down
And like a carpet lay,
No waftings were in the sunny air
To flutter them away;

We reached the place by night,
And heard the waves breaking:
They came to meet us with candles alight
To show the path we were taking.

Marvels of sleep, grown cold!
Who hath not longed to fold
With pitying ruth, forgetful of their bliss,
Those cherub forms that lie,

The white broom flatt'ring her flowers in calm June weather,
'O most sweet wear;
Forty-eight weeks of my life do none desire me,
Four am I fair,'

An empty sky, a world of heather,
Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom;
We two among them wading together,

Above the head of great Methuselah
There lay two demons in the opened roof
Invisible, and gathered up his words;
For when the Elder prophesied, it came

Grand is the leisure of the earth;
She gives her happy myriads birth,
And after harvest fears not dearth

Jean Ingelow Biography

Jean Ingelow was an English poet and novelist. Early Life and Education Born at Boston, Lincolnshire, she was the daughter of William Ingelow, a banker. As a girl she contributed verses and tales to magazines under the pseudonym of Orris, but her first (anonymous) volume, A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings, did not appear until her thirtieth year. This was called charming by Tennyson, who declared he should like to know the author; they later became friends. Writings Jean Ingelow followed this book of verse in 1851 with a story, Allerton and Dreux, but it was the publication of her Poems in 1863 which suddenly made her a popular writer. They ran rapidly through numerous editions and were set to music, proving very popular for English domestic entertainment. In the United States, her poems obtained great public acclaim. In 1867 she published The Story of Doom and other Poems, and then gave up verse for a while and became industrious as a novelist. Off the Skelligs appeared in 1872, Fated to be Free in 1873, Sarah de Berenger in 1880, and John Jerome in 1886. She also wrote Studies for Stories (1864), Stories told to a Child (1865), Mopsa the Fairy (1869), and other stories for children. Mopsa the Fairy, about a boy who discovers a nest of fairies and discovers a fairyland while riding on the back of a pelican) was one of her most popular works (it was reprinted in 1927 with illustrations by Dorothy Lathrop). Anne Thaxter Eaton, writing in A Critical History of Children's Literature, calls the book "a well-constructed tale", with "charm and a kind of logical make-believe."[1] Her third series of Poems was published in 1885. The last years of her life were spent in Kensington, and she outlived her popularity as a poet. Collected poems Her poems, collected in one volume in 1898, have often the genuine ballad note, and her songs were exceedingly successful. Sailing beyond Seas and When Sparrows build in Supper at the Mill were among the most popular songs of the day; but they share, with the rest of her work, the faults of affectation and stilted phraseology. Her best-known poem was High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire. The blemishes of her style were cleverly indicated in a well-known parody (Lovers, and a Reflexion) by Charles Stuart Calverley; a false archaism and a deliberate assumption of unfamiliar and unnecessary synonyms for simple objects were among the worst of her mannerisms. Postmodern novelist Gilbert Sorrentino, in his satirical novel Blue Pastoral (1983), lampooned her Supper at the Mill, a poem cast in the form of a dramatic vignette, as "Supper at the Kind Brown Mill." She wrote, however, with a sweetness of sentiment, and in prose she displayed feeling for character and the gift of narrative; a delicate underlying tenderness is never wanting in either medium. She was a woman of frank and hospitable manners, with a look of the Lady Bountiful of a country parish. She had nothing of the professional authoress or the literary lady about her, and, as with characteristic simplicity she was accustomed to say, was no great reader. Her temperament was rather that of the improvisatore than of the professional author or artist. Ingelow died in 1897 and is buried in Brompton Cemetery, London.)

The Best Poem Of Jean Ingelow

A Sea Song

Old Albion sat on a crag of late,
And sung out—'Ahoy! ahoy!
Long life to the captain, good luck to the mate,
And this to my sailor boy!
Come over, come home,
Through the salt sea foam,
My sailor, my sailor boy.

'Here's a crown to be given away, I ween,
A crown for my sailor's head,
And all for the worth of a widowed queen,
And the love of the noble dead,
And the fear and fame
Of the island's name
Where my boy was born and bred.

'Content thee, content thee, let it alone,
Thou marked for a choice so rare;
Though treaties be treaties, never a throne
Was proffered for cause as fair.
Yet come to me home,
Through the salt sea foam,
For the Greek must ask elsewhere.

' 'T is pity, my sailor, but who can tell?
Many lands they look to me;
One of these might be wanting a Prince as well,
But that's as hereafter may be.
She raised her white head
And laughed; and she said
'That's as hereafter may be.'

Jean Ingelow Comments

Sayyeda Insha Rani 19 July 2017

Nice poem sir

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