Louisa Stuart Costello
Biography of Louisa Stuart Costello
Louisa Stuart Costello (October 9, 1799 – April 24, 1870), author, was born in Paris, France, near the Seine River (per her death certificate).
She had no true home, but wandered place to place staying with friends and acquaintances. Her brother Dudley Costello (b. 1803 in Sussex d. 1865 from liver failure) drank himself to death after the death of his wife.
She wrote over 100 texts, articles, poems, songs and knew such people as Sir Walter Scott, Charles Dickens, Lord Byron, Thomas Moore. She was a poet, historian, journalist, painter and novelist. Her father was Colonel James Francis Costello, who died in April 1814 while fighting Napoleon.
She did not live chiefly in Paris, in fact she did not return to France until after her mother sent for her in 1815/18 and lived chiefly in Paris, where she was a miniature-painter. In 1815 she published The Maid of the Cyprus Isle, etc.
She also wrote books of travel, which were very popular, as were her novels, chiefly founded on French history. Another work, published in 1835, is Specimens of the Early Poetry of France. She died in Boulogne sur Mer, France of mouth cancer.
This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Louisa Stuart Costello; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Louisa Stuart Costello Poems
Lines.—if We Should Ever Meet Again
If we should ever meet again When many tedious years are past;
Lines.—when This Heart Is Cold And Still
When this heart is cold and still, And can throb for thee no more; When it wakes not to the thrill Of the harp's wild chord;
Ye elves! when spangled starlight gleams, That flit beneath the ray, Till morning darts her magic beams And pale night hies away:
His Indian Love To Diogo Alvarez
ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM BAHIA When thou stoodst amidst thy countrymen Our captive and our foe,
Lines.—i Cannot Sleep
I cannot sleep—my nights glide on In one unbroken thought of thee;
Night, On The Sea-Shore
I have fled from all, and none can now My way, my wanderings see;
Song.—oh, Long Enough My Life Has Been
Oh! long enough my life has been, Since I thy love have known; I would not change the pleasing scene, And find its beauties flown.
Lines.—oft On That Latest Star
Oft on that latest star of purest light, That hovers on the verge of morning gray, I gaze, and think of eyes that gleam'd as bright, As fondly linger'd, and yet pass’d away.
Song.—'Tis The Spot Where We Parted
'Tis the spot where we parted— Oh! never again Can its breeze or its blossoms Awake but to pain.
Song Of The Crew Of Diaz
On the Discovery of the Cape of Good Hope, or Cape of Storms
Song.—thy Form Was Fair
Thy form was fair, thine eye was bright, Thy voice was melody;
June The high grass waves, with varied hues
Song For A German Air
Fair stream of the mountain, brightly flowing Between thy fresh margins, gay with flowers, Life's uncertain visions showing; Thus, like thy waters glide past the hours.
Lines.—why Look'D I On That Fatal Line
Why look'd I on that fatal line? Why did I pray that page to see? Too well I knew no word of thine Was fraught with aught but pain to me.
'Tis eve, the sun is sinking in the lake—
The lake, all glorious with his golden beams,
Whose calm clear breast reflects the mountains back
That raise their huge heads to the varied clouds.
The trees and flowers that grow along its banks