She lov'd to hold communion with the night When none were near, and to the golden stars Pour forth the silent breathings of a soul, Bright as their beams,--and pure, as that far sk…
Eliza Acton was a 19th century English poet and pioneer of cookery writing. Her books on kitchen arts, including detailed recipes with cooking times, were for the benefit of those cooking in their own homes as opposed to professional chefs. Isabella Beeton followed her example much later and made a great commercial success of her venture. She was born Elizabeth Acton in the south coast Sussex town of Battle on the 17th April 1788. Her mother produced five children and her father was a brewer in Suffolk. The family moved to Ipswich when Eliza was still a baby. She went to school there and, in 1816, was the co-founder of a school for girls in Claydon, a small town just to the north of Ipswich. Poor health prevented her from making it a long-term commitment and she left after four years. She then decided to live in France for a time where she began writing poetry. A collection of her work was published under the title Poems in 1826, by which time she had returned to England. The verses were mostly about unrequited love and she achieved some success with it, resulting in a reprint of the book only weeks after going on sale. Much of her poetry was of a soulful, romantic nature and a good example is the following poem, simply titled Gertrude: She wrote longer poems as well and one was printed in 1838. It was called and then, four years later, she wrote another longer piece called This was written to commemorate the first visit by Queen Victoria to Scotland. Miss Acton was also a popular cookery writer and her book which was published in 1845, was the culmination of a number of years of research and experimentation on her part. Friends contributed recipes to supplement her own and, for the first time, people were given detailed information on specific quantities of ingredients and cooking times. It was a unique publication and became a standard in homes for many years. Others followed her lead, perhaps the most famous among those being Isabella “Mrs” Beeton. The object of such books was to make domestic tasks, not just cooking, into more of a science. Mrs Beeton took Miss Acton’s ideas much further with her famous published in 1861. The modern-day English cookery writer, Delia Smith, called Acton Her first book was still being printed and sold as late as 1914. Her success as a writer encouraged her to move to Hampstead in north London and to pursue other literary projects. Unfortunately, due to poor health, she only produced one more title and this was a comprehensive study on the art of bread making called This was published in 1857 and gave detailed instructions on how to make a variety of types of bread along with an extensive history of bread-making through the ages. Unfortunately the success that she achieved with Modern Cookery was not repeated. Eliza Action died on the 13th February 1859 at the age of 59 and was buried in Hampstead. Acton died in 1859, at just 59 years old.
Eliza Acton şiirleri
A shadow, dark as death, o'er shrouds the beams Of my pale birth-star !--it so long hath hung Between the light of happiness, and me, That I am chill'd with its cold gloominess…
Where is he now?--that mightiest one, whose name Was still the spell-word of the fray,--the sound Which led his legions on untir'd, to win Their thousand fights ;--the man whose da…
MANY a graven gem, beset With gold, is worn as an amulet In the far-off climes of the East,--a charm To preserve the bosom from grief and harm.…
To win, beloved Caroline from thee, One thought, in years when we shall sever'd be-- --Sever'd, perchance, by those deep waves, which pour Their billowy murmurs round our native sh…
On to the field my banners bear, I shall not long delay! One last kiss from my lady fair,-- One bright curl of her silken hair,--…
Come to my grave when I am gone, And bend a moment there alone; It will not cost thee much of pain To trample on my heart again--…
Forgive thee!--yes--when ev'ry cord Which binds my soul to earth, is broken; When scarce I hear the whisper'd word, By gentlest tongues around me, spoken.…
She knelt in pray'r before th' eternal throne Of the Most High,--her streaming eyes uprais'd,-- Her white hands clasp'd convulsively,--her cheek, With the heart's passion pale. She…
Go, cold and fickle trifler! go-- And bear thy traitor-smiles afar, Where none, like me, too well shall know, How hollow, and how vain, they are.…
I know how vain it is to mourn O'er blighted hopes, and friendship fled; How yet more vain it is, to turn With sorrow to the slumb'ring dead.…
I linger oft beneath thy ray, Young Queen of Heaven! at day's decline, And muse on pleasures past away, And happier hours, which once were mine.…
I love thee, as I love the calm Of sweet, star-lighted hours! I love thee, as I love the balm Of early jes'mine flow'rs.…
It were dishonouring now--or I Could weep in hopeless misery, O'er the dark tale, which links thy name To perfidy, and deepest shame;…
They said, the words I lov'd to hear Were whisper'd in another's ear, With that sweet smile, and tender tone, With which thou mad'st my heart thine own,…
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