A widowed father from the holy fount Of Christian sprinkling bore his first-born babe Home through the Sabbath noon. And aye his hand Arranged the garment in a lighter fold…
Thomas Aird was a Scottish poet and long-time newspaper and magazine editor. His best known work was a long, narrative poem in five cantos called The Captive of Fez, which was published in 1830. He was born on the 28th August 1802 at Bowden in the county of Roxburghshire. He came from a modest family background, his father being a local builder. He went to school near his home before going on to complete an undergraduate degree at the University of Edinburgh. Already interested in becoming a writer he sought out the company of fellow writers there, such as James Hogg, Thomas Carlyle and John Wilson. Carlyle remained a close friend throughout his lifetime. He made a little money while at university as a private tutor to the children of a gentleman farmer in Selkirkshire. He had the opportunity to study for the ministry on completion of his degree but expressed a preference for a literary career. His first published work was in 1824, a book called Martzoufle: a Tragedy in Three Acts, with other Poems. It received virtually no critical attention but he persevered, often submitting articles for publication in Blackwood”s Magazine, including a series of essays under the title Religious Characteristics. Written in 1827, these were highly charged with religious fervour and were reviewed in “laudatory terms” by one Professor Wilson. Aird’s enthusiasm paid off in 1830 with The Captive of Fez receiving much critical acclaim. Two years later he took over the editorship of the Edinburgh Weekly Journal from previous incumbent, the late James Ballantyne. He filled this post for only one year though and then, in 1835, he was appointed editor of the Dumfriesshire and Galloway Herald. Here he remained for the next 28 years, only relinquishing the post on retirement. Naturally he used this medium as an outlet for some of his own poetry. He also showcased some of his prose in the paper, an example being a descriptive piece featuring a typical Scottish character with observations of the passing seasons. This was called Old Bachelor in the Scottish Village. When published in book form it proved very popular and ran to two editions. A second collection of his poetry was published in 1848, and this anthology was well received by both readers and critics alike, enhancing his reputation considerably. Fellow poet Thomas Carlyle remarked that in these poems One of his most poignant pieces was a poem called My Mother’s Grave and here is the first verse from it: From 1852 onwards Aird’s health declined and he limited his writing to submissions to the Dumfriesshire and Galloway Herald only. He retired as editor in 1863, at the age of 61, but he lived for a further thirteen years. Aird never married and, in general, lived a fairly simple life. Not for him the grand tours of Europe that so many writers undertook at that time, preferring instead to remain close to home at all times. Thomas Aird died on the 28th April 1876 at the age of 73. He was buried in St. Michael”s churchyard, Dumfries.
Thomas Aird şiirleri
The Bow was on the East: One horn descending on a snow-white flock Of lambs at rest upon a sleek hill-side, The other showered its saffron and its blue…
VISION THIRD There stood a ruined house! In days of other years, perchance, within…
VISION FOURTH That father died neglected, and in death With struggling love were mingled bitter thoughts—…
The Patriarch mild, who mused at evening-tide, Saw blessings come: they who with ordered feet Go forth like him, their blessings too shall meet,— Beauty, and Grace, and Peace, harm…
'Tis now the silent night: the full-orbed moon Hangs in the depth of blue; scarce shine the stars, Drowned in her light; the valleys of the earth Are filled and flooded with a silv…
Yon ridge of trees against the frosty east Of Morn, how thin, how fine, how spiritualised Their fringe of naked branches, and of twigs, Distinct, though multitudinous and small!…
Creep out and in, and shiver all the day. But take the country wide, conquer the cold, And in your frost-fed flush of blood enjoy The glowing triumph of consummate health:…
The lights of joy at midnight hour Were up in ancient Babylon. Beauty and Pleasure, Pride and Power, Were gathered round Belshazzar's Throne.…
A sunburst of heaven Smote that Mountain of Wonder, With its summit all riven In the ranges of thunder:…
Behold Zenone, as she sits by night, All pale and pensive, robed in virgin white! Her chief of eunuchs came; absorbed in thought, Her eyes she raised not, and she saw him not.…
Those shouts proclaim the village school is out. This way and that, the children break in groups; Some by the sunny stile, and meadow path, Slow sauntering homeward; others to the…
'Twas midnight hour—in that deep hour Proud lights were up in Babylon; Each palace-hall was pleasure's bower, Yet sat the king as if alone:…
Thunder-palls through gorges trailing, In their skirts the raven sailing; Slanting shafts of showery light Strike, wet and warm, the woodlands bright,—…
High mission theirs and blest! the Prophets share Jehovah's mind, Jehovah's word they bear From land to land, to peoples and to kings, Borne fear-defying on the Spirit's wings.…
15 / 98 gösteriliyor