The South Wind: A Fisherman's Blessings

O blessed drums of Aldershot!
    O blessed South-west train!
O blessed, blessed Speaker's clock,
    All prophesying rain!

O blessed yaffil, laughing loud!
    O blessed falling glass!
O blessed fan of cold gray cloud!
    O blessed smelling grass!

O bless'd South wind that toots his horn
    Through every hole and crack!
I'm off at eight to-morrow morn,
    To bring such fishes back!

Eversley, April 1, 1856.

Charles Kingsley

Charles Kingsley was an English writer, historian, and clergyman born on June 12, 1819, in Holne, Devon. He was associated with the Christian Socialist movement and was a friend of prominent figures such as Charles Darwin. Kingsley is best known for his historical novels, including 'Westward Ho!' and 'Hypatia,' as well as his children's book 'The Water-Babies.' His works often explore social issues and aim to contribute to societal reform. Kingsley died on January 23, 1875, in Eversley, Hampshire.

Charles Kingsley

The Invitation: To Tom Hughes

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

Old And New: A Parable

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

Drifting Away: A Fragment

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

A Christmas Carol

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

English

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Ode To The North-East Wind

Welcome, wild North-easter.
    Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
    Ne'er a verse to thee.
Welcome, black North-easter!
    O'er the German foam;
O'er the Danish moorlands,
    From thy frozen home.
Tired we are of summer,
    Tired of gaudy glare,
Showers soft and steaming,
    Hot and breathless air.
Tired of listless dreaming,
    Through the lazy day:
Jovial wind of winter
    Turns us out to play!
Sweep the golden reed-beds;
    Crisp the lazy dyke;
Hunger into madness
    Every plunging pike.
Fill the lake with wild-fowl;
    Fill the marsh with snipe;
While on dreary moorlands
    Lonely curlew pipe.
Through the black fir-forest
    Thunder harsh and dry,
Shattering down the snow-flakes
   ...

Charles Kingsley

The Three Fishers

Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
    Away to the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
    And the children stood watching them out of the town;
    For men must work, and women must weep,
    And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
    Though the harbour bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
    And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
    And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.
    But men must work, and women must weep,
    Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
    And the harbour bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
    In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
...

Charles Kingsley

A Song Of The Yorkshire Dales

A song I sing o' t' Yorkshire dales,
    That winnd frae t' moors to t' sea;
Frae t' breast o' t' fells, wheer t' cloud-rack sails,
    Their becks flow merrily.
Their banks are breet wi' moss an' broom,
    An' sweet is t' scent o' t' thyme;
You can hark to t' bees' saft, dreamy soom(1)
    I' t' foxglove bells an' t' lime.

                                Chorus
O! Swawdill's good for horses, an' Wensladill for cheese,
    An' Airedill fowk are busy as a bee;
            But wheersoe'er I wander,
            My owd heart aye grows fonder
O Whardill, wheer I'll lig me down an' dee.

Reet bonny are our dales i' March,
    When t' curlews tak to t' moors,
There's ruddy buds on ivery larch,
    Primroses don their floors.
But bonnier yet when...

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The Tide River

    Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool;
    Cool and clear, cool and clear,
By shining shingle, and foaming wear;
Under the crag where the ouzel sings,
And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings,
    Undefiled, for the undefiled;
    Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

    Dank and foul, dank and foul,
    By the smoky town in its murky cowl;
    Foul and dank, foul and dank,
    By wharf and sewer and slimy bank;
Darker and darker the farther I go,
Baser and baser the richer I grow;
    Who dare sport with the sin-defiled?
    Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.

    Strong and free, strong and free,
    The floodgates are open, away to the sea.
    Free and strong, free and stron...

Charles Kingsley

The Delectable Day

The boy on the famous gray pony,
    Just bidding good-bye at the door,
Plucking up maiden heart for the fences
    Where his brother won honour of yore.

The walk to 'the Meet' with fair children,
    And women as gentle as gay, -
Ah! how do we male hogs in armour
    Deserve such companions as they?

The afternoon's wander to windward,
    To meet the dear boy coming back;
And to catch, down the turns of the valley,
    The last weary chime of the pack.

The climb homeward by park and by moorland,
    And through the fir forests again,
While the south-west wind roars in the gloaming,
    Like an ocean of seething champagne.

And at night the septette of Beethoven,
    And the grandmother by in her chair,
And the foot of all feet...

Charles Kingsley

A Word with the Wind

Lord of days and nights that hear thy word of wintry warning,
Wind, whose feet are set on ways that none may tread,
Change the nest wherein thy wings are fledged for flight by morning,
Change the harbour whence at dawn thy sails are spread.
Not the dawn, ere yet the imprisoning night has half released her,
More desires the sun's full face of cheer, than we,
Well as yet we love the strength of the iron-tongued north-easter,
Yearn for wind to meet us as we front the sea.
All thy ways are good, O wind, and all the world should fester,
Were thy fourfold godhead quenched, or stilled thy strife:
Yet the waves and we desire too long the deep south-wester,
Whence the waters quicken shoreward, clothed with life.
Yet the field not made for ploughing save of keels nor harrowing
Save of...

Algernon Charles Swinburne