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University of Virginia Library

Sonnets, Lyrics and Translations

By the Rev. Charles Turner [i.e. Charles Tennyson]

Turner, Charles Tennyson (1808-1879)

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LITTLE SOPHY BY THE SEASIDE.

THE BUTTERFLY AND THE ROSE.

THE DYING SCULPTOR.

THE BARMOUTH SEA-BRIDGE.

ON A CHILD'S EYES.

OUR MARY AND THE CHILD-MUMMY.

CALLED FROM BED;

A BLUSH AT FAREWELL.

THE HYDRAULIC RAM;

ON THE MONUMENT OF THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH STUART IN NEWPORT CHURCH, ISLE OF WIGHT.

THE SICK ORPHAN;

THE MISSING BRIDE.

ARMS OLD AND NEW.

THE BOMB AND THE ORGAN.

TO A FRENCH POET AND REFUGEE.

THE ASCENT OF SNOWDON.

THE ARTIST ON PENMAENMAWR.

CADER IDRIS AT SUNSET.

THE OLD HILLS'-MAN AND HIS TRUCK.

THE LITTLE HEIR OF SHAME.

THE HARVEST MOON.

OLD RURALITIES.

TO A RED-WHEAT FIELD.

TO A SCARECROW, OR MALKIN, LEFT LONG AFTER HARVEST.

THE OLD FOX-HUNTER.

TO THE GOSSAMER-LIGHT.

ON FINDING A SMALL FLY CRUSHED IN A BOOK.

THE EAGLE AND THE SONNET.

A COLONY OF NIGHTINGALES.

THE SPARROW AND THE DEW-DROP.

TO A CUCKOO IN A HIGHWAY HEDGE.

THE SWAN AND THE PEACOCK.

OUR NEW CHURCH.

OUR NEW CHURCH CLOCK.

TWELVE O'CLOCK AT NOON.

THE AFTERNOTE OF THE HOUR.

AFTER THE SCHOOL-FEAST.

THE MURDER OF BISHOP PATTESON.

THE PASTOR'S PRAYER.

TO THE HOLY VIRGIN.

TO MY SISTER MARY.

A PERVERSE LOVER.

A MOURNING LOVER.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

ON SOME HUMMING-BIRDS IN A GLASS CASE.

THE “CANNON FEVER.”

THE EARTHQUAKE.

TO A YOUNG KING.

GREECE: AN ASPIRATION.

DEATH AND ITS ANTIDOTE.

SCIENCE AND FAITH.

THE PORTRAIT PAINTER.

THE TRAVELLER AND HIS WIFE'S RINGLET.

THE ALTAR, AS CONNECTED WITH MARRIAGE.

A BRIDAL FAREWELL.

WRITTEN FOR THE MADINGLEY SCHOOL, ON THE ARRIVAL OF THE PRINCE OF WALES AT THE MANOR HOUSE, IN 1861.

A LEGEND FROM DE LAMARTINE'S TRAVELS IN THE EAST, VERSIFIED.

AN INCIDENT ON THE DEE.

SLEEP AND DREAMS.

A FATHER TO HIS SICK CHILD ASLEEP.

BY A DEATH-BED.

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42

THE EAGLE AND THE SONNET.

As on the sceptre of th' Olympian King
The Royal eagle sat, bedrows'd and still,
The Theban sketch'd him, while the savage will
And strength of the great bird were slumbering;
If Pindar drew him best with drooping wings,
And on a quiet perch his likeness took,
How shall the sonnet, least of rhythmic things,
Presume to take him flying? Will he brook
To wheel and hover, while I hunt for rhymes?
Returning at the Muse's fitful times,
For yet another study? And, if so,
Will he not yearn at last to strike one blow
At his own miniature, and swoop from high
To clutch my climax with an angry cry?

“εν σκαπτω Διοσ------
------Υγρον νωτον αιωρει.”

Pindar.