Andrew Lang (31 March 1844 - 20 July 1912 / Selkirk, Scotland)
LAndrew Lang was a Scots poet, novelist, literary critic, and contributor to the field of anthropology. He is best known as a collector of folk and fairy tales. The Andrew Lang lectures at the University of St Andrews are named after him.
Lang was born in Selkirk. He was the eldest of the eight children born to John Lang, the town clerk of Selkirk, and his wife Jane Plenderleath Sellar, who was the daughter of Patrick Sellar, factor to the first duke of Sutherland. On 17 April 1875 he married Leonora Blanche Alleyne, the youngest daughter of C. T. Alleyne of Clifton and Barbados.
He was educated at Selkirk grammar school, Loretto, and at the ... more »
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- A highly valuable chain of thoughts
- A Portrait Of 1783
- A Scot to Jeanne D’Arc
- Alison Gross
- Annan Water
- Auld Maitland
- Ballade Against The Jesuits
- Ballade Of Amoureuse
- Ballade Of Aucassin
- Ballade Of Autumn
- Ballade Of Blind Love
- Ballade Of Cleopatra's Needle
- Ballade Of Dead Ladies
Quotationsmore quotations »
''If the wild bowler thinks he bowls,Andrew Lang (1844-1912), British poet. Brahma (l. 1-4). . . New Oxford Book of English Light Verse, The. Kingsley Amis, ed. (1978) Oxford Universi...
Or if the batsman thinks he's bowled,
They know not, poor misguided souls,
They, too, shall perish unconsoled.''
''bowler and the ball,Andrew Lang (1844-1912), British poet. Brahma (l. 6-8). . . New Oxford Book of English Light Verse, The. Kingsley Amis, ed. (1978) Oxford Universi...
The umpire, the pavilion cat,
The roller, pitch, and stumps, and all.''
''He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-postsfor support rather than illumination.''Andrew Lang (1844-1912), Scottish author. Quoted in The Harvest of a Quiet Eye, Alan L. Mackay (1977).
So gladly, from the songs of modern speechAndrew Lang (1844-1912), British poet. The Odyssey (l. 9-14). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New...
Men turn, and see the stars, and feel the free
Shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers,
And through the music of the languid hours...