James Hebblethwaite was an English-born Australian poet, teacher and clergyman.
Hebblethwaite was born in Preston, Lancashire, England, the son of William Hebblethwaite, a corn miller, and his wife Margaret, née Cundall. His family was originally prosperous but later suffered heavy financial losses, and Hebblethwaite practically educated himself by gaining scholarships. Hebblethwaite was at St John's College, Battersea, London in 1877-8, and entering on a teaching life became headmaster of a board school, and lecturer in English at the Harris Institute, Preston.
In 1892 Hebblethwaite emigrated to Tasmania for health reasons, and obtained a position on the staff of the ... more »
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James Hebblethwaite Poems
Thus pass the glories of the world! He lies beneath the pall’s white folds: His sword is sheathed, his pennon furled, Him silence holds.
The sea coast of Bohemia Is pleasant to the view When singing larks spring from the grass To fade into the blue,
AS I rode in the early dawn, While stars were fading white, I saw upon a grassy slope A camp-fire burning bright;
MERRYMIND, Merrymind, whither art thou roaming? Merrymind, Merrymind, nay, art thou sleeping yet? Oh, to us, sweet minstrel dear, wilt thou not be homing? Or we shall forget.
Comments about James Hebblethwaite
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Thus pass the glories of the world!
He lies beneath the pall’s white folds:
His sword is sheathed, his pennon furled,
Him silence holds.
The pilgrim staff, the cockle shell,
The crown, the sceptre of his pride,
The simple flower from forest dell,
Heap at his side.
And add thereto the wild-heart lute
The voice of love and twilight song;
Those passioned strings though he is mute
And move not thence his evening book,
The sifted grains of calm and storm;
And bow before that dust-strewn nook ...