John Trumbull was an American poet.
Trumbull was born in what is now Watertown, Connecticut, where his father was a Congregational preacher. At the age of seven he passed his entrance examinations at Yale, but did not enter until 1763; he graduated in 1767, studied law there, and in 1771–1773 was a tutor. In 1773 he was admitted to the bar, in 1773–1774 practiced law in Boston, working in the law office of John Adams, and after 1774 practiced in New Haven, Connecticut. He was state attorney in 1789, a member of the Connecticut Assembly in 1792 and 1800, and a judge of the Superior Court in 1801–1819. The last six years of his life were spent in Detroit, ... more »
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John Trumbull Poems
To A Young Lady
In vain, fair Maid, you ask in vain, My pen should try th' advent'rous strain, And following truth's unalter'd law, Attempt your character to draw.
The Country Clown
Bred in distant woods, the clown Brings all his country airs to town; The odd address, with awkward grace, That bows with half-averted face;
To Ladies Of A Certain Age
Ye ancient Maids, who ne'er must prove The early joys of youth and love, Whose names grim Fate (to whom 'twas given, When marriages were made in heaven)
The Owl And The Sparrow
In elder days, in Saturn's prime, Ere baldness seized the head of Time, While truant Jove, in infant pride, Play'd barefoot on Olympus' side,
M'Fingal - Canto I
When Yankies, skill'd in martial rule, First put the British troops to school; Instructed them in warlike trade, And new manoeuvres of parade,
M'Fingal - Canto III
Now warm with ministerial ire, Fierce sallied forth our loyal 'Squire, And on his striding steps attends His desperate clan of Tory friends.
M'Fingal - Canto IV
Now Night came down, and rose full soon That patroness of rogues, the Moon; Beneath whose kind protecting ray, Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
M'Fingal - Canto II
The Sun, who never stops to dine, Two hours had pass'd the mid-way line, And driving at his usual rate, Lash'd on his downward car of state.
Beneath A Mountain's Brow
"Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote And inaccessible by Shepherds trod, In a deep cave, dug by no mortals hands An Hermit lived,--a melancholy man
Comments about John Trumbull
(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)
To A Young Lady
In vain, fair Maid, you ask in vain,
My pen should try th' advent'rous strain,
And following truth's unalter'd law,
Attempt your character to draw.
I own indeed, that generous mind
That weeps the woes of human kind,
That heart by friendship's charms inspired,
That soul with sprightly fancy fired,
The air of life, the vivid eye,
The flowing wit, the keen reply--
To paint these beauties as they shine,
Might ask a nobler pen than mine.
Yet what sure strokes can draw the Fair,
Who vary, like the fleeting air,
Like willows bending to the ...