Alfred Austin - Poems

Classic Poetry Series

Alfred Austin - poems -

Publication Date: 2012

Publisher: Poemhunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive Alfred Austin(30 May 1835 – 2 June 1913)

A writer who wore several hats throughout his career, Alfred Austin was a critic, novelist and political journalist. Although he was educated in law, his professional life focused primarily on literature. Austin published regularly for half a century and succeeded Alfred, Lord Tennyson as poet laureate of England in 1896. Nonetheless, he carries the reputation of having been the worst and least read English poet.

Austin was born on May 30, 1835, in Headingley, near Leeds, to Roman Catholic parents Joseph and Mary Austin. His father was a merchant and a magistrate of Headingley and his mother was the sister of Joseph Locke, a member of Parliament and a civil engineer. He was schooled first at Stoneyhurst College and then St. Mary's College, Oscott. He received a B.A. in 1853 from the University of London. Called to the Bar of the Inner Temple in 1857, he became a barrister on the Northern Circuit at his parents urging but left the legal world within three years in pursuit of a career in literature. This decision came upon the heels of his father's death in 1861 and his newfound financial freedom with the assumption of an inheritance. In 1855, he published Randolph: A Poem in Two Cantos, and three years later he published a novel, entitled Five Years of It. From 1866 to 1896, he worked as a foreign affairs writer for the London Standard, where he was known as a conservative journalist.

Foreign politics was one of Austin's major interests. He had a special enthusiasm for Polish and Italian patriots. His hatred of Russia made him a steadfast devotee of Disraeli. He also was a frequent contributor to the Quarterly Review. He represented the Standard in Rome during the sittings of the Ecumenical Council of the Vatican. He was the Standard's special correspondent at the headquarters of the King of Prussia during the Franco-German War in 1870 and also served as the German correspondent at the Congress of Berlin in 1884. Among his political writings are "Russia Before Europe" (1861), "Tory Horrors (1876) and "England's Policy and Peril" (1877). He founded the National Review in 1883 with William John Courthope and remained an energetic joint-editor for the journal until 1893, and then continued as its sole editor from 1887, when Courthope retired, until 1895. He had unsuccessful candidacies for Parliament as a Conservative for Taunton in 1865, and again for Dewsbury in 1880.

Although his writing was inspired and shaped by the works of

Austin's surprising ascension to the status of poet laureate in 1896 following Tennyson was probably more due to his stature as journalist for the conservative party rather than his skill as a poet. A writer for British Authors of the Nineteenth Century mentions that Austin was "appointed over the heads of abler men because of sins he had not committed." Apparently, the logical candidacies of

Austin's Autobiography of Alfred Austin, Poet Laureate, 1835-1910 was written in a year and appeared in two volumes in 1911. Sherman reported that it is "written with unflagging zest and genuine power in self-revelation." In it, Austin voiced his pride in his family history, saying "no one admires honorable descent and the easy gradations of English society, from class to class, more than I do." However, Sherman claimed that "he contrives to cast an additional glamour over his family tree." A reviewer for the Saturday Review of Literature wrote of the Autobiography: "A traveller in many lands, a war correspondent, a diligent

www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 2 interviewer, Mr. Austin gossips about men and things in a way which is occasionally interesting, but not very entertaining on the whole. He tells us little that is new. In fact, the two portly volumes of his Autobiography might have been borne, not inaptly, as their motto, a line from one of his own verses which he quotes, 'Patter, chatter everywhere!'"

Sherman asserted that "the sentimental romantic Toryism of Mr. Austin is not so much dull as false; false and at the same time obsolete; obsolete but not yet old enough to have acquired an antiquarian interest." A contributor to British Authors of the Nineteenth Century stated that "his autobiography is almost incredible in its calm assumption that its writer was a great genius; it may survive his poems as a document portraying the vagaries of human self-deception." P. F. Bicknell, reviewing Austin's autobiography for Dial, maintained that "the world has a cruel way of refusing to take altogether seriously a man who takes himself too much so; and thus our autobiographer, with his somewhat conspicuous lack of humor, becomes, in a manner the reverse of Falstaff's, the cause of humor in other men."

www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 3 A Birthday

The love within my heart that dwells Knows nought of days or hours; I hear thee in the Christmas bells, I feel thee in the vernal showers; And thy breath is blent with the wandering scent Of the summer fruits and flowers.

And yet this morn my blood is stirred With more than wonted glow; Thy absent voice is strangely heard, Thy spells upon me stronger grow; And my spirit sips from unseen lips That can be but thine, I know.

For thou wast born upon this day, When I was but a child, Ere winter frosts were ta'en away, Ere primroses peeped out and smiled; Ere the snows were reft from the sheltering cleft, And the winds were high and wild.

Thus early unto me wast thou An earnest of the spring; Of happy birds upon the bough, And sweet trees blossoming; Of all that is fair upon earth, in air, And the streams that bound and sing.

I wonder what the world was like Before thou didst appear- Did young lambs skip o'er mound and dyke? Did throstles warble loud and clear? And were sea and sky as deep and high As they are now thou art here?

It were a dreary world indeed To me, wert thou away; The night no tumults sweet would breed, No tranquil dalliance the day;

www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 4 And though earth should fling all that Fame can bring At my feet, I would not stay.

So, though sore-severed still we be, Here, helpful one, remain! Through travels long a bourne to me, A crowning joy 'mid crushing pain; An abiding star when the storm-waves jar, And a rainbow 'mid the rain.

And fear not, sweet, but love like ours Will keep us ever young: No prey to the corroding hours, No feast for the malignant tongue, But as firm and fond in the years beyond As when first we clasped and clung.

Age cannot touch such charms as thine; My heart defies the sun: Both shall but glow yet more divine, His course more oft as he may run: Till we spurn the earth for that second birth, When we twain shall be only one.