Gilbert, Ann Taylor
1 2024-09-13T15:51:11+00:00 Christopher Ohge 67a4fbaba4797c94aa865988788fca89b5c37616 1 3 Person record for Ann Taylor Gilbert plain 2024-09-14T15:37:44+00:00 Christopher Ohge 67a4fbaba4797c94aa865988788fca89b5c37616Gilbert, Ann Taylor
Name ID: http://viaf.org/viaf/10688233
Born: 1782
Died: 1866
Faith: Congregationalist
Note: Ann Gilbert (née Taylor) was an English poet and literary critic. She was the daughter
of the non-comformist pastor, author, and engraver Isaac Taylor (1759–1829), and second
wife of Joseph Gilbert, a Congregationalist minister. She gained lasting popularity
in her youth as a writer of verse for children. In the years up to her marriage, she
became an astringent literary critic. However, she is best remembered as the elder
sister and collaborator of Jane Taylor.
This page is referenced by:
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The Mother, by Ann Gilbert (née Taylor)
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A poem by Ann Gilbert
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Mother, a happy home hast thou,
In some green valley's shade?
Blest by the dear domestic vow
At yonder altar paid? --
Secure, as if by right divine,
That home of love thou callest thine!
And dost thou there thy baby's cheek
Regard with fondest gaze?
Does that dear boy, with merry freak,
Delight thee, as he plays? --
And she, thine elder one, -- for her,
Doth no sweet thought of blessing stir? --
-- Nay, love them not! -- for thine no more,
This tender group shall be! --
I've bought them! -- Watch, from yonder shore,
That vessel out at sea; --
I've bought thy children, -- o'er the waves
They go, to join my gang of slaves!
I saw that gentle girl of thine
With anguish in her soul;
I marked the drops of burning brine
That down her cheeks did roll;
I heard her for her mother cry; --
Yet, had I not a right to buy?
Perchance, in some far field, away,
The lash may teach her toil;
While tears of anguish, day by day,
Shall slake the fervid soil;
But thou, -- her mother, -- ne'er shalt know,
Where sheds thy child those tears of woe!
Mothers, -- the fair, the firm, the free,
Of England's vaunted isle,
Tell me if griefs like this shall be,
And you be still the while!
No! -- strong in woman virtue rise!
And heed the negro mother's cries!
With plighted hands, a living chain,
Unsevered, but to die, --
Crusaders, sally forth again
To heed that thrilling cry! --
A broken heart your ensign be,
Your watchword Love and Liberty!
Ann Gilbert.
Nottingham. -
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Oppression, by Ann Gilbert (née Taylor)
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Poem by Ann Gilbert, nee Taylor
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I saw a sceptred spirit rise,
Gigantic, foul, and drear:
A stifled yell of human cries,
Out-pressed from mortal agonies,
And curses shot from burning eyes,
Did herald his career!
Around him, stretched a blasted plain,
The heart's wide desart bare;
Behind was seen the biting chain,
The silent ecstasy of pain,
The cool self-murderer's wasting vein,
The courage of despair!
Sick at the oar I saw his prey,
Sick in the grated cell;
Sick in the ocean-road that lay
From Afric's forests,--sick were they,
And sick beneath the torrid day
In many an island-dell!
Oppression, demon spirit, smiled,
And made the grief his song;
Wrenched from the mother's arm her child,
The father, from his home exiled,
Chased the lone orphan through the wild,
And mocked the widow's wrong!
Judge of the earth!--with pitying eye
Thy sword of vengeance seize!"
A voice of thunder met my cry,
Behold! beneath my goodliest sky,
Greater abominations lie,
More horrible than these!"
I gazed! and O 'twas freedom's land!
Columbia's sunny shore!--
With glorious struggle, hand in hand,
Her noble sons, a patriot band,
For homes and altars took their stand,
Resolved to stoop no more!
Bright did the conquering banners wave
On every mountain crest!
But while the civic armies gave
Their thrilling shout, "Be free, ye brave!"
Again I marked the withering slave,
At Mammon's foot, opprest!
O darkly, darkly, from my ken,
Sunk all that proud array!
My soul with loathing viewed the men,
Her priests, her patriots; glorious then,
As the free tiger in his den,
Unfettered o'er his prey!
Doff, doff that crest of pride, ye clans,
In dust your honours hide!
The captive's tear has tracked your sands,
The print of blood is on your hands,
The curse of guilt is o'er your lands,--
Doff, doff that crest of pride!
Nay, wherefore at yon altar kneel?
Why lift to heaven your song?
Go, brother, for thy brother feel,
Go, and the broken-hearted heal,
Go, leave thy gift, and blushing, steal,
To heed the captive's wrong!
Didst thou not breathe the glorious name
That christian hearts adore?
O wash thee from thy mortal shame,
Yield to thy brother saint, his claim,
Confess that from one blood ye came,
Then go,--and sin no more!
Ann Gilbert.
Nottingham. -
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To a Negro Infant, by Ann Gilbert (née Taylor)
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Poem by Ann Gilbert
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Poor baby! why opened the blue light of heaven,
Rejoicing to kindle the morn,
When thou to the arms of a captive wast given?--
A negro child! -- why is it born?
Why did not the Father of all, in his grace,
Life's spark to thy being deny?
Or bid thee grow cold in thy mother's embrace,
From her dark bosom borne to the sky?
In vain will her smile, well dissembled, essay
Thy morn of existence to cheer;
Deep, deep is the gloom that o'ershadows thy day,
Though even a mother be near.
But, haply, the will of some tyrant shall rend
The tie softly woven in Heaven,
And that breathing pillow, that tenderest friend,
May far from her dearest be driven:
Remote in some distant plantation, her tears
May water the sweet-growing soil,
And the thought of her baby, more swiftly than years,
Consume her,--more surely, than toil.
And when, with the weary at rest, she shall lie,
The clods of the valley her bed,
Thou, child, 'neath the blaze of a merciless sky,
The same track of sorrow shalt tread.
Thou then,--but a streak on the mountains I see,
The rainbow of promise I trace!--
The Father of all is preparing for thee,
Poor baby, the smile of his grace!
Already, warm hearts doth His Spirit inspire,
The captive to free from his chain;
And the brave, and the lovely, with ceaseless desire,
The rights of the negro maintain.
Yea see, where a sail, like a speck on the wave,
Rides on through the desert of foam,
And the meek man of God, for the land of the slave,
Has left the green vales of his home.
Oh! why did my soul, in its sadness, repine,
Life's spark in thy being to view?
The freedom of Heaven, little slave, shall be thine,
In Jesus created anew.
We haste,--on the wings of compassion, we fly,
The banner of Mercy to rear:--
Then live, thou dark baby, till bright in the sky
The rainbow of promise appear.
Ann Gilbert.
Nottingham,
1826. -
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Conder, Josiah
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Person record for Josiah Conder
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Conder, Josiah
Name ID: https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q6290456
Born: 1789
Died: 1855
Faith: Congregationalist
Note: Josiah Conder (17 September 1789–27 December 1855) was a bookseller, abolitionist, author, hymn-writer and close associate of Romantic authors, and kept up a correspondence with James Montgomery, Ann Gilbert (née Taylor), Robert Southey, Rev. Robert Hall, Rev. John Foster, and other writers of the day. He had become proprietor of the 'Eclectic Review' in 1814, and he retained the management of this periodical until 1837, when be transferred it to Dr. Thomas Price, having during his editorship rendered much service to dissenting Christians. He was also active in the Congregational Union and in 1836 he edited The Congregational Hymn Book: a Supplement to Dr. Watts’s Psalms and Hymns (2nd ed. 1844).
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Gilbert, Joseph
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Person record for Joseph Gilbert
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2024-09-14T15:33:30+00:00
Gilbert, Joseph
Name ID: https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q6283438
Born: 1779
Died: 1852
Faith: Congregationalist
Note: Joseph Gilbert (1779–1852) was an Independent then Congregational minister who in
1813 married the renowned children's author Ann Taylor (who also contributed to The
Bow in the Cloud).
This page references:
- 1 2023-08-01T11:12:20+00:00 Congregationalist 1 plain 2023-08-01T11:12:20+00:00
- 1 2024-09-14T15:33:30+00:00 Gilbert, Joseph 1 Person record for Joseph Gilbert plain 2024-09-14T15:33:30+00:00