Joseph Warton Poems

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Joseph Warton
Joseph Warton (April, 1722 February 23, 1800) was an English academic and literary critic. He was born in Dunsfold, Surrey, England, but his family soon moved to Hampshire, where his father, the Reverend Thomas Warton, became vicar of Basingstoke. There, a few years later, Joseph's younger brother, the more famous Thomas Warton, was born. Their father later became an Oxford professor. Joseph was educated at Winchester College and at Oriel College, Oxford, and followed his father into the church, becoming curate of Winslade in 1748. In his early days Joseph wrote poetry, of which the most notable piece is The Enthusiast (1744), an early precursor of Romanticism. In 1755, he returned to his old school to teach, and from 1766 to 1793 was its headmaster, but it was a role in which he did not distinguish himself. His career as a critic was always more illustrious, and he published editions of classical poets such as Virgil as well as English poets including John Dryden. Like his brother, he was a friend of Samuel Johnson.

the enthusiast: or, the lover of nature
Happy the first of men, ere yet confin'd
To smoky cities; who in sheltering groves,
Warm c... [read poem]
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, ... [read poem]
1914 ii. safety
Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest
He who has found our hid security,
Assured ... [read poem]
sonnet reversed
Hand trembling towards hand; the amazing lights
Of heart and eye. They stood on supreme heights... [read poem]
tiare tahiti
Mamua, when our laughter ends,
And hearts and bodies, brown as white,
Are dust about the d... [read poem]
1914 v. the soldier
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
Th... [read poem]
the old vicarage, grantchester
(Café des Westens, Berlin, May 1912)

Just now the lilac is in bloom,
... [read poem]
1914 iv. the dead
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to ... [read poem]
1914 iii. the dead
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,... [read poem]
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