Richard Harris Barham

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Richard Harris Barham
Richard Harris Barham (December 6, 1788–June 17, 1845), English novelist and humorous poet, better known by his nom de plume of Thomas Ingoldsby, was born at Canterbury. At seven years of age he lost his father, who left him a small estate, part of which was the manor of Tappington, so frequently mentioned in the Legends. At nine he was sent to St. Paul's school, but his studies were interrupted by an accident which shattered his arm and partially crippled it for life. Thus deprived of the power of bodily activity, he became a great reader and diligent student. In 1807 he entered Brasenose College, Oxford, intending at first to study for the profession of the law. Circumstances, however, induced him to change his mind and to enter the church. In 1813 he was ordained and took a country c uracy; he married in the following year, and in 1821 moved to London on obtaining the appointment of minor canon of St. Paul's Cathedral. Three years later he became one of the priests in ordinary of the King's Chapel Royal, and was appointed to a city living.

the jackaw of rheims
The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop, and abbot, and prior were there;
... [read poem]
prospice
Fear death? -- to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, an... [read poem]
porphyria's lover
The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down f... [read poem]
home-thoughts, from the sea
Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red... [read poem]
love among the ruins
Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
Miles and miles
On the solitary past... [read poem]
the lost leader
Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat--
Found ... [read poem]
song, from pippa passes
The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's ... [read poem]
the lost mistress
All's over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, 'tis the sparrow... [read poem]
meeting at night
The gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the star... [read poem]
the pied piper of hamelin
A Child's Story
(Written for, and inscribed to, W.M. the Younger)

I... [read poem]
my star
All that I know
Of a certain star
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)... [read poem]
the patriot
- An Old Story

I

It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in m... [read poem]
memorabilia
Ah, did you once see Shelley plain,
And did he stop and speak to you?
And did you speak to... [read poem]
a toccata of galuppi's
Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find!
I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove ... [read poem]
soliloquy of the spanish cloister
GR-R-R--there go, my heart's abhorrence!
Water your damned flower-pots, do!
If hate kill... [read poem]
home thoughts from abroad
Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some ... [read poem]
incident of the french camp
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away
On a little mound, Napoleon... [read poem]
parting at morning
Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,
And the sun look'd over the mountain's rim:
And s... [read poem]
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