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# The Times/1934/Obituary/Henry Jenner

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Source: Obituary. The Times, Thursday, May 10, 1934; Issue 46750; pg. 19 — Mr. Henry Jenner
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Mr. Henry Jenner
Mr. Henry Jenner, F.S.A., who died at Hayle, Cornwall, on Tuesday at the age of 85, was an authority on the ancient Cornish language, of which he had compiled a dictionary. He was the only son of Dr. Henry Lascelles Jenner, the first Bishop of Dunedin, and a grandson of Herbert Jenner-Fust, Dean of the Arches and Master of Trinity Hall, Cambridge. For 40 years he was on the library staff at the British Museum. He was the senior bard of the Cornish Gorsedd, and had a striking appearance, being tall with a long white bear. He was a composer, and produced "The Cornish Song Book." He married Kate Rawlings, novelist and writer on art.
The funeral will be at Lelant on Saturday at 12.15, after requiem Mass at Downes at 11 o'clock.
This work is anonymous or pseudonymous, and is in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in its home country on the URAA date (January 1, 1996 for most countries). It is also in the public domain in other countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 89 years or less since publication.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Times/1934/Public notice/Mary Frances Sandars

Mary Frances Sandars (1864-1934) Source: The Times Friday, Jun 22, 1934; Issue 46787; pg. 1; col A — Deaths
Layout 2SANDARS.—On June 20, 1934, Mary Frances Sandars, of 13, Neville Street, S.W., eldest daughter of the late Samuel Sandars, of Chalfont Grove. Service at St. Peter's Cranley Gardens, on Monday, June 25, at 2 p.m.
This work is ineligible for copyright and therefore in the public domain, because it consists entirely of information that is common property and contains no original authorship.
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# The Times/1934

Content exists for this periodical, though at this stage it is not specifically organised beyond a basic hierarchy.
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# The Times/1934/Public notice/Lydia Miller Middleton

* related authors: Lydia Miller Middleton.
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Source: Death. The Times, Tuesday, Nov 27, 1934; Issue 46922; pg. 1
Layout 2MIDDLETON.—On Nov. 25, 1934, at Whyte House, Twickenham. Lydia Falconer Fraser Miller, dearly love wife of Sir Thomas Middleton, daughter of late Professor Davidson, of Adelaide, S.A., and granddaughter of Hugh Miller. Funeral Cromarty to-morrow (Wednesday).
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# The Times/1934/Obituary/Sir Joseph Nunan, K.C.

Source: The Times, Thursday, Dec 20, 1934; pg. 17; Issue 46942 — Sir Joseph Nunan, K.C.
Sir Joseph Nunan, K.C.
Sir Joseph Nunan, K.C., who had a long career in the Colonial Service, died in St. Bartholomew's Hospital yesterday at the age of 61. The cause of death was cerebral hemorrhage.
Born in Limerick, he was called to the Irish Bar in 1898, after a brilliant academic career at Trinity College, Dublin; he was Bacon scholar of Gray's Inn, and was called to the English Bar in 1906. He went on 1900 to British Central Africa, where he was Chief Judicial Officer and Vice-Consul, and presiding Judge of the High Court fro 1902 to 1906., and a member of the Appeal Court for East Africa. He was appointed Attorney-General for British Guiana in 1912, and a member of the Executive Council and the Court of Policy, serving also on important commissions and committees. In 1919 and 1924 he was chairman of the deputation from the Colony to the British and Indian Governments.
At the end of the War he was British representative of the Reparations Commission held in Vienna, and chairman of the International Conference dealing with national debts with the Austro-Hungarian monarchy and of the Austro-Hungarian State Railways Conference. He retired in 1925 to practise at the English Bar.
Sir Joseph, who was knighted in 1924, was the author of "Islam Before the Turk" and "Ireland from Cromwell to Anne," and he edited for many years Timehri, a West Indian magazine. He was much interested in zoology, and was an honorary life member of the American Museum of Natural History and the New York Zoological Society. He was an honorary LL.D. of Dublin.
This work is anonymous or pseudonymous, and is in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in its home country on the URAA date (January 1, 1996 for most countries). It is also in the public domain in other countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 89 years or less since publication.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Soul Of A Century/A letter

A LETTER
I tried to write to you that in your eye My heart bloomed forth into a rose again, That deep within me, where emotions lie A nightingale sings love’s most tender strain. That many tales are whispered in its den, And many buds breathe in its flowered glen; Into a garden my heart changed at your call; But all I write, I love you above all.
And I tried to write that my heart wildly quakes As the meadows stir under the fairies’ dancing feet, When a southern zephyr through their tresses breaks And wakes the flowers to love’s rustling beat; And that the strength/ concealed within my heart With songs of joy its secret would impart, Like the scent that speaks of Spring when shadows fall; But all I write, I love you above all.
And I tried to write that my thoughts are set ablaze Like a golden light within a crystal fount, Like a Morning Star shines through the morning haze, Like the bush that burned on Sinai’s Sacred mount; And I tried to write that all my life and might Was set aflame like a sparkling diamond’s light From whence your soul shines like a fiery ball, But all I write, I love you above all.
And I tried to write that ne’er shall I forget, Like a maple ne’er forgets the warmth of Springs, That I must seek you and still my soul’s regret Like Saul once sought the harp’s love-laden strings. That you were once my most resplendant song, That your forehead’s gleam will light my grave for long, Though the wings of death will shield it as a pall, But all I write, I love you above all.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Soul Of A Century/A return

A RETURN
Your souls own life is like a heaving wave, ’tis hard to tell its origin or crest. The mind knows not to what mood to be a slave, When the wave shall rise, or when to seek its rest.
From lofty dreams, when skyward soars the soul, You will embrace coarse matter once again. And he who would Raphael’s fame extol, Will soon return to Giotto’s style and plane.
From Beethoven’s hymns of unrestricted storms, Wherein with the Gods, the roaring thunders war, The soul returns to its more simple forms, To the cradle tunes that mother sang of yore.
From Hamlet’s skull, Nirvana’s mystic waste, From truth that in the fables buried lies, When you unearth it, frightfully in haste You will return to man’s Lost Paradise.
From orgies wild that fill the cup with glee, And pour red wine o’er nudes in ecstasy, You will return to a babe on mother’s knee And find at length true, unspoiled poesy.
The wings of Odes, for which you tried to borrow, The blush of dawn, and the pearls from the stars, These you will drop, and awed by fear and sorrow You’ll try to soothe your musings burning scars.
And when you ask what is Life’s goal or thread, Is it the crest or the pit where the waves must start? The wings of life hum softly about your head, And you find the tree of life, bloom in your heart.
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# The Soul Of A Century/A memory

* related portals: Czech literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
A MEMORY
Through the rhythm of your steps and through the vaporous quivier of your sounds, (Wherein slumber forgotten words) before me now flares to glowing heat, That one day’s smouldering sunset, and in a verdure of light rebounds And overcomes me with its clouds of sweet scent and languorous warmth’s deceit.
For years, that sweet scent ripened within me. And as I now inhale, A question long thought dead and speechless, rises in smoke from its decay, Like the sweetness of a thought, that melted too late with life’s destructive gale, Like the burning oil of fully ripened olives . . . Over my dreams’ furrowed way,
I sail at night with the song of waves that dash beneath my meter’s oars, I am carried away beneath the celestial map’s outspread, starry wings, And I feel in the winds that blow from desolate island shores, The peace of cypress blossoms, of soft, warm shadows and glowing Springs.
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# The Soul Of A Century/A short prayer

A SHORT PRAYER
God Almighty please preserve Our mead and plain; Bless our work at Harvest time With a golden grain. Guard our roofs against all flames And from hates, that flare anew, And for ages long preserve All Czechs, forever true.
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# The Soul Of A Century/A stellar rhythm

Poem no. VII from the collection Cosmic Songs (Písně kosmické)
A STELLAR RHYTHM (Cosmic Songs)
Across the heavens the Stars are spilled Like the heathery flowers of spring, Tenderly led by the breath of time They dance in an exulting, joyous ring. We can barely see them up on high, To number them, you I would defy. Though a master at numbers and answers
The Earth and the Moon glide hand in hand, While the Earth sweeps in a mighty sphere Around the Sun that shines above, With a host of planets, lustrous, clear . . . And even the timeless, burning Sun Madly revolves ‘round another One. And where is this Sun heading? Whither its light is shedding?
Let your thoughts soar as they may; There the stars are as thick as the heathery bloom; And though you were as old as the Sun itself Your thoughts could not fathom eternity’s doom. I kneel and gaze at the heaven’s face, My thoughts fly upward into space, Higher and higher, above the skies . . . A tear over fills the gazing eyes.
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# The Soul Of A Century/A loveless world

A LOVELESS WORLD
Then inwardly I mused and asked; “How would a love-less world appear?” ’Twould be a barren, lifeless waste Without flowers blooming here.
The heart would roam about the world ’Til grief would end its plight. ’Twould be as sad as it was before God said, “Let there be Light.”
’Twould be so sad that man alone Would not want to tread the sod, And even the Lord in the heavens above Would not want to be a God.
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# The Soul Of A Century/A morning prayer

A MORNING PRAYER
A light spreads over meadows, fields and lane, Streams brightly shine through the fogs of fading night, As in a castle lit by fables’ light again In the distance windows burn with a crimson light Of the newly risen sun’s reflected flame . . . Light, fire, beauty, bliss delight and fame I humbly bow before your shining might . . .
How ’neath your spell all wakes to live, rejoice. How with delight shines all that fore me lies. And sparkling dew that shines on flowers choice Unwittingly now rises into my eyes. Even the aged woman's furrows gleam As she greets me, passing by, as in a dream “Praised be the Lord.” . . Amen, answers my voice.
“Praised be the Lord” . . . We both praise Him on high. The woman, hobbling yonder to the shrine. Where He will be revealed to her on nigh Where gleam the jewelled altar cloth, and sacred candles shine And I who worship Him, sublime and stern Among the meadows green, where only burn The dew’s bright jewels, that on the flowers lie.
Be praised . . Be worshipped . . How else can we express In human speech the soul’s outpouring thought, That emanates from the horizon’s light excess The morning air, with the scent of meadows fraught, The blooming merigolds that paint the waters gold, The songs of nightingales whose straining throats unfold A greeting to the sun, while they soar to heights unsought.
How could one show his gratitude unbound To the Unknown Might and Will, that watched my dreams Through the night of many a frightening scene and sound, Then permitted me to see daylight’s early beams And to breathe again upon the break of day, All the beauty of a sunlit morn in May, And to find delight in life’s ever changing schemes . .
Might! Will! Again but hollow words of Man That but suffice within man’s meager scope That from the sphere of matter never can Reach up into that unknown far off slope Where ends at length, Cosmic serenity. Beyond all matter, thought, Eternity You rule alone in the realm of unreached Hope.
You mystery, whose name we know not to employ, Henceforth I bid my lips be sealed as stone My admiration, gratitude, wild joy Are my soul’s offerings to the Unknown. That, and my will to serve You at your feet To fill each wish I sense with my heart-beat I pledge my days to this and this alone . . .
To stir one stalk at least from out the barren soil, To plant one floweret upon some arrid plain, To add with one grain to all the toil That in the years to come we shall harvest not in vain. To join in planting all, whose yearnings meet In making of your living world the seat Of happier and better men again . . .
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# The Soul Of A Century/A quiet pain

* related portals: Czech literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
A QUIET PAIN
Across a soft black rug that stretched along my bed Woven of the yams of Night into a shadowed gossamer dress You came my Love, and poured a cup of red, The bitter wine of your caress . . . . You pierced and penetrated like a light’s feeble wave, You burned within my nerves as the cold touch of death, And buried in your arms as in a cold live grave, I awoke fatigued with the burden of your breath.
I measured the gulf of seconds with many years’ hasty flight, The vanished scent of Springs, poured into the seconds’ spheres Through the curtain of our dreams dawned eternity’s faint light Like the break of a new day appears. To the Secret’s distant poles, silently together we went Where in the rays and facets of sparkling chandeliers Played the Eternal’s miracle, where the darkened heavens bent As if set with flames of sapphires and burning tears.
When did you strike the keys, that over the keyboards’ snow Quivered beneath your fingers like the waves on a moonlit plain? And then you played of my life, of the evening’s tender glow, Romance, of dreams, denials and disdain. In your music my hour’s slumbering choir came to life And melted through the stillness, as an angelus of silver bells Even my blood’s refrain poured in my veins through the rhythmic strife Of joyous youth, as if accented by my laughter’s riotous spells.
The pain of burnt desires smouldered beneath your song In solemn requiem’s cadences fell as tears And a longing for the Highest fell to the ripened ground As dew drops fall in sparkling golden streaks. Time inhaled, a feeble scent, stirred by your music’s might In grapes of foreign wines it settled beneath your tone’s impact, While the glory of bygone suns, and the splendor of a starry night Were mirrored in your rhythm’s pitch black cataract.
Then with your strings’ vibrations you touched the mystic strain ’Til through excessive quivers it flared into a bluish light Of a flaming haze . . But your music reached in vain With the Unknown’s voice of might. My listening mortal ear . . . Where the stillness vaulted and wept My soul’s soft, deadened sighs, and grief in speechless forms! Like a scent of offerings, to the angels’ windows crept, The sorrows of future days . . . the ozones of coming storms . . .
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# The Soul Of A Century/A seeress

* related portals: Czech literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Translation of an excerpt from the ballad Věštkyně from the cycle The Garland of National Legends.
A SEERESS
(Fragments)
Whenever your eye fills with a bitter tear, Whenever hardships fall upon your days ’tis then I bring my branch of hope and cheer ’tis then I raise a prophetic voice that says:
“Do not weigh lightly the meaning of my words, In the heavens above my prophecy finds its birth, Unflinching laws embrace all men and worlds, And all must pay their debts upon this earth.
A river seeks its end in the distant rolling sea, The flames leap high, the heavens to embrace, Whatever the earth creates by earth destroyed shall be, But nought shall go to waste or lose its finite place.
Firm and assured is destiny’s each tread And what shall be/ shall come as time moves on, And what one day may bury, in its stead Another day will bring to life anon.
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# The Soul Of A Century/Karel Jaromir Erben

KAREL JAROMIR ERBEN
(1811–1870)
Karel Jaromir Erben, the outstanding folk-lorist of Czech literature, was born November 7th, 1811 in Miletin and died November 21, 1870. As so many of his literary contemporaries Erben studied and practiced law, was active as a journalist, and took part in the stormy political currents of 1848. His literary and historical interests gave him the necessary background for the wealth of folk-lore material which forms the basis for the KYTICE, his best known collection of ballads. The material of this collection is a good reflection of the soul and thoughts of the Czech people, the simple rural people, in whom the love of their language and their traditions remained alive through centuries of oppression and repression. It is difficult to select any one of the ballads for preferential position, for every one of them has become near and dear to the Czech readers.
* A seeress
* The dove
* The water sprite
* Christmas Day
# The Soul Of A Century/Look up above!

Poem no. XXVI from the collection Cosmic Songs (Písně kosmické)
LOOK UP ABOVE! (Cosmic Songs)
My People, raise your head on high Toward the heavens direct your glance Behold that there are little stars Around which, the large ones dance.
Here’s the reason why: The little ones Are made of solid knotty stuff, While those great, big, obedient stars Are made of flimsy gaseous fluff.
I trust that as you grasp this thought Your heart will leap and yearn. Yes . . . let us be the little star Around which, the big ones turn.
It can be done, if each of us, Sees to his own sound stock. If each of us be hard as flint, Our nation will be hard as a rock.
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# The Soul Of A Century/Man now says:

Poem no. XXI from the collection Cosmic Songs (Písně kosmické)
MAN NOW SAYS:
Like pacing lions we strike at the bars, Like lions in a cage. We would rise up to the heaven’s heights, But are held by the Earth in helpless rage.
We seem to hear a voice from the stars; “Come higher, away from your toil. Come closer, conceited, arrogant men Held by the bonds of your soil.”
We’ll come! Mother Earth, you are so small, Forgive us if ungrateful we seem. We chain our thoughts to the lightning above, Our feet speed with the power of steam.
We’ll come! Our spirits higher soar, Our blood beats with an unquenched thirst; With a feverish longing for far off worlds, Tis a wonder our hearts do not burst.
We will come nearer, higher still . . . To the ends of the world we shall see. We strike at our bars, we, the lions at heart, We’ll shatter the bars and be free.
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# The Soul Of A Century/Life

LIFE
Though your life be straight or turning, Be it peaceful, be it stirred, Little tears and much of yearning, Always fulfillment deferred. Though it drag or rush unchanneled, Be a rose or a barren glade, You will always be impaneled ’Twixt a double pointed blade. When your blood stream stains the saber And your weeping stirs the night Man and even God will waver To assist you in your plight. You must suffer in lifers maelstrom, Though you win, or yield to fear, Til you’ve touched Life’s very bottom— You know not . . . that Death is near.
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# The Soul Of A Century/My happiness

MY HAPPINESS
My happiness has flown away, I seek it with tear-filled eyes; And people come to cheer me and say; “It can’t be otherwise.”
Oh, yes, good people, time will change, Believe me, it will be found. For it is not so very far, Just a few feet beneath the ground.
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# The Soul Of A Century/Later? Too late!

LATER? TOO LATE! (Graveyard Blossoms)
V.
Love came to me with tender supplication And shamelessly sought entrance to my nook, I gauged the maiden with a chilling look And gruffly mumbled: “Later.”
The years passed by. With a mournful supplication Measuring hopes with a weary, feeble look, Alone I sought to enter love’s white nook. A voice replied: “Too Late.”
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# The Soul Of A Century/Man used to say

Poem no. XX from the collection Cosmic Songs (Písně kosmické)
MAN USED TO SAY
What am I? A lonely man twixt the world’s wide spheres. Humility forbids me to brag and rave; But turn your eyes upon a royal court There you will know a master from the slave.
I am on friendly terms with the Sun and the Stars Yet they, with all their bright splendor, Stand ever meekly, far away, On their cheeks, a smile of surrender.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.