I lived from 1819-1875.
I was from England, and am in the English category.
Charles Kingsley was born on July 12, 1819, at Holne Vicarage near Dartmoor and spent his childhood in Devonshire, England. His father, Charles Sr. was the vicar of Holne. In 1832 Charles studied with Derwent Coleridge. In 1837, he went to King’s College and in 1838, Magdalene College, Cambridge. He met Frances Grenwell in 1839. In 1842 he left Cambridge to read his Holy Orders and became the curate of Eversley Church. He married Frances and became rector of Eversley in 1844.
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Charles Kingsley became an advocate for social reform and strove to improve the conditions of the working class. He joined with John Malcolm Ludlow, Frederick Denison Maurice, and others in forming the Christian Socialist movement. He wrote many novels which stressed the plight of urban workers and agricultural laborers. He opposed a social order based on competition and laissez-faire policies. In 1858, he published a volume of poetry. Kingsley was appointed Regius Professor of Modern History at Cambridge in 1860; he was appointed tutor to the Prince of Wales in 1861.
Charles Kingsley resigned his professorship in 1869 and toured the West Indies in 1870. He became president of the Midland Institute in Birmingham in 1872. In 1874 he made an exhausting tour of America. He was worn out and died shortly after, on January 23, 1875.
Popular poetry
A floating, a floating
Across the sleeping sea,
21 lines, 2 comments
It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She looked across the sea;
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A harper came over the Danube so wide,
And he came into Alaric's hall,
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'Are you ready for your steeple-chase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree?
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Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow and dreaming pool;
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Accept this building, gracious Lord,
No temple though it be;
25 lines, 1 comment
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe in skies so dull and gray;
13 lines, 1 comment
The boy on the famous gray pony,
Just bidding good-bye at the door,
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Wild wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing?
Dark dark night, wilt thou never wear away?
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When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
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