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Bradstreet, Anne (Dudley)
(Encyclopedia) Bradstreet, Anne (Dudley), c.1612–1672, early American poet, b. Northampton, England, considered the first significant woman author in the American colonies. She came to Massachusetts…Bradstreet, Simon
(Encyclopedia) Bradstreet, Simon, 1603–97, colonial governor of Massachusetts, b. Lincolnshire, England. He emigrated to New England in 1630 and was assistant in the Massachusetts Bay Company for 49…Bradstreet, John
(Encyclopedia) Bradstreet, John, c.1711–1774, British officer in the French and Indian Wars. A Nova Scotian, he was captured (1744) by the French and confined at Louisburg. After his exchange he…Berryman, John
(Encyclopedia) Berryman, JohnBerryman, Johnbĕrˈēmən [key], 1914–72, American poet and critic, b. McAlester, Okla., as John Allyn Smith, Jr., grad. Columbia, 1936, also studied at Cambridge. His…Anne Bradstreet
Name at birth: Anne DudleyAnne Bradstreet emigrated to Massachusetts with her father and her husband in 1630. Her husband later became a governor of the colony, while Anne wrote poetry and raised…Pontiac's Rebellion
(Encyclopedia) Pontiac's Rebellion,&sp;Pontiac's Conspiracy, or Pontiac's War, 1763–66, Native American uprising against the British just after the close of the French and Indian Wars, so called…Anne Bradstreet: Prologue
Prologue To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings, Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun, For my mean Pen are too superior things; Or how they all, or each their dates have run, Let Poets…Anne Bradstreet: Another
Another Phoebus make haste, the day's too long, be gone, The silent night's the fittest time for moan; But stay this once, unto my suit give ear, And tell my griefs in either hemisphere…Anne Bradstreet: Contemplations
Contemplations Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide, When Phœbus wanted but one hour to bed, The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride, Were gilded o're by his rich golden head. Their…Anne Bradstreet: Childhood
Childhood Ah me! conceiv'd in sin, and born in sorrow, A nothing, here to day, but gone to morrow, Whose mean beginning, blushing can't reveal, But night and darkness must with shame conceal…Trending
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