A Singular Voice Preserved: The Last Poems of Ichabod Charles Wright (1873)

Every so often, a book crosses your path that feels more like a whisper from the past than a mere object. This is one of those moments.

Recently listed on the website is a privately printed volume titled Poems by Ichabod Charles Wright, dated 1873. It is, to my knowledge, the only surviving copy, and it may well be the only one that was ever meant to survive. It is quiet in appearance, but it holds something quietly remarkable: the final, unpublished verses of a man who straddled the worlds of finance and poetry with elegant ease.

The Banker-Poet of Nottingham

Ichabod Charles Wright was born in 1795 at Mapperley Hall in Nottingham, into a family whose name was synonymous with banking. He lived a life of professional discipline, but his heart clearly lived elsewhere. Educated at Eton and Oxford, he was a serious student of the classics, most notably Dante. His English translation of The Divine Comedy earned him significant respect, and not just for the ambition of the undertaking. It was also widely admired for its lyricism and care.

But what we find here, in this rare 1873 volume, is not Dante. It is Wright himself. Or at least, the voice he reserved for those closest to him, quietly reflective, occasionally melancholic, and steeped in Victorian spiritual thought.

One poem in particular, titled “Eternity” and dated October 1871, appears to have been written just weeks before Wright’s death. It’s the sort of verse you almost feel guilty reading, like stumbling across someone’s private journal left open on the desk. There's a sense that he was turning toward the end, both of the page and of life, with remarkable stillness.

A Family Tribute?

What makes this book even more compelling is its mystery. It was privately printed, with no publisher's imprint. No indication of print run, either. There are no records of this title in major collections or libraries. One suspects it was printed by the family shortly after Wright’s passing, perhaps to be distributed to a handful of friends, or simply as a way to preserve the final words of a husband, father, and intellectual whose public legacy was already secured in his translations.

That makes this volume not just rare, but deeply personal.

The Beauty of the Obscure

In a world that celebrates instant access and wide distribution, there’s something profound about a book that was never meant to be known by many. It reminds us that literature can still be private, sacred even.

This book is available now, and may never be again. For collectors of Victorian literature, private press, or posthumous works, it is a quiet marvel, and one I’m honoured to share.

You can view it here.