Illll III Ml lilHIti
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE
 
 POEMS OF 
 THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 SELECTED AND EDITED 
 
 BY 
 
 RAYMOND MACDONALD ALDEN 
 
 PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, STANFORD UNIVERSITY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1921
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 THE SCRIBNER PRSS*
 
 ^. jrf» \K 
 
 CC 
 
 
 1115 
 
 t 
 
 o 
 
 OT O ye who in eternal youth 
 
 g^ Speak with a living and creative flood 
 
 This universal English, and do stand 
 ^ Its breathing book, live worthy of that grand 
 
 o Heroic utterance — parted, yet a whole, 
 
 Far, yet unsevered, — children brave and free 
 
 Of the great Mother-tongue, and ye shall be 
 
 Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare's soul, 
 
 Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme. 
 
 And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spenser's dream. 
 
 SYDNEY DOBELL. 
 
 
 o 
 
 122 
 
 ^ GO 

 
 PREFACE 
 
 The aim which has been in view in the making of this anthology is to 
 bring together a body of poems sufficient to introduce the reader to the 
 principal types, forms, and themes of poetry (outside the drama), and to 
 meet all ordinary needs, in this field, of younger readers, — say from the 
 ages of fifteen to twenty, — including not merely their more conscientious 
 reading of the classics, but such free rambling in the poetic realm as they 
 may be tempted to undertake for the joy that is set before them. The 
 chief characteristics of the collection may be summarized briefly: 
 
 1. Nothing is included which is not believed to make some natural appeal 
 to the ages indicated. Under this head, however, the editor has in a number 
 of instances put his own judgment in abeyance to make place for practically 
 all poems which are on the list of recommended readings for students in 
 secondary schools. 
 
 2. American and British poems have been intermingled, so that — per- 
 haps for the first time — ^the reader may obtain a conspectus of modern 
 poetry written in the English tongue on both sides of the Atlantic, without 
 disproportioning emphasis on nationality. 
 
 3. No poems have been included for the primary purpose of illustrating 
 either the history of literature or the achievements of particular poets ; the 
 poem itself, not the period or the author, is the only unit of choice. Yet, 
 since the contents are printed in chronological order, those who seek it will 
 find something like a historical view of the subject. 
 
 4. The contents have been divided into two parts: Narrative Poems, 
 and Lyrical and Reflective Poems. The principal object in doing this is 
 to call the reader's attention to the two chief interests to which poems 
 correspond, — the objective or story interest, and that concerned with the 
 expression of personal feeling or meditation. Of course there is a difficulty 
 here with such types as the lyrical ballad or the dramatic monologue : 
 "Alexander's Feast" or "Locksley Hall" might quite as properly fall in 
 the first part as the second. But the effort has been to represent, in the 
 classification, the primary eflFect of the poem. 
 
 5. Notes are restricted to matters which require immediate explanation 
 in order to further the intelligent continuous reading of any poem, as dis- 
 tinguished from detailed study; a special effort has been made to furnish 
 introductory notes indicating what the reader should have in mind in 
 beginning the selection. Without disparaging the formal study of appro- 
 priate poems, one may question whether it should not be confined to matters 
 
 vii
 
 viii PREFACE 
 
 with which the poet himself would wish us to concern ourselves. Tennyson, 
 it will be recalled, viewed with horror the effort to make his poems a means 
 to learning in the schools. 
 
 6. The collection includes, in the first place, the classics which the years 
 have culled out as memorable for younger readers from one generation to 
 another, and, in the second place, a selection from recent poetry almost up 
 to the present hour, (The temptation, however, to include poems connected 
 with the late war has been resisted, since it is evidently quite too early to 
 distingfuish those of lasting from those of merely temporary significance.) 
 For the former group the editor naturally depends for the most part on 
 the judgment of his betters ; for the latter he must assume a responsibility 
 which causes him sometimes to tremble. It is important to represent poetry 
 as still alive, engaged with all the experiences and interests of contemporary 
 life, and the later pages of this book will show how it has caught up into 
 its vital embrace the biological, social, and intellectual themes of the age, 
 as well as the great physical achievements represented by the locomotive, 
 the airplane, the Panama Canal, and the American city. But the reader 
 must understand that there has been no effort to make that selective choice 
 from the work of the later poets which the perspective of time makes possi- 
 ble for the older. The recent poems here reprinted are chosen each for its 
 own sake, with no pretence of judging them to be the best of their author, 
 or as likely to be more lasting than others of their time ; the reason lies in 
 some specific interest of theme, some hopeful element of youthful appeal, 
 perhaps only in some metrical or other incidental quality which has proved 
 significant either in the class-room or in reading at home. Nothing is more 
 certain than that no two minds would make the same choices, and presuma- 
 bly no one but the editor will read the entire contents ; yet it may be claimed 
 with some assurance that every poem will be found worthily significant 
 on one or another ground. 
 
 What poetry does youth actually find appealing? This query is likely 
 to occur to anyone who contemplates such a collection as this, and to be 
 answered in accordance with memories of very various kinds. Vividness 
 and movement are of course among the primary qualities from this point 
 of view, as (fortunately) they are among the primary qualities of poetry's 
 essence. Yet one is often astonished to learn what unexpected sources of 
 more reflective interest are found to be valid, for comparatively young 
 readers, in poems apparently beyond their natural reach ; of this "Rabbi 
 Ben Ezra" is now a standard example. Sometimes a thought weighs on 
 the immature mind which only the maturest poet has fully expressed ; some- 
 times a half -ripe feeling is found reflected in the deepest poetry, where the 
 reader could not discern it clearly, much less define or explain. Two ele- 
 ments, the ethically didactic and the sentimental, are valued much more 
 highly by youth than by older readers, especially of our own time, as all 
 teachers are aware. The compiler of an anthology will therefore represent 
 them, at their best, more fully than his personal taste would dictate. Indeed, 
 it may be questioned whether the normal taste of young readers is not 
 essentially sound in being more concerned for the substantial values of
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 poetry's thought-content than is approved by much characteristic criticism of 
 the present day. 
 
 In this connection the editor has been naturally interested, while col- 
 lecting his materials, in fugitive memories of the literary passions of 
 his own adolescence. Some of these have found representation in the book ; 
 others he has scarcely the courage to justify. Among the memories are 
 these : a devotion to Macaulay's "Horatius," easily explicable, of course, on 
 the narrative side, but including a boyish ardor for the very melody of the 
 f/pening words, "Lars Porsena of Clusium," and the rest, — an ardor in no 
 wise impaired by a total want of knowledge as to who Lars Porsena might 
 have been or where Clusium might be found ; an equally ardent affection 
 for Buchanan Read's "Drifting," which was (and is) so fine a thing to 
 repeat while rowing or sailing on any bay or stream ; a strange fascination, 
 still hardly analyzed, for Herrick's little lyric on "Julia's Clothes," which 
 was selected for republication in a certain play-room periodical issued by 
 very youthful printers; a thrilling fondness for Heber's hymn, "The Son 
 of God goes forth to war" — in this instance partly accounted for by a boys* 
 tale of Juliana Ewing's, where it figures as "the tug-of-war hymn" ; a 
 consciously ethical admiration for Lowell's "The Present Crisis," and a con- 
 sciously sentimental appreciation of Longfellow's "Maidenhood"; finally, 
 and in a little later period, when sunsets and such things had become reali- 
 ties, a capture of the senses by Browning's lines telling of the place "where 
 the quiet-colored end of evening smiles." These fragments of personal 
 memory have not been gathered up here, of course, for personal reasons, 
 but as fugitive data for the inductive study of the problem of poetry laying 
 hold of youth. Happy the youth for whom the problem has been happily 
 met ! who finds aid in the interpretation of his consciousness with such 
 understanding as only poetry can give, — whose impulses toward the beau- 
 tiful, toward hero-worship and patriotism, love and religion, are expressed 
 for him by the inherited wisdom of his race as it is enshrined in speech and 
 song. To make this more easy is the highest of the purposes animating 
 this book. 
 
 The editor is under great obligation, and takes this occasion to express 
 his gratitude, to the authors and publishers who kindly gave their per- 
 mission for the reprinting of the following poems : 
 
 The poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson, John Greenleaf Whittier, Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
 Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Edward Rowland Sill, William Vaughn Moody, 
 and Robert Haven Schauffler, are reprinted by special arrangement with 
 the Houghton Mifflin Company. 
 
 The poems by Rudyard Kipling are reprinted by special arrangement 
 with Doubleday, Page and Company. 
 
 The poems by Walt Whitman are reprinted by permission of Horace 
 Traubel and Doubleday, Page and Company. 
 
 The poems by Nicholas Vachel Lindsay, Percy Mackaye, John G. 
 Neihardt, James Oppenheim, Sara Teasdale, and George Edward Wood- 
 berry are reprinted by permission of the authors and the Macmillan Com-
 
 X PREFACE 
 
 pany; those by Madison Cawein by permission of the author's executors 
 and the Macmillan Company, 
 
 The poems by Alfred Noyes are reprinted by permission of the author 
 and the Frederick A. Stokes Company. 
 
 The poems by Wendell Phillips Stafford and O. W. Firkins are re- 
 printed by permission of the authors and the Atlantic Monthly Company. 
 
 The poems by Abbie Farwell Brown (from "Songs of Sixpence"), 
 William Herbert Carruth (from "Each in his Own Tongue, and Other 
 Poems"), Florence Earle Coates, Helen Gray Cone, Washington Gladden, 
 Thomas S. Jones, Jr. (from "The Rose-Jar"), David Starr Jordan, 
 Benjamin R. C. Low (from "The House that Was"), Edwin Markham, 
 John Masefield, Harold T. Pulsifer (from "Mothers and Men"), Charles 
 M. Sheldon, Lewis Worthington Smith, Will Henry Thompson, and 
 Katharine Tynan, are reprinted by permission of their authors. 
 
 The poems by Bliss Carman and Charlotte Perkins Stetson are re- 
 printed by permission of their authors and Small, Maynard and Company. 
 
 The poems by John B. Tabb, and Richard Hovey's "Comrades" and 
 "At the End of the Day," are reprinted by permission of Small, Maynard 
 and Company; Richard Hovey's "Unmanifest Destiny" is reprinted by 
 permission of Duffield and Company. 
 
 The poems by Emily Dickinson and Helen Hunt Jackson are reprinted 
 by permission of Little, Brown and Company. 
 
 "A Song of Today," by Mary A. Lathbury, is reprinted by permission 
 of the Chautauqua Institution. 
 
 "After Construing," by Arthur Christopher Benson, is reprinted by 
 permission of the author and the John Lane Company. 
 
 "When the Great Gray Ships Come In," by Guy Wetmore Carry!, is 
 reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 
 "A Little Song of Life," by Lizette Woodworth Reese, is reprinted by 
 permission of Thomas Bird Mosher. 
 
 "Trees," by Joyce Kilmer, and "The Sacrament of Fire," by John 
 Oxenham (from "The Fiery Cross"), are reprinted by permission of the 
 George H. Doran Company. 
 
 "The Listeners" and "Nod " by Walter de la Mare are reprinted by permission 
 of Henry Holt and Company. 
 
 "The Lake Isle of Innisfree," "Father Gilligan" and the "Ballad of Moll 
 Magee" (from "Poetical Works") by W. B. Yeats, by special permission of the 
 author and the Macmillan Company. 
 
 Finally, grateful acknowledgement is made of the assistance rendered by 
 the editor's sometime colleague, Mr. Frank Ernest Hill, who not only made 
 for this volume the paraphrase of Chaucer's "Pardoner's Tale," but supplied 
 a great numl^er of the explanatory notes for the poems of the seventeenth 
 and eighteenth centuries. 
 
 R. Ms A. 
 
 Stanford University, California, 
 March, 192 1.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART ONE 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1. The Pardoner's Tale Geoffrey Chaucer i 
 
 2. Sir Patrick Spence 4 
 
 3. Johnnie Cock 5 
 
 4. Kinmont Willie 6 
 
 5. The Twa Sisters 8 
 
 6. Agincourt IVilliam Shakespeare 9 
 
 7. Agincourt Michael Drayton ■ 11 
 
 8. Nyraphidia : the Court of Faery Michael Drayton 12 
 
 9. The Rape of the Lock Alexander Pope 17 
 
 10. The Painter who Pleased Nobody John Gay 29 
 
 11. The Peacock, the Turkey, and the Goose. . . .John Gay 29 
 
 12. Boadicea IVilliam Coix>per 3° 
 
 13. Tam O'Shanter Robert Burns 3 ^ 
 
 14. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Samuel Taylor Coleridge 33 
 
 15. Simon Lee William IVordsiuorth 41 
 
 16. Bishop Hatto Robert Southey 42 
 
 17. Lucy Gray IVilliam JVordsworth 43 
 
 18. Michael IVilliam Wordsivortli 43 
 
 19. Lochinvar Walter Scott 5° 
 
 20. Marraion and Douglas Walter Scott 5^ 
 
 21. The Battle of the Baltic Thomas Campbell 52 
 
 22. The Destruction of Sennacherib Lord Byron 53 
 
 23. The Prisoner of Chillon Lord Byron 53 
 
 24. Christabel Samuel Taylor Coleridge 57 
 
 25. The Burial of Sir John Moore Charles Wolfe 60 
 
 26. La Belle Dame sans Merci John Keats 61 
 
 27. The Eve of St. Agnes John Keats 62 
 
 28. The Red Fisherman Winthrop Mackivorth Praed .... 67 
 
 29. The Belle of the Bail-Room Winthrop Mackivorth Praed .... 70 
 
 30. Bonny Dundee Walter Scott 72 
 
 31. The Silent Tower of Bottreau Robert Stephen Haivker 73 
 
 32. The Lady of Shalott Alfred Tennyson 74 
 
 33. The Last Buccaneer Thomas Babington Macaulay ... 76 
 
 34. The Jackdaw of Rheims Richard Harris Barham 76 
 
 35. The Skeleton in Armor Henry Wadsiuorth Longfellow . . 78 
 
 36. Horatius Thomas Babington Macaulay ... 80 
 
 37. My Last Duchess Robert Broivning 86 
 
 38. The Shepherd of King Admetus James Russell Loivell 87 
 
 39. Rhoecus James Russell Lowell 87 
 
 40. Abou Ben Adhem Leigh Hunt 89 
 
 41. Rime of the Duchess May Elizabeth Barrett Browning .... 90 
 
 42. How They Brought the Good News Robert Browning 96 
 
 43. The Boy and the Angel Robert Browning 97 
 
 44. Incident of the French Camp Robert Browning 98 
 
 45. The Italian in England Robert Browning 98 
 
 46. The Raven Edgar Allan Poe 100
 
 xii CONTENTS 
 
 47. Iphigeneia and Agamemnon fValUr Savage Landor 103 
 
 48. Sir Humphrey Gilbert Henry Wadsiaorth Longfelloiu . . 104 
 
 49. The Forsaken Merman Mattheiv Arnold 104 
 
 50. Sohrab and Rustum Mattheio Arnold 106 
 
 51. The Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred Tennyson 119 
 
 52. Instans Tyrannus Robert Browning 120 
 
 53. Ballad of Sir John Franklin George Henry Boker I2i 
 
 54. Skipper Ireson's Ride John Greenleaj fVhittier 123 
 
 55. King Solomon Oiven Meredith (Lord Lytton) . . 124 
 
 56. King Robert of Sicily Henry fVadsiuorth Longfelloiv . . 125 
 
 57. The Courtin' James Russell Loivell 128 
 
 58. The Lady of the Land William Morris 130 
 
 59. Gareth and Lynette Alfred Tennyson 137 
 
 60. Lancelot and Elaine Alfred Tennyson 160 
 
 61. The Passing of Arthur Alfred Tennyson 181 
 
 62. Herve Riel Robert Broiuning 189 
 
 63. The Revenge Alfred Tennyson 191 
 
 64. A Ballad of the French Fleet Henry Wadsivorth Longfelloiu . . 193 
 
 65. Pheidippides Robert Browning 194 
 
 66. The Charge of the Heavy Brigade Alfred Tennyson 196 
 
 67. The White Ship Dante Gabriel Rossetti 197 
 
 68. The Ballad of Judas Iscariot Robert Buchanan 201 
 
 69. The Slaying of Urgan Algernon Charles Sivinburne . . , 204 
 
 70. Opportunity Edivard Rowland Sill 205 
 
 71. The High Tide at Gettysburg fVill Henry Thompson 206 
 
 72. A Ballad of East and West Rudyard Kipling 207 
 
 73. The Ballad of Moll Magee William Butler Yeats 209 
 
 74. The Ballad of Father Gilligan William Butler Yeats 209 
 
 75. Elfin Skates Eugene Lee-Hamilton 210 
 
 76. The Death of Puck Eugene Lee-Hamilton 210 
 
 77. The Last Chantey Rudyard Kipling 211 
 
 78. Craven Henry Newbolt 212 
 
 79. Gillespie Henry Nenvbolt 213 
 
 80. Forty Singing Seamen Alfred Noyes 214 
 
 81. The Listeners Walter de la Mare 215 
 
 82. The Dauber Rounds Cape Horn John Masefield 216 
 
 83. The Star Sara Teasdale 218 
 
 84. The Finding of Jamie John G. Neihardt 219 
 
 PART TWO 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 85. Heart-Exchange Sir Philip Sidney 227 
 
 86. Who is Sylvia ? William Shakespeare 227 
 
 87. O Sweet Content Thomas Dekker 227 
 
 88. Blow, Blow, thou Winter Wind William Shakespeare 227 
 
 89. Under the Greenwood Tree William Shakespeare 228 
 
 90. O Mistress Mine William Shakespeare 228 
 
 91. Hark, Hark ! the Lark William Shakespeare 228 
 
 Sonnets: William Shakespeare 228 
 
 92. When in disgrace with Fortune and 
 
 men 8 eyes 
 
 228 
 
 93. When to the sessions of sweet silent 
 
 thought 229 
 
 94. That time of year thou may'st in me 
 
 behold 229
 
 CONTENTS xiii 
 
 PACK 
 
 95. But be contented : when that fell arrest 229 
 
 96. When in the chronicle of wasted time 229 
 
 97. Let me not to the marriage of true minds 230 
 
 98. Character of a Happy Life Sir Henry IVotton 230 
 
 99. It is not Growing Like a Tree Ben Jonson 230 
 
 00. To Celia Ben Jonjon 230 
 
 01. Sonnet (Since there's no help) Michael Drayton 231 
 
 02. The Crier Michael Drayton 23 1 
 
 03. Virtue George Herbert 231 
 
 04. Love George Herbert 23 1 
 
 05. The Pulley George Herbert 232 
 
 06. L'AUegro John Milton 232 
 
 07. II Penseroso John Milton 234 
 
 08. Death John Donne 236 
 
 09. Lycidas John Milton 236 
 
 10. Song (Why so pale and wan ?) Sir John Suckling 240 
 
 11. On his being Arrived to the Age of 
 
 Twenty-three John Milton 240 
 
 12. The Holy Nativity Richard Crasha<w 240 
 
 13. Corinna's Going a-Maying Robert Herrick 241 
 
 14. A Thanksgiving to God for his House Robert Herrick 242 
 
 15. On Julia's Clothes Robert Herrick 242 
 
 16. To Daffodils Robert Herrick 242 
 
 17. A Christmas Carol Robert Herrick 243 
 
 18. To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars Richard Lovelace 243 
 
 19. To Althea from Prison Richard Lovelace 243 
 
 20. Song (The glories of our blood) James Shirley 244 
 
 21. On his Blindness John Milton 244 
 
 22. Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 John Dryden 244 
 
 23. Alexander's Feast John Dryden 245 
 
 24. The Spacious Firmament on High Joseph Addison 247 
 
 25. Rule Britannia James Thomson 247 
 
 26. Ode written in 1746 IVilliam Collins 248 
 
 27. Ode to Evening IVilliam Collins 248 
 
 28. Elegy written in a Country Churchyard Thomas Gray 249 
 
 29. The Deserted Village Oliver Goldsmith 251 
 
 30. The Jackdaw IVilliam Coiufer 258 
 
 31. To a Louse Robert Burns 258 
 
 32. To a Mouse Robert Burns 259 
 
 33. Scots wha Hae Robert Burns 260 
 
 34. The Tiger IVilliam Blake 260 
 
 35. A Man's a Man for a' That Robert Burns 260 
 
 36. Lines Written in Early Spring IVilliam fVordsivorth 261 
 
 37. The Old Familiar Faces Charles Lamb 261 
 
 38. Highland Mary Robert Burns 262 
 
 39. Three Years she Grew in Sun and Shower. . IVilliam tVordsiuorth 262 
 
 40. She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways IVilliam fVordsivorth 263 
 
 41. My Heart Leaps Up when I behold fVilliam fVordsvjorth 263 
 
 42. The Solitary Reaper fVilliam fVordsivorth 263 
 
 43. She was a Phantom of Delight fVilliam fVordsivorth 263 
 
 44. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud fVilliam fVordsivorth 264 
 
 45. Ode to Duty fVilliam fVordsivorth 264 
 
 46. To a Sky-Lark fVilliam fVordsivorth 265 
 
 47. Ode (Intimations of Immortality) fVilliam fVordsivorth 265 
 
 Sonnets : fVilliam fVordsivorth 268 
 
 48. Composed upon Westminster Bridge 268 
 
 49. London, 1802 , , , 268
 
 xiv CONTENTS 
 
 50. Written in London, September, 1802 269 
 
 51. It is not to be thought of 269 
 
 52. The world is too much with us 269 
 
 53. Ye Mariners of England Thomas Campbell 269 
 
 54. She Walks in Beauty Lord Byron 270 
 
 55. Kubla Khan Samuel Taylor Coleridge 270 
 
 56. On First Looking into Chapman's Homer... Jo A« Keats 271 
 
 57. On the Grasshopper and Cricket John Keats 271 
 
 58. To the Grasshopper and the Cricket Leigh Hunt 272 
 
 59. Thanatopsis William Cullen Bryant 272 
 
 60. To a Waterfowl JVilliam Cullen Bryant 273 
 
 61. Proud Maisie Sir IValter Scott 274 
 
 62. Ozymandias Percy Bysshe Shelley 274 
 
 63. The American Flag Joseph Rodman Drake 274 
 
 64. Ode to a Nightingale John Keats 275 
 
 65. Ode on a Grecian Urn John Keats 276 
 
 66. To Autumn John Keats 277 
 
 67. Ode to the West Wind Percy Bysshe Shelley 278 
 
 68. The Cloud Percy Bysshe Shelley 279 
 
 69. To a Skylark Percy Bysshe Shelley 280 
 
 70. A Dirge Percy Bysshe Shelley 281 
 
 71. A Forest Hymn William Cullen Bryant 282 
 
 72. A Health Edivard Coate Pinkney 283 
 
 73. The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers Felicia Dorothea Hemans 284 
 
 74. The Son of God Goes Forth to War Reginald Heber 284 
 
 75. Old Ironsides Oliver Wendell Holmes 285 
 
 76. The Last Leaf Oliver Wendell Holmes 285 
 
 77. Forefathers' Hymn Leonard Bacon 285 
 
 78. Concord Hymn Ralph Waldo Emerson 286 
 
 79. A Psalm of Life Henry Wadsivorth Longfellow .. 286 
 
 80. The Humble-Bee Ralph Waldo Emerson 286 
 
 81. The Rhodora Ralph Waldo Emerson 287 
 
 82. The Snow-Storm Ralph Waldo Emerson 287 
 
 83. Maidenhood Henry Wadsworth Longfellovj . . 288 
 
 84. The Year's at the Spring Robert Browning 288 
 
 85. Marching Along Robert Browning 289 
 
 86. Break, Break, Break Alfred Tennyson 289 
 
 87. Locksley Hall Alfred Tennyson 290 
 
 88. Ulysses Alfred Tennyson 295 
 
 89. Sir Galahad Alfred Tennyson 296 
 
 90. The Song of the Shirt Thomas Hood 297 
 
 91. The Cry of the Children Elizabeth Barrett Browning 298 
 
 92. Rondeau Leigh Hunt 300 
 
 93. The Present Crisis James Russell Lowell 301 
 
 94. The Arsenal at Springfield Henry Wadsworth Longfellow .. 303 
 
 95. To the Dandelion James Russell Lowell 303 
 
 96. The Old Clock on the Stairs Henry Wadsworth Longfellow .. 304 
 
 97. Home-Thoughts from Abroad Robert Browning 305 
 
 98. Home-Thoughts from the Sea Robert Browning 305 
 
 99. Shakespeare Matthew Arnold 306 
 
 200. Annabel Lee Edgar Allan Poe 306 
 
 201. The Fairies William Allingham 306 
 
 202. Song (Old Adam, the carrion crow) Thomas Lovell Beddoes 307 
 
 203. Sweet and Low Alfred Tennyson 307 
 
 204. The Splendor Falls Alfred Tennyson 308 
 
 In Memoriam A. H. H Alfred Tennyson 308 
 
 205. Strong Son of God, immortal Love 308
 
 CONTENTS XV 
 
 PAGB 
 
 206. O, yet we trust that somehow good 308 
 
 207. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sk}' 309 
 
 208. Contemplate all this work of Time 309 
 
 209. Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. .Alfred Tennyson 309 
 
 210. Self-Dependence Mattheiv Arnold 313 
 
 211. Ode to the North-East Wind Charles Kingsley 313 
 
 212. Come into the Garden, Maud Alfred Tennyson 314 
 
 213. Evelyn Hope Robert Broivning 315 
 
 214. The Patriot Robert Broivninff 316 
 
 215. "De Gustibus" Robert Broixining 316 
 
 216. Up at a Villa — Down in the City Robert Browning 317 
 
 217. Love Among the Ruins Robert Broiuning 318 
 
 218. America Sydney Dobell 319 
 
 219. There was a Child Went Forth Walt Whitman 320 
 
 220. The Grass Walt Whitman 321 
 
 221. My Lost Youth Henry Wadsivortk Longfellow . . 322 
 
 222. Robert of Lincoln William Cullen Bryant 323 
 
 223. The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier 325 
 
 224. A Farewell Charles Kingsley 325 
 
 225. Days Ralph Waldo Emerson 325 
 
 226. The Chambered Nautilus Oliver Wendell Holmes 325 
 
 227. The Living Temple Oliver Wendell Holmes 326 
 
 228. A Sun-Day Hymn Oliver Wendell Holmes 326 
 
 229. Drifting Thomas Buchanan Read 327 
 
 230. Our Country Julia Ward Howe 328 
 
 231. Battle-Hymn of the Republic Julia Ward Howe 328 
 
 232. Dirge for a Soldier George Henry Boker 329 
 
 233. Say Not the Struggle Nought Availeth Arthur Hugh Clough 329 
 
 234. Up-Hill Christina Rossetti 329 
 
 235. Song (When I am dead, my dearest) Christina Rossetti 329 
 
 236. Young and Old Charles Kingsley 330 
 
 237. Songs of Seven Jean Ingelow 330 
 
 238. Boston Hymn Ralph Waldo Emerson 331 
 
 239. Rabbi Ben Ezra Robert Browning 332 
 
 240. Prospice Robert Browning 335 
 
 241. O Captain ! my Captain ! Walt Whitman 335 
 
 242. Ode Recited at the Harvard Commem- 
 
 oration James Russell Lowell 336 
 
 243. A Match Algernon Charles Swinburne 341 
 
 244. Rugby Chapel Matthew Arnold 342 
 
 245. East London Matthew Arnold 344 
 
 246. The Eternal Goodness John Greenleaf Whittier 344 
 
 247. The Steam Threshing Machine Charles Tennyson-Turner 344 
 
 248. Aladdin James Russell Lowell 345 
 
 249. Lost Days Dante Gabriel Rossetti 345 
 
 250. Lovesight Dante Gabriel Rossetti 345 
 
 251. In School-Days John Greenleaf Whittier 345 
 
 252. St. John Baptist Arthur O'Shaughnessy 346 
 
 253. Dorothy Q Oliver Wendell Holmes 346 
 
 254. My Strawberry Helen Hunt Jackson 347 
 
 255. Songs of Palms Arthur O'Shaughnessy 348 
 
 256. Ode (We are the music-makers) Arthur O'Shaughnessy 348 
 
 257. The Reason Why Frederick Locker-Lampson 349 
 
 258. Nature Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . . 349 
 
 259. A Late Lark Twitters William Ernest Henley 349 
 
 260. To the Man-of-War Bird Walt Whitman 350 
 
 261. A Ballade of 'Dreamland Algernon Charles Swinburne ... 350
 
 xvi CONTENTS 
 
 262. When I Saw Toa Last, Rose Austin Dobson 35» 
 
 263. The Toys Coventry Patmore 351 
 
 264. Winter in Northumberland Algernon Charles Swinburne .... 351 
 
 265. Ballade of Dead Cities Edmund Gosse 353 
 
 266. Ultima Veritas IVashington Gladden 353 
 
 267. The Marshes of Glynn Sidney Lanier 354. 
 
 268. London Snow Robert Bridges 356 
 
 269. O Youth whose Hope is High Robert Bridges 356 
 
 270. A Ballad of Trees and the Master Sidney Lanier 357 
 
 271. A Song of To-Day Mary A. Lathbury 357 
 
 272. "Hollow-Sounding and Mysterious" Christina Rossetti 357 
 
 273. The Way to Arcady Henry Cuyler Bunner 358 
 
 274. The Milkmaid Austin Dobson 359 
 
 275. Ballade of June tVilliam Ernest Henley 359 
 
 276. Requiem Robert Louis Stevenson 359 
 
 277. March Algernon Charles Sivinburne .... 360 
 
 278. England, Queen of the Waves Algernon Charles S<winburne .... 361 
 
 279. By an Evolutionist Alfred Tennyson 361 
 
 280. Epilogue Robert Broivning 362 
 
 281. Crossing the Bar Alfred Tennyson 36a 
 
 282. When Burbage Played Austin Dobson 363 
 
 283. If Emily Dickinson 363 
 
 284. A Day Emily Dickinson 363 
 
 285. I Never Saw a Moor Emily Dickinson 363 
 
 286. The Railway Train Emily Dickinson 363 
 
 287. The Robin Emily Dickinson 364 
 
 288. Who Robbed the Woods? Emily Dickinson 364 
 
 289. Two Voyagers Emily Dickinson 364 
 
 290. The English Flag Rudyard Kipling 364 
 
 291. Fresh from his Fastnesses William Ernest Henley 366 
 
 292. Unguarded Gates Thomas Bailey Aldrich 366 
 
 293. The Lake Isle of Innisfree William Butler Yeats 367 
 
 294. The Redbird Madison Ca<wein 367 
 
 295. "A Man Must Live" Charlotte Perkins Stetson 367 
 
 296. History William Watson 367 
 
 297. School-Days Robert Bridges 368 
 
 298. Comrades Richard Hovey 368 
 
 299. The Marching Morrows Bliss Carman 36S 
 
 300. A More Ancient Mariner Bliss Carman 369 
 
 301. The Butterfly John B. Tabb 369 
 
 302. The Brook John B. Tabb 370 
 
 303. The Water-Lily John B. Tabb 370 
 
 304. Phantoms John B. Tabb 370 
 
 305. The Dandelion John B. Tabb 370 
 
 306. Easter John B. Tabb 370 
 
 307. Daisy Francis Thompson 370 
 
 308. The Joy of the Hills Edwin Markham 371 
 
 309. An Angler's Wish Henry van Dyke 371 
 
 310. After Construing Arthur Christopher Benson 37a 
 
 311. Each in his Own Tongue William Herbert Carruth 37a 
 
 312. Evensong Robert Louis Stevenson 373 
 
 313. To an Athlete Dying Young A. E. Housman 373 
 
 314. Lad, Have You Things to Do? A. E. Housman 373 
 
 315. At the End of the Day Richard Hovey ... 374 
 
 316. Guilielraus Rex Thomas Bailey Aldrich . 374 
 
 317. America and England George Edward Woodberry . . . 374 
 
 318. The Secret George Edward Woodberry ... . 375
 
 CONTENTS xvii 
 
 319. Drake's Drum Henry Neivbolt 375 
 
 320. Altruism David Starr Jordan 375 
 
 321. Recessional Rudyard Kipling 376 
 
 322. When the Great Gray Ships Come In Guy IVetmore Carryl 376 
 
 323. Unmanifest Destiny Richard Hovey 377 
 
 324. Two Taverns Edivin Markham 378 
 
 325. Prelude Madison Ca<wein 378 
 
 326. Gloucester Moors ff^illiam Vaughn Moody 378 
 
 327. The Menagerie IVilliam Vaughn Moody 379 
 
 328. Sea Fever John Mase field 381 
 
 329. Kew in Lilac-Time Alfred Noyes 381 
 
 330. In the Cool of the Evening Alfred Noyes 382 
 
 331. Sometimes Thomas S. Jones, Jr 382 
 
 332. To a Greek Bootblack O. fV. Firkins 382 
 
 333. Mimma Bella Eugene Lee-Hamilton 383 
 
 334. A Little Song of Life Lizette JVoodivorth Reese 383 
 
 335. Saturday Night James Oppenheim 383 
 
 336. Comrades George Edivard fVoodberry 384 
 
 337. The Conquest of the Air Harold T. Pulsifer 385 
 
 338. The Unconquered Air Florence Earle Coates 385 
 
 339. "Scum o' the Earth" Robert Haven Schauffler 386 
 
 340. The Merry-Go-Round Margaret L. IVoods 387 
 
 341. Jesus the Carpenter Charles M. Sheldon 388 
 
 342. The Mother Katharine Tynan 389 
 
 343. The Making of Birds Katharine Tynan 389 
 
 344. The Poor-House Sara Teasdale 389 
 
 345. The Heritage Abbie Fariuell Brozvn 390 
 
 346. The Building of Springfield Nicholas Vachel Lindsay 390 
 
 347. Panama Hymn IVendell Phillips Stafford 391 
 
 348. Goethals Percy Mackaye 391 
 
 349. Invocation IVendell Phillips Stafford 392 
 
 3 50. The Gaoler Helen Gray Cone 392 
 
 351. Trees Joyce Kilmer 393 
 
 352. The Look Sara Teasdale 393 
 
 353. Milk for the Cat Harold Monro 393 
 
 354. The Little Boy and the Locomotive Benjamin R. C. Loiv 393 
 
 355. The House of Christmas Gilbert K. Chesterton 394 
 
 356. The English Tongue Leivis Worthington Smith 394 
 
 357. Nod Walter de la Mare 395 
 
 358. The Sacrament of Fire John Oxenham 395 
 
 359. The Dawn of Peace Alfred Noyes 396
 
 ABOUT POETRY 
 
 Poetry might be called the art of recording experiences which are agree- 
 ably exciting, in such a way that others may share them and be keyed up 
 to a somewhat similar excitement. The experiences may be those either of 
 the outer life or of the mind and heart ; and in themselves they may some- 
 times seem to be painful rather than agreeable, yet always with some power 
 to call up pleasurable feelings of one kind or another. Prose literature may 
 do the same thing for us, but not so often or so powerfully. It may also 
 be done by mere conversation, but we do not call this an art, because it is 
 usually put together in a careless, temporary way, and not intended to give 
 pleasure to anyone after the moment of immediate utterance is past. There 
 is something about poetry, too (or any art), which is less narrowly personal 
 than common talk, and which therefore can express one's feelings without 
 attracting undue attention to one's self. Few of us are willing, for exam- 
 ple, to exclaim in a company of friends, "Oh, how I love my country !" or 
 to tell that we should be glad to give our lives for a great cause, — not because 
 we do not wish to have it known that we have these feelings, but because 
 we do not care to make our personal emotions conspicuous. But we are 
 willing to join with others, on some patriotic occasion, in singing "My coun- 
 try, 'tis of thee," or 
 
 "As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free"; 
 
 and at such a time we feel that all the others share in the same high feelings 
 that we have. 
 
 This example also helps one to see why poetry is associated with music 
 in being rhythmical. There is something about regular rhythm appropriate 
 to the expression of feeling which is deep or lasting enough to be remem- 
 bered and shared with others. It is easier and more natural to sing one's 
 feelings than to talk them ; and it is more agreeable to join in rhythmic 
 movement, like marching in a procession, when some occasion calls for 
 emotional expression, than to walk about at one's ordinary gait. Hence 
 our liking for marching and rhythmic yelling after a football victory or good 
 news in war-time. Even when the feeling is more personal, and not of a 
 character to be shared by the whole community, the same thing is true : if 
 we have undergone a sorrow, a sad song seems to take up our feeling and 
 express it in a way that relieves and comforts us; or if a spring morning 
 is so fine that we feel bursting with the joy of the season, a fast rhythmic 
 walk, with a merry tune whistled as we go, supplies our need in the same 
 way. By a similar process the poet sets his feeling to rhythm, at the same 
 time that he expresses it in words. He says to us, in effect : "Come, get in 
 
 xix
 
 XX ABOUT POETRY 
 
 step with me, and share my experience while we move together through 
 these verses. At the end you will feel that it has been worth while." Every 
 poem, then, has a movement to which it is supposed to go ; and we should 
 always, in beginning to read it, first feel for the rhythm and start into it 
 with the right swing, as if we were joining in a procession or a dance which 
 someone else had started. Perhaps we may have to run once through the 
 poem for this purpose, too fast to see what it is really about ; then, after we 
 have caught the rhythmic movement, we can go back and pick up the ideas 
 more carefully. 
 
 Besides using rhythm as a means of getting us to share their feelings, 
 poets make an especially stimulating use of the imagination. This is the 
 faculty which brings up mental pictures of sights which we are not actually 
 seeing, and corresponding sensations — in the mind, not the body — of sound, 
 touch, odor, and taste. A vivid sensation of this sort, besides being often 
 very pleasant in itself, has been found to be the most direct and agreeable 
 way of exciting the feelings; therefore the poets, though without having 
 any exclusive right to the process, make constant use of this image-making 
 power. Sometimes the poet chooses a word or phrase because he wishes 
 the reader's imagination to bring up a sight which he (the poet) has seen, 
 with the corresponding feeling that it stirred up ; as when Wordsworth 
 (No. 144*) describes a field of wild-flowers as "a host of golden daffodils" 
 fluttering and dancing in the breeze, in order to communicate the joy which 
 he had in the experience. Sometimes he brings up a sight which he has 
 never actually seen, but has found pleasure in imagining; as when Arnold 
 (No. 49) describes the region under the sea. 
 
 Where great whales come sailing by. 
 Sail and sail, with unshut eye, 
 Round the world, for ever and aye. 
 
 Sometimes, again, he uses an image to represent a sight or sound not so 
 much for its own sake as for the sake of some idea which it will bring up 
 indirectly. Thus Wordsworth (No. 149) imagines himself as speaking to 
 the poet Milton, and saying, "Thy soul was like a star;" and Tennyson 
 (No. 281) describes a boat setting out to sea in a calm sunset, when we 
 know that he wishes to call up the thoughts and feelings connected with a 
 soul passing peacefully through the experience of death.f This kind of 
 
 * See the Table of Contents for the numbers of the poems referred to. 
 
 t These examples make it clear why the poets are disposed to make large use of 
 "figures of speech." Some of these figures are the most natural means of suggesting 
 a strong feeling in terms of a vivid image. Milton, of course, was not at all "like 
 a star" from most points of view ; but the feeling which Wordsworth had for him 
 is shown by his seeing a resemblance between the soul of Milton and a star in at 
 least one aspect. Sucli a statement of likeness we call a simile. If the Hkeness is 
 not expressly stated, hut assumed, we call the figure a metaphor; as when Words- 
 worth (in No. 147) calls the unseen spirit-world "that immortal sea which brought 
 us hither." If the likeness is expressed by representing an object or quality as a 
 living person, we call the figure personification (see the "Ode to Duty." No. 145, 
 where the whole poem is developed by means of an image of this kind). The general 
 poetic purpose of all these figures is evidently the same.
 
 ABOUT POETRY xxi 
 
 imagery is sometimes called interpretative, because it is due to the use 
 of the imagination as a means of interpreting something deeper than 
 what stands on the surface of the poem. Poetry which is concerned chiefly 
 with the simpler kinds of imagery — those that exist for the sake of beau- 
 tiful sights and sounds, interesting actions, and the like, just in themselves 
 — has the giving of pleasure for its only purpose ; the poet merely wants 
 others to share some joy that he has experienced. That of the deeper 
 sort, where the imagery interprets ideas, may also give much pleasure, but* 
 it has the further purpose of adding to our thoughtful understanding of life; 
 and it may take some little study to get out of it the thinking which the 
 poet has put into it. 
 
 It follows from all this that the writer of a poem is absolutely dependent 
 upon the reader's imagination to accomplish what he tries to do. He is also 
 dependent upon the reader's acquaintance with the words used, so that they 
 may serve the intended purpose. Keats (in No. 27) speaks of the moon- 
 light that shone through a stained-glass window as making the color of a 
 "warm gules" — choosing the word "gules" instead of some other word for 
 red, because it was a term for one of the colors of heraldry, and the window 
 had heraldic devices painted on the glass. Now it is plain that the reader 
 of the poem must know, in the first place, what color "warm gules" stands 
 for, and in the second place must imagine it vividly with his mind's eye to 
 complete the picture of the scene ; otherwise Keats has written the descrip- 
 tion in vain. From this point of view the reader's imagination may be 
 conceived as a lantern-slide on which are the outlines of a picture that 
 can be seen when illuminated by electricity, and the poet's words as the 
 .switch by which the electric current is turned on. 
 
 Test, then, the reading of a poem by such questions as these : Am I 
 moving in the swing of the poet's rhythm as I read ? Are the words bring- 
 ing up for me all the mental images which they were intended to suggest ? 
 In case the poet seems to be using his images for the purpose of interpreting 
 some idea, am I thinking his thought clearly after him? 
 
 II 
 
 There are two chief types or kinds of poetry, called Narrative and 
 Lyrical ; but in order to make the second class include all that it may be 
 convenient to have it do, we may add another term, and say Lyrical and 
 Reflective. 
 
 Narrative poetry tells a story, and the poet in telling it does not usually 
 speak for himself, but stands outside what he is telling and lets it pass like 
 a pageant before our eyes. (If he tells it in the first person, and is really 
 engaged in expressing his o\\'T1 feelings as well as telling the tale, then a 
 lyrical element is mingled with the narrative.) It is clear that this sort of 
 work is often done in prose, as in novels and romances, so that poets have 
 no monopoly of the story-telling art. But if a poet tells the story, instead 
 of a prose writer, it is likely that he wants to do at least one of three things 
 in which the prose writer would not be so much interested : he wishes to
 
 xxii ABOUT POETRY 
 
 express the movement of the story more strongly by means of rhythm, or to 
 make its imagery more vivid and beautiful than is necessary for the mere 
 story's sake, or to emphasize more strongly the feeling which it is supposed 
 to stir up. A good example of the first reason is Tennyson's "Charge of 
 the Heavy Brigade" (No. 66) ; of the second, Keats's "Eve of St. Agnes" 
 (No. 27); of the third, Arnold's "Sohrab and Rustum" (No. 50). But 
 many narrative poems exemplify all three. 
 
 The principal sub-classes of narrative poetry are (1) the epic, a long, 
 serious narrative of heroic achievement, usually connected with the life of 
 a whole people and one or more of their great men ; (2) the metrical romance, 
 a fairly long narrative of adventure, commonly involving chivalry and love 
 as well as conflict, and making much of private persons rather than national 
 heroes; (3) the ballad, a fairly short narrative, in a simple style and form 
 which suggest that it has been or might be sung by a whole company of 
 people ; (4) the tale, or short story in verse. But there is nothing to limit 
 narrative poetry to these four or any other definite number of types. 
 
 Lyrical poetry expresses personal feeling, and the poet appears to speak 
 for himself and for some experience he has undergone (though he may, 
 of course, be only imagining the experience). For reasons explained at the 
 beginning of this essay, this kind of poetry is more closely associated with 
 song that any other, and a pure lyric may always be sung with appropriate- 
 ness, if any good music is provided for it. In case the feeling of the poet 
 is the essential — almost the only — object of the poem, music is really neces- 
 sary in order to make it seem worth while. An extreme example is such a 
 song as Shakespeare's 
 
 It was a lover and his lass, 
 With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino! 
 
 which no one in his senses would care to say, but which can be sung with 
 much pleasure. But if the poet adds a fair amount of thought as well as 
 feeling, we can speak or read the poem with pleasure also; and if the thought 
 element becomes very large, we hardly care to sing it. Thus Gray's Elegy 
 (No. 128), though it expresses some of the poet's personal feeling, and is 
 therefore lyrical in considerable degree, is too much elaborated by way of 
 expository thinking to be called a lyric. Such poetry is reflective first of all. 
 But often the lyrical and reflective elements are so blended that one need 
 not try to distinguish them. 
 
 There is no definite list of sub-classes of lyrical poetry; but we may 
 notice particularly (1) the song; (2) the ode, an elaborate poem, usually 
 on a subject of more than merely personal interest, which was originally 
 intended for choral music,* but in modern times is highly reflective and 
 intended for reading; (3) the elegy, an elaborate and highly serious poem, 
 usually concerned with death and sorrow; (4) the sonnet, a reflective poem 
 confined to fourteen lines, in which a single idea or feeling is brought to a 
 
 ♦A sign of this original musical element remains in the elaborate stanzas or strophes 
 into which many odes are arranged.
 
 ABOUT POETRY xxiii 
 
 definite point of emphasis;* (5) the dramatic lyric, in which a song or other 
 lyrical poem is conceived of as being uttered by some particular person in a 
 particular situation. (If this last type is reflectively elaborated, and repre- 
 sents speech rather than song, it is likely to be called a dramatic monologue.) 
 In reading narrative poetry, then, the chief thing is to get hold of the 
 story — to follow its movement clearly, and see how and why the persons in 
 it act ; incidentally, we may expect to have some element of fine feeling 
 communicated to us. But in reading lyrical poetry, the chief thing is to get 
 hold of the feeling the poet is expressing — to see how it either remains the 
 same through the whole poem, or changes as it proceeds ; incidentally, we 
 may ask from what external experience it arose, and what thoughts it led 
 to in the writer's mind. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The rhythm of poetry may be divided into the same principal types as 
 that of music, namely, double, triple, and quadruple, according as we expect 
 two, three, or four notes or syllables to the beat, measure or foot ; but with 
 this difference, that in music double rhythm is comparatively rare and 
 quadruple very common indeed, whereas in poetry this is reversed. In both 
 cases, however, we measure the rhythm not by the number of notes or sylla- 
 bles, but by the tim^e between the principal beats. In music this time-interval 
 is indicated by "bars" or "measures" for the eye; in poetry it is only indi- 
 cated to the ear by the principal word-accents to which one might beat time. 
 Thus in the line (in No. 25) 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
 
 it is plain that the syllables "drum," "heard," "fu-," and "note" bear the 
 principal accents and mark the time-intervals. This is triple rhythm, in 
 which we expect three syllables to the beat or foot ; but we are not disturbed 
 by the fact that we have only two in the second foot ("Not a drum was 
 heard" instead of "Not a trumpet was heard"), for "drum" is easily pro- 
 nounced to take as much time as "trumpet," so that the rhythmic time is kept. 
 When rhythm is arranged, as in poetry, in lines or verses of regular 
 length, it is regarded as being measured into metre. If verses in double 
 rhythm regularly begin with the unaccented syllable, they are said to be in 
 iambic metre ; if with the accented syllable, in trochaic. If verses in triple 
 rhythm regularly begin with the unaccented syllable, they are said to be in 
 anapestic metre ; if with the accented syllable, in dactylic. Verses in quad- 
 ruple rhythm are said to be in pcconic metre, whether beginning with or with- 
 out the accent. A verse ending with the accented syllable is said to have a 
 masculine ending; with the unaccented syllable, a feminine ending. It is 
 plain that iambic and anapestic metres will regularly have masculine endings, 
 
 * The sonnet usually has a fixed rime-scheme which divides it either into an octave 
 and a sestet (that is, an eight-line and a six-line part) or into three quatrains and a 
 couplet. If we let a stand for the first rime sound, b for the second, etc., the plan of 
 the sonnet rimes will usually be either abbaabba,cdecde, or abab,cdcd,efcf,gg.
 
 xxiv ABOUT POETRY 
 
 and trochaic and dactylic metres will have feminine endings ; but an iambic 
 or anapestic verse may have a feminine ending, owing to an extra light 
 syllable being added at the end, and a trochaic or dactylic verse may have a 
 masculine ending, owing to the omission of the unaccented part of the la t 
 foot. (Such trochaic or dactylic verses are called catalcctic or truncated.' 
 We may therefore fully describe a metre, if it is of a normal type, by saying 
 that it is "four-foot iambic," "three-foot anapestic with feminine ending," 
 "five- foot trochaic catalectic," etc. But in some poems (for example, No. 
 240) the metre varies between dissyllabic and trisyllabic, so that it may be 
 called iambic-anapestic ; and in others the lines open variously with accented 
 or unaccented syllables, when it may be called iambic-trochaic (as in Nos. 
 106 and 107) or dactylic-anapestic (as in No. 267). Again, some poems 
 seem to vary between double and quadruple rhythm, each fourth syllable 
 bearing a principal accent, but with a tendency toward accenting every sec- 
 ond syllable also (see No. 80) ; these metres may be called trochaic-paeonic 
 or iambic-paeonic. 
 
 IV 
 
 In conclusion, it may be well to ask. What is the advantage of our taking 
 an interest in poetry, apart from the few occasions when it may attract our 
 attention because of some especially striking use to which it is put? The 
 first answer is that the love of poetry is one of the highest forms of pleasure. 
 The love of good pictures is a high form of pleasure, but they do not often 
 have as close a relation to life as poetry, and at their best are rare and 
 expensive. The love of good music is another high form of pleasure, but 
 it is also connected rather slightly with the problems of living, and experi- 
 ence shows that comparatively few persons get far enough into the knowl- 
 edge of musical forms to enjoy this art at its best. But poetry introduces 
 us to the enjoyment of beauty as swiftly and eflfectively as pictures and 
 music do ; it deals with pleasurable aspects of almost every kind of experi- 
 ence in real life ; and anyone who can read can soon acquire the ability to get 
 into the movement and feeling of the work of the very greatest poets, even 
 though all their ideas may not be fully understood. 
 
 A second answer has already been suggested. While some poetry exists 
 only for pleasure, most good poetry contains also the interpretation of aspects 
 of life. It does not interpret them in the same way that a school-teacher, a 
 scientist, an editor, or a preacher may do, and cannot take the place of 
 education, science, sociology, or religion ; but in the special way by which 
 the imagination interprets things, the poet does what no one else can do so 
 well. He accompanies us into all our most thrilling experiences — out-of- 
 door life, patriotism, war, love, sorrow, religion, hope, ambition — and brings 
 out the finest feelings that they involve. He does not have much to say 
 about eating and drinking and clothes and the earning of money, because 
 these experiences are connected with comparatively low levels of feeling; 
 but on the other hand he does not, as some people suppose, keep to a few 
 narrow subjects. He may write about machinery — locomotives and aero-
 
 ABOUT POETRY xxv 
 
 planes — as well as sunsets and flowers. And he is likely to lead us from 
 the more commonplace and superficial side of whatever he treats of, into its 
 deeper and richer meanings. Consequently, those who become well ac- 
 quainted with good poetry, and carry much of it in their memory, find it all 
 through their lives a kind of companion — one who not only shares their 
 pleasures and pains sympathetically, but says about each of them the truest 
 and wisest word.
 
 PART ONE 
 NARRATIVE POEMS
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 THE PARDONER'S TALE 
 
 GEOFFREY CHAUCER 
 
 (Modernised by Frank Ernest Hill) 
 
 [This 16 the story told by the Pardoner to his 
 companions of the Canterbury pilgrimage. It 
 was not ori^nal with Chaucer, but has been 
 found in various medieval versions. A long ser- 
 monic passage on the vices of dissipated men is 
 omitted from the paraphrase.] 
 
 In Flanders once there dwelt a company 
 Of youth, that followed foolish revelry, — 
 As riotous taverns, and their evil fruits, 
 Wherein with citherns and with harps and 
 
 lutes 
 They danced and played at dice both day 
 
 and night, 
 And also ate and drank beyond their 
 
 might, 
 Whereby, in Satan's temple, did they pay 
 The devil sacrifice in cursed way 
 With frightful and most horrible excess. 
 Their oaths were great and full of wick- 
 edness, 10 
 That it was hideous to hear them swear. 
 Our Lord's own blessed body would they 
 
 teari 
 (Too little by the Jews they deemed it 
 
 rent), 
 And made each other's sins a merriment. 
 
 These rioters, of whom I make my rime. 
 Long ere a single bell had rung for prime,^ 
 Had sat them in a tavern for to drink. 
 And as they sat, they heard a hand-bell 
 
 clink 
 Before a body, carried to its grave. 
 Then called the one of them unto his 
 knave^ — 20 
 
 "Be off !" he cried, "and truly certify 
 Whose body 'tis without that passes by, 
 And see that you report his name aright !" 
 "Sir," answered him this boy, " 'tis need- 
 less quite ; 
 For I was told two hours before you 
 
 came; 
 He was a fellow of yours, by God's own 
 
 Hame 
 
 1 A reference to a particular type of oath. 
 familiar in the Middle Ages, which is exemplified 
 in lines 46 and 49. Compare also line 63. 
 
 2 prime. The first period of the church day, 
 nine a.m. 
 
 3 knave. Boy, servant. 
 
 By night he died, and in a sudden waiy, 
 As flat upon his bench, all drunk, he lay. 
 There came a privy thief — men call him 
 
 Death— 
 That in this country all the people 
 
 slay'th, 30 
 
 And smote his heart asunder with his 
 
 spear, 
 And all in silence went his way from hero. 
 During this plague he hath a thousand 
 
 slain. 
 And, master, ere ye meet this grisly bane,* 
 It seems to me that it were necessary 
 To be prepared for such an adversary, — 
 Be ready for to meet him evermore; 
 My mother taught me so; I say no more." 
 "Now by St. Mary," cried the taverner, 
 •"The child speaks true; this year, I will 
 
 aver, 40 
 
 Woman, and child, and man, in yonder 
 
 town, 
 And page and villain,^ he hath smitten 
 
 down, — 
 I trow his habitation must be there. 
 And it were utmost wisdom to beware 
 Lest that a man some injury incur. 
 "Yea, by God's arms," replied this rioter, 
 "Is he so perilous a knave to meet? 
 I swear to seek him out by road and 
 
 street ; 
 Upon the bones of God I make a vow. 
 Comrades, we three are one, — then heark- 
 en now ! 50 
 Let each of us hold up his hand to th' 
 
 other. 
 
 And each of us become the other's 
 
 brother ; 
 And we will slay this false betrayer 
 
 Death,— 
 He shall be slain, he that so many slay'th. 
 By God's own dignity, ere it be night!" 
 Together then these three their troth did 
 
 plight. 
 To live and die each of them for the other. 
 As though each one were born the other's 
 
 brother. 
 And in this drunken passion forth they 
 
 started. 
 And toward that very village they de- 
 parted 60 
 
 4 bane. Destrayer. 
 
 5 villain. Low-bom man.
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Of which the tavern-keeper spoke before. 
 And then full many a grisly oath they 
 
 swore, 
 And rent the Saviour's body, limb for 
 
 limb, — 
 Death should be dead, if they discovered 
 
 him! 
 When they had traveled hardly half a 
 
 mile. 
 Just as they would have crossed a certain 
 
 stile, 
 They chanced to meet a poor and aged 
 
 man. 
 This old man meekly spoke, and thus be- 
 gan 
 To greet them: "Sirs, God keep you m 
 
 His sight!" 
 Then of these rascals three the proudest 
 
 wight 70 
 
 Replied, "Now curse you, churl 1 Whither 
 
 apace? 
 And why all wrapped and hidden save 
 
 your face? 
 How dare you live so long in Death's 
 
 defy?" 
 This old man sought his face with search- 
 ing eye. 
 And answered thus : "Because, e'en though 
 
 I went 
 To Ind, I could not find a man content, 
 In city or in village, it is truth. 
 In change for this my age to give his 
 
 youth. 
 So must I have my age in keeping still, 
 As long a time as it shall be God's will. 80 
 Nor Death, alas ! he will not have my life ; 
 And thus I walk, my restless heart at 
 
 strife. 
 And on the ground, which is my mother's 
 
 gate, 
 I knock with anxious staff, both early 
 
 and late, 
 And say, 'Beloved mother, let me in! 
 How am I wasted, flesh and blood and 
 
 skin; 
 Alas! when shall my bones be laid to 
 
 rest? 
 To be with you I would exchange my 
 
 chest 
 
 That in my room a weary time hath been. 
 
 Yea, for a hair-cloth^ I could wrap me 
 
 in !' .90 
 
 And yet she will not do me this poor 
 
 grace ; 
 Wherefore full pale and withered is my 
 
 face. 
 But, sirs, ye lack in common courtesy 
 That to an aged man speak villainy 
 I hair-doth. Shroud. 
 
 When he hath neither sinned in word nor 
 
 deed. 
 For well in holy writings may ye read, 
 'Before an aged man, whose hair is gray, 
 Ye should arise;' and therefore do I say, 
 To no old man do ye an injury. 
 As ye yourselves would look for clem- 
 ency 100 
 In your old age, if so ye should abide. 
 And God be with you, where ye walk or 
 
 ride ; — 
 I must be off where I have need to go." 
 "Nay now, old churl! By God, you shall 
 
 not so!" 
 Answered another rioter anon; 
 "You shall not part so lightly, by St. John ! 
 You spoke just now of that same traitor 
 
 Death 
 That in this country all our comrades 
 
 slay'th. 
 Have here my word : as you're a spy of 
 
 his, 
 Abide the worst, or tell us where he 
 
 is, no 
 
 By God and by the Holy Sacrament ! 
 For truly, you are one of his assent,^ 
 To slay us youthful folk, deceitful thief!" 
 "Nay, sirs," said he, "if ye can find relief 
 Only by finding Death, turn down that 
 
 way; 
 For in yon grove I left him, sooth to say. 
 Under a tree, and there he will abide, — 
 Not for your empty boasting will he hide. 
 See ye that oak tree? Ye shall find him 
 
 there. 
 God, that redeemed mankind, your spirits 
 
 spare, 120 
 
 And better you!" Thus ended this old 
 
 man; 
 And toward the tree these drunken rascals 
 
 ran 
 All three, and there, about its roots, they 
 
 found 
 Of golden florins, fine and coined round, 
 Almost a full eight bushels, as they 
 
 thought. 
 No longer then the traitor Death they 
 
 sought, 
 But each was made so happy by the sight 
 Of all those florins shining fair and bright 
 That down they sat beside the precious 
 
 horde. 
 The worst of them essayed the foremost 
 
 word : 13° 
 
 "Brothers," he said, "take heed of what I 
 
 say ; 
 My wit is great, although I jest and play! 
 3 assent. Conspiracy.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 Fortune hath found it fit to give this 
 
 treasure 
 That we may live our lives in lust and 
 
 pleasure ; 
 Lightly it comes — so shall it speed away ! 
 God's dignity ! who would have dreamed 
 
 to-day 
 That we should have so good a share of 
 
 grace ? 
 But could the gold be carried from this 
 
 place 
 Home to my house, or else to one of 
 
 yours, — 
 For well we know that all this gold is 
 
 ours — 140 
 
 Then were we in a high felicity ! 
 But such a thing by day might never be; 
 Men would proclaim us thieves, and do 
 
 us wrong, — 
 For our own treasure we might e'en be 
 
 hung. 
 This gold must then be carried hence by 
 
 night, 
 With secrecy and cautious oversight. 
 Wherefore I say, let lot among us all 
 Be drawn, and we will see where it shall 
 
 fall; 
 And he that draws the lot, with willing 
 
 heart 
 And nimble pace shall to the town de- 
 part, ISO 
 And slyly bring us bread and wine, and we 
 That still remain shall guard full carefully 
 This gold; and if our comrade does not 
 
 tarry. 
 When it is night we will this treasure 
 
 carry 
 Wherever, by agreement, we may list," 
 Then one held out the lot within his fist, 
 And bade them draw, and look where it 
 
 would fall; 
 And it fell on the youngest of them all, 
 And toward the town he journeyed forth 
 
 anon. 
 And at the very moment he was gone 160 
 The one of them thus spoke unto the 
 
 other : 
 "Full well you know you are my pledged 
 
 brother ; 
 Your profit will I tell to you anon. 
 Now our companion, as you know, is 
 
 gone, 
 And here is gold, and that great quantity. 
 That shall be portioned out between us 
 
 three. 
 But ne'ertheless, if I could shape it so 
 That it should be divided 'twixt us two, 
 
 Had I not done a comrade's turn by 
 
 thee?" 
 The other answered him, "How may that 
 
 be? 170 
 
 He knows the two of us do guard the 
 
 gold; 
 What shall we do? what would you have 
 
 him told?" 
 "Shall it be secret?" shrewdly asked the 
 
 first; 
 "Then shortly shall the method be re- 
 hearsed 
 Whereby I think to bring it well about." 
 "Agreed," replied the other; "out of doubt 
 I will betray you not, as God is true." 
 "Now," said the first, "you know that we 
 
 are two, 
 And two of us are mightier than one. 
 Watch when he sits, then straightway rise 
 
 and run 180 
 
 As though to play with him, and I'll de- 
 vise 
 To slit him with my dagger as he lies 
 In struggle with you, thinking it is game; 
 And see that with your knife you do the 
 
 same; 
 And then shall all this gold divided be 
 'Twixt you, my comrade most beloved, 
 
 and me. 
 Then may we sate our joys, and never 
 
 tire, 
 And play at dice whenever we desire !" 
 And thus these rascals two devised a way 
 To slay the third, as you have heard me 
 
 say. 190 
 
 This youngest, he that journeyed to the 
 
 town. 
 Within his heart rolled often up and down 
 The beauty of these florins new and 
 
 bright. 
 "O Lord!" quoth he, "if it were so I 
 
 might 
 Have all this treasure to myself alone, 
 There lives not any man beneath the 
 
 throne 
 Of God, that might exist more merrily 
 Than I !" And so the fiend, our enemy, 
 Put in his head that he should poison buy 
 Wherewith to make his two companions 
 
 die; 200 
 
 Because the fiend found him in such a 
 
 state 
 That he had leave his fall to consum- 
 mate, 
 For it was out of doubt his full intent 
 To slay them both, and never to repent. 
 So forth he goes — no longer will he 
 
 tarry — 
 Unto a town, to an apothecary.
 
 4 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And prayed for poison to exterminate 
 Some rats, and pole-cats that had robbed 
 
 of late 
 His roosts, — and he would venge him, if 
 
 he might, 
 On vermin that devoured him by night. 
 Then this apothecary, answering: 211 
 
 "God save my soul, but you shall have a 
 
 thing 
 That, let a living creature drink or eat 
 A part no bigger than a grain of wheat, 
 And he shall die, and that in shorter 
 
 while 
 Than you would take to pace a single 
 
 mile; 
 Such is the force this poison can com- 
 mand." 
 This cursed man received into his hand 
 The poison in a box, and then he ran 
 Into a nearby street, unto a man, 220 
 And from him did he borrow bottles 
 
 three. 
 And in the two his poison poured he, 
 But left the third unpoisoned, for his 
 
 drink ; 
 For he must work all night — so did he 
 
 think— 
 Bearing the treasure off with lusty limb. 
 And when this rioter — bad luck to him ! — 
 Had filled with liquor all his bottles three, 
 Back to his fellows then resorted he. 
 What need is there to linger on it more? 
 For just as they had planned his death 
 
 before, 230 
 
 So did they slay him now, and that with 
 
 speed. 
 Then said the one, when they had done 
 
 the deed: 
 "Now let us eat and drink, and make us 
 
 merry, 
 And afterwards we will his body bury." 
 And with that word he took, it came to 
 
 pass, 
 One of the bottles where the poison was, 
 And drank, and gave his comrade drink 
 
 beside. 
 From which they both in little season 
 
 died. 
 And Avicenna,! truly I suppose, 239 
 
 In book nor chapter never did disclose 
 More signs of poisoning to take one's 
 
 breath 
 Than these two wretches had before their 
 
 death. 
 Thus these two homicidal villains fell. 
 And their deceitful poisoner as well. 
 I Avicenna. A medical authority. 
 
 SIR PATRICK SPENCE 
 
 [This ballad is perhaps connected with the 
 story of the shipwreck of a vessel bearing an 
 embassy between Scotland and Norway in 1390.] 
 
 The king sits in Dumferling toun. 
 Drinking the blood-red wine : 
 
 "O where will I get guid sailor, 
 To sail this ship of mine?" 
 
 Up and spake an eldern knight. 
 
 Sat at the king's right knee : 
 "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor 
 
 That sails upon the sea." 
 
 The king has written a braid ^ letter, 
 And signed it wi' his hand, 10 
 
 And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, 
 Was walking on the sand. 
 
 The first line that Sir Patrick read, 
 
 A loud laugh laughed he ; 
 The next line that Sir Patrick read, 
 
 The tear blinded his e'e. 
 
 "O wha is this has done this deed, 
 
 This ill deed done to me. 
 To send me out this time o* the year, 
 
 To sail upon the sea! 20 
 
 "Make haste, make haste, my merry men 
 all. 
 
 Our guid ship sails the morn:" 
 "O say not so, my master dear. 
 
 For I fear a deadly storm. 
 
 "Late late yestreen I saw the new moon, 
 Wi' the auld moon in her arm. 
 
 And I fear, I fear, my dear master. 
 That we will come to harm." 
 
 O our Scots nobles were richt laith 2 
 To wet their cork-heel'd shoon ; 30 
 
 But lang e'er a' the play were played. 
 Their hats they swam aboon.^ 
 
 O lang, lang may their ladies sit, 
 
 Wi' their fans into their hand, 
 Or e'er they see Sir Patrick Spence 
 
 Come sailing to the land. 
 O lang, lang may the ladies stand, 
 
 Wi' their gold kems* in their hair, 
 Waiting for their ain dear lords. 
 
 For they'll see them na mair, 40 
 
 Half o'er, half o'er to Aberdour, 
 
 It's fifty fathom deep. 
 And there lies guid Sir Patrick Spence. 
 
 Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 
 
 1 braid. Open. 
 
 2 laith. Loath. 
 
 3 aboon. Above. 
 
 4 kerns. Combs.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 JOHNNIE COCK 
 
 Up Johnnie rose in a May morning, 
 Called for water to wash his hands, 
 
 And he has called for his good gray 
 hounds 
 That lay bound in iron bands. 
 
 "Ye'll busk,^ ye'll busk my noble dogs, 
 Ye'll busk and make them boun,^ 
 
 For I'm going to the Braidscaur hill 
 To ding3 the dun deer doun." 
 
 Johnnie's mother has gotten word o' that, 
 And care-bed she has ta'en :* lO 
 
 "O Johnnie, for my benison, 
 I beg you'll stay at hame ; 
 
 For the wine so red, and the well-baken 
 bread. 
 My Johnnie shall want nane. 
 
 "There are seven foresters at Pickeram 
 Side, 
 
 At Pickeram where they dwell. 
 And for a drop of thy heart's blood 
 
 They would ride the fords of hell." 
 
 But Johnnie has cast off the black velvet, 
 And put on the Lincoln twine,^ 20 
 
 And he is on to good greenwood 
 As fast as he could gang. 
 
 Johnnie lookit east, and Johnnie lookit 
 west, 
 
 And he lookit aneath the sun. 
 And there he spied the dun deer sleeping 
 
 Aneath a buss o' whun.*' 
 
 Johnnie shot, and the dun deer lap,'' 
 
 And she lap wondrous wide. 
 Until they came to the wan^ water, 
 
 And he stemmed her of her pride. 30 
 
 He has ta'en out the little pen-knife, 
 'Twas full three quarters long. 
 
 And he has ta'en out of that dun deer 
 The liver but and^ the tongue. 
 
 They eat of the flesh, and they drank of 
 the blood, 
 And the blood it was so sweet, 
 Which caused Johnnie and his bloody 
 hounds 
 To fall in a deep sleep. 
 
 1 busk. Prepare. 
 
 2 boun. Ready. 
 
 3 ding. Strike. 
 
 4 Grown ill with anxiety. 
 
 5 twine. Cloth. (Lincoln cloth was the hun- 
 ters' "green.") 
 
 6 Under a bush of furze. 
 
 7 lap. Leaped. 
 
 8 wan. Dark. 
 
 9 but and. And also. 
 
 By then came an old palmer, 
 And an ill death may he die ! 
 
 For he's away to Pickram Side 
 As fast as he can drie.i** 
 
 40 
 
 saw 
 
 50 
 
 "What news, what news?" says the Seven 
 Foresters, 
 
 "What news have you brought to me?" 
 "I have no news," the palmer said, 
 
 "But what I saw with my eye. 
 
 "As I came in by Braidisbanks, 
 And down among the whuns, 
 
 The bonniest youngster e'er I s; 
 Lay sleepin' among his hunds 
 
 "The shirt that was upon his back 
 
 Was o* the holland fine; 
 The doublet which was over that 
 
 Was o' the Lincoln twine." 
 
 Up bespake the Seven Foresters, 
 
 Up bespake they ane and a' : 
 "O that is Johnnie o' Cockley's Well, 
 
 And near him we will draw." 
 
 O the first stroke that they gave him 
 They struck him off by the knee ; 60 
 
 Then up bespake his sister's son : 
 "O the next '11 gar" him die 1" 
 
 "O some they count ye well-wight^^ men, 
 
 But I do count ye nane ; 
 For you might well ha* wakened me. 
 
 And asked gin^^ I would be ta'en. 
 
 "The wildest wolf in a' this wood 
 Would not ha' done so by me; 
 
 She'd ha' wet her foot in the wan water. 
 And sprinkled it o'er my brae,^* 70 
 
 And if that would not ha' wakened me, 
 She would ha' gone and let me be. 
 
 "O bows of yew, if ye be true. 
 In London, where ye were bought. 
 
 Fingers five, get up belive,!^ 
 Manhood shall fail me nought." 
 
 He has killed the Seven Foresters, 
 He has killed them all but ane. 
 
 And that wan^^ scarce to Pickeram Side, 
 To carry the bode-words^^ hame. 80 
 
 10 drie. Endure (to go). 
 
 1 1 gar. Make (cause). 
 
 12 well-wight. Hardy. 
 
 13 gin. If. 
 
 14 brae. Brow. 
 
 15 belive. Quickly. 
 
 16 wan. Came. 
 
 17 bode-words. Tidings.
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Is there never a bird in a' this wood 
 That will tell what I can say; 
 
 That will go to Cockley's Well, 
 Tell my mither to fetch me away?" 
 
 There was a bird into that wood, 
 That carried the tidings away, 
 
 And many one was the well-wight man 
 At the fetching o' Johnnie away. 
 
 KINMONT WILLIE 
 
 [In its present form this ballad is partly the 
 work of Sir Walter Scott. Kinmont Willie was 
 William of Armstrong, — "Will o' Kinmouth." 
 His capture and release took place in 1596. Lord 
 Scroop was warden of the West-Marches of Eng- 
 land, and Salkeld was his deputy. The Scotch 
 marshal was Sir Walter Scott of Branxholm, 
 laird of Buccleuch. Hairibee is the place of 
 execution at Carlisle.] 
 
 O have ye na heard o' the false Sakelde? 
 
 have ye na heard o' the keen^ Lord 
 Scroop ? 
 
 How they ha' ta'en bold Kinmont Willie, 
 On Hairibee to hang him up? 
 
 Had Willie had but twenty men, 
 But twenty men as stout as he. 
 
 False Sakelde had never the Kinmont 
 ta'en, 
 Wi' eight score in his company. 
 
 They bound his legs beneath the steed, 
 
 They tied his hands behind his back; lo 
 They guarded him, fivesome^ on each 
 side. 
 And they brought him over the Liddel 
 rack.3 
 
 They led him through the Liddel rack, 
 And also through the Carlisle sands; 
 
 They brought him to Carlisle's castle, 
 To be at my Lord Scroop's commands. 
 
 "My hands are tied, but my tongue is 
 free, 
 
 And who will dare this deed avow? 
 Or answer by the border law? 
 
 Or answer to the bold Buccleuch?" 20 
 
 "Now hold thy tongue, thou rank reiver !* 
 There's never a Scot shall set ye free; 
 Before ye cross my castle-gate, 
 
 1 trow ye shall take farewell o' me." 
 
 1 keen. Bold. 
 
 2 fivesome. Five together. 
 
 3 rack. Ford. 
 
 4 reiver. Robber. 
 
 "Fear na ye that, my lord," quoth Willie, 
 "By the faith o' my body. Lord Scroop," 
 he said, 
 "I never yet lodged in a hostelry 
 
 But I paid my lawings before I gaed." 
 Now word is gone to the bold Keeper, 
 
 In Branksome Ha' where that he lay, 30 
 That Lord Scroop has ta'en the Kinmont 
 Willie, 
 
 Between the hours of night and day. 
 
 He has ta'en the table wi' his hand, 
 He gar'd^ the red wine spring on high ; 
 
 "Now Christ's curse on my head," he 
 said, 
 "But avenged of Lord Scroop I'll be. 
 
 "O is my basnet^ a widow's curch?* 
 Or my lance a wand of the willow- 
 tree? 
 
 Or my arm a lady's lily hand? 39 
 
 That an English lord should lightly me. 
 
 "And have they ta'en him Kinmont Willie, 
 Against the truce of Border tide. 
 
 And forgotten that the bold Buccleu 
 Is keeper here on the Scottish side? 
 
 "And have they e'en ta'en him Kinmont 
 Willie, 
 
 Withouten either dread or fear, 
 And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch 
 
 Can back a steed, or shake a spear? 
 
 "O were there war between the lands. 
 As well I wot that there is none, 50 
 
 I would slight^ Carlisle castle high, 
 Though it were builded of marble-stone. 
 
 "I would set that castle in a lowe,^*> 
 And slocken^i it with English blood, 
 
 There's never a man in Cumberland 
 Should keni2 where Carlisle castle stood. 
 
 "But since nae war's between the lands. 
 
 And there is peace, and peace should 
 be, 
 I'll neither harm English lad or lass, 59 
 
 And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!" 
 
 5 lowing. Board account. 
 
 6 gar'd. Made. 
 
 7 basnet. Helmet. 
 
 8 curch. Kerchief. 
 
 9 slight. Raze. 
 
 10 Make the castle a mere hillock, 
 n slacken. Drench. 
 12 ken. Know,
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 He has called him forty marchmen bold, 
 I trow they were of his ain name, 
 
 Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called 
 The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same. 
 
 He has called him forty marchmen bold, 
 Were kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch, 
 
 With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,^ 
 And gloves of green, and feathers blue. 
 
 There were five and five before them a', 
 Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright; 
 
 And five and five came wi' Buccleuch, 71 
 Like Warden's men, arrayed for fight. 
 
 And five and five like a mason-gang. 
 That carried the ladders lang and hie; 
 
 And five and five like broken men;2 
 And so they reached the Woodhouse- 
 lee. 
 
 And as we crossed the Eatable Land,^ 
 When to the English side we held, 
 
 The first o' men that we met wi', 
 Whae should it be but false Sakelde ! 80 
 
 "Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?" 
 Quoth false Sakelde ; "come tell to me !" 
 
 "We go to hunt an English stag, 
 Has trespassed on the Scots countree," 
 
 "Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?" 
 Quoth false Sakelde; "come tell me 
 true!" 
 "We go to catch a rank reiver. 
 Has broken faith wi' the bold Buc- 
 cleuch." 
 
 "Where are ye gaun, ye mason-lads, 
 Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?" 90 
 
 "We gang to harry* a corbie's^ nest. 
 That wons^ not far frae Woodhouse- 
 lee." 
 
 "Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?" 
 Quoth false Sakelde ; "come tell to me !" 
 
 Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, 
 And the never a word o' lore'^ had he. 
 
 "Why trespass ye on the English side? 
 Row-footed^ outlaws, stand !" quoth 
 he; 
 The ne'er a word had Dickie to say. 
 So he thrust the lance through his false 
 bodie. 100 
 
 1 splent on spauld. Armor on shoulder. 
 
 2 broken men. Outlaws. 
 
 3 Eatable Land. Border. 
 
 4 harry. Plunder. 
 
 5 corbie's. Crow's. 
 
 6 vons. Dwells. 
 
 7 lore. Learning. 
 
 8 Row-fooled. Rough-footed. 
 
 Then on we held for Carlisle town, 
 And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we 
 crossed ; 
 
 The water was great, and mickle of spait,^ 
 But the never a horse nor man we lost. 
 
 And when we reached the Staneshaw- 
 bank, 
 The wind was rising loud and hie; 
 And there the laird gar'd leave our steeds. 
 For fear that they should stamp and 
 neigh. 
 
 And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, 
 The wind began full loud to blaw ; no 
 
 But 'twas wind and wet, and fire and 
 sleet. 
 When we came beneath the castle wa'. 
 
 We crept on our knees, and held our 
 breath. 
 Till we placed the ladders against the 
 wa'; 
 And so ready was Buccleuch himself 
 To mount the first before us a'. 
 
 He has ta'en the watchman by the throat. 
 He flung him down upon the lead;!" 
 
 "Had there not been peace between our 
 
 lands, 119 
 
 Upon the other side thou hadst gaed. 
 
 "Now sound out, trumpets !" quoth Buc- 
 cleuch ; 
 "Let's waken Lord Scroop right mer- 
 rily." 
 Then loud the Warden's trumpets blew 
 "O wha dare meddle wi' me?" 
 
 Then speedily to work we gaed. 
 And raised the slogan ane and a'. 
 
 And cut a hole through a sheet of lead. 
 And so we won to the castle-ha'. 
 
 They thought King James and a' his men 
 Had won the house wi' bow and spear ; 
 
 It was but twenty Scots and ten 131 
 
 That put a thousand in sic a stear!" 
 
 Wi* coulters and wi' forehammers^^ 
 We gar'd the bars bang merrily, 
 
 Until we came to the inner prison. 
 Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie. 
 
 9 mickle of spait. Great of flood . 
 
 10 lead. That is, of the roof. Cf. line 127. 
 
 11 sttar. Stir. 
 
 la With plow-blades and sledge-hammers.
 
 8 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And when we came to the lower prison, 
 Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie, 
 
 "O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, 
 Upon the morn that thou's to die?" 140 
 
 "O I sleep soft, and I wake oft. 
 It's lang since sleeping was fleyd^ from 
 me; 
 Gi' my service back to my wife and 
 bairns, 
 And a' good fellows that speir^ for 
 me." 
 
 Then Red Rowan has hent^ him up. 
 The starkest man in Teviotdale. 
 
 "Abide, abide now. Red Rowan, 
 Till of my Lord Scroop I take fare- 
 well. 
 
 "Farewell, farewell, my good Lord 
 
 Scroop ! 
 
 My good Lord Scroop, farewell!" he 
 
 cried. 150 
 
 "I'll pay you for my lodging-mail* 
 
 When first we meet on the border side." 
 
 Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, 
 We bore him down the ladder lang; 
 
 At every stride Red Rowan went, 
 I wot the Kinmont's iron played clang. 
 
 "O mony a time," quoth Kinmont Willie, 
 "I have ridden horse both wild and 
 wood,s 
 
 But a rougher beast than Red Rowan 
 I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode. 160 
 
 "And mony a time," quoth Kinmont Wil- 
 lie, 
 . "I've pricked a horse out o'er the furs,^ 
 But since the day I backed a steed 
 I never wore sic cumbrous spurs." 
 
 We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, 
 When a' the Carlisle bells were rung. 
 
 And a thousand men, in horse and foot. 
 Came wi' the keen Lord Scroop along. 
 
 Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water, 
 Even where it flowed from bank to 
 brim, 170 
 
 And he has plunged in wi' a* his band, 
 And safely swam them through the 
 stream. 
 
 1 fleyd. Put to flight. 
 
 2 speir. Ask. 
 
 3 hent. Seized. 
 
 4 mail. Rent. 
 
 5 wood. Mad. 
 
 6 furs. Ground (furrows). 
 
 He turned him on the other side. 
 And at Lord Scroop his glove flung he : 
 
 "If ye like na my visit in merry England, 
 In fair Scotland come visit me!" 
 
 All sore astonished stood Lord Scroop, 
 He stood as still as rock of stane; 
 
 He scarcely dared to trow'' his eyes 179 
 When through the water they had gane. 
 
 "He is either himsel a devil frae hell. 
 Or else his mother a witch maun^ be; 
 
 I would na have ridden that wan^ water 
 For a' the gold in Christentie."^" 
 
 THE TWA SISTERS 
 
 [The refrain in the first stanza, which is sup- 
 posed to be repeated in all the others, is of the 
 irrelevant sort which merely gives evidence of 
 the ballad's having been sung to a familiar 
 tune.] 
 
 There was twa sisters in a bowr, 
 
 Edinbro, Edinbro, 
 There was twa sisters in a bowr, 
 
 Stirling for aye. 
 There was twa sisters in a bowr, 
 There came a knight to be their wooer. 
 
 Bonny St. Johnston stands upon Tay. 
 
 He courted the eldest wi glove an ring, 
 But he lovd the youngest above a' thing. 
 
 He courted the eldest wi brotchii an 
 knife, 10 
 
 But he lovd the youngest as his life. 
 
 The eldest she was vexed sair,i2 
 An much envi'd her sister fair. 
 
 Upon a morning fair an clear, 
 She cried upon her sister dear: 
 
 "O sister, come to yon sea stran. 
 
 An see our father's ships come to Ian." 
 
 She's taen her by the milk-white han. 
 An led her down to yon sea stran. 
 
 The youngest stood upon a stane, 20 
 
 The eldest came and threw her in. 
 
 She took her by the middle sma. 
 
 An dashd her bonnie back to the jaw.^' 
 
 7 troiv. Trust. 
 
 8 maun. Must. 
 
 9 wan. Dark. 
 
 10 Chrislentie. Christendom. 
 
 11 hrotch. Brooch. 
 
 12 sair. Sorely. 
 
 13 Threw her backward into the water.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 9 
 
 "O sister, sister, tak my han, 
 
 An Ise^ mack you heir to a' my Ian. 
 
 "O sister, sister, save my life, 
 
 And I swear Ise never be nae man's wife." 
 
 "Foul i^" the han that I should tacke, 
 It twind me an my warldes make.^ 
 
 "Your cherry cheeks an yallow hair 30 
 Gars* me gae maiden for evermair." 
 
 Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she 
 
 swam, 
 Till she came down yon bonny mill-dam. 
 
 O out it came the miller's son. 
 An saw the fair maid swimmin in. 
 
 "O father, father, draw your dam. 
 Here's either a mermaid or a swan." 
 
 The miller quickly drew the dam. 
 And there he found a drownd woman. 
 
 You coudna see her yallow hair 40 
 
 For gold and pearle that were so rare. 
 
 You coudna see her middle sma 
 For gouden girdle that was sae braw.' 
 
 You coudna see her fingers white 
 For gouden rings that was sae gryte.^ 
 
 An by there came a harper fine, 
 That harped to the king at dine. 
 
 When he did look that lady upon, 
 He sighed and made a heavy moan. 
 
 He's taen three locks o' her yallow hair. 
 An wi them strung his harp sae fair. 51 
 
 The first tune he did play and sing. 
 Was, "Farewell to my father the king." 
 
 The nextin tune that he playd syne,^ 
 Was, "Farewell to my mother the queen." 
 
 The lasten tune that he played then. 
 Was, "Wae to my sister, fair Ellen." 
 
 1 Jse. I will. 
 
 2 Foul fa. Evil befall. 
 
 3 If it separated me from my earthly mate. 
 
 4 Gars. Makes. 
 
 5 braw. Fine. 
 
 6 gryle. Great. 
 
 7 syne. Afterward. 
 
 AGINCOURT 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 (From Henry V) 
 
 [In 1415 Henry V of England, prosecuting a 
 claim to the French throne, landed in France 
 with an invading army. He met the French 
 forces, far superior in numbers to his own. at 
 Agincourt, ana on October 25 decisively defeated 
 the Constable of France.] 
 
 Now all the youth of England are on 
 fire, 
 
 And silken dalliance 1 in the wardrobe 
 lies. 
 
 Now thrive the armorers, and honor's 
 thought 
 
 Reigns solely in the breast of every man. 
 
 They sell the pasture now to buy the 
 horse. 
 
 Following the mirror of all Christian 
 kings. 
 
 With winged heels, as English Mercuries. 
 
 For now sits Expectation in the air. 
 
 And hides a sword from hilts unto the 
 point 
 
 With crowns imperial, crowns and coro- 
 nets, 10 
 
 Promised to Harry and his followers. 
 
 The French, advised by good intelligence 
 
 Of this most dreadful preparation, 
 
 Shake in their fear, and with pale policy 
 
 Seek to divert the English purposes. 
 
 O England ! model to thy inward great- 
 ness. 
 
 Like little body with a mighty heart, 
 
 What mightst thou do, that honor would 
 thee do, 
 
 Were all thy children kind and natural ! 
 
 Suppose that you have seen 
 The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
 Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet 
 With silken streamers the young Phoebus 
 fanning. 22 
 
 Play with your fancies, and in them be- 
 hold 
 Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climb- 
 ing; 
 Hear the shrill whistle which doth order 
 
 give 
 To sounds confused; behold the threaden 
 
 sails. 
 Borne with the invisible and creeping 
 wind, 
 
 I dalliance. The life of ease which silken gar- 
 ments represent.
 
 10 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Draw the huge bottoms through the fur- 
 rowed sea, 
 
 Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but 
 think 
 
 You stand upon the Tivage^ and behold 
 
 A city on the inconstant billows dancing; 
 
 For so appears this fleet majestical, 32 
 
 Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, 
 follow ! 
 
 Grapple your minds to sternage^ of this 
 navy, 
 
 And leave your England, as dead mid- 
 night still, 
 
 Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old 
 women. 
 
 Either past or not arrived to pith and 
 puissance. 
 
 For who is he, whose chin is but en- 
 riched 
 
 With one appearing hair, that will not 
 follow 
 
 These culled and choice-drawn cavaliers 
 to France ? 40 
 
 Work, work your thoughts, and therein 
 see a siege; 
 
 Behold the ordnance on their carriages. 
 
 With fatal mouths gaping on girded Har- 
 fleur. 
 
 Suppose the ambassador from the French 
 comes back. 
 
 Tells Harry that the King doth offer him 
 
 Katharine his daughter, and with her, to 
 dowry. 
 
 Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
 
 The offer likes not ; and the nimble gunner 
 
 With linstock now the devilish cannon 
 touches. 
 
 And down goes all before them. 50 
 
 III 
 
 Now entertain conjecture of a time 
 
 When creeping murmur and the poring' 
 dark 
 
 Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
 
 From camp to camp through the foul 
 womb of night 
 
 The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
 
 That the fixed sentinels almost receive 
 
 The secret whispers of each other's 
 watch ; 
 
 Fire answers fire, and through their paly 
 flames 
 
 Each battle sees the other's umbered face; 
 
 Steed threatens steed, in high and boast- 
 ful neighs 60 
 
 1 rivage. Shore. 
 
 2 to sternage. To follow at the stem. 
 
 3 poring. Brooding. 
 
 Piercing the night's dull ear; and from 
 
 the tents 
 The armorers, accomplishing* the knights. 
 With busy hammers closing rivets up. 
 Give dreadful note of preparation. 
 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do 
 
 toll. 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning 
 
 name. 
 Proud of their numbers, and secure in 
 
 soul. 
 The confident and over-lusty French 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice; 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited Night 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth 
 
 limp 71 
 
 So tediously away. The poor condemned 
 
 English, 
 Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
 Sit patiently and inly ruminate 
 The morning's danger; and their gesture 
 
 sad, 
 Investing^ lank-lean cheeks and war-worn 
 
 coats. 
 Presented them unto the gazing moon 
 So many horrid ghosts, O now, who will 
 
 behold 
 The royal captain of this ruined band 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent 
 
 to tent, 80 
 
 Let him cry, "Praise and glory on his 
 
 head !" 
 For forth he goes and visits all his host, 
 Bids them good morrow with a modest 
 
 smile, 
 And calls them brothers, friends, and 
 
 countrymen. 
 Upon his royal face there is no note 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him; 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color 
 Unto the weary and all-watched night, 
 But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint^ 
 With cheerful semblance and sweet maj- 
 esty ; 90 
 That every wretch, pining and pale before. 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his 
 
 looks. 
 A largess universal like the sun 
 His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
 Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle 
 
 all 
 Behold, as may unworthiness define,'' 
 A little touch of Harry in the night. 
 
 4 accomplishing. Equipping. 
 
 5 Investing. Accompanying, pervading. 
 
 6 attaint. Fatigue. 
 
 7 So far as our unworthiness can show it.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 11 
 
 IV 
 
 Now we bear the King 
 Toward Calais; grant him there; there 
 
 seen 
 Heave him away upon your winged 
 
 thoughts 100 
 
 Athwart the sea. Behold, the English 
 
 beach 
 Pales in the flood with men, with wives 
 
 and boys, 
 Whose shouts and claps out-voice the 
 
 deep-mouthed sea, 
 Which like a mighty whifHer^ 'fore the 
 
 King 
 Seems to prepare his way. So let him 
 
 land, 
 And solemnly see him set on to London. 
 So swift a pace hath thought that even 
 
 now 
 You may imagine him upon Blackheath, 
 Where that his lords desire him to have 
 
 borne 109 
 
 His bruised helmet and his bended sword 
 Before him through the city. He forbids 
 
 ,it. 
 Being free from vainness and self-glori- 
 ous pride; 
 Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent^ 
 Quite from himself to God. But now be- 
 hold, 
 In the quick forge and working-house of 
 
 thought, 
 How London doth pour out her citizens! 
 The mayor and all his brethren in best 
 
 sort, 
 Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
 With the plebeians swarming at their 
 
 heels, 
 Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar 
 
 in. 120 
 
 (1600) 
 
 AGINCOURT 
 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON 
 
 Fair stood the wind for France, 
 When we our sails advance; 
 Nor now to prove our chance 
 
 Longer will tarry; 
 But putting to the main, 
 At Caux, the mouth of Seine, 
 With all his martial train 
 
 Landed King Harry. 
 
 I U'hiffler. Herald, 
 a oslent. Display. 
 
 And taking many a fort, 
 
 Furnished in warlike sort, 10 
 
 Marcheth towards Agincourt 
 
 In happy hour; 
 Skirmishing, day by day. 
 With those that stopped his way, 
 Where the French general lay 
 
 With all his power. 
 
 Which, in his height of pride, 
 King Henry to deride. 
 His ransom to provide 
 
 To the King sending; 20 
 
 Which he neglects the while. 
 As from a nation vile. 
 Yet with an angry smile, 
 
 Their fall portending. 
 
 And turning to his men. 
 Quoth our brave Henry then : 
 "Though they to me be ten 
 
 Be not amazed ! 
 Yet have we well begun : 
 Battles so bravely won 30 
 
 Have ever to the sun 
 
 By Fame been raised ! 
 
 "And for myself," quoth he, 
 "This my full rest^ shall be: 
 England ne'er mourn for me, 
 
 Nor more esteem me ! 
 Victor I will remain, 
 Or on this earth lie slain; 
 Never shall She sustain 
 
 Loss to redeem me ! 40 
 
 "Poitiers and Cressy tell. 
 
 When most their pride did swell, 
 
 Under our swords they fell. 
 
 No less our skill is. 
 Than when our Grandsire great,* 
 Claiming the regal seat, 
 By many a warlike feat 
 
 Lopped the French lilies." ^ 
 
 The Duke of York so dread 
 The eager vanward led; 
 With the main, Henry sped 
 
 Amongst his henchmen : 
 Exeter had the rear, 
 A braver man not there ! 
 O Lord, how hot they were 
 
 On the false Frenchmen 1 
 
 3 rest. Resolution. 
 
 4 Edward IH. 
 
 5 lilies. The national flower of France.
 
 12 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 They now to fight are gone ; 
 Armour on armour shone ; 
 Drum now to drum did groan : 
 
 To hear, was wonder; 
 That, with the cries they make, 
 The very earth did shake; 
 Trumpet to trumpet spake; 
 
 Thunder to thunder. 
 
 Well it thine age became, 
 O noble Erpingham, 
 Which didst the signal aim 
 
 To our hid forces! 
 When, from a meadow by, 
 Like a storm suddenly. 
 The English archery 
 
 Stuck the French horses. 
 
 With Spanish yew so strong; 
 Arrows a cloth-yard long, 
 That like to serpent stung. 
 
 Piercing the weather. 
 None from his fellow starts; 
 But, playing manly parts. 
 And like true English hearts, 
 
 Stuck close together. 
 
 When down their bows they threw, 
 And forth their bilboes^ drew. 
 And on the French they flew : 
 
 Not one was tardy. 
 Arms were from shoulders sent. 
 Scalps to the teeth were rent, 
 Down the French peasants went : 
 
 Our men were hardy. 
 
 This while our noble King, 
 His broad sword brandishing, 
 Down the French host did ding,^ 
 
 As to o'erwhelm it; 
 And many a deep wound lent ; 
 His arms with blood besprent. 
 And many a cruel dent 
 
 Bruised his helmet. 
 
 Gloucester, that duke so good, 
 Next of the royal blood, 
 For famous England stood 
 
 With his brave brother; 
 Clarence, in steel so bright. 
 Though but a maiden knight. 
 Yet in that furious fight 
 
 Scarce such another! 
 
 Warwick in blood did wade, 
 Oxford, the foe invade, 
 And cruel slaughter made. 
 Still as they ran up. 
 
 1 bilboes. Swords. 
 
 2 ding. Beat. 
 
 60 
 
 70 
 
 80 
 
 90 
 
 100 
 
 Suffolk his axe did ply ; 
 Beaumont and Willoughby 1 10 
 
 Bare them right doughtily; 
 Ferrers and Fanhope. 
 
 Upon Saint Crispin's Day 
 P'ought was this noble fray; 
 Which Fame did not delay 
 
 To England to carry. 
 O when shall English men 
 With such acts fill a pen? 
 Or England breed again 
 
 Such a King Harry? 120 
 
 (1606) 
 
 NYMPHIDIA: THE COURT OF 
 FAERY 
 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON 
 
 [A mock epic, in which Drayton playfully min- 
 gles the fairy lore of the romances with the 
 classical mythology of earlier literature. A part 
 of the story, relating certain adventures of 
 Oberon and Puck, is omitted here.] 
 
 Old Chaucer doth of Thopas tell, 
 Mad Rabelais of Pantagruel, 
 A later third of Dowsabel, 
 
 With such poor trifles playing: 
 Others the like have labored at. 
 Some of this thing, and some of that, 
 And many of they know not what, 
 
 But that they must be saying. 
 
 Another sort there be, that will 
 
 Be talking of the fairies still, 10 
 
 Nor never can they have their fill 
 
 As they were wedded to them : 
 No tales of them their thirst can slake, 
 So much delight therein they take. 
 And some strange thing they fain would 
 make, 
 
 Knew they the way to do them. 
 
 Then since no Muse hath been so bold, 
 Or of the later or the old,^ 
 Those elvish secrets to unfold, 
 
 Which lie from others' reading, 20 
 
 My active Muse to light shall bring 
 The court of that proud Fairy King, 
 And tell there of the reveling: 
 
 Jove prosper my proceeding! 
 
 And thou Nymphjdia, gentle Fay, 
 Which, meeting me upon the way, 
 These secrets didst to me bewray,* 
 Which now I am in telling: 
 
 3 Either of modem or ancient poets. 
 
 4 bewray. Reveal.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 13 
 
 My pretty light fantastic maid, 
 I here invoke to thee my aid, 30 
 
 That I may speak what thou hast said. 
 In numbers smoothly swelling. 
 
 This palace standeth in the air, 
 By necromancy placed there, 
 That it no tempests needs to fear, 
 
 Which way soe'er it blow it : 
 And somewhat southward, toward the 
 
 noon, 
 Whence lies a way up to the moon, 
 And thence the fairy can as soon 
 
 Pass to the earth below it. 40 
 
 The walls of spiders' legs are made. 
 Well morticed and finely laid, — 
 He was the master of his trade. 
 
 It curiously that builded ; 
 The windows of the eyes of cats. 
 And for the roof, instead of slats, 
 Is covered with the skins of bats. 
 
 With moonshine that are gilded. 
 
 Hence Oberon, him sport to make 
 (Their rest when weary mortals take, 50 
 And none but only fairies wake), 
 
 Descendeth for his pleasure; 
 And Mab, his merry Queen, by night 
 Bestrides young folks that lie upright^ 
 (In elder times the Mare that hight),^ 
 
 Which plagues them out of measure. 
 
 Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes. 
 
 Of little frisking elves and apes, 
 
 To earth do make their wanton scapes, 
 
 As hope of pastime hastes them ; 60 
 Which maids think on the hearth they see. 
 When fires well-near consumed be. 
 There dancing hayes^ by two and three, 
 
 Just as their fancy casts* them. 
 
 These make our girls their sluttery rue,^ 
 By pinching them both black and blue, 
 And put a penny in their shoe 
 
 The house for cleanly sweeping; 
 And in their courses make that round.^ 
 In meadows and in marshes found, 70 
 
 Of them so called the "fairy ground," 
 
 Of which they have the keeping. 
 
 But listen, and I shall you tell 
 A chance in Fairy'^ that befell, 
 Which certainly may please some well, 
 In love and arms delighting: 
 
 1 upright. On their backs. 
 
 2 hight. Was called. 
 
 3 hayes. Reels. 
 
 4 casts. Inclines. 
 
 5 their sluttery rue. Repent their untidiness. 
 
 6 round. Circle (the "fairy ring"). 
 
 7 Fairy. Fairyland. 
 
 Of Oberon, that jealous grew 
 Of one of his own fairy crew. 
 Too well (he feared) his queen that knew, 
 His love but ill requiting. 80 
 
 Pigwiggen was this fairy knight, 
 
 One wondrous gracious in the sight 
 
 Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night 
 
 He amorously observed; 
 Which made King Oberon suspect 
 His service took too good effect. 
 His sauciness and often checked,^ 
 
 And could have wished him starved. ^ 
 
 Pigwiggen gladly would commend 
 
 Some token to Queen Mab to send, 90 
 
 If sea or land him aught could lend. 
 
 Were worthy of her wearing. 
 At length this lover doth devise 
 A bracelet made of emmets' eyes, 
 A thing he thought that she would prize, 
 
 No whit her state impairing. 
 
 And to the Queen a letter writes, 
 Which he most curiously indites. 
 Conjuring her by all the rites 
 
 Of love, she would be pleased 100 
 
 To meet him, her true servant, where 
 They might without suspect of fear 
 Themselves to one another clear. 
 
 And have their poor hearts eased, 
 
 "At midnight the appointed hour. 
 And for the Queen a fitting bower," 
 Quoth he, "is that fair cowslip flower, 
 
 On Hipcut Hill that groweth. 
 In all your train there's not a fay 
 That ever went to gather May,^*^ no 
 
 But she hath made^i it in her way, — 
 
 The tallest there that groweth." 
 
 When by Tom Thumb, a fairy page, 
 He sent it, and doth him engage, 
 By promise of a mighty wage. 
 
 It secretly to carry : 
 Which done, the Queen her maids doth 
 
 call, 
 And bids them to be ready all, 
 She would go see her summer hall, — 
 
 She could no longer tarry. 120 
 
 Her chariot ready straight is made, 
 Each thing therein is fitting laid, 
 That she by nothing might be stayed, 
 For naught must her be letting.12 
 
 8 And often rebuked his sauciness. 
 
 9 starved. Dead. 
 
 10 May. May-blossoms (hawthorn). 
 
 11 made. Arranged to pass. 
 
 12 letting. Hindering.
 
 14 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Four nimble gnats the horses were, 
 Their harnesses of gossamer, 
 Fly Cranion, her charioteer, 
 Upon the coach-box getting. 
 
 Her chariot of a snail's fine shell, 
 Which for the colors did excel; 130 
 
 The fair Queen Mab becoming well, 
 
 So lively was the limning ;i 
 The seat the soft wool of the bee, 
 The cover (gallantly to see) 
 The wing of a pied butterflee, — 
 
 I trow 'twas simple trimming. 
 
 The wheels composed of crickets' bones, 
 And daintily made for the nonce ;2 
 For fear of rattling on the stones, 
 
 With thistle-down they shod it ; 140 
 For all her maidens much did fear, 
 If Oberon had chanced to hear 
 That Mab his Queen should have been 
 there. 
 
 He would not have abode^ it. 
 
 She mounts her chariot with a trice, 
 Nor would she stay for no advice. 
 Until her maids, that were so nice,* 
 
 To wait on her were fitted, 
 But ran herself away alone; 149 
 
 Which when they heard, there was not one 
 But hasted after to be gone, 
 
 As she had been diswitted. 
 
 Hop, and Mop, and Drap so clear, 
 Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were 
 To Mab their sovereign ever dear. 
 
 Her special maids of honor; 
 Fib, and Tib, and Pink, and Pin, 
 Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin, 
 Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win, 
 
 The train that wait upon her. 160 
 
 Upon a grasshopper they got, 
 
 And what with amble and with trot. 
 
 For hedge nor ditch they spared not, 
 
 But after her they hie them. 
 A cobweb over them they throw. 
 To shield the wind if it should blow; 
 Themselves they wisely could bestow,^ 
 
 Lest any should espy them. 
 
 But let us leave Queen Mab awhile, 160 
 Through many a gate, o'er many a stile. 
 That now had gotten, by this wile, 
 
 I limning. Painting. 
 
 3 nonce. Occasion (formerly written nones, and 
 probably intended to be so read here). 
 
 3 abode. Endured. 
 
 4 nice. Scrupulous. 
 
 5 bestow. Dispose of. 
 
 Her dear Pigwiggen kissing. 
 And tell how Oberon doth fare. 
 Who grew as mad as any hare, 
 When he had sought each place with care, 
 
 And found his Queen was missing. 
 
 The Queen, bound with love's powerful 
 
 charm. 
 Sat with Pigwiggen arm in arm ; 
 Her merry maids, that thought no harm. 
 
 About the room were skipping. 180 
 
 A humble-bee, their minstrel, played 
 Upon his hautbois;^ every maid 
 Fit for this revel was arrayed. 
 
 The hornpipe neatly tripping. 
 
 In comes Nymphidia, and doth cry, 
 "My sovereign, for your safety fly ! 
 For there is danger but too nigh; 
 
 I posted'^ to forewarn you. 
 The King hath sent Hobgoblin out, 
 To seek you all the fields about, 190 
 
 And of your safety you may doubt. 
 
 If he but once discern you." 
 
 When, like an uproar in a town. 
 Before them every thing went down ; 
 Some tore a ruff, and some a gown, 
 
 'Gainst one another jostling; 
 They flew about like chaff i' the wind ; 
 For haste some left their masks behind, — 
 Some could not stay their gloves to find ; 
 
 There never was such bustling. 200 
 
 Forth ran they by a secret way. 
 
 Into a brake^ that near them lay. 
 
 Yet much they doubted there to stay, 
 
 Lest Hob should hap to find them : — 
 He had a sharp and piercing sight. 
 All one to him the day or night, 
 And therefore were resolved by flight 
 
 To leave this place behind them. 
 
 At length one chanced to find a nut. 
 In th' end of which a hole was cut, 210 
 Which lay upon a hazel root. 
 
 There scattered by a squirrel, 
 Which out the kernel gotten had ; 
 When quoth this fay, "Dear queen, be 
 
 glad. 
 Let Oberon be ne'er so mad. 
 
 I'll set you safe from peril. 
 
 6 hauthois. Oboe. 
 
 7 posted. Hurried. 
 
 8 brake. Fern.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 15 
 
 "Come all into this nut," quoth she ; 
 "Come closely in, be ruled by me; 
 Each one may here a chooser be, 
 
 For room ye need not wrestle, 220 
 
 Nor need ye be together heaped." 
 So one by one therein they crept. 
 And lying down, they soundly slept, 
 
 And safe as in a castle. 
 
 But leave we Hob to clamber out, 
 Queen Mab and all her fairy rout, 
 And come again to have a bout 
 
 With Oberon yet madding; 
 And with Pigwiggen, now distraught, 229 
 Who much was troubled in his thought, 
 That he so long the Queen had sought. 
 
 And through the fields was gadding. 
 
 And as he runs, he still doth cry, 
 
 "King Oberon, I thee defy, 
 
 And dare thee here in arms to try, 
 
 For my dear lady's honor ; 
 For that she is a queen right good. 
 In whose defense I'll shed my blood, 
 And that thou in this jealous mood 
 
 Hast laid this slander on her;" 240 
 
 And quickly arms him for the field, 
 A little cockle-shell his shield. 
 Which he could very bravely wield. 
 
 Yet it could not be pierced ; 
 His spear a bent^ both stiff and strong, 
 And well-near of two inches long, — 
 The pile2 was of a horse-fly's tongue, 
 
 Whose sharpness naught reversed;^ 
 
 And puts him on a coat of mail. 
 Which was of a fish's scale, 250 
 
 That when his foe should him assail, 
 
 No point should be prevailing. 
 His rapier was a hornet's sting, — 
 It was a very dangerous thing. 
 For if he chanced to hurt the king. 
 
 It would be long in healing. 
 
 His helmet was a beetle's head, 
 Most horrible and full of dread. 
 That able was to strike one dead, 
 
 Yet it did well become him; 260 
 
 And for a plume, a horse's hair. 
 Which, being tossed by the air. 
 Had force to strike his foe with fear, 
 
 And turn his weapon from him. 
 
 r bent. Grass-stalk. 
 
 2 pile. Spear-head. 
 
 3 reversed. Turned. 
 
 Himself he on an earwig set, 
 Yet scarce he on his back could get. 
 So oft and high he did curvet, 
 
 E'er he himself could settle; 
 He made him turn, and stop and bound. 
 To gallop, and to trot the round, — 270 
 He scarce could stand on any ground. 
 
 He was so full of mettle. 
 
 When soon he met with Tomalin, 
 One that a valiant knight had been. 
 And to great Oberon of kin. 
 
 Quoth he, "Thou manly fairy. 
 Tell Oberon I come prepared, 
 Then bid him stand upon his guard ; 
 This hand his baseness shall reward. 
 
 Let him be ne'er so wary. 280 
 
 "Say to him thus, That I defy 
 His slanders and his infamy, 
 And as a mortal enemy 
 
 Do publicly proclaim him; 
 Withal, that if I had mine own. 
 He should not wear the Fairy crown. 
 But with a vengeance should come down, 
 
 Nor we a king should name him." 
 
 This Tomalin could not abide 
 
 To hear his sovereign vilified, 290 
 
 But to the Fairy court him hied. 
 
 Full furiously he posted. 
 With every thing Pigwiggen said, — 
 How title to the crown he laid. 
 And in what arms he was arrayed. 
 
 And how himself he boasted. 
 
 'Twixt head and foot, from point to point. 
 
 He told the arming of each joint. 
 
 In every piece how neat and quaint, — 
 
 For Tomalin could do it,— 300 
 
 How fair he sat, how sure he rid. 
 As of the courser he bestrid, 
 How managed, and how well he did. 
 
 The King, which listened to it. 
 
 Quoth he, "Go, Tomalin, with speed. 
 Provide me arms, provide my steed. 
 And every thing that I shall need; 
 
 By thee I will be guided. 
 To straight account call thou thy wit. 
 See there be wanting not a whit, 310 
 
 In every thing see thou me fit. 
 
 Just as my foe's provided." 
 
 Soon flew this news through Fairyland, 
 Which gave Queen Mab to understand 
 The combat that was then in hand 
 Betwixt those men so mighty ;
 
 16 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Which greatly she began to rue. 
 Perceiving that all Fairy knew 
 The first occasion from her grew^ 
 Of these affairs so weighty. 320 
 
 Wherefore, attended with her maids, 
 Through fogs and mists and damps she 
 
 wades, 
 To Proserpine, the Queen of shades, 
 
 To treat^ that it would please her 
 The cause into her hands to take, 
 For ancient love and friendship's sake. 
 And soon thereof an end to make, 
 
 Which of much care would ease her. 
 
 A while there let we Mab alone, 
 
 And come we to King Oberon, 330 
 
 Who armed to meet his foe is gone. 
 
 For proud Pigwiggen crying. 
 Who sought the Fairy King as fast. 
 And had so well his journeys cast^ 
 That he arrived at the last, 
 
 His puissant foe espying. 
 
 Stout Tomalin came with the King, 
 Tom Thumb doth on Pigwiggen bring. 
 That perfect were in every thing 
 
 To single fights belonging; 340 
 
 And therefore they themselves engage 
 To see them exercise their rage 
 With fair and comely equipage. 
 
 Not one the other wronging. 
 
 So like in arms these champions were. 
 As they had been a very pair. 
 So that a man would almost swear 
 
 That either had been either ; 
 Their furious steeds began to neigh. 
 That they were heard a mighty way; 350 
 Their staves upon their rests they lay; 
 
 Yet, e'er they flew together, 
 
 Their seconds minister an oath, 
 Which was indifferent* to them both, 
 That, on their knightly faith and troth, 
 
 No magic them supplied. 
 And sought^ them, that they had no 
 
 charms 
 Wherewith to work each other's harms, 
 But came with simple open arms 
 
 To have their causes tried. 360 
 
 1 The oriRinal cause lay in her. 
 
 2 treat. Entreat. 
 
 3 cast. Planned. 
 
 4 indifferent. Identical. 
 
 5 souiihl. Searched. 
 
 Together furiously they ran, 
 
 That to the ground came horse and man; 
 
 The blood out of their helmets span,^ 
 
 So sharp were their encounters ; 
 And though they to the earth were thrown, 
 Yet quickly they regained their own, — 
 Such nimbleness was never shown, — 
 
 They were two gallant mounters.'' 
 
 When in a second course again 
 They forward came with might and 
 main, 370 
 
 Yet which had better of the twain. 
 
 The seconds could not judge yet; 
 Their shields were into pieces cleft. 
 Their helmets from their heads were reft. 
 And to defend them nothing left; 
 
 These champions would not budge yet. 
 
 Away from them their staves they threw, 
 Their cruel swords they quickly drew, 
 And freshly they the fight renew, — 
 
 They every stroke redoubled ; 380 
 
 Which made Proserpina take heed. 
 And make to them the greater speed, 
 For fear lest they too much should bleed. 
 
 Which wondrously her troubled. 
 
 When to th' infernal Styx^ she goes, 
 She takes the fogs from thence that rose, 
 And in a bag doth them enclose. 
 
 When well she had them blended; 
 She hies her then to Lethe spring, 
 A bottle and thereof doth bring, 390 
 
 Wherewith she meant to work the thing 
 
 Which only she intended. 
 
 Now Proserpine with Mab is gone 
 Unto the place where Oberon 
 And proud Pigwiggen, one to one. 
 
 Both to be slain were likely; 
 And there themselves they closely hide. 
 Because they would not be espied; 
 For Proserpine meant to decide 
 
 The matter very quickly. 400 
 
 And suddenly imties the poke,^ 
 Which out of it sent such a smoke, 
 As ready was them all to choke. 
 
 So grievous was the pother; 
 So that the knights each other lost. 
 And stood as still as any post; 
 Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast 
 
 Themselves of any other. 
 
 6 span. Spurted. 
 
 7 mounters. Riders. 
 
 8 .Styx. The river of Hades. 
 
 9 poke. Bag.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 1^ 
 
 But when the mist gan somewhat cease, 
 Proserpina commandeth peace, 410 
 
 And that awhile they should release 
 
 Each other of their peril; 
 "Which here," quoth she, "I do proclaim 
 To all, in dreadful Pluto's name, 
 That, as ye will eschew^ his blame, 
 
 You let me hear the quarrel. 
 
 "But here yourselves you must engage 
 Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage, 
 Your grievous thirst and to assuage. 
 
 That first you drink this liquor, 420 
 
 Which shall your understandings clear. 
 As plainly shall to you appear. 
 Those things from me that you shall hear 
 
 Conceiving much the quicker," 
 
 This Lethe water, you must know. 
 The memory destroyeth so. 
 That of our weal or of our woe 
 
 Is all remembrance blotted ; 
 Of it nor can you ever think; 
 For they no sooner took this drink, 430 
 But nought into their brains could sink 
 
 Of what had them besotted.^ 
 
 King Oberon forgotten had 
 That he for jealousy ran mad. 
 But of his Queen was wondrous glad, 
 
 And asked how they came thither, 
 Pigwiggen likewise doth forget 
 That he Queen Mab had ever met. 
 Or that they were so hard beset. 
 
 When they were found together. 440 
 
 Nor either of 'em both had thought 
 That e'er they had each other sought. 
 Much less that they a combat fought, 
 
 But such a dream were loathing. 
 Tom Thumb had got a little sup. 
 And Tomalin scarce kissed the cup. 
 Yet had their brains so sure locked up 
 
 That they remembered nothing. 
 
 Queen Mab and her light maids the while 
 Among themselves do closely smile, 450 
 To see the King caught with this wile. 
 
 With one another jesting; 
 And to the Fairy court they went. 
 With mickle joy and merriment, 
 Which thing was done with good intent; 
 
 And thus I left them feasting. 
 
 (1627) 
 
 1 eschew. Avoid. 
 
 2 besotted. Made £ools of them. 
 
 THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 
 
 ALEXANDER POPE 
 
 [This poem deals with an episode in the social 
 life of Pope's day. Lord Petre had playfully 
 cut a lock of hair from the head of Miss Arabella 
 Fermor, and the act resulted in resentment and 
 the estrangement of the two families. Caryll, a 
 common friend, suggested to Pope the poetizing 
 of the incident, with the hope that the ill feeling 
 would _ be laughed away. Pope developed the 
 story in the manner of a mock epic, everywhere 
 imitating the style of the Iliad and the ALneid 
 in particular. Thus the sylphs are introduced to 
 parallel the deities of the ancient epics; Belinda's 
 bodkin (Canto 5, lines 88-96) is described in the 
 manner of the historic sceptre of Agamemnon; 
 and the speeches are in part modeled on epic 
 oratory.] 
 
 CANTO I 
 
 What dire oflfence from amorous causes 
 
 springs. 
 What mighty contests rise from trivial 
 
 things. 
 I sing. — This verse to Caryll, Muse! is 
 
 due ; 
 This, e'en Belinda may vouchsafe to view. 
 Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, 
 If she inspire, and he approve my lays. 
 Say what strange motive, Goddess! 
 
 could compel 
 A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle? 
 Oh, say what stranger cause, yet unex- 
 plored. 
 Could make a gentle belle reject a lord ? 10 
 In tasks so bold, can little men engage. 
 And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty 
 
 rage? 
 Sol through white curtains shot a timor- 
 ous ray, 
 And oped those eyes that must eclipse the 
 
 day. 
 Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing 
 
 shake. 
 And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake. 
 Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked 
 
 the ground, 1 
 And the pressed watch ~ returned a silver 
 
 sound. 
 Belinda still her downy pillow pressed. 
 Her guardian sylph prolonged the balmy 
 
 rest ; 20 
 
 'Twas he had summoned to her silent bed 
 The morning dream that hovered o'er her 
 
 head ; 
 A youth more glittering than a birth-night 
 
 beau,3 
 (That e'en in slumber caused her cheek 
 
 to glow) 
 
 1 To call the lady's maid. 
 
 2 A striking watch. 
 
 3 birth-n%p^i,( l/equ. A beau at a ball, ou a royal 
 birthday.
 
 18 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay, 
 And thus in whispers said, or seemed to 
 
 say: 
 "Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished 
 
 care 
 Of thousand bright inhabitants of air! 
 If e'er one vision touched thy infant 
 
 thought. 
 Of all the nurse and all the priest have 
 
 taught, 30 
 
 Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen, 
 The silver token, 1 and the circled green. 
 Or virgins visited by angel powers, 
 With golden crowns and wreaths of heav- 
 enly flowers; 
 Hear and believe; thy own importance 
 
 know, 
 Nor bound thy narrow views to things 
 
 below. 
 Some secret truths, from learned pride 
 
 concealed. 
 To maids alone and children are revealed. 
 What though no credit doubting wits may 
 
 give? 
 The fair and innocent shall still believe. 40 
 Know, then, unnumbered spirits round 
 
 thee fly. 
 The light militia of the lower sky. 
 These, though unseen, are ever on the 
 
 wing. 
 Hang o'er the box,^ and hover round the 
 
 Ring.3 
 Think what an equipage thou hast in air. 
 And view with scorn two pages and a 
 
 chair.* 
 As now your own, our beings were of old, 
 And once enclosed in woman's beauteous 
 
 mould ; 
 Thence, by a soft transition, we repair 
 From earthly vehicles to these of air. 50 
 Think not, when woman's transient breath 
 
 is fled. 
 That all her vanities at once are dead ; 
 Succeeding vanities she still regards. 
 And though she plays no more, o'erlooks 
 
 the cards. 
 Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive. 
 And love of ombre.i^ after death survive. 
 For when the fair in all their pride expire. 
 To their first elements their souls retire : 
 The sprites of fiery termagants in flame 
 Mount up, and take a salamander's name. 
 
 1 silver tokftt. Silver pieces were said to be 
 dropped by fairies into the shoes of deserving 
 maidens. 
 
 2 box. Theatre box. 
 
 3 Ring. A fashionable walk. 
 
 4 rhair. Sedan chair. 
 
 5 ombre. A game of cards. 
 
 Soft yielding minds to water glide away. 
 
 And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea. 
 
 The graver prude sinks downward to a 
 gnome, 63 
 
 In search of mischief still on earth to 
 roam. 
 
 The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair. 
 
 And sport and flutter in the fields of air. 
 "Know further yet : whoever fair and 
 chaste 
 
 Rejects mankind, is by some sylph em- 
 braced ; 
 
 For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with 
 ease 
 
 Assume what sexes and what shapes they 
 please. 70 
 
 What guards the purity of melting maids, 
 
 In courtly balls, and midnight masquer- 
 ades, 
 
 Safe from the treacherous friend, the dar- 
 ing spark,^ 
 
 The glance by day, the whisper in the 
 dark, 
 
 When kind occasion prompts their warm 
 desires, 
 
 When music softens, and when dancing 
 fires? 
 
 'Tis but their sylph, the wise celestials 
 know, 
 
 Though honour is the word with men 
 below. 
 
 Some nymphs there are, too conscious of 
 their face, 
 
 For life predestined to the gnomes' em- 
 brace. 80 
 
 These swell their prospects and exalt their 
 pride, 
 
 When off^ers are disdained, and love 
 denied : 
 
 Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain, 
 
 While peers, and dukes, and all their 
 sweeping train. 
 
 And garters, stars, and coronets appear. 
 
 And in soft sounds 'Your Grace' salutes 
 the ear. 
 
 'Tis these that early taint the female soul. 
 
 Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to 
 roll. 
 
 Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to 
 know. 
 
 And little hearts to flutter at a beau. 90 
 "Oft when the world imagine women 
 stray. 
 
 The sylphs through mystic mazes guide 
 their way, 
 
 Through all the giddy circle they pursue. 
 
 And old impertinence expel by new. 
 6 spark. Beau, gallant.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 19 
 
 What tender maid but must a victim fall 
 To one man's treat, but for another's ball ? 
 When Florio speaks, what virgin could 
 
 withstand, 
 If gentle Damon did not squeeze her 
 
 hand? 
 With varying vanities, from every part, 
 They shift the moving toyshop of their 
 
 heart; lOO 
 
 Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots 
 
 sword-knots strive. 
 Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches 
 
 drive. 
 This erring mortals levity may call; 
 Oh, blind to truth! the sylphs contrive it 
 
 all. 
 "Of these am I, who thy protection 
 
 claim, 
 A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. 
 Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air. 
 In the clear mirror of thy ruling star 
 I saw, alas ! some dread event impend, 
 Ere to the maini this morning sun de- 
 scend, no 
 But Heaven reveals not what, or how, or 
 
 where. 
 Warned by the sylph, O pious maid, be- 
 ware! 
 This to disclose is all thy guardian can : 
 Beware of all, but most beware of man !" 
 He said ; when Shock, who thought she 
 
 slept too long. 
 Leaped up, and waked his mistress with 
 
 his tongue. 
 'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true, 
 Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux ; 
 Wounds, charms, and ardours were no 
 
 sooner read, 119 
 
 But all the vision vanished from thy head. 
 
 And now, unveiled, the toilet stands 
 
 displayed, 
 Each silver vase in mystic order laid. 
 First, robed in white, the nymph intent 
 
 adores. 
 With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers, 
 A heavenly image in the glass appears. 
 To that she bends, to that her eyes she 
 
 rears ; 
 Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side. 
 Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. 
 Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and 
 
 here 
 The various offerings of the world ap- 
 pear; 130 
 From each she nicely culls with curious 
 
 toil. 
 And decks the goddess with the glittering 
 
 spoil. 
 I main. Ocean. 
 
 This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, 
 And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. 
 The tortoise here and elephant unite. 
 Transformed to combs, the speckled, and 
 
 the white. 
 Here files of pins extend their shining 
 
 rows. 
 Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billets- 
 doux. 
 Now awful beauty puts on all its arms ; 
 The fair each moment rises in her charms. 
 Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace. 
 And calls forth all the wonders of her 
 
 face ; 142 
 
 Sees by degrees a purer blush arise. 
 And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 
 The busy sylphs surround their darling 
 
 care, 
 These set the head,^ and those divide the 
 
 hair, 
 Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait 
 
 the gown; 
 And Betty's praised for labours not her 
 
 own. 
 
 CANTO II 
 
 Not with more glories, in th' ethereal plain, 
 The sun first rises o'er the purpled main. 
 Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams 
 Launched on the bosom of the silver 
 
 Thames. 
 Fair nymphs and well-dressed youths 
 
 around her shone, 
 But every eye was fixed on her alone. 
 On her white breast a sparkling cross she 
 
 wore, 
 Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. 
 Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose. 
 Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as 
 
 those; 10 
 
 Favours to none, to all she smiles extends ; 
 Oft she rejects, but never once offends. 
 Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers 
 
 strike, 
 And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 
 Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of 
 
 pride. 
 Might hide her faults, if belles had faults 
 
 to hide ; 
 If to her share some female errors fall. 
 Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em 
 
 all. 
 This nymph, to the destruction of man- 
 kind, 
 Nourished two locks, which graceful hung 
 
 behind 20 
 
 2 head. Head-dress.
 
 20 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 In equal curls, and well conspired to deck 
 With shining ringlets and smooth ivory 
 
 neck. 
 Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, 
 And mighty hearts are held in slender 
 
 chains. 
 With hairy springes, we the birds betray, 
 Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey, 
 Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare. 
 And beauty draws us with a single hair. 
 Th' adventurous baron the bright locks 
 
 admired; 
 He saw, he wished, and to the prize as- 
 pired. 30 
 Resolved to win, he meditates the way, 
 By force to ravish, or by fraud betray; 
 For when success a lover's toil attends, _ 
 Few ask, if fraud or force attained his 
 
 ends. 
 For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had im- 
 plored 
 Propitious Heaven, and every power 
 
 adored, 
 But chiefly Love; to Love an altar built, 
 Of twelve vast French romances, neatly 
 
 gilt. 
 There lay three garters, half a pair of 
 
 gloves, 39 
 
 And all the trophies of his former loves; 
 With tender billets-doux he lights the 
 
 pyre, 
 And breathes three amorous sighs to raise 
 
 the fire. 
 Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent 
 
 eyes 
 Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize. 
 The powers gave ear, and granted half his 
 
 prayer ;i 
 The rest the winds dispersed in empty 
 
 air. 
 But now secure the painted vessel glides. 
 The sunbeams trembling on the floating 
 
 tides; 
 While melting music steals upon the sky, 
 And softened sounds along the waters 
 
 die ; 50 
 
 Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently 
 
 play, 
 Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay. 
 All but the sylph — with careful thoughts 
 
 oppressed, 
 Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast. 
 He summons straight his denizens of air; 
 The lucid squadrons round the sails re- 
 pair; 
 
 I half his prayer. He was to obtain the lock, 
 but not to keep it long. 
 
 Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers 
 
 breathe, 
 That seemed but zephyrs to the train be- 
 neath. 
 Some to the sun their insect wings unfold, 
 Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of 
 gold ; ^ 60 
 
 Transparent forms', too fine for mortal 
 
 sight. 
 Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light. 
 Loose to the wind their airy garments 
 
 flew, 
 Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew,^ 
 Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies, 
 Where light disports in ever-mingling 
 
 dyes. 
 While every beam new transient colours 
 
 flings. 
 Colours that change whene'er they wave 
 
 their wings. 
 Amid the circle, on the gilded mast 
 Superior by the head, was Ariel placed; 70 
 His purple pinions opening to the sun. 
 He raised his azure wand, and thus be- 
 gun : 
 "Ye sylphs and sylphids, to your chief 
 
 give ear 
 
 Fays, fairies, genii, elves, and demons, 
 
 hear! 
 Ye know the spheres, and various tasks 
 
 assigned 
 By laws eternal to th' aerial kind. 
 Some in the fields of purest aether play, 
 And bask and whiten in the blaze of day. 
 Some guide the course of wandering orbs 
 
 on high. 
 Or roll the planets through the boundless 
 
 sky. 
 Some less refined, beneath the moon's pale 
 
 light 80 
 
 Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the 
 
 night. 
 Or suck the mists in grosser air below, 
 Or dip their pinions in the painted bow, 
 Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry 
 
 main, 
 Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly rain ; 
 Others on earth o'er human race preside, 
 Watch all their ways, and all their actions 
 
 guide : 
 Of these the chief the care of nations o\yn, 
 And guard with arms divine the British 
 
 throne. _ QO 
 
 "Our humbler province is to tend the 
 
 fair. 
 Not a less pleasing, though less glorious 
 
 care; 
 
 2 Gossamer (formerly supposed to be the product 
 of dew).
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 21 
 
 To save the powder from too rude a gale, 
 
 Nor let th' imprisoned essences exhale ; 
 
 To draw from rainbows, ere they drop in 
 showers, 
 
 A brighter wash; to curl their waving 
 hairs, 
 
 Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs; 
 
 Nay, oft in dreams, invention we bestow. 
 
 To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. 
 "This day, black omens threat the bright- 
 est fair loi 
 
 That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care; 
 
 Some dire disaster, or by force, or sleight ; 
 
 But what, or where, the fates have 
 wrapped in night. 
 
 Whether the nymph shall break Diana's 
 law. 
 
 Or some frail china jar receive a flaw; 
 
 Or stain her honour, or her new brocade; 
 
 Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade; 
 
 Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; 
 
 Or whether Heaven has doomed that 
 Shock must fall. no 
 
 Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge 
 repair ; 
 
 The fluttering fan be Zephyretta's care; 
 
 The drops^ to thee, Brillante, we consign ; 
 
 And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine; 
 
 Do thou, Crispissa, tend her favourite 
 lock; 
 
 Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock. 
 "To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note, 
 
 We trust th' important charge, the petti- 
 coat: 
 
 Oft have we known that seven- fold fence 
 to fail, 
 
 Tho' stiff with hoops, and arm'd with ribs 
 of whale; 120 
 
 Form a strong line about the silver bound. 
 
 And guard the wide circumference around. 
 "Whatever spirit, careless of his charge. 
 
 His post neglects, or leaves the fair at 
 large, 
 
 Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake 
 his sins. 
 
 Be stopped in vials, or transfixed with 
 pins; 
 
 Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie. 
 
 Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin's eye; 
 
 Gums and pomatums shall his flight re- 
 strain, 
 
 While clogged he beats his silken wings in 
 vain; 130 
 
 Or alum styptics with contracting power 
 
 Shrink his thin essence like a rivelled^ 
 flower ; 
 
 Or, as Ixion fixed, the wretch shall feel 
 
 1 drops. Ear-jewels. 
 
 2 rivelled. Withered. 
 
 The giddy motion of the whirling mill,^ 
 
 In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow. 
 
 And tremble at the sea that froths below !" 
 He spoke; the spirits from the sails 
 descend ; 
 
 Some, orb in orb, around the nymph ex- 
 tend; 
 
 Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair; 
 
 Some hang upon the pendants of her 
 ear; 140 
 
 With beating hearts the dire event they 
 wait. 
 
 Anxious and trembling for the birth of 
 fate. 
 
 CANTO III 
 
 Close by those meads, forever crowned 
 with flowers. 
 
 Where Thames with pride surveys his 
 rising towers, 
 
 There stands a structure of majestic 
 frame,* 
 
 Which from the neighbouring Hampton 
 takes its name. 
 
 Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall fore- 
 doom 
 
 Of foreign tyrants and of nymphs at 
 home; 
 
 Here thou, great Anna! whom three 
 realms obey. 
 
 Dost sometimes counsel take — and some- 
 times tea. 
 Hither the heroes and the nymphs re- 
 sort, 9 
 
 To taste awhile the pleasures of a court ; 
 
 In various talk th' instructive hours they 
 passed, 
 
 Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; 
 
 One speaks the glory of the British Queen, 
 
 And one describes a charming Indian 
 screen ; 
 
 A third interprets motions, looks, and 
 eyes; 
 
 At every word a reputation dies. 
 
 Snuff^, or the fan, supply each pause of 
 chat. 
 
 With singing, laughing, ogling, and all 
 that. 
 Meanwhile, declining from the noon of 
 day, 
 
 The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray ; 
 
 The hungry judges soon the sentence 
 sign, 21 
 
 And wretches hang that jurymen may 
 dine; 
 
 3 Chocolate was ground in a hand-mill. 
 
 4 Hampton Court Palace.
 
 22 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The merchant from th' Exchange returns 
 
 in peace, 
 And the long labours of the toilet cease. 
 Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites, 
 Burns to encounter two adventurous 
 
 knights, 
 At ombre singly to decide their doom;i 
 And swells her breast with conquests yet 
 
 to come. 
 Straight the three bands prepare in arms 
 
 to join. 
 Each band the number of the sacred 
 
 nine. 30 
 
 Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aerial 
 
 guard 
 Descend, and sit on each important card : 
 First, Ariel perched upon a Matadore, 
 Then each, according to the rank they 
 
 bore; 
 For sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient 
 
 race. 
 Are, as when women, wondrous fond of 
 
 place. 
 Behold, four kings in majesty revered, 
 With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; 
 And four fair queens whose hands sus- 
 tain a flower, 
 The expressive emblem of their softer 
 
 power ; 40 
 
 Four knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty 
 
 band, 
 Caps on their heads, and halberts in their 
 
 hand; 
 And parti-coloured troops, a shining train, 
 Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. 
 The skilful nymph reviews her force 
 
 with care : 
 Let spades be trumps ! she said, and 
 
 trumps they were. 
 Now move to war her sable Matadores, 
 In show like leaders of the swarthy 
 , Moors. 
 
 I The next 70 lines are descriptive of the game of 
 Ombre — one of Spanish origin, the name meaning 
 "Man." Forty cards are used, nine being dealt, 
 the rest drawn for somewhat as in Pedro. The 
 players are usually three in number; one makes the 
 trump, and the other two combine against him. 
 If either of them takes more tricks than he, he is 
 defeated, has suffered codille (see line 92). The 
 maker of trumps is "the man," or "it." The order 
 of the cards varies with the trump. The three 
 high cards, always called spadille, mar.ille, and 
 basto, are "matadores"; that is, they will slay any 
 other cards sent against them, as a matadore slays 
 a bull. Spadille is always the ace of spades; 
 manille is the seven, if a red suit is trump, or the 
 two, if a black is trump; baslo is the ace of clubs. 
 Except as the aces are matadores, the face cards 
 are all higher than they. Notice that in line 98 
 Belinda takes the ace of hearts with her king. 
 Lines 30-43 indicate the value of the cards. 
 
 Spadillio first, unconquerable lord ! 
 
 Led off two captive trumps and swept the 
 
 board. 50 
 
 As many more Manillio forced to yield 
 And marched a victor from the verdant 
 
 field. 
 Him Basto followed, but his fate more 
 
 hard 
 Gained but one trump and one plebeian 
 
 card. 
 With his broad sabre next, a chief in 
 
 years. 
 The hoary majesty of spades appears, 
 Puts forth one manly leg, to sight re- 
 vealed, 
 The rest his many-coloured robe con- 
 cealed. 
 The rebel knave, who dares his prince 
 
 engage, ^ 59 
 
 Proves the just victim of his royal rage. 
 E'en mighty Pam,^ that kings and queens 
 
 o'erthrew. 
 And mowed down armies in the fights of 
 
 Loo, 
 Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid, 
 Falls undistinguished by the victor spade! 
 Thus far both armies to Belinda yield ; 
 Now to the baron fate inclines the field. 
 His warlike Amazon her host invades. 
 The imperial consort of the crown of 
 
 spades ; 
 The club's black tyrant^ first her victim 
 
 died. 
 Spite of his haughty mien, and barbarous 
 
 pride. 70 
 
 What boots the regal circle on his head, 
 His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread ; 
 That long behind he trails his pompous 
 
 robe. 
 And, of all monarchs, only grasps the 
 
 globe ? 
 The baron now his diamonds pours 
 
 apace ; 
 Th' embroidered king who shows but half 
 
 his face. 
 And his refulgent queen, with powers 
 
 combined, 
 Of broken troops an easy conquest find. 
 Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder 
 
 seen. 
 With throngs promiscuous strew the level 
 
 green. 80 
 
 Thus when dispersed a routed army runs. 
 Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons, 
 
 2 Pant. The knave or "Jack" of clubs; in the 
 game of Loo he is the highest card. 
 
 3 black tyrant. The king of clubs. Any trump 
 would take any other non-trump card, the mata- 
 dores being considered as trumps.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 23 
 
 With like confusion different nations fly, 
 Of various habit, and of various dye, 
 The pierced battalions disunited fall, 
 In heaps on heaps ; one fate o'erwhelms 
 
 them all. 
 The knave of diamonds tries his wily 
 
 arts, 
 And wins (oh shameful chance!) the 
 
 queen of hearts. 
 At this the blood the virgin's cheek for- 
 sook, 8() 
 A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look; 
 She sees, and trembles at th' approaching 
 
 ill. 
 Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille. 
 And now (as oft in some distempered 
 
 state) 
 On one nice trick depends the general fate. 
 An ace of hearts steps forth ; the king 
 
 unseen 
 Lurked in her hand, and mourned his cap- 
 tive queen; 
 He springs to vengeance with an eager 
 
 pace, 
 And falls like thunder on the prostrate 
 
 ace. 
 The nymph exulting fills with shouts the 
 
 sky; 
 The walls, the woods, and long canals 
 
 reply. loo 
 
 Oh thoughtless mortals ! ever blind to 
 
 fate. 
 Too soon dejected, and too soon elate. 
 Sudden, these honours shall be snatched 
 
 away, 
 And cursed forever this victorious day. 
 For lo ! the board with cups and spoons 
 
 is crowned, 
 The berries^ crackle, and the mill turns 
 
 round ; 
 On shining altars of Japan^ they raise 
 The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze; 
 From silver spouts the grateful liquors 
 
 glide. 
 While China's earth receives the smoking 
 
 tide: no 
 
 At once they gratify their scent and taste, 
 And frequent cups prolong the rich repast. 
 Straight hover round the fair her airy 
 
 band; 
 Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor 
 
 fanned. 
 Some o'er her lap their careful plumes 
 
 displayed, 
 Trembling, and conscious of the rich bro- 
 cade. 
 
 I berries. Coffee. 
 
 3 altars of Japan. Japanned tables, then much 
 in fashion. 
 
 Coffee (which makes the politician wise, 
 And see through all things with his half- 
 shut eyes) 
 Sent up in vapours to the baron's brain 
 New stratagems the radiant lock to gain. 
 Ah, cease, rash youth ! desist ere 'tis too 
 late! 121 
 
 Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla's^ 
 
 fate! 
 Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air, 
 She dearly pays for Nisus' injured hair! 
 But when to mischief mortals bend their 
 will. 
 How soon they find fit instruments of ill ! 
 Just then Clarissa drew with tempting 
 
 grace 
 A two-edged weapon from her shining 
 
 case: 
 So ladies in romance assist their knight, 
 Present the spear, and arm him for the 
 fight. 130 
 
 He takes the gift with reverence, and ex- 
 tends 
 The little engine on his finger's ends ; 
 This just behind Belinda's neck he spread, 
 As o'er the fragrant steam she bends her 
 
 head. 
 Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair, 
 A thousand wings, by turns, blow back 
 
 the hair; 
 And thrice they twitched the diamond in 
 
 her ear; 
 Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe 
 drew near. 138 
 
 Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought 
 The close recesses of the virgin's thought ; 
 As on the nosegay in her breast reclined, 
 He watched th' ideas rising in her mind, 
 Sudden he viewed, in spite of all her art, 
 An earthly lover lurking at her heart. 
 Amazed, confused, he found his power 
 
 expired. 
 Resigned to fate, and with a sigh retired. 
 The peer now spreads the glittering for- 
 fex* wide, 
 T* inclose the lock; now joins it, to di- 
 vide. 148 
 E'en then, before the fatal engine closed, 
 A wretched sylph too fondly interposed : 
 Fate urged the shears, and cut the sylph 
 
 in twain, 
 (But airy substance soon unites again). * 
 
 3 Scylla. Daughter of Nisus, king of Megara, 
 who pulled from her father's head tne golden (or 
 purple) hair upon which tne safety of the city 
 depended. 
 
 4 forfex. Pair of scissors. 
 
 5 A humorous parallel to the epic treatment of 
 the wounding of supernatural beings.
 
 24 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The meeting points the sacred hair dis- 
 sever 
 
 From the fair head, forever, and forever ! 
 Then flashed the living lightning from 
 her eyes. 
 
 And screams of horror rend th' affrighted 
 skies. 
 
 Not louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are 
 cast. 
 
 When husbands, or when lap-dogs breathe 
 their last; 
 
 Or when rich China vessels, fallen from 
 high, 
 
 In glittering dust and painted fragments 
 lie! i6o 
 
 "Let wreaths of triumph now my tem- 
 ples twine," 
 
 The victor cried ; "the glorious prize is 
 mine! 
 
 While fish in streams, or birds delight in 
 air, 
 
 Or in a coach and six the British fair, 
 
 As long as Atalantis^ shall be read, 
 
 Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed, 
 
 While visits shall be paid on solemn days. 
 
 When numerous wax-lights in bright or- 
 der blaze. 
 
 While nymphs take treats, or assignations 
 give, 
 
 So long my honour, name, and praise shall 
 live ! 170 
 
 What Time would spare, from steel re- 
 ceives its date, 2 
 
 And monuments, like men, submit to fate ! 
 
 Steel could the labour of the gods destroy, 
 
 And strike to dust th* imperial towers of 
 Troy ; 
 
 Steel could the works of mortal pride con- 
 found. 
 
 And hew triumphal arches to the ground. 
 
 What wonder then, fair nymph ! thy hairs 
 should feel 
 
 The conquering force of unresisted steel ?" 
 
 CANTO rv 
 
 But anxious cares the pensive nymph op- 
 pressed. 
 And secret passions laboured in her breast. 
 Not youthful kings in battle seized alive. 
 Not scornful virgins who in their charms 
 
 survive. 
 Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss, 
 Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss. 
 Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die. 
 Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinned 
 awry, 
 
 I Alalantis. A popular romance of the period. 
 a date. End, fatal day. 
 
 E'er felt such rage, resentment, and de- 
 spair, 9 
 As thou, sad virgin, for thy ravished hair. 
 For, that sad moment, when the sylphs 
 
 withdrew 
 And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, 
 Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, 
 As ever sullied the fair face of light, 
 Down to the central earth, his proper 
 
 scene. 
 Repaired to search the gloomy cave of 
 Spleen.3 
 Swift on his sooty pinions flits the 
 gnome, 
 And in a vapour reached the dismal dome. 
 No cheerful breeze this sullen region 
 
 knows. 
 The dreaded east is all the wind that 
 blows. 20 
 
 Here in a grotto, sheltered close from air. 
 And screened in shades from day's de- 
 tested glare. 
 She sighs forever on her pensive bed. 
 Pain at her side, and Megrim* at her 
 head. 
 Two handmaids wait^ the throne, alike 
 in place. 
 But differing far in figure and in face. 
 Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid, 
 Her wrinkled form in black and white ar- 
 rayed ; 
 With stores of prayers, for mornings, 
 
 nights, and noons, 
 Her hand is filled; her bosom with lam- 
 poons. 30 
 There Affectation, with a sickly mien, 
 Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen. 
 Practised to lisp, and hang the head aside. 
 Faints into airs, and languishes with pride. 
 On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe. 
 Wrapped in a gown, for sickness, and for 
 
 show. 
 
 The fair ones feel such maladies as these, 
 
 When each new night-dress gives a new 
 
 disease. 
 
 A constant vapour o'er the palace flies ; 
 
 Strange phantoms rising as the mists 
 
 arise ; 40 
 
 Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted 
 
 shades. 
 Or bright, as visions of expiring maids. 
 Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling 
 
 spires, 
 Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple 
 fires; 
 
 3 Spleen. Ill humor. 
 
 4 Megrim. Low spirits. 
 
 5 wait. Attend upon.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 25 
 
 Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, 
 And crystal domes, and angels in ma- 
 
 chines.i 
 Unnumbered throngs on every side are 
 
 seen, 
 Of bodies changed to various forms by 
 
 Spleen. 
 Here living tea-pots stand, one arm held 
 
 out. 
 One bent; the handle this, and that the 
 
 spout. 50 
 
 A pipkin^ there, like Homer's tripod, 
 
 walks ; 
 Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pie 
 
 talks. 
 Safe passed the gnome through this fan- 
 tastic band, 
 A branch of healing spleenwort in his 
 
 hand. 
 Then thus addressed the power: "Hail, 
 
 wayward queen! 
 Who rule the sex, to fifty from fifteen : 
 Parent of vapours and of female wit; 
 Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit ; 
 On various tempers act by various ways. 
 Make some take physic, others scribble 
 
 plays ; 60 
 
 Who cause the proud their visits to delay, 
 And send the godly in a pet to pray. 
 A nymph there is, that all thy power 
 
 disdains. 
 And thousands more in equal mirth main- 
 tains. 
 But oh! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a 
 
 grace, 
 Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face. 
 Like citron-waters matrons' cheeks in- 
 flame, 
 Or change complexions at a losing game. 
 Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was 
 
 rude, 69 
 
 Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude, 
 Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease. 
 Which not the tears of brightest eyes 
 
 could ease : 
 Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin ; 
 That single act gives half the world the 
 
 spleen." 
 The goddess with a discontented air 
 Seems to reject him, though she grants 
 
 his prayer. 
 A wondrous bag with both her hands she 
 
 binds, 
 Like that where once Ulysses held the 
 
 winds; 
 
 1 machines. Stage machinery. 
 
 2 pipkin. Earthen pot. 
 
 There she collects the force of female 
 
 lungs. 
 Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of 
 
 tongues. 80 
 
 A vial next she fills with fainting fears. 
 Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing 
 
 tears ; 
 The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away. 
 Spreads his black wings, and slowly 
 
 mounts to day. 
 Sunk in Thalestris'^ arm the nymph he 
 
 found, 
 Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound. 
 Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he 
 
 rent. 
 And ail the furies issued at the vent. 88 
 Belinda burns with more than mortal ire 
 And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. 
 "O wretched maid !" she spread her hands 
 
 and cried, 
 (While Hampton's echoes, "Wretched 
 
 maid !" replied) 
 "Was it for this you took such constant 
 
 care 
 The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare? 
 For this your locks in paper durance 
 
 bound. 
 For this with torturing irons wreathed 
 
 around? 
 For this with fillets strained your tender 
 
 head. 
 And bravely bore the double loads of 
 
 lead ?* 98 
 
 Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair. 
 While the fops envy, and the ladies stare ! 
 Honour forbid ! at whose unrivalled shrine 
 Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. 
 Methinks already I your tears survey. 
 Already hear the horrid things you say, 
 Already see you a degraded toast,^ 
 And all your honour in a whisper lost! 
 How shall I, then, your helpless fame 
 
 defend? 
 'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend ! 
 And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize. 
 Exposed through crystal to the gazing 
 
 eyes, 1 10 
 
 And heightened by the diamond's circling 
 
 rays. 
 On that rapacious hand forever blaze? 
 
 3 Thalestris. Stands for Mrs. Morley, sister of 
 Sir George Brown, the "Sir Plume" of Une in. 
 
 4 Lead curl-papers. 
 
 5 toast. Subject of toasts at dinner-parties.
 
 26 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus^ 
 
 grow, 
 And wits take lodgings in the sound of 
 
 Bow; 2 
 Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, 
 Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish' 
 
 all!" 
 She said; then raging to Sir Plume re- 
 pairs. 
 And bids her beau demand the precious 
 
 hairs 
 (Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly 
 
 vain, 119 
 
 And the nice conduct of a clouded^ cane). 
 With earnest eyes, and round unthinking 
 
 face. 
 He first the snuff-box opened, then the 
 
 case, 
 And thus broke out — "My lord, why, what 
 
 the devil? 
 Zounds! damn the lock! 'fore God, you 
 
 must be civil ! 
 Plague on't! 'tis past a jest — nay prithee, 
 
 pox 
 
 Give her the hair," he spoke, and rapped 
 
 his box. 
 "It grieves me much," replied the peer 
 
 again, 
 "Who speaks so well should ever speak in 
 
 vain. 
 But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, 
 (Which never more shall join its parted 
 
 hair ; 130 
 
 Which never more its honours shall re- 
 new. 
 Clipped from the lovely head where late 
 
 it grew) 
 That while my nostrils draw the vital air. 
 This hand, which won it, shall forever 
 
 wear." 
 He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph 
 
 spread 
 The long-contended honours of her head. 
 But Umbriel, hateful gnome! forbears 
 
 not so ; 
 He breaks the vial whence the sorrows 
 
 flow. 
 Then see ! the nymph in beauteous grief 
 
 appears. 
 Her eyes half languishing, haff drowned 
 
 in tears; 140 
 
 On her heaved bosom hung her drooping 
 
 head, 
 Which, with a sigh, she raised; and thus 
 
 she said : 
 
 1 Byde Park Circus. The "Ring" of Canto i, 
 line 44. 
 
 2 Dow. The bells of the church lof St. Mary-le- 
 Bow, in the heart of London. 
 
 3 clouded. Mottled. 
 
 "Forever curs'd be this detested day. 
 Which snatched my best, my favourite 
 
 curl away ! 
 Happy ! ah, ten times happy had I been. 
 If Hampton Court these eyes had never 
 
 seen! 
 Yet am not I the first mistaken maid, 
 By love of courts to numerous ills be- 
 trayed. 
 Oh, had I rather unadmired remained 
 In some lone isle or distant northern land ; 
 Where the gilt chariot never marks the 
 
 way, 151 
 
 Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste 
 
 bohea !* 
 There kept my charms concealed from 
 
 mortal eye. 
 Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die. 
 Wliat moved my mind with youthful lords 
 
 to roam? 
 Oh, had I stayed, and said my prayers at 
 
 home! 
 'Twas this, the morning omens seemed to 
 
 tell: 
 Thrice from my trembling hand the patch- 
 
 box5 fell; 
 The tottering china shook without a wind ; 
 Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most 
 
 unkind ! 160 
 
 A sylph, too, warned me of the threats of 
 
 fate. 
 In mystic visions, now believed too late ! 
 See the poor remnants of these slighted 
 
 hairs ! 
 My hands shall rend what e'en thy rapine 
 
 spares ; 
 These in two sable ringlets taught to 
 
 break. 
 Once gave new beauties to the snowy 
 
 neck; 
 The sister lock now sits uncouth, alone, 
 And in its fellow's fate foresees its own; 
 Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears de- 
 mands, 
 And tempts once more thy sacrilegious 
 
 hands. 170 
 
 Oh, hadst thou, cruel ! been content to seize 
 Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but 
 
 these!" 
 
 CANTO V 
 
 She said : the pitying audience melt in 
 tears. 
 
 But Fate and Jove had stopped the bar- 
 on's ears. 
 
 4 bohea. A kind of tea. 
 
 5 patch-box. Box for face-patches.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 27 
 
 In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, 
 
 For who can move when fair Belinda 
 fails? 
 
 Not half so fixed the Trojan^ could re- 
 main, 
 
 While Anna begged and Dido raged in 
 vain. 
 
 Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her 
 fan; 
 
 Silence ensued, and thus the nymph be- 
 gan: 
 "Say, why are beauties praised and hon- 
 oured most. 
 
 The wise man's passion, and the vain 
 man's toast? lo 
 
 Why decked with all that land and sea 
 afford. 
 
 Why angels called, and angel-like adored? 
 
 Why round our coaches crowd the white- 
 gloved beaux. 
 
 Why bows the side-box from its inmost 
 rows? 
 
 How vain are all these glories, all our 
 pains, 
 
 Unless good sense preserve what beauty 
 gains ; 
 
 That men may say, when we the front- 
 box grace, 
 
 'Behold the first in virtue as in face!* 
 
 Oh ! if to dance all night, and dress all day. 
 
 Charmed the small-pox, or chased old age 
 away, 20 
 
 Who would not scorn what housewife's 
 cares produce. 
 
 Or who would learn one earthly thing of 
 use? 
 
 To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint, 
 
 Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint. 
 
 But since, alas ! frail beauty must decay ; 
 
 Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn 
 to grey; 
 
 Since painted, or not painted, all shall 
 fade, 
 
 And she who scorns a man must die a 
 maid; 
 
 What then remains but well our power to 
 use. 
 
 And keep good humour still, whate'er we 
 lose? 30 
 
 And trust me, dear! good humour can 
 prevail. 
 
 When airs, and flights, and screams, and 
 scolding fail. 
 
 Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may 
 roll; 
 
 Charms strike the sight, but merit wins 
 the soul." 
 I the Trojan, jf^ncas. 
 
 So spoke the dame, but no applause en- 
 sued; 
 Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her 
 
 prude. 
 "To arms, to arms I" the fierce virago cries. 
 And swift as lightning to the combat flies. 
 All side in parties, and begin th' attack; 
 Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whale- 
 bones crack; 40 
 Heroes' and heroines' shouts confus'dly 
 
 rise, 
 And bass and treble voices strike the skies. 
 No common weapons in their hands are 
 
 found, 
 Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal 
 
 wound. 
 So when bold Homer makes the gods 
 
 engage, 
 And heavenly breasts with human passions 
 
 rage; 
 'Gainst Pallas, Mars, Latona, Hermes 
 
 arms; 
 And all Olympus rings with loud alarms : 
 Jove's thunder roars, Heaven trembles all 
 
 around, 
 Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps 
 
 resound : 50 
 
 Earth shakes her nodding towers, the 
 
 ground gives way, 
 And the pale ghosts start at the flash of 
 
 day! 
 Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's- 
 
 height 
 Clapped his glad wings, and sat to view 
 
 the fight; 
 Propped on their bodkin spears, the sprites 
 
 survey 
 The growing combat, or assist the fray. 
 While through the press enraged Tha- 
 lestris flies, 
 And scatters death around from both her 
 
 eyes, 
 A beau and witling perished in the throng. 
 One died in metaphor, and one in song. 60 
 "O cruel nymph ! a living death I bear," 
 Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his 
 
 chair. 
 A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards 
 
 cast, 
 "Those eyes are made so killing"^ — was 
 
 his last. 
 Thus on Maeander's flowery margin lies 
 Th' expiring swan, and as he sings he 
 
 dies. 
 
 2 sconce. Chandelier. 
 
 3 The words are from a song in a contemporary 
 opera.
 
 28 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clar- 
 issa down, 
 Chloe stepped in and killed him with a 
 
 frown ; 
 She smiled to see the doughty hero slain, 
 But, at her smile, the beau revived again. 
 Now Jove suspends his golden scales 
 
 in air, 7i 
 
 Weighs the men's wits against the lady's 
 
 hair; 
 The doubtful beam long nods from side 
 
 to side; 
 At length the wits mount up, the hairs 
 
 subside. 
 See, fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, 
 With more than usual lightning in her 
 
 eyes; 
 Nor feared the chief th' unequal fight to 
 
 try, 
 Who sought no more than on his foe to 
 
 die. 
 But this bold lord with manly strength 
 
 endued. 
 She with one finger and a thumb sub- 
 dued : 80 
 Just where the breath of life his nostrils 
 
 drerw, 
 A charge of snuflF the wily virgin threw; 
 The gnomes direct, to every atom just, 
 The pungent grains of titillating dust. 
 Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'er- 
 
 flows. 
 And the high dome re-echoes to his nose. 
 "Now meet thy fate," incensed Belinda 
 
 cried. 
 And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. 
 (The same, his ancient personage to deck, 
 Her great great grandsire wore about his 
 
 neck, 90 
 
 In three seal-rings; which after, melted 
 
 down. 
 Formed a vast buckle for his widow's 
 
 gown ; 
 Her infant grandame's whistle next it 
 
 grew, 
 The bells she jingled, and the whistle 
 
 blew; 
 Then in a bodkin graced her mother's 
 
 hairs, 
 Which long she wore, and now Belinda 
 
 wears.) 
 "Boast not my fall," he cried, "insulting 
 
 foe! 
 Thou by some other shalt be laid as low; 
 Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind: 
 All that I dread is leaving you behind ! 100 
 Rather than so, ah, let me still survive. 
 And burn in Cupid's flames — but burn 
 
 alive." 
 
 "Restore the lock!" she cries; and all 
 
 around 
 "Restore the lock!" the vaulted roofs re- 
 bound. 
 Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain 
 Roared for the handkerchief that caused 
 
 his pain. 
 But see how oft ambitious aims are 
 
 crossed, 
 And chiefs contend till all the prize is 
 
 lost! 
 The lock, obtained with guilt, and kept 
 
 with pain, 
 In every place is sought, but sought in 
 
 vain: iio 
 
 With such a prize no mortal must be 
 
 blessed. 
 So Heaven decrees ! with Heaven who 
 
 can contest? 
 Some thought it mounted to the lunar 
 
 sphere. 
 Since all things lost on earth are treasured 
 
 there. 
 There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous 
 
 vases. 
 And beaux' in snuflf-boxes and tweezer 
 
 cases; 
 There broken vows and death-bed alms 
 
 are found. 
 And lovers' hearts with ends of riband 
 
 bound. 
 The courtier's promises, and sick man's 
 
 prayers. 
 The smiles of harlots, and the tears of 
 
 heirs, 120 
 
 Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea. 
 Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. 
 But trust the Muse — she saw it upward 
 
 rise. 
 Though marked by none but quick, poetic 
 
 eyes : 
 (So Rome's great founder to the heavens 
 
 withdrew. 
 To Proculus alone confessed in view^) 
 A sudden star, it shot through liquid air 
 And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. 
 Not Berenice's locks^ first rose so bright, 
 The heavens bespangling with dishevelled 
 
 light. 130 
 
 The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies. 
 And pleased pursue its progress through 
 
 the skies. 
 
 1 Romulus, after being carried to heaven, ap- 
 peared to Proculus in a glorious "theophany." 
 
 2 Berenice, wife of Ptolemy III, dedicated her 
 hair in a vow for her husband's safe return. When 
 it disappeared from the temple where it had been 
 deposited, it was said to have been taken to the 
 heavens to form the constellation called Berenice's 
 fa air.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 29 
 
 This the beau monde shall from the 
 Mall^ survey, 
 
 And hail with music its propitious ray. 
 
 This the blest lover shall for Venus take, 
 
 And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake. 
 
 This Partridge- soon shall view in cloud- 
 less skies. 
 
 When next he looks through Galileo's 
 eyes ; 
 
 And hence th' egregious wizard shall fore- 
 doom 139 
 
 The fate of Louis and the fall of Rome. 
 Then cease, bright nymph ! to mourn thy 
 ravished hair, 
 
 Which adds new glory to the shining 
 sphere ! 
 
 Not all the tresses that fair head can 
 boast, 
 
 Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost. 
 
 For, after all the murders of your eye, 
 
 When, after millions slain, yourself shall 
 die; 
 
 When those fair suns shall set, as set they 
 must. 
 
 And all those tresses shall be laid in dust : 
 
 This lock, the Muse shall consecrate to 
 fame. 
 
 And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's 
 name. 150 
 
 (1714) 
 
 THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED 
 NOBODY AND EVERYBODY 
 
 JOHN GAY 
 
 So very like a painter drew, 
 That every eye the picture knew. 
 He hit complexion, feature, air. 
 So just, the life itself was there. 
 No flattery with his colors laid 
 To bloom restored the faded maid ; 
 He gave each muscle all its strength, — 
 The mouth, the chin, the nose's length ; 
 His honest pencil touched with truth, 
 And marked the date of age and youth, to 
 
 He lost his friends, his practice failed; 
 Truth should not always be revealed. 
 In dusty piles his pictures lay, 
 For no one sent the second pay.^ 
 
 Two bustos,* fraught with every grace, 
 A Venus' and Apollo's face, 
 
 1 Mall. A walk in St. James's Park, where was 
 also the lake of line 136. 
 
 2 Partridge. An almanac-maker and astrologer 
 of the period. 
 
 3 Sitters would pay a deposit, but refuse to 
 send more money when they saw the work. 
 
 4 bustos. Busts. 
 
 He placed in view ; resolved to please, 
 Whoever sat he drew from these, 
 From these corrected every feature. 
 And spirited each awkward creature. 20 
 All things were set; the hour was come, 
 His palette ready o'er his thumb. 
 My lord appeared, and, seated right, 
 In proper attitude and light. 
 The painter looked, he sketched the piece, 
 Then dipped his pencil, — talked of Greece, 
 Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air. 
 "Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there 
 Might well a Raphael's hand require, 
 To give them all the native fire; 30 
 
 The features, fraught with sense and wit. 
 You'll grant, are very hard to hit; 
 But yet with patience j'ou shall view 
 As much as paint and art can do." 
 
 Observe the work. My lord replied, 
 "Till now I thought my mouth was wide; 
 Besides, my nose is somewhat long; 
 Dear sir, for me 'tis far too young." 
 
 "Oh, pardon me," the artist cried; 
 "In this we painters must decide. 40 
 
 The piece ev'n common eyes must strike, — 
 I warrant it extremely like." 
 
 My lord examined it anew; 
 No looking-glass seemed half so true. 
 
 A lady came ; with borrowed grace. 
 He from his Venus formed her face. 
 Her lover praised the painter's art; 
 So like the picture in his heart ! 
 To every age some charm he lent; 
 Ev'n beauties were almost content. 50 
 
 Through all the town his art they praised ; 
 His custom grew, his price was raised. 
 Had he the real likeness shown. 
 Would any man the picture own? 
 But, when thus happily he wrought. 
 Each found the likeness in his thought. 
 
 (1727) 
 
 THE PEACOCK, THE TURKEY, 
 AND THE GOOSE . 
 
 JOHN GAY 
 
 In beauty faults conspicuous grow; 
 The smallest speck is seen on snow. 
 
 As near a barn, by hunger led, 
 A peacock with the poultry fed. 
 All viewed him with an envious eye, 
 And mocked his gaudy pageantry. 
 He, conscious of superior merit, 
 Contemns their base reviling spirit. 
 His state and dignity assumes. 
 And to the sun displays his plumes, lO
 
 30 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Which, like the heavens' o'erarching skies, 
 Are spangled with a thousand eyes. 
 The circling rays and varied light 
 At once confound their dazzled sight; 
 On every tongue detraction burns, 
 And malice prompts their spleen by turns. 
 
 "Mark with what insolence and pride 
 The creature takes his haughty stride," 
 The turkey cries. "Can spleen contain ?i 
 Sure never bird was half so vain! 20 
 
 But, were intrinsic merit seen, 
 We turkeys have the whiter skin !" 
 From tongue to tongue they caught 
 
 abuse ; 
 And next was heard the hissing goose: 
 "What hideous legs ! what filthy claws ! 
 I scorn to censure little flaws. 
 Then what a horrid squealing throat! 
 Ev'n owls are frighted at the note." 
 
 "True; those are faults," the peacock 
 
 cries; 
 "My scream, my shanks, you may despise ; 
 But such blind critics rail in vain. 31 
 
 What ! overlook my radiant train ! 
 Know, did my legs — ^your scorn and 
 
 sport — 
 The turkey or the goose support, 
 And did ye scream with harsher sound, 
 Those faults in you had ne'er been found. 
 To all apparent beauties blind, 
 Each blemish strikes an envious mind." 
 
 Thus in assemblies have I seen 
 A nymph of brightest charms and mien 40 
 Wake envy in each ugly face, 
 And buzzing scandal fills the place. 
 
 (1727) 
 
 BOADICEA 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 [Boadicea was Queen of a tribe of Britons. 
 After the death of her husband she quarreled 
 with the Romans, was publicly flogged by them, 
 and led an uprising against their authority. For 
 a time she was successful, but subsequently was 
 defeated and committed suicide. Cowper makes 
 the Druid prophesy the glories of modern 
 Britain.] 
 
 When the British warrior queen, 
 Bleeding from the Roman rods. 
 
 Sought, with an indignant mien. 
 Counsel of her country's gods, 
 
 I spleen contain. Indignation be restrained. 
 
 Sage beneath a spreading oak 
 
 Sat the Druid, hoary chief. 
 Every burning word he spoke 
 
 Full of rage and full of grief: 
 
 "Princess! if our aged eyes 
 
 Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 10 
 *Tis because resentment ties 
 
 All the terrors of our tongues. 
 
 "Rome shall perish, — write that word 
 In the blood that she has spilt; 
 
 Perish hopeless and abhorred, 
 Deep in ruin as in guilt. 
 
 "Rome, for empire far renowned, 
 Tramples on a thousand states; 
 
 Soon her pride shall kiss the ground, — 
 Hark! the Gaul is at her gates. 20 
 
 "Other Romans shall arise. 
 Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
 
 Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
 Harmony the path to fame.2 
 
 "Then the progeny that springs 
 From the forests of our land. 
 
 Armed with thunder, clad with wings. 
 Shall a wider world command. 
 
 "Regions Caesar never knew 
 
 Thy posterity shall sway, 30 
 
 Where his eagles never flew,^ 
 
 None invincible as they." 
 
 Such the bard's prophetic words. 
 
 Pregnant with celestial fire. 
 Bending as he swept the chords 
 
 Of his sweet but awful lyre. 
 
 She, with all a monarch's pride. 
 Felt them in her bosom glow, — 
 
 Rushed to battle, fought and died, — 
 Dying, hurled them at the foe. 40 
 
 "Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 
 Heaven awards the vengeance due; 
 
 Empire is on us bestowed, — 
 Shame and ruin wait for you !" 
 
 (1782) 
 
 2 Referring to the days when Italy should be 
 famed for the arts instead of warfare. 
 
 ,j easlfs. The Roman standards (bronze eagles).
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 31 
 
 TAM O' SHANTER 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 fAlloway Kirk (Churcli) was a ruin standing 
 near the "auld Brig o' Doon" (old bridge over 
 the Doon), not far from Burns's birthplace. The 
 legend of this poem he used to relate as current 
 in the neighborhood.] 
 
 When chapman billies^ leave the street, 
 And drouthy2 neibors neibors meet, 
 As market-days are wearing late, 
 And folk begin to tak the gate; 
 While we sit bousin at the nappy,^ 
 An' getting fou* and unco'' happy. 
 We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
 The mosses, waters, slaps,^ and stiles, 
 That lie between us and our hame, 
 Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, lo 
 
 Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
 Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
 
 This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
 As he frae Ayr ae'^ night did canter : 
 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses. 
 For honest men and bonie lasses). 
 
 O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise. 
 As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! 
 She tauld thee well thou was a skellum.^ 
 A bletherin,* blusterin, drunken blel- 
 
 lum;i'> 20 
 
 That frae November till October, 
 Ae market-day thou was na sober; 
 That ilka melder^i wi' the miller. 
 Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 
 That ev'ry naig was ca'd^^ ^ g^oe on, 
 The smith and thee gat roarin fou on ; 
 That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
 Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. 
 She prophesied that, late or soon, 
 Thou would be found, deep drown'd in 
 
 Doon, 30 
 
 Or catch'd wi' warlocks^^ in the mirk.^^ 
 By Alloway's auld, haunted kirk. 
 
 Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet,^' 
 To think how mony counsels sweet, 
 How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, 
 The husband frae the wife despises! 
 
 1 chapman billies. Merchant fellows. 
 
 2 drouthy. Thirsty. 
 
 3 drinking ale. 
 
 4 fou. Full. 
 
 5 unco. Extremely. 
 
 6 slaps. Gates. 
 
 7 ae. One. 
 
 8 skeUum. Rascal. 
 
 9 bletherin. Chattering. 
 
 10 blellum. Babbler. 
 
 11 ilka melder. Every corn-grinding, 
 
 12 ca'd. Driven. 
 
 13 warlocks. Wizards. 
 
 14 mirk. Dark. 
 
 15 gars me grzet. Makes me weep. 
 
 But to our tale : — Ae market night, 
 Tam had got planted unco right. 
 Fast by an ingle, ^^ bleezin finely. 
 Wi' reamin swats^^ that drank divinely ;40 
 And at his elbow, Souter^^ Johnie, 
 His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony : 
 Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; 
 They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
 The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; 
 And ay the ale was growing better : 
 The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
 Wi' secret favours, sweet and precious : 
 The souter tauld his queerest stories; 
 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 50 
 The storm without might rair and rustle, 
 Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 
 
 Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
 E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy: 
 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
 The minutes wihg'd their way wi' pleasure; 
 Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
 O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! 
 
 But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
 You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; 60 
 Or like the snow falls in the river, 
 A moment white — then melts for ever; 
 Or like the borealis race. 
 That flit ere you can point their place; 
 Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
 Evanishing amid the storm. — 
 Nae man can tether time or tide: 
 The hour approaches Tam maun^s ride; 
 That hour, o' night's black arch the key- 
 
 stane. 
 That dreary hour he mounts his beast 
 
 in : 70 
 
 And sic a night he taks the road in, 
 As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 
 
 The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
 The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
 The speedy gleams the darkness swal- 
 
 low'd; 
 Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bel- 
 
 low'd: 
 That night, a child might understand. 
 The Deil had business on his hand. 
 
 Weel-mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
 A better never lifted leg, &» 
 
 Tam skelpit^o on thro' dub^i and mire. 
 Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 
 
 16 ingle. Hearth-fire. 
 
 17 reamin swats. Foaming ales. 
 
 18 Souter, Shoemaker. 
 
 19 maun. Must. 
 
 20 skelpit. Hurried. 
 
 21 dub. Puddle.
 
 32 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet, 
 Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots son- 
 net, 
 Whiles glow'rin round wi* prudent cares, 
 Lest bogles catch him unawares, 
 Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
 Where ghaists and houlets^ nightly cry. 
 
 By this time he was cross the ford, 
 Whare in the snaw the chapman 
 smoor'd ;2 oo 
 
 And past the birks^ and meikle* stane, ' 
 Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; 
 And thro' the whins,^ and by the cairn,*^ 
 Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; 
 And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
 Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. 
 Before him Doon pours all his floods; 
 The doubling storm roars thro' the woods, 
 The lightnings flash from pole to pole, 
 Near and more near the thunders roll; lOO 
 When, glimmering thro' the groaning 
 
 trees, 
 Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze,^ 
 Thro' ilka bore^ the beams were glancing, 
 And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 
 
 Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
 What dangers thou canst make us scorn! 
 Wi' tippenny,9 we fear nae evil; 
 Wi' usquabae,^'^ we'll face the devil ! 
 The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noodle, 
 Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.^^ no 
 But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd, 
 Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
 She ventur'd forward on the light; 
 And, wow ! Tam saw an unco^^ sight ! 
 
 Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
 Nae cotillon brent^^ new frae France, 
 But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and 
 
 reels 
 Put life and mettle in their heels. 
 A winnock-bunker^* in the east, 119 
 
 There sat Auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 
 A towzie tyke.is black, grim, and large, 
 To gie them music was his charge; 
 
 I 
 
 houlels. 
 
 . Owls. 
 
 2 
 
 smoor'd. Smothered. 
 
 3 
 
 birks. 
 
 Birches. 
 
 4 
 
 meikle. 
 
 Huge. 
 
 5 
 
 whins. 
 
 Furze. 
 
 6 
 
 cairn. 
 
 Stone-heap. 
 
 7 
 
 b/eeze. 
 
 Blaze. 
 
 8 
 
 bore. 
 
 Chink. 
 
 9 tippenny. Twopenny ale. 
 
 10 usquabae. Whiskey. 
 
 11 boddle. Farthinfj. 
 
 12 unco. Extraorrlinary. 
 
 13 brent. "Brand" new. 
 
 14 winnock-bunktr . Window-seat. 
 
 15 lowzie tyke. Shaggy cur. 
 
 He screw'd the pipes and gart them 
 skirl,i6 
 
 Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.i^ 
 Coffins stood round, like open presses. 
 That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; 
 And by some devilish cantraip sleight^^ 
 Each in its cauld hand held a light, 
 By which heroic Tam was able 
 To note upon the haly table 130 
 
 A murderer's banes in gibbet-aims; 
 Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns; 
 A thief, new-cutted frae the rape,i^ 
 Wi' his last gasp his gab^o did gape; 
 Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted : 
 Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; 
 A garter, which a babe had strangled : 
 A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
 Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
 The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; 140 
 Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
 Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 
 
 As Tammie glowr'd,2i amaz'd, and 
 
 curious. 
 The mirth and fun grew fast and furious ; 
 The piper loud and louder blew. 
 The dancers quick and quicker flew; 
 They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they 
 
 cleekit,22 
 Till ilka carlin^s swat and reekit,^* 
 And coost her duddies to the wark.^s 
 And linket^s at it in her sark!-^ 150 
 
 Now, Tam, O Tam; had thae been 
 queans,28 
 A* plump and strapping in their teens ! 
 Their sarks, instead o' creeshie^** flannen. 
 Been snaw-white seventeen bunder 
 
 linen !-^o 
 Thir^i breeks o' mine, my only pair. 
 That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
 I wad hae gien them aff my hurdies,^^ 
 For ae blink o' the bonie burdics \^^ 
 
 16 skirl. Shriek. 
 
 17 dirl. Rattle. 
 
 18 cantraip sleight. Magic skill. 
 
 19 rape. Rope. 
 
 20 gab. Mouth. 
 
 21 glowr'd. Stared. 
 
 22 cleekit. Joined hands. 
 
 23 carlin. Old woman. 
 
 24 swat and reekit. Sweat and steamed. 
 
 25 Cast off her clothes in the labor. 
 
 26 linket. Tripped. 
 
 27 sark. Smock. 
 
 28 queans. Girls. 
 
 29 creeshie. Greasy. 
 
 30 The finest linen had 1, 700 meshes to the reed. 
 
 31 Thir. These. 
 
 32 hurdles. Hips. 
 
 33 burdies. Lasses.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 33 
 
 But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
 Rigwoodie^ hags wad spean^ a foal, i6o 
 Lowping^ an' flinging on a crummock,* 
 I wonder didna turn my stomach. 
 
 But Tam ken'd what was what fu* 
 brawlie i^ 
 There was ae winsome wench and walie^ 
 That night enlisted in the core'^ 
 (Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore: 
 For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
 And perish'd mony a bonie boat, 
 And shook baith meikle corn and bear.s 
 And kept the country-side in fear) ; 170 
 Her cutty sark, o' Paisley ham,* 
 That while a lassie she had worn. 
 In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
 It was her best, and she was vauntie.io 
 
 Ah ! little ken'd thy reverend grannie. 
 That sark she cofti"- for her wee Nannie, 
 Wi' twa pund Scots^^ ('twas a' her 
 
 riches), 
 Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 
 
 But here my Muse her wing maun 
 
 cow'r, 
 Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; 180 
 To sing how Nannie lap^^ and flang 
 (A souple jade she was and Strang), 
 And how Tam stood, like one bewitch'd. 
 And thought his very een^* enrich'd: 
 Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd^^ fu' fain 
 And hotch'd^s and blew wi' might and 
 
 main : 
 Till first ae caper, synei'^ anither, 
 Tam tint^s his reason a' thegither. 
 And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" 
 And in an instant all was dark : _ 190 
 
 And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
 When out the hellish legion sallied. 
 
 As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,!** 
 When plundering herds assail their 
 
 byke ;20 
 As open pussie's^i mortal foes, 
 When, pop! she starts before their nose; 
 As eager runs the market-crowd. 
 When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; 
 So Maggie runs, the witches follow, IQ9 
 Wi' mony an eldritch^s skriech and hollo. 
 
 1 Rigwoodie. Bony 
 
 2 spean. Wean (by disgust). 
 
 3 Lowping. Leaping. 4 crummock. Staff. 
 S brawlie. Finely. 6 walie. Goodly. 
 
 ' 7 core. Company. 8 bear. Barley. 
 
 9 Short smock, of Paisley yarn. 
 10 vauntie. Proud. 11 cofl. Bought. 
 
 1 2 Two pounds Scotch = three shillings four-pence. 
 
 13 lap. Leaped. 14 een. Eyes. 
 
 IS fidg'd. Fidgeted. 16 hoich'd. Squirmed. 
 
 17 syne. Then. 18 tint. Lost. 
 
 19 fyke. Clamor. 20 byke. Hive. 
 
 21 pussie's. The hare's. 22 eldritch. Ghostly. 
 
 Ah, Tam ! Ah, Tam ! thou'll get thy 
 fairin \-^ 
 In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
 In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
 Kate soon will be a wocfu' woman! 
 Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
 And win the key-stane of the brig;^* 
 There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
 A running stream they dare na cross. 
 But ere the key-stane she could make. 
 The fient-s a tail she had to shake! 210 
 For Nannie, far before the rest. 
 Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
 And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;^*' 
 But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
 Ae spring brought aff her master hale,^" 
 But left behind her ain grey tail: 
 The carlin claught her by the rump. 
 And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 
 
 Now, wha28 this tale o' truth shall read. 
 Ilk man, and mother's son, take heed : 220 
 Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
 Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
 Think ye may buy the joys owrc-'J dear; 
 Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 
 
 (1791) 
 
 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT 
 MARINER 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 
 
 [This poem was planned by Wordsworth an<l 
 Coleridge jointly, for their volume of Lyrical 
 Ballads. The story was in part suggested by the 
 dream of a friend of Coleridge's, but Words- 
 worth contributed the theme of the slain alba- 
 tross. Coleridge afterward explained his purpose 
 in writing the poem to be "to procure for these 
 shadows of imagination that willing suspension 
 of disbelief for the moment which constitutes 
 poetic faith."] 
 
 ARGUMENT 
 
 How a ship having passed the Line was driven 
 by Storms to the cold Country toward the South 
 Pole; and how from thence she made her course 
 to the Tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific 
 Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and 
 in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came 
 back to his own Country. 
 
 It is an ancient Mariner, 
 
 And he stoppeth one of three. 
 
 "By thy long gray beard and glittering 
 
 eye. 
 Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? 
 
 23 fairin. Reward. 
 25 fient. Devil. 
 27 hale. Whole. 
 29 owre. Too. 
 
 24 brig. Bridge. 
 26 etlle. Intent. 
 j8 wha. Whoever.
 
 34 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
 And I am next of kin; 
 The guests are met, the feast is set : 
 May'st hear the merry din." 
 
 He holds him with his skinny hand, 
 "There was a ship," quoth he. lo 
 
 "Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard loon!" 
 Eftsoons^ his hand dropt he. 
 
 He holds him with his glittering eye — 
 The Wedding-Guest stood still. 
 And listens like a three years' child: 
 The Mariner hath his will. 
 
 The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone : 
 He cannot choose but hear; 
 And thus spake on that ancient man. 
 The bright-eyed Mariner. 20 
 
 "The ship was cheered, the harbour 
 
 cleared. 
 Merrily did we drop 
 Below the kirk,2 below the hill, 
 Below the lighthouse top. 
 
 "The sun came up upon the left. 
 Out of the sea came he! 
 And he shone bright, and on the right 
 Went down into the sea. 
 
 "Higher and higher every day. 
 Till over the mast at noon — " 30 
 
 The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast. 
 For he heard the loud bassoon. 
 
 The bride hath paced into the hall. 
 Red as a rose is she; 
 Nodding their heads before her goes 
 The merry minstrelsy. 
 
 The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, 
 Yet he cannot choose but hear ; 
 And thus spake on that ancient man, 
 The bright-eyed Mariner. 40 
 
 "And now the Storm-blast came, and he 
 Was tyrannous and strong: 
 He struck with his o'ertaking wings. 
 And chased us south along. 
 
 "With sloping masts and dipping prow. 
 As who pursued with yell and blow 
 Still treads the shadow of his foe, 
 And forward bends his head, 
 The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, 
 And southward aye^ we fled. 5° 
 
 1 Eftsoons. Immediately. 
 
 2 kirk. Church. 
 
 3 aye. Always (steadily). 
 
 "And now there came both mist and snow, 
 And it grew wondrous cold : 
 And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 
 As green as emerald. 
 
 "And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
 Did send a dismal sheen : 
 Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — 
 The ice was all between. 
 
 "The ice was here, the ice was there, 
 The ice was all around : 60 
 
 It cracked and growled, and roared and 
 
 howled. 
 Like voices in a swound !* 
 
 "At length did cross an Albatross, 
 Thorough the fog it came ; 
 As if it had been a Christian soul, 
 We hailed it in God's name. 
 
 "It ate the food it ne'er had eat. 
 
 And round and round it flew. 
 
 The ice did split with a thunder-fit; 
 
 The helmsman steered us through ! 70 
 
 "And a good south wind sprung up be- 
 hind ; 
 The Albatross did follow, 
 And every day, for food or play. 
 Came to the mariner's hollo ! 
 
 "In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud. 
 
 It perched for vespers'' nine; 
 
 Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke 
 
 white, 
 Glimmered the white moon-shine." 
 
 "God save thee, ancient Mariner! 
 From the fiends, that plague thee thus! — 
 Why look'st thou so?" — "With my cross- 
 bow 81 
 I shot the Albatross. 
 
 PART II 
 
 "The sun now rose upon the right : 
 Out of the sea came he, 
 Still hid in mist, and on the left 
 Went down into the sea. 
 
 "And the good south wind still blew be- 
 hind. 
 But no sweet bird did follow, 
 Nor any day for food or play 
 Came to the mariner's hollo ? 90 
 
 4 swound. Swoon, dream. 
 
 5 vespers. Evenings.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 35 
 
 "And I had done a hellish thing, 
 
 And it would work *em woe : 
 
 For all averred, I had killed the bird 
 
 That made the breeze to blow. 
 
 Ah, wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 
 
 That made the breeze to blow ! 
 
 "Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, 
 The glorious Sun uprist;! 
 Then all averred, I had killed the bird 
 That brought the fog and mist. loo 
 
 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay. 
 That bring the fog and mist. 
 
 "The fair breeze blew, the white foam 
 
 flew. 
 The furrow followed free ; 
 We were the first that ever burst 
 Into that silent sea. 
 
 "Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt 
 
 down, 
 'Twas sad as sad could be; 
 And we did speak only to break 
 The silence of the sea! no 
 
 "All in a hot and copper sky, 
 The bloody Sun, at noon, 
 Right up above the mast did stand. 
 No bigger than the Moon. 
 
 "Day after day, day after day. 
 We stuck, nor breath nor motion; 
 As idle as a painted ship 
 Upon a painted ocean. 
 
 "Water, water, everywhere, 
 
 And all the boards did shrink ; 120 
 
 Water, water, everywhere. 
 
 Nor any drop to drink. 
 
 "The very deep did rot: O Christ! 
 That ever this should be ! 
 Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 
 Upon the slimy sea. 
 
 "About, about, in reel and rout^ 
 
 The death-fires danced at night; 
 
 The water, like a witch's oils. 
 
 Burnt green and blue and white, 130 
 
 "And some in dreams assured were 
 Of the Spirit that plagued us so; 
 Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
 From the land of mist and snow. 
 
 1 uprist. Uprose. 
 
 2 rout. Tumult. 
 
 "And every tongue, through utter thought, 
 Was withered at tlie root; 
 We could not speak, no more than if 
 We had been choked with soot. 
 
 "Ah ! well-a-day ! what evil looks 
 Had I from old and young ! 140 
 
 Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
 About my neck was hung. 
 
 PART III 
 
 "There passed a weary time. Each throat 
 
 Was parched, and glazed each eye. 
 
 A weary time! a weary time! 
 
 How glazed each weary eye ! — 
 
 When looking westward, I beheld 
 
 A something in the sky. 
 
 "At first- it seemed a little speck. 
 And then it seemed a mist; 150 
 
 It moved and moved, and took at last 
 A certain shape, I wist.^ 
 
 "A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 
 And still it neared and neared: 
 As if it dodged a water-sprite. 
 It plunged and tacked and veered. 
 
 "With throats unslaked, with black lips 
 
 baked. 
 We could nor laugh, nor wail ; 
 Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! 
 I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 160 
 And cried, A sail! a sail! 
 
 "With throats unslaked, with black lips 
 
 baked. 
 Agape they heard me call : 
 Gramercy!* they for joy did grin. 
 And all at once their breath drew in. 
 As they were drinking all. 
 
 "'See! see!' (I cried) !she tacks no more! 
 
 Hither to work us weal. 
 
 Without a breeze, without a tide. 
 
 She steadies with upright keel!' 170 
 
 "The western wave was all aflame. 
 
 The day was well-nigh done ! 
 
 Almost upon the western wave 
 
 Rested the broad bright Sun; 
 
 When that strange shape drove suddenly 
 
 Betwixt us and the Sun. 
 
 "And straight the Sun was flecked with 
 
 bars 
 (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) 
 As if through a dungeon-grate he peered 
 With broad and burning face. 180 
 
 3 wisl. Knew. 
 
 4 Gramercy. Great thanks.
 
 Z6 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat 
 
 loud) 
 How fast she nears and nears ! 
 Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
 Like restless gossameresP^ 
 
 "Are those her ribs through which the 
 
 Sun 
 Did peer, as through a grate? 
 And is that Woman all her crew? 
 Is that a Death? and are there two? 
 Is Death that woman's mate? 
 
 "Her lips were red, her looks were free, 
 Her locks were yellow as gold : 191 
 
 Her skin was as white as leprosy, 
 The Night-mare, Life-in-Death, was she, 
 Who thicks man's blood with cold. 
 
 "The naked hulk alongside came. 
 And the twain were casting dice ; 
 'The game is done! I've won! I've won!' 
 Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 
 
 "The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out. 
 At one stride comes the dark; 200 
 
 With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea. 
 Off shot the spectre-bark. 
 
 "We listened and looked sideways up ! 
 
 Fear at my heart, as at a cup. 
 
 My life-blood seemed to sip! 
 
 The stars were dim, and thick the night, 
 
 The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed 
 
 white ; 
 From the sails the dew did drip — 
 Till clomb2 above the eastern bar 
 The horned Moon, with one bright star 
 Within the nether tip. 211 
 
 "One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, 
 Too quick for groan or sigh. 
 Each turned his face with a ghastly pang. 
 And cursed me with his eye. 
 
 "Four times fifty living men, 
 (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) 
 With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 
 They dropped down one by one, 
 
 "The souls did from their bodies fly, — 220 
 
 They fled to bliss or woe! 
 
 And every soul, it passed me by. 
 
 Like the whizz of my cross-bow !" — 
 
 1 gossameres. Spider-webs. 
 
 2 tlomb. Climbed. 
 
 "I fear thee, ancient Mariner! 
 
 I fear thy skinny hand. 
 
 And thou art long, and lank, and brown, 
 
 As is the ribbed sea-sand. 
 
 "I fear thee and thy glittering eye. 
 And thy skinny hand, so brown." — 
 "Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
 This body dropt not down.^ 231 
 
 "Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
 Alone on a wide wide sea! 
 And never a saint took pity on 
 My soul in agony. 
 
 "The many men, so beautiful ! 
 
 And they all dead did lie : 
 
 And a thousand thousand slimy things 
 
 Lived on ; and so did I. 
 
 "I looked upon the rotting sea, 240 
 
 And drew my eyes away ; 
 
 I looked upon the rotting deck. 
 
 And there the dead men lay. 
 
 "I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; 
 But or* ever a prayer had gusht, 
 A wicked whisper came, and made 
 My heart as dry as dust. 
 
 "I closed my lips, and kept them close, 
 And the balls like pulses beat ; 
 For the sky and the sea, and the sea and 
 the sky 250 
 
 Lay like a load on my weary eye. 
 And the dead were at my feet. 
 
 "The cold sweat melted from their limbs. 
 Nor rot nor reek did they : 
 The look with which they looked on me 
 Had never passed away. 
 
 "An orphan's curse would drag to hell 
 
 A spirit from on high ; 
 
 But oh ! more horrible than that 
 
 Is a curse in a dead man's eye! 260 
 
 Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse. 
 
 And yet I could not die. 
 
 "The moving Moon went up the sky, 
 And nowhere did abide; 
 .Softly she was going up. 
 And a star or two beside — 
 
 3 That is, I am not a ghost. 
 
 4 or. Before.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 37 
 
 "Her beams bemocked the sultry main, 
 Like April hoar-frost spread; 
 But where the ship's huge shadow lay, 
 The charmed water burnt alway 270 
 
 A still and awful red. 
 
 "Beyond the shadow of the ship, 
 
 I watched the water-snakes : 
 
 They moved in tracks of shining white, 
 
 And when they reared, the elfish light 
 
 Fell off in hoary flakes. 
 
 "Within the shadow of the ship 
 
 I watched their rich attire : 
 
 Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
 
 They coiled and swam ; and every track 
 
 Was a flash of golden fire. 281 
 
 "O happy living things ! no tongue 
 
 Their beauty might declare : 
 
 A spring of love gushed from my heart, 
 
 And I blessed them unaware : 
 
 Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 
 
 And I blessed them unaware. 
 
 "The selfsame moment I could pray; 
 And from my neck so free 
 The Albatross fell off, and sank 290 
 
 Like lead into the sea. 
 
 PART V 
 
 "Oh sleep! It is a gentle thing. 
 Beloved from pole to pole ! 
 To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
 She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, 
 That slid into my soul. 
 
 "The sillyi buckets on the deck. 
 
 That had so long remained, 
 
 I dreamt that they were filled with dew ; 
 
 And when I awoke, it rained. 300 
 
 "My lips were wet, my throat was cold. 
 My garments all were dank ; 
 Sure I had drunken in my dreams. 
 And still my body drank. 
 
 "I moved, and could not feel my limbs : 
 I was so light — almost 
 I thought that I had died in sleep. 
 And was a blessed ghost. 
 
 "And soon I heard a roaring wind : 
 It did not come anear : 310 
 
 But with its sound it shook the sails. 
 That were so thin and sere. 
 
 'The upper air burst into life! 
 And a hundred fire-flags sheen,^ 
 To and fro they were hurried about I 
 And to and fro, and in and out. 
 The wan stars danced between. 
 
 "And the coming wind did roar more 
 
 loud, 
 And the sails did sigh like sedge ;3 
 And the rain poured down from one 
 
 black cloud; 320 
 
 The Moon was at its edge. 
 
 "The thick black cloud was cleft, and 
 
 still 
 The Moon was at its side : 
 Like waters shot from some high crag, 
 The lightning fell with nevef a jag, 
 A river steep and wide. 
 
 "The loud wind never reached the ship. 
 Yet now the ship moved on ! 
 Beneath the lightning and the Moon 
 The dead men gave a groan. 330 
 
 "They groaned, they stirred, they all up- 
 rose. 
 Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 
 It had been strange, even in a dream, 
 To have seen those dead men rise. 
 
 "The helmsman steered, the ship moved 
 
 on; 
 Yet never a breeze up blew : 
 The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, 
 Where they were wont to do ; 
 They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — • 
 We were a ghastly crew. 340 
 
 "The body of my brother's son 
 Stood by me, knee to knee: 
 The body and I pulled at one rope 
 But he said nought to me." — 
 
 "I fear thee, ancient Mariner!" — 
 "Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! 
 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain. 
 Which to their corses came again. 
 But a troop of spirits blest: 
 
 "For when it dawned — they dropped their 
 arms, 350 
 
 And clustered round the mast ; 
 
 Sweet sounds rose slowly through their 
 mouths. 
 
 And from their bodies passed. 
 
 I silly. Useless (?). 
 
 2 sheen. 
 
 3 sedge. 
 
 ty. r — I — ,1 ^ > ,• - 
 
 Bright. 
 
 Reeds (in the wiad).
 
 38 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 
 Then darted to the Sun ; 
 Slowly the sounds came back again, 
 Now mixed, now one by one. 
 
 "Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
 I heard the sky-lark sing; 
 Sometimes all little birds that are, 360 
 How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
 With their sweet jargoning! 
 
 "And now 'twas like all instruments, 
 Now like a lonely flute; 
 And now it is an angel's song, 
 That makes the heavens be mute. 
 
 "It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
 
 A pleasant noise till noon, 
 
 A noise like of a hidden brook 
 
 In the leafy month of June, 370 
 
 That to the sleeping woods all night 
 
 Singeth a quiet tune. 
 
 "Till noon we quietly sailed on. 
 Yet never a breeze did breathe : 
 Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
 Moved onward from beneath. 
 
 "Under the keel nine fathom deep. 
 
 From the land of mist and snow. 
 
 The spirit slid; and it was he 
 
 That made the ship to go. 380 
 
 The sails at noon left off their tune, 
 
 And the ship stood still also. 
 
 "The Sun, right up above the mast, 
 Had fixed her to the ocean : 
 But in a minute she 'gan stir. 
 With a short uneasy motion — 
 Backwards and forwards half her length 
 With a short uneasy motion. 
 
 "Then like a pawing horse let go, 
 She made a sudden bound : 390 
 
 It flung the blood into my head. 
 And I fell down in a swound. 
 
 "How long in that same fit T lay, 
 I have not to declare ; 
 But ere my living life returned, 
 I heard and in my soul discerned 
 Two voices in the air. 
 
 "'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? 
 By Him who died on cross, 
 With his cruel bow he laid full low 400 
 The harmless Albatross. 
 
 " 'The spirit who bideth by himself 
 In the land of mist and snow, 
 He loved the bird that loved the man 
 Who shot him with his bow.' 
 
 "The other was a softer voice, 
 
 As soft as honey-dew: 
 
 Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, 
 
 And penance more will do.' 
 
 PART VI 
 
 First Voice 
 " 'But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 410 
 Thy soft response renewing — 
 What makes that ship drive on so fast? 
 What is the ocean doing?' 
 
 Second Voice 
 " 'Still as a slave before his lord. 
 The ocean hath no blast; 
 His great bright eye most silently 
 Up to the Moon is cast — 
 
 "'If he may know which way to go; 
 For she guides him smooth or grim. 
 See, brother, see! how graciously 420 
 She looketh down on him.' 
 
 First Voice 
 " 'But why drives on that ship so fast. 
 Without or wave or wind?' 
 
 Second Voice 
 " 'The air is cut away before. 
 And closes from behind. 
 
 " 'Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! 
 Or we shall be belated : 
 For slow and slow that ship will go, 
 When the Mariner's trance is abated.' 
 
 "I woke, and we were sailing on 430 
 
 As in a gentle weather : 
 
 'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was 
 
 high. 
 The dead men stood together. 
 
 "All stood together on the deck, 
 For a charnel-dungeon fitter: 
 All fixed on me their stormy eyes, 
 That in the Moon did glitter. 
 
 "The pang, the curse, with which they 
 
 died. 
 Had never passed away : 
 1 could not draw my eyes from theirs, 
 Nor turn them up to pray. 44i
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 39 
 
 "And now this spell was snapt : once 
 
 more 
 I viewed the ocean green, 
 And looked far north, yet little saw 
 Of what had else been seen — 
 
 "Like one, that on a lonesome road 
 
 Doth walk in fear and dread, 
 
 And having once turned round walks on. 
 
 And turns no more his head; 
 
 Because he knows a frightful fiend 450 
 
 Doth close behind him tread. 
 
 "But soon there breathed a wind on me, 
 Nor sound nor motion made : 
 Its path was not upon the sea, 
 In ripple or in shade. 
 
 "It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek 
 Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
 It mingled strangely with my fears. 
 Yet it felt like a welcoming. 
 
 "Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 460 
 
 Yet she sailed softly too : 
 Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
 On me alone it blew. 
 
 "Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed 
 The light-house top I see? 
 Is this the hill? is this the kirk? 
 Is this mine own countree? 
 
 "We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, 
 And I with sobs did pray — 
 'O let me be awake, my God ! 470 
 
 Or let me sleep alway.' 
 
 "The harbour-bay was clear as glass, 
 So smoothly it was strewn! 
 And on the bay the moonlight lay. 
 And the shadow of the Moon. 
 
 "The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, 
 That stands above the rock : 
 The moonlight steeped in silentness 
 The steady weathercock. 
 
 "And the bay was white with silent light 
 Till rising from the same, 481 
 
 Full many shapes, that shadows were. 
 In crimson colours came. 
 
 "A little distance from the prow 
 Those crimson shadows were : 
 I turned my eyes upon the deck — 
 Oh, Christ ! what saw I there ! 
 
 "Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, 
 And, by the holy rood!^ 
 A man all light, a seraph-man, 490 
 
 On every corse there stood. 
 
 "This seraph-band, each waved his hand : 
 It was a heavenly sight ! 
 They stood as signals to the land, 
 Each one a lovely light; 
 
 "This seraph-band, each waved his hand, 
 No voice did they impart — 
 No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
 Like music on my heart. 
 
 "But soon I heard the dash of oars, 50a 
 I heard the Pilot's cheer : 
 My head was turned perforce away, 
 And I saw a boat appear. 
 
 "The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, 
 I heard them coming fast : 
 Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy 
 The dead men could not blast. 
 
 "I saw a third — I heard his voice : 
 
 It is the Hermit good! 
 
 He singeth loud his godly hymns 510 
 
 That he makes in the wood. 
 
 He'll shrieve my soul,^ he'll wash away 
 
 The Albatross's blood. 
 
 "This Hermit good lives in that wood 
 Which slopes down to the sea. 
 How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 
 He loves to talk with marineres 
 That come from a far countree. 
 
 "He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — 
 He hath a cushion plump : 520 
 
 It is the moss that wholly hides 
 The rotted old oak stump. 
 
 "The skiflF-boat neared : I heard them 
 
 talk, 
 'Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
 Where are those lights so many and fair. 
 That signal made but now?' 
 
 " 'Strange, by my faith !' the Hermit 
 
 said — 
 'And they answered not our cheer! 
 The planks looked warped! and see those 
 
 sails. 
 How thin they are and sere ! 530 
 
 T never saw aught like to them, 
 LTnless perchance it were 
 
 I rood. Cross. 
 ' 2 shrieve my soul. Receive my confession (and 
 prant absolution).
 
 40 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 " 'Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
 My forest-brook along; 
 When the ivy-tod^ is heavy with snow, 
 And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 
 That eats the she-wolf's young.' 
 
 " 'Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look' — 
 (The Pilot made reply) 
 
 'I am a- feared.' — 'Push on, 
 Said the Hermit cheerily. 
 
 push 
 
 on !* 
 541 
 
 "The boat came closer to the ship, 
 But I nor spake nor stirred ; 
 The boat came close beneath the ship. 
 And straight a sound was heard. 
 
 "Under the water it rumbled on, 
 Still louder and more dread : 
 It reached the ship, it split the bay; 
 The ship went down like lead. 
 
 "Stunned by that loud and dreadful 
 sound, 550 
 
 Which sky and ocean smote. 
 
 Like one that hath been seven days 
 drowned 
 
 My body lay afloat; 
 
 But swift as dreams, myself I found 
 
 Within the Pilot's boat. 
 
 "Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 
 The boat spun round and round ; 
 And all was still, save that the hill 
 Was telling of the sound. 
 
 "I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked 
 And fell down in a fit ; 561 
 
 The holy Hermit raised his eyes. 
 And prayed where he did sit. 
 
 "I took the oars : the Pilot's boy. 
 
 Who now doth crazy go, 
 
 Laughed loud and long, and all the while 
 
 His eyes went to and fro. 
 
 'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, 
 
 The Devil knows how to row.* 
 
 "And now, all in my own countree, 570 
 I stood on the firm land! 
 The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, 
 And scarcely he could stand. 
 
 " 'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' 
 The Hermit crossed his brow. 
 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say — 
 What manner of man art thou?' 
 I tod. Bush. 
 
 "Forthwith this frame of mine was 
 
 wrenched 
 With a woful agony, 
 
 Which forced me to begin my tale; 580 
 And then it left me free. 
 
 "Since then, at an uncertain hour. 
 That agony returns : 
 And till my ghastly tale is told, 
 This heart within me burns. 
 
 "I pass, like night, from land to land; 
 
 I have strange power of speech ; 
 
 That moment that his face I see, 
 
 I know the man that must hear me: 
 
 To him my tale I teach. 590 
 
 "What loud uproar bursts from that door I 
 The wedding-guests are there : 
 But in the garden-bower the bride 
 And bride-maids singing are : 
 And hark the little vesper bell, 
 Which biddeth me to prayer ! 
 
 "O Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been 
 Alone on a wide wide sea : 
 So lonely 'twas, that God himself 
 Scarce seemed there to be. 600 
 
 "O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
 'Tis sweeter far to me, 
 To walk together to the kirk, 
 With a goodly company ! — 
 
 "To walk together to the kirk, 
 
 And all together pray. 
 
 While each to his great Father bends, 
 
 Old men, and babes, and loving friends 
 
 And youths and maidens gay! 
 
 "Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 610 
 To thee, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
 He prayeth well, who loveth well 
 Both man and bird and beast. 
 
 "He prayeth best, who loveth best 
 All things both great and small; 
 For the dear God who loveth us, 
 He made and loveth all." 
 
 The Mariner, whose eye is bright. 
 Whose beard with age is hoar, 
 Is gone; and now the Wedding-Guest 620 
 Turned from the bridegroom's door. 
 
 He went like one that hath been stunned. 
 And is of sense forlorn :~ 
 A sadder and a wiser man, 
 He rose the morrow morn. 
 
 (1798) 
 3 forlorn. Deprived.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 41 
 
 SIMON LEE 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 [This poem is one of Wordsworth's charac- 
 teristic contributions to the Lyrical Ballads, of 
 which he said that they were distinguished from 
 the poetry of the day in that "the feeling therein 
 developed gives importance to the action and 
 situation, and not the action and situation to the 
 feeling." Compare with this remark lines 61-68.] 
 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
 Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, 
 An old man dwells, a little man, — 
 'Tis said he once was tall. 
 Full five-and-thirty years he lived 
 A running huntsman merry; 
 And still the centre of his cheek 
 Is red as a ripe cherry. 
 
 No man like him the horn could sound, 
 
 And hill and valley rang with glee lO 
 
 When Echo bandied, round and round, 
 
 The halloo of Simon Lee. 
 
 In those proud days he little cared 
 
 For husbandry or tillage; 
 
 To blither tasks did Simon rouse 
 
 The sleepers of the village. 
 
 He all the country could outrun, 
 Could leave both man and horse behind; 
 And often, ere the chase was done. 
 He reeled, and was stone-blind. 20 
 
 And still there's something in the world 
 At which his heart rejoices; 
 For when the chiming hounds are out. 
 He dearly loves their voices. 
 
 But oh the heavy change — bereft 
 
 Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, 
 
 see ! 
 Old Simon to the world is left 
 In liveried poverty.'- 
 His master's dead, and no one now 
 Dwells in the Hall of Ivor; 30 
 
 Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ; 
 He is the sole survivor. 
 
 And he is lean and he is sick ; 
 
 His body, dwindled and awry. 
 
 Rests upon ankles swoll'n and thick; 
 
 His legs are thin and dry. 
 
 One prop he has, and only one, — 
 
 His wife, an aged woman, 
 
 Lives with him, near the waterfall. 
 
 Upon the village common. 40 
 
 Beside their moss-grown hut of clay. 
 Not twenty paces from the door, 
 A scrap of land they have, but they 
 Are poorest of the poor. 
 
 I That is, in poverty, though still wearing the 
 livery of his former employer. 
 
 This scrap of land he from the heath 
 Enclosed when he was stronger ; 
 But what to them avails the land 
 Which he can till no longer? 
 
 Oft, working by her husband's side, 
 
 Ruth does what Simon cannot do ; 50 
 
 For she, with scanty cause for pride. 
 
 Is stouter of the two. 
 
 And though you with your utmost skill 
 
 From labor could not wean them, 
 
 'Tis little, very little, all 
 
 That they can do between them. 
 
 Few months of life has he in store. 
 
 As he to you will tell. 
 
 For still,2 the more he works, the more 
 
 Do his weak ankles swell. 60 
 
 My gentle reader, I perceive 
 
 How patiently you've waited, 
 
 And now I fear that you expect 
 
 Some tale will be related. 
 
 O reader ! had you in your mind 
 Such stores as silent thought can bring, 
 
 gentle reader! you would find 
 A tale in everything. 
 
 What more I have to say is short. 
 And you must kindly take it : 70 
 
 It is no tale ; but, should you think. 
 Perhaps a tale you'll make it. 
 
 One summer day I chanced to see 
 
 This old man doing all he could 
 
 To unearth the root of an old tree, 
 
 A stump of rotten wood. 
 
 The mattock tottered in his hand; 
 
 So vain was his endeavor, 
 
 That at the root of the old tree 
 
 He might have worked forever. 80 
 
 "You're overtasked, good Simon Lee; 
 Give me your tool," to him I said ; 
 And at the word right gladly he 
 Received my profifered aid. 
 
 1 struck, and with a single blow 
 The tangled root I severed. 
 
 At which the poor old man so long 
 And vainly had endeavored. 
 
 The tears into his eyes were brought. 
 And thanks and praises seemed to run 90 
 So fast out of his heart, I thought 
 They never would have done. 
 — I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds 
 With coldness still returning; 
 Alas ! the gratitude of men 
 Hath oftener left me mourning. 
 
 (1798) 
 2 still. Always.
 
 42 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 BISHOP HATTO 
 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 _ [The legend of Bishop Hatto is attached to an 
 historic Archbishop of Mentz, Germany, and the 
 supposed date is about A.D. 914.] 
 
 The summer and autumn had been so wet 
 That in winter the corn was growing yet; 
 'Twas a piteous sight to see all around 
 The grain lie rotting on the ground. 
 
 Every day the starving poor 
 Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door, 
 For he had a plentiful last-year's store, 
 And all the neighborhood could tell 
 His granaries were furnished well. 
 
 At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day lo 
 To quiet the poor without delay ; 
 He bade them to his great barn repair. 
 And they should have food for the winter 
 there. 
 
 Rejoiced such tidings good to hear, 
 The poor folk flocked from far and near ; 
 The great barn was full as it could hold 
 Of women and children, and young and 
 old. 
 
 Then when he saw it could hold no more, 
 Bishop Hatto he made fast the door; 19 
 And while for mercy on Christ they call, 
 He set fire to the barn and burnt them all. 
 
 "P faith 'tis an excellent bonfire !" quoth 
 
 he, 
 "And the country is greatly obliged to me 
 For ridding it, in these times forlorn. 
 Of rats that only consume the corn." 
 
 So then to his palace returned he, 
 And he sat down to supper merrily, 
 And he slept that night like an innocent 
 
 man ; 
 But Bishop Hatto never slept again. 
 
 In the morning, as he entered the hall 30 
 Where his picture hung against the wall, 
 A sweat like death all over him came. 
 For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame. 
 
 As he looked, there came a man from his 
 
 farm, — 
 He had a countenance white with alarm : 
 "My lord, I opened your granaries this 
 
 morn, 
 And the Rats had eaten all your corn." 
 
 Another came running presently, 
 And he was pale as pale could be. 
 "Fly, my Lord Bishop, fly !" quoth he. 40 
 "Ten thousand Rats are coming this 
 
 way; — 
 The Lord forgive you for yesterday!" 
 
 "I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," re- 
 plied he ; 
 
 "'Tis the safest place in Germany. 
 
 The walls are high, and the shores are 
 steep, 
 
 And the stream is strong and the water 
 deep." 
 
 Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away. 
 And he crossed the Rhine without delay, 
 And reached his tower, and barred with 
 
 care 
 All the windows, doors, and loopholes 
 
 there. 5° 
 
 He laid him down and closed his eyes; — 
 But soon a scream made him arise. 
 He started, and saw two eyes of flame 
 On his pillow from whence the screaming 
 came. 
 
 He listened and looked, — it was only the 
 
 cat; 
 But the Bishop he grew more fearful for 
 
 that, 
 For she sat screaming, mad with fear, 
 At the army of Rats that were drawing 
 
 near. 
 
 For they have swam over the river so 
 deep, 59 
 
 And they have climbed the shores so steep. 
 And up the tower their way is bent. 
 To do the work for which they were sent. 
 
 They are not to be told^ by the dozen or 
 
 score ; 
 By thousands they come, and by myriads 
 
 and more. 
 Such numbers had never been heard of 
 
 before, — 
 Such a judgment had never been witnessed 
 
 of yore. 
 
 Down on his knees the Bishop fell. 
 And faster and faster his beads did he tell. 
 As louder and louder drawing near 6g 
 The gnawing of their teeth he could hear. 
 
 I told. Counted.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 43 
 
 And in at the windows, and in at the door, 
 And through the walls helter-skelter they 
 
 pour, 
 And down from the ceiling, and up 
 
 through the floor, 
 From the right and the left, from behind 
 
 and before, 
 From within and without, from above and 
 
 below ; 
 And all at once to the Bishop they go. 
 
 They have whetted their teeth against the 
 
 stones, 
 And now they pick the Bishop's bones. 
 They gnawed the flesh from every limb, 
 For they were sent to do judgment on 
 
 him ! 80 
 
 (1799) 
 
 LUCY GRAY 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: 
 And, when I crossed the wild, 
 I chanced to see at break of day 
 The solitary child. 
 
 No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; 
 She dwelt on a wide moor, 
 — The sweetest thing that ever grew 
 Beside a human door! 
 
 You yet may spy the fawn at play. 
 The hare upon the green; 10 
 
 But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 
 Will never more be seen. 
 
 "To-night will be a stormy night — 
 You to the town must go; 
 And take a lantern, Child, to light 
 Your mother through the snow." 
 
 "That, Father! will I gladly do: 
 
 'Tis scarcely afternoon — 
 
 The minster-clock has just struck two, 
 
 And yonder is the moon !" 20 
 
 At this the Father raised his hook, 
 And snapped a faggot-band ; 
 He plied his work ; — and Lucy took 
 The lantern in her hand. 
 
 Not blither is the mountain roe : 
 With many a wanton stroke 
 Her feet disperse the powdery snow. 
 That rises up like smoke. 
 
 The storm came on before its time : 
 She wandered up and down ; 30 
 
 And many a hill did Lucy climb : 
 But never reached the town. 
 
 The wretched parents all that night 
 Went shouting far and wide ; 
 But there was neither sound nor sight 
 To serve them for a guide. 
 
 At daybreak on the hill they stood 
 That overlooked the moor; 
 And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 
 A furlong from their door. 40 
 
 They wept — and, turning homeward, cried, 
 "In heaven we all shall meet;" 
 — When in the snow the mother spied 
 The print of Lucy's feet. 
 
 Then downwards from the steep hill's 
 
 edge 
 They tracked the footmarks small; 
 And through the broken hawthorn hedge, 
 And by the long stone-wall; 
 
 And then an open field they crossed : 
 The marks were still the same ; 50 
 
 They tracked them on, nor ever lost ; 
 And to the bridge they came. 
 
 They followed from the snowy bank 
 Those footmarks, one by one, 
 Into the middle of the plank ; 
 And further there were none ! 
 
 — Yet some maintain that to this day, 
 She is a living child; 
 That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 
 Upon the lonesome wild. 60 
 
 O'er rough and smooth she trips along. 
 And never looks behind ; 
 And sings a solitary song 
 That whistles in the wind. 
 
 (1800) 
 
 MICHAEL 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 [Of this poem Wordsworth wrote: "The sheep- 
 fold, on which so much of the poem turns, re- 
 mains, or rather the ruins of it. The character 
 and circumstances of Liike were taken from a 
 family to whom had belonged, many years be- 
 fore, the house we lived in at Town-end," — 
 that is, at Grasmere.] 
 
 If from the public way you turn your steps 
 Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead 
 
 Ghyll. 
 You will suppose that with an upright path 
 Your feet must struggle ; in such bold 
 
 ascent 
 The pastoral mountains front you, face to 
 
 face.
 
 44 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But, courage! for around that boisterous 
 brook 
 
 The mountains have all opened out them- 
 selves, 
 
 And made a hidden valley of their own. 
 
 No habitation can be seen ; but they 
 
 Who journey thither find themselves 
 alone lo 
 
 With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, 
 and kites 
 
 That overhead are sailing in the sky. 
 
 It is in truth an utter solitude ; 
 
 Nor should I have made mention of this 
 dell 
 
 But for one object which you might pass 
 
 by. 
 
 Might see and notice not Beside the 
 
 brook 
 Appears a straggling heap of unhewn 
 
 stones ! 
 And to that simple object appertains 
 A story — unenriched with strange events, 
 Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, 20 
 Or for the summer shade. It was the first 
 Of those domestic tales that spake to me 
 Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men 
 Whom I already loved ; not verily 
 For their own sakes, but for the fields 
 
 and hills 
 Where was their occupation and abode. 
 And hence this tale, while I was yet a boy 
 Careless of books, yet having felt the 
 
 power 
 Of Nature, by the gentle agency 
 Of natural objects, led me on to feel 30 
 For passions that were not my own, and 
 
 think 
 (At random and imperfectly, mdeed) ^ 
 On man, the heart of man, and human life. 
 Therefore, although it be a history 
 Homely and rude, I will relate the same 
 For the delight of a few natural hearts; 
 And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake 
 Of youthful poets, who among these hills 
 Will be my second self when I am gone. 
 
 Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale 40 
 There dwelt a shepherd, Michael was his 
 
 name; 
 An old man, stout of heart and strong of 
 
 limb. 
 His bodily frame had been from youth to 
 
 age 
 Of an unusual strength: his mind was 
 
 keen. 
 Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs. 
 And in his shepherd's calling he was 
 
 prompt 
 
 And watchful more than ordinary men. 
 Hence had he learned the meaning of all 
 
 winds. 
 Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes, 
 When others heeded not, he heard the 
 
 South 50 
 
 Make subterraneous music, like the noise 
 Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. 
 The shepherd, at such warning, of his 
 
 flock 
 Bethought him, and he to himself would 
 
 say, 
 "The winds are now devising work for 
 
 me!" 
 And, truly, at all times the storm, that 
 
 drives 
 The traveler to a shelter, summoned him 
 Up to the mountains : he had been alone 
 Amid the heart of many thousand mists, 
 That came to him, and left him, on the 
 
 heights. 60 
 
 So lived he till his eightieth year was past. 
 And grossly that man errs who should 
 
 suppose 
 That the green valleys, and the streams 
 
 and rocks. 
 Were things indifferent to the shepherd's 
 
 thoughts. 
 Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had 
 
 breathed 
 The common air; hills, which with vigor- 
 ous step 
 He had so often climbed; which had im- 
 pressed 
 So many incidents upon his mind 68 
 
 Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear; 
 Which, like a book, preserved the memory 
 Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved, 
 Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts 
 The certainty of honorable gain; 
 Those fields, those hills — what could they 
 
 less? — had laid 
 Strong hold on his affections, were to him 
 A pleasurable feeling of blind love, 
 The pleasure which there is in life itself. 
 His days had not been passed in single- 
 ness. 
 His helpmate was a comely matron, old — 
 Though younger than himself full twenty 
 
 years. 80 
 
 She was a woman of a stirring life. 
 Whose heart was in her house : two wheels 
 
 she had 
 Of antique form; this large, for spinning 
 
 wool ; 
 That small, for flax; and if one wheel had 
 
 rest
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 45 
 
 It was because the other was at work. 
 The pair had but one inmate in their 
 
 house, 
 An only child, who had been born to 
 
 them 
 When Michael, telling^ o'er his years, be- 
 gan 
 To deem that he was old, — in shepherd's 
 
 phrase, 
 With one foot in the grave. This only 
 
 son, 90 
 
 With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many 
 
 a storm, 
 The one of an inestimable worth, 
 Made all their household. I may truly say 
 That they were as a proverb in the vale 
 For endless industry. When day was gone, 
 And from their occupations out of doors 
 The son and father were come home, even 
 
 then 
 Their labor did not cease; unless when all 
 Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and 
 
 there. 
 Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed 
 
 milk, 100 
 
 Sat round the basket piled with oaten 
 
 cakes. 
 And their plain home-made cheese. Yet 
 
 when the meal 
 Was ended, Luke (for so the son was 
 
 named) 
 And his old father both betook themselves 
 To such convenient work as might employ 
 Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to 
 
 card 
 Wool for the housewife's spindle, or re- 
 pair 
 Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe, 
 Or other implement of house or field. 
 Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's 
 
 edge, no 
 
 That in our ancient uncouth country style 
 With huge and black projection over- 
 browed 
 Large space beneath, as duly as the light 
 Of day grew dim the housewife hung a 
 
 lamp ; 
 An aged utensil, which had performed 
 Service beyond all others of its kind. 
 Early at evening did it burn — and late, 
 Surviving comrade of uncounted hours, 
 Which, going by from year to year, had 
 
 found 
 And left the couple neither gay, perhaps. 
 Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with 
 
 hopes, 121 
 
 I telling. Counting. 
 
 Living a life of eager industry. 
 
 And now, when Luke had reached his 
 
 eighteenth year. 
 There by the light of this old lamp they 
 
 sate, 
 Father and son, while far into the night 
 The housewife plied her own peculiar 
 
 work, 
 Making the cottage through the silent 
 
 hours 
 Murmur as with the sound of summer 
 
 flies. 
 This light was famous in its neighborhood. 
 And was a public symbol of the life 130 
 That thrifty pair had lived. For, as it 
 
 chanced, 
 Their cottage on a plot of rising ground 
 Stood single, with large prospect, north 
 
 and south, 
 High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise, 
 And westward to the village near the lake ; 
 And from this constant light, so regular 
 And so far seen, the house itself, by all 
 Who dwelt within the limits of the vale. 
 Both old and young, was named The 
 
 Evening Star. 
 Thus living on through such a length 
 
 of years, 140 
 
 The shepherd, if he loved himself, must 
 
 needs 
 Have loved his helpmate ; but to Michael's 
 
 heart 
 This son of his old age was yet more 
 
 dear — 
 Less from instinctive tenderness, the same 
 Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood 
 
 of all— 
 Than that a child, more than all other 
 
 gifts 
 That earth can offer to declining man. 
 Brings hope with it, and forward-looking 
 
 thoughts, 148 
 
 And stirrings of inquietude, when they 
 By tendency of nature needs must fail. 
 Exceeding was the love he bare to him, 
 His heart and his heart's joy! For often- 
 times 
 Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms. 
 Had done him female service, not alone 
 For pastime and delight, as is the use 
 Of fathers, but with patient mind en- 
 forced 
 To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked 
 His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand. 
 
 And, in a later time, ere yet the boy 
 Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love. 
 Albeit of a stern unbending mind, 161
 
 46 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 To have the young one in his sight, when 
 
 he 
 Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd's 
 
 stool 
 Sate with a fettered sheep before him 
 
 stretched 
 Under the large old oak, that near his door 
 Stood single, and, from matchless depth 
 
 of shade 
 Chosen from the shearer's covert from the 
 
 sun, 
 Thence in our rustic dialect was called 
 The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it 
 
 bears. 
 There, while they two were sitting in the 
 
 shade, 170 
 
 With others round them, earnest all and 
 
 blithe, 
 Would Michael exercise his heart with 
 
 looks 
 Of fond correction and reproof bestowed 
 Upon the child, if he disturbed the sheep 
 By catching at their legs, or with his 
 
 shouts 
 Scared them, while they lay still beneath 
 
 the shears. 
 And when by Heaven's good grace the 
 
 boy grew up 
 A healthy lad, and carried in his cheek 
 Two steady roses that were five years old ; 
 Then Michael from a winter coppice cut 
 With his own hand a sapling, which he 
 
 hooped 181 
 
 With iron, making it throughout in all 
 Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff. 
 And gave it to the boy; wherewith 
 
 equipped 
 He as a watchman oftentimes was placed 
 At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock ; 
 And, to his office prematurely called. 
 There stood the urchin, as you will divine, 
 Something between a hindrance and a 
 
 help ; , i8g 
 
 And for this cause not always, I believe, 
 Receiving from his father hire of praise; 
 Though nought was left undone which 
 
 staff, or voice. 
 Or looks, or threatening gestures, could 
 
 perform. 
 But soon as Luke, full ten years old, 
 
 could stand 
 Against the mountain blasts, and to the 
 
 heights. 
 Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways. 
 He with his father daily went, and they 
 Were as companions, why should I relate 
 That objects which the shepherd loved 
 
 before 
 
 Were dearer now? that from the boy there 
 came 200 
 
 Feelings and emanations — things which 
 were 
 
 Light to the sun and music to the wind ; 
 
 And that the old man's heart seemed born 
 again ? 
 Thus in his father's sight the boy grew 
 up: 
 
 And now, when he had reached his eight- 
 eenth year. 
 
 He was his comfort and his daily hope. 
 
 While in this sort the simple household 
 lived 
 From day to day, to Michael's ear there 
 
 came 
 Distressful tidings. Long before the time 
 Of which I speak, the shepherd had been 
 bound 210 
 
 In surety for his brother's son, a man 
 Of an industrious life, and ample means; 
 But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly 
 Had pressed upon him ; and old Michael 
 
 now 
 Was summoned to discharge the forfeit- 
 ure, 
 A grievous penalty, but little less 
 Than half his substance. This unlooked- 
 for claim. 
 At the first hearing, for a moment took 
 More hope out of his life than he sup- 
 posed 
 That any old man ever could have lost. 220 
 As soon as he had armed himself with 
 
 strength 
 To look his trouble in the face, it seemed 
 The shepherd's sole resource to sell at once 
 A portion of his patrimonial fields. 
 Such was his first resolve; he thought 
 
 again, 
 And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said 
 
 he. 
 Two evenings after he had heard the news, 
 *T have been toiling more than seventy 
 
 years. 
 And in the open sunshine of God's love 
 Have we all lived; yet if these fields of 
 ours 230 
 
 Should pass into a stranger's hand, I 
 
 think 
 That I could not lie quiet in my grave. 
 Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself 
 Has scarcely been more diligent than I ; 
 And I have lived to be a fool at last 
 To my own family. An evil man 
 That was, and made an evil choice, if he 
 Were false to us; and if he were not false,
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 47 
 
 There are ten thousand to whom loss like 
 
 this 239 
 
 Had been no sorrow. I forgive him ; — but 
 'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. 
 When I began, my purpose was to speak 
 Of remedies and of a cheerful hope. 
 Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel ; the land 
 Shall not go from us, and it shall be free ; 
 He shall possess it, free as is the wind 
 That passes over it. We have, thou 
 
 know'st. 
 Another kinsman — he will be our friend 
 In this distress. He is a prosperous man, 
 Thriving in trade — and Luke to him shall 
 
 go, _ 250 
 
 And with his kinsman's help and his own 
 
 thrift 
 He quickly will repair this loss, and then 
 He may return to us. If here he stay. 
 What can be done? Where everyone is 
 
 poor, 
 What can be gained?" 
 
 At this the old man 
 
 paused, 
 And Isabel was silent, for her mind 
 Was busy, looking back into past times. 
 "There's Richard Bateman," thought she 
 
 to herself. 
 "He was a parish-boy — at the church-door 
 They made a gathering for him, shillings, 
 
 pence, 260 
 
 And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbors 
 
 bought 
 A basket, which they filled with pedlar's 
 
 wares ; 
 And, with this basket on his arm, the lad 
 Went up to London, found a master there, 
 Who, out of many, chose the trusty boy 
 To go and overlook his merchandise 
 Beyond the seas ; where he grew wondrous 
 
 rich, 
 And left estates and monies to the poor, 
 And at his birth-place built a chapel, 
 
 floored 
 W^ith marble which he sent from foreign 
 
 lands." 270 
 
 These thoughts, and many others of like 
 
 sort, 
 Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, 
 And her face brightened. The old man 
 
 was glad. 
 And thus resumed: "Well, Isabel! this 
 
 scheme 
 These two days has been meat and drink 
 
 to me. 
 Far more than we have lost is left us 
 
 yet. 
 We have enough — I wish indeed that I 
 
 Were younger; — but this hope is a good 
 hope. 
 
 Make ready Luke's best garments, of the 
 best 
 
 Buy for him more, and let us send him 
 forth 280 
 
 To-morrow, or the next day, or to- 
 night : — 
 
 If he could go, the boy should go to- 
 night.'' 
 Here Michael ceased, and to the fields 
 went forth 
 
 With a light heart. The housewife for 
 five days 
 
 Was restless morn and night, and all day 
 long 
 
 Wrought on with her best fingers to pre- 
 pare 
 
 Things needful for the journey of her son. 
 
 But Isabel was glad when Sunday came 
 
 To stop her in her work : for, when she 
 lay 
 
 By Michael's side, she through the last two 
 nights 290 
 
 Heard him, how he was troubled in his 
 sleep : 
 
 And when they rose at morning she could 
 see 
 
 That all his hopes were gone. That day 
 at noon 
 
 She said to Luke, while they two by them- 
 selves 
 
 Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not 
 go: 
 
 We have no other child but thee to lose, 
 
 None to remember — do not go away. 
 
 For if thou leave thy father he will die." 
 
 The youth made answer with a jocund 
 voice ; 
 
 And Isabel, when she had told her fears. 
 
 Recovered heart. That evening her best 
 fare 301 
 
 Did she bring forth, and all together sat 
 
 Like happy people round a Christmas fire. 
 With daylight Isabel resumed her work ; 
 
 And all the ensuing week the house ap- 
 peared 
 
 As cheerful as a grove in spring. At 
 length 
 
 The expected letter from their kinsman 
 came, 
 
 W^ith kind assurances that he would do 
 
 His utmost for the welfare of the boy; 
 
 To which requests were added that forth- 
 with 310 
 
 He might be sent to him. Ten times or 
 more
 
 48 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The letter was read over ; Isabel 
 
 Went forth to show it to the neighbors 
 
 round; 
 Nor was there at that time on English 
 
 land 
 A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel 
 Had to her house returned, the old man 
 
 said, 
 "He shall depart to-morrow." To this 
 
 word 
 The housewife answered, talking much of 
 
 things 
 Which, if at such short notice he should 
 
 go, 
 Would surely be forgotten. But at length 
 She gave consent, and Michael was at 
 
 ease. 321 
 
 Near the tumultuous brook of Green- 
 head Ghyll, 
 In that deep valley, Michael had designed 
 To build a sheepfold; and, before he 
 
 heard 
 The tidings of his melancholy loss, 
 For this same purpose he had gathered up 
 A heap of stones, which by the stream- 
 let's edge 
 Lay thrown together, ready for the work. 
 With Luke that evening thitherward he 
 
 walked : 
 And soon as they had reached the place 
 he stopped, 330 
 
 And thus the old man spake to him : "My 
 
 son. 
 To-morrow thou wilt leave me : with full 
 
 heart 
 I look upon thee, for thou art the same 
 That wert a promise to me ere thy birth, 
 And all thy life hast been my daily joy. 
 I will relate to thee some little part 
 Of our two histories : 'twill do thee good 
 When thou art from me, even if I should 
 
 touch 
 On things thou canst not know of. After 
 
 thou 
 
 First cam'st into the world — as oft befalls 
 
 To new-born infants — thou didst sleep 
 
 away 341 
 
 Two days, and blessings from thy father's 
 
 tongue 
 Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed 
 
 on. 
 And still I loved thee with increasing love. 
 Never to living ear came sweeter sounds 
 Than when I heard thee by our own fire- 
 side 
 First uttering, without words, a natural 
 tune; 
 
 While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy 
 
 joy 
 Sing at thy mother's breast. Month fol- 
 lowed month. 
 And in the open fields my life was passed 
 And on the mountains ; else I think that 
 
 thou 351 
 
 Hadst been brought up upon thy father's 
 
 knees. 
 But we were playmates, Luke; among 
 
 these hills, 
 As well thou knowest, in us the old and 
 
 young 
 Have played together, nor with me didst 
 
 thou 
 Lack any pleasure which a boy can know." 
 Luke had a manly heart; but at these 
 
 words 
 He sobbed aloud. The old man grasped 
 
 his hand, 
 And said, "Nay, do not take it so — I see 
 That these are things of which I need not 
 
 speak. 360 
 
 Even to the utmost I have been to thee 
 A kind and a good father; and herein 
 I but repay a gift which I myself 
 Received at others' hands ; for, though 
 
 now old 
 Beyond the common life of man, I still 
 Remember them who loved me in my 
 
 youth. 
 Both of them sleep together: here they 
 
 lived, 
 As all their forefathers had done; and 
 
 when 
 At length their time was come, they were 
 
 not loth 
 To give their bodies to the family mould. 
 I wished that thou shouldst live the life 
 
 they lived : 371 
 
 But 'tis a long time to look back, my 
 
 son. 
 And see so little gain from threescore 
 
 years. 
 These fields were burdened^ when they 
 
 came to me ; 
 Till I was forty years of age, not more 
 Than half of my inheritance was mine. 
 I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my 
 
 work. 
 And till these three weeks past the land 
 
 was free. 
 It looks as if it never could endure 
 Another master. Heaven forgive me, 
 
 Luke, 380 
 
 If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good 
 That thou shouldst go." 
 
 At this the old man paused; 
 I burdened. Mortgaged.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 49 
 
 Then, pointing to the stones near which 
 
 they stood, 
 Thus, after a short silence, he resumed: 
 "This was a work for us; and now, my 
 
 son. 
 It is a work for me. But, lay one stone — 
 Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own 
 
 hands. 
 Nay, boy, be of good hope; — we both may 
 
 live 
 To see a better day. At eighty-four 
 I still am strong and hale; — do thou thy 
 
 part; ... 390 
 
 I will do mine. I will begin again 
 With many tasks that were resigned to 
 
 thee : 
 Up to the heights, and in among the 
 
 storms. 
 Will I without thee go again, and do 
 All works which I was wont to do alone, 
 Before I knew thy face. Heaven bless 
 
 thee, boy I 
 Thy heart these two weeks has been beat- 
 ing fast 
 With many hopes ; it should be so — yes — 
 
 yes — 
 I know that thou couldst never have a 
 
 wish 
 To leave me, Luke : thou hast been bound 
 
 to me 400 
 
 Only by links of love : when thou art gone, 
 What will be left to us !— But I forget 
 My purposes. Lay now the cornerstone, 
 As I requested ; and hereafter, Luke, 
 When thou art gone away, should evil 
 
 men 
 Be thy companions, think of me, my son, 
 And of this moment; hither turn thy 
 
 thoughts. 
 And God will strengthen thee; amid all 
 
 fear 
 And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou 
 May'st bear in mind the life thy fathers 
 
 lived, 410 
 
 Who, being innocent, did for that cause 
 Bestir them in good deeds. Now fare thee 
 
 well — 
 When thou return'st, thou in this place 
 
 wilt see 
 A work which is not here : a covenant 
 'Twill be between us ; but, whatever fate 
 Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last. 
 And bear thy memory with me to the 
 
 grave." 
 The shepherd ended here; and Luke 
 
 stooped down, 
 And, as his father had requested, laid 
 The first stone of the sheepfold. At the 
 
 sight 420 
 
 The old man's grief broke from him; to 
 
 his heart 
 He pressed his son, he kissed him and 
 
 wept; 
 And to the house together they returned. 
 — Hushed was that house in peace, or 
 
 seeming peace, 
 Ere the night fell : — with morrow's dawn 
 
 the boy 
 Began his journey, and when he had 
 
 reached 
 The public way, he put on a bold face ; 
 And all the neighbors, as he passed their 
 
 doors. 
 Came forth with wishes and with farewell 
 
 prayers. 
 That followed him till he was out of sight. 
 
 A good report did from their kinsman 
 
 come, 431 
 
 Of Luke and his well-doing: and the boy 
 Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous 
 
 news, 
 Which, as the housewife phrased it, were 
 
 throughout 
 "The prettiest letters that were ever seen." 
 Both parents read them with rejoicing 
 
 hearts. 
 So, many months passed on : and once 
 
 again 
 The shepherd went about his daily work 
 With confident and cheerful thoughts ; and 
 
 now 
 Sometimes when he could find a leisure 
 
 hour 440 
 
 He to that valley took his way, and there 
 Wrought at the sheepfold. Meantime Luke 
 
 began 
 To slacken in his duty; and at length 
 He in the dissolute city gave himself 
 To evil courses : ignominy and shame 
 Fell on him, so that he was driven at last 
 To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas. 
 There is a comfort in the strength of 
 
 love; 
 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else 
 Would overset the brain, or break the 
 
 heart. 450 
 
 I have conversed with more than one who 
 
 well 
 Remember the old man, and what he was 
 Years after he had heard this heavy news. 
 His bodily frame had been from youth to 
 
 age 
 Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks 
 He went, and still looked up to sun and 
 
 cloud. 
 And listened to the wind; and, as before.
 
 50 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Performed all kinds of labor for his 
 
 sheep, 
 And for the land, his small inheritance. 
 And to that hollow dell from time to time 
 Did he repair, to build the fold of which 
 His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten 
 
 yet 462 
 
 The pity which was then in every heart 
 For the old man — and 'tis believed by all 
 That many and many a day he thither 
 
 went, 
 And never lifted up a single stone. 
 There, by the sheep fold, sometimes was 
 
 he seen 
 Sitting alone, or with his faithful dog. 
 Then old beside him lying at his feet. 
 The length of full seven years, from time 
 
 to time, 470 
 
 He at the building of this sheep fold 
 
 wrought. 
 And left the work unfinished when he died. 
 Three years, or little more, did Isabel 
 Survive her husband: at her death the 
 
 estate 
 Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. 
 The cottage which was named The Even- 
 ing Star 
 Is gone — the ploughshare has been through 
 
 the ground 
 On which it stood; great changes have 
 
 been wrought 
 In all the neighborhood :— yet the oak is 
 
 left 
 That grew beside their door; and the re- 
 mains 480 
 Of the unfinished sheep fold may be seen 
 Beside the boisterous brook of Greenhead 
 
 Ghyll. 
 
 (1800) 
 
 LOCHINVAR 
 
 (From Marmion, Canto V) 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the 
 
 west. 
 Through all the wide Border his steed was 
 
 the best ; 
 And save his good broadsword he weapons 
 
 had none. 
 He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love and so dauntless in war, 
 There never was knight like the young 
 
 Lochinvar. 
 He stayed not for brake and he stopped 
 
 not for stone. 
 He swam the Eske river where ford there 
 
 was none, 
 
 But ere he alighted at Netherby gate 
 The bride had consented, the gallant came 
 late : 10 
 
 For a laggard in love and a dastard in war 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Loch- 
 invar. 
 
 So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
 Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and 
 
 brothers, and all : 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on 
 
 his sword, — 
 For the poor craven bridegroom said never 
 
 a word, — 
 "Oh ! come ye in peace here, or come ye 
 
 in war. 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord 
 
 Lochinvar?" — 
 
 'T long wooed your daughter, my suit you 
 denied ; 
 
 Love swells like the Solway,^ but ebbs like 
 its tide — ^ 20 
 
 And now am I come, with this lost love of 
 mine 
 
 To lead but one measure, drink one cup of 
 wine. 
 
 There are maidens in Scotland more love- 
 ly by far. 
 
 That would gladly be bride to the young 
 Lochinvar." 
 
 The bride kissed the goblet: the knight 
 
 took it up, 
 He quaffed off the wine, and he threw 
 
 down the cup. 
 She looked down to blush, and she looked 
 
 up to sigh. 
 With a smile on her lips and a tear in her 
 
 eye. 
 He took her soft hand ere her mother 
 
 could bar, — 
 "Now tread we a measure!" said young 
 
 Lochinvar. 30 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 
 That never a hall such a galliard^ did 
 
 grace ; 
 While her mother did fret, and her father 
 
 did fume. 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his 
 
 bonnet and plume ; 
 And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere 
 
 better by far 
 To have matched our fair cousin with 
 
 young Lochinvar." 
 
 I The Solway Firtn is noted for swiftly changing 
 tides. 
 
 3 galliard. A dance.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 51 
 
 One touch to her hand and one word in 
 
 her ear, 
 When they reached the hall-door, and the 
 
 charger stood near; 
 So light to the croupe ^ the fair lady he 
 
 swung. 
 So light to the saddle before her he 
 
 sprung 
 
 40 
 
 "She is won ! we are gone, over bank, 
 
 bush, and scaur ;2 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow," 
 
 quoth young Lochinvar. 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of 
 
 the Netherby clan ; 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they 
 
 rode and they ran : 
 There was racing and chasing on Canno- 
 
 bie Lee, 
 But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did 
 
 they see. 
 So daring in love and so dauntless in war. 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young 
 
 Lochinvar? 
 
 (1808) 
 
 MARMION AND DOUGLAS 
 
 (From Maniiion, Canto VI) 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 [Marmion has been sent as an envoy from 
 Henry VIII of England to James IV of Scot- 
 land, who has defied the southern ruler. James 
 receives Marmion and sends him to Tantallon 
 Castle, the hall of Archibald Douglas, Earl of 
 Angus, who is remaining behind the Scottish 
 army. Presently, learning that the Scots have 
 crossed into England, Marmion leaves Tantallon 
 under a safe conduct to join the English.] 
 
 Not far advanced was morning day 
 When Marmion did his troop array 
 
 To Surrey's camp to ride; 
 He had safe-conduct for his band 
 Beneath the royal eal and hand. 
 
 And Douglas gave a guide. 
 The ancient earl with stately grace 
 Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
 And whispered in an undertone, 9 
 
 "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." 
 The train from out the castle drew, 
 But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : 
 
 "Though something I might plain, "^ he 
 said, 
 
 1 croupe. The horse's back behind the saddle. 
 
 2 scaur. Cliff. 
 
 3 plain. Complain. 
 
 "Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
 Sent hither by your king's behest, 
 While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, 
 Part we in friendship from your land, 
 And, noble earl, receive my hand." 
 But Douglas round him drew his cloak. 
 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 20 
 "My manors, halls, and bowers shall still* 
 Be open at my sovereign's will 
 To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
 Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
 My castles are my king's alone, 
 From turret to foundation-stone, — 
 The hand of Douglas is his own. 
 And never shall in friendly grasp 
 The hand of such as Marmion clasp." 
 
 Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like 
 fire, 30 
 
 And shook his very frame for ire. 
 
 And — "This to me!" he said. 
 "An 't were not for thy hoary beard. 
 Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 
 
 To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
 And first I tell thee, haughty peer, 
 He who does England's message here, 
 Although the meanest in her state. 
 May well, proud Angus, be thy mate; 
 And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 40 
 
 Ej/en in thy pitch of pride. 
 Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, — 
 Nay, never look upon your lord. 
 And lay your hands upon your sword, — 
 
 I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! 
 
 And if thou saidst I am not peer 
 To any lord in Scotland here, 
 Lowland or Highland, far or near, 
 
 Lord Angus, thou hast lied!" 
 On the earl's cheek the flush of rage 50 
 O'ercame the ashen hue of age ; 
 Fierce he broke forth, — "And darest thou 
 
 then 
 To beard the lion in his den. 
 
 The Douglas in his hall? 
 And hopest thou hence unscathed to go? — 
 No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! 
 Up drawbridge, grooms — what, warder, 
 ho! 
 
 Let the portcullis fall !" 
 
 Lord Marmion turned, — well was his 
 
 need, — ■ 
 And dashed the rowels'^ in his steed, 60 
 Like arrow through the archway sprung, — 
 The ponderous grate behind him rung; 
 
 4 still. Always. 
 
 5 rowels. The wheels of the spur.
 
 52 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 To pass there was such scanty Toom, 
 The bars descending razed his plume. 
 The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
 Just as it trembled on the rise; 
 Not lighter does the swallow skim 
 Along the smooth lake's level lirim. 
 And when Lord Marmion reached his 
 band, 69 
 
 He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 
 And shout of loud defiance pours, 
 And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
 
 (1808) 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL 
 
 [The Battle of Copenhagen was fought April 
 2, 1801, to break up Napoleon's plan for a coali- 
 tion of the northern powers against England. 
 Nelson led a detachment of the British fleet; the 
 Danes were commanded by the Crown Prince. 
 Captain Riou, in command of the British frigates, 
 was killed.] 
 
 Of Nelson and the North 
 Sing the glorious day's renown, 
 When to battle fierce came forth 
 All the might of Denmark's crown, 
 And her arms along the deep proudly 
 
 shone ; 
 By each gun the lighted brand 
 In a bold determined hand. 
 And the Prince of all the land 
 Led them on. 
 
 Like leviathans afloat 10 
 
 Lay their bulwarks on the brine; 
 
 While the sign of battle flew 
 
 On the lofty British .line : 
 
 It was ten of April morn by the chime. 
 
 As they drifted on their path 
 
 There was silence deep as death ; 
 
 And the boldest held his breath 
 
 For a time. 
 
 For the might of England flushed 
 
 To anticipate the scene ; 20 
 
 And her van the fleeter rushed 
 
 O'er the deadly space between. 
 
 "Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when 
 
 each gun 
 From its adamantine lips 
 Spread a death-shade round the ships, 
 Like the hurricane eclipse 
 Of the sun. 
 
 Again ! again 1 again ! 
 
 And the havoc did not slack, 
 
 Till a feeble cheer the Dane 30 
 
 To our cheering sent us back; — 
 
 Their shots along the deep slowly boom ; — 
 
 Then ceased — and all is wail, 
 
 As they strike the shattered sail. 
 
 Or in conflagration pale 
 
 Light the gloom. 
 
 Out spoke the victor then 
 
 As he hailed them o'er the wave : 
 
 "Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 
 
 And we conquer but to save ; 40 
 
 So peace instead of death let us bring. 
 
 But yield, proud foe, thy fleet 
 
 With the crews, at England's feet. 
 
 And make submission meet 
 
 To our king." 
 
 Then Denmark blessed our chief. 
 That he gave her wounds repose; 
 And the sounds of joy and grief 
 From her people wildly rose, 
 As death withdrew his shades from the 
 day ; 5° 
 
 While the sun looked smiling bright 
 O'er a wide and woeful sight. 
 Where the fires of funeral light 
 Died away. 
 
 Now joy, old England, raise! 
 
 For the tidings of thy might, 
 
 By the festal cities' blaze. 
 
 Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; 
 
 And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 
 
 Let us think of them that sleep 60 
 
 Full many a fathom deep 
 
 By the wild and stormy steep, 
 
 Elsinore I^ 
 
 Brave hearts! to Britain's pride 
 
 Once so faithful and so true. 
 
 On the deck of fame that died, 
 
 With the gallant good Riou ; 
 
 Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their 
 
 grave ! 
 While the billow mournful rolls. 
 And the mermaid's song condoles, 70 
 
 Singing glory to the souls 
 Of the brave! 
 
 (1809) 
 
 I The fortress of Helsingfors, commanding the 
 entrance to the Baltic.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 53 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF 
 
 SENNACHERIB 
 
 LORD BYRON 
 
 [This poem is_ one of a number of "Hebrew 
 Melodies," and is imagined to have been sung 
 bv the Hebrews in the days of King Hezekiah; 
 see 2 Kings, 18-19.] 
 
 The Assyrian came down like the wolf on 
 
 the fold, 
 And his cohorts were gleaming in purple 
 
 and gold ; 
 And the sheen of their spears was like 
 
 stars on the sea, 
 When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep 
 
 Galilee. 
 
 Like the leaves of the forest when Sum- 
 mer is green, 
 
 That host with their banners at sunset 
 were seen : 
 
 Like the leaves of the forest when 
 Autumn hath blown, 
 
 That host on the morrow lay withered 
 and strown. 
 
 For the Angel of Death spread his wings 
 
 on the blast. 
 And breathed in the face of the foe as he 
 
 passed; lo 
 
 And the eyes of the sleepers waxed 
 
 deadly and chill. 
 And their hearts but once heaved, and 
 
 for ever grew still ! 
 
 And there lay the steed with his nostril 
 
 all wide, 
 But through it there rolled not the breath 
 
 of his pride; 
 And the foam of his gasping lay white 
 
 on the turf, 
 And cold as the spray of the rock-beating 
 
 surf. 
 
 And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
 With the dew on his brow, and the rust on 
 
 his mail : 
 And the tents were all silent, the banners 
 
 alone, ig 
 
 The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 
 
 And the widows of Ashur are loud in 
 
 their wail, 
 And the idols are broke in the temple of 
 
 Baal; 
 And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by 
 
 the sword, 
 Hath melted like snow in the glance of 
 
 the Lord! 
 
 (l8i5) 
 
 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 
 
 GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON 
 
 [An actual "prisoner of Chillon" existed in 
 the person of Frangois de Bonnivard, who, im- 
 bued with republican ideas, resisted the rule of 
 the Duke of Savoy and was imprisoned from 
 1530 to 1536. He was confined in the castle of 
 Chillon, on the shore of Lake Geneva (or 
 Leman). The success of the republican cause 
 brought about his release. Byron has supplied 
 the two brothers, their deaths, and the story of 
 the prisoner's life.] 
 
 My hair is gray, but not with years, 
 Nor grew it white 
 In a single night. 
 As men's have grown from sudden fears ; 
 My limbs are bowed, though not with 
 toil, 
 
 But rusted with a vile repose. 
 For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 
 
 And mine has been the fate of those 
 To whom the goodly earth and air Q 
 
 Are banned, and barred — forbidden fare. 
 But this was for my father's faith 
 I suffered chains and courted death; 
 That father perished at the stake 
 For tenets he would not forsake; 
 And for the same his lineal race 
 In darkness found a dwelling-place; 
 We were seven — who now are one, 
 
 Six in youth, and one in age, 
 Finished as they had begun. 
 
 Proud of Persecution's rage; 20 
 
 One in fire, and two in field, 
 Their belief with blood have sealed, 
 Dying as their father died, 
 For the God their foes denied; 
 Three were in a dungeon cast. 
 Of whom this wreck is left the last. 
 
 There are seven pillars of Gothic mould, 
 In Chillon's dungeons deep and old. 
 There are seven columns, massy and gray. 
 Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, 30 
 
 A sunbeam which hath lost its way 
 And through the crevice and the cleft 
 Of the thick wall is fallen and left; 
 Creeping o'er the floor so damp, 
 Like a marsh's meteor lamp : 
 And in each pillar there is a ring, 
 
 And in each ring there is a chain; 
 That iron is a cankering thing. 
 
 For in these limbs its teeth remain. 
 With marks that will not wear away, 40 
 Till I have done with this new day. 
 Which now is painful to these eyes, 
 Which have not seen the sun so rise
 
 54 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 For years — I cannot count them o'er, 
 I lost their long and heavy score, 
 When my last brother drooped and died, 
 And I lay living by his side. 
 
 They chained us each to a column stone. 
 And we were three — yet, each alone; 
 We could not move a single pace, 50 
 
 We could not see each other's face, 
 But with that pale and livid light 
 That made us strangers in our sight: 
 And thus together — yet apart, 
 Fettered in hand, but joined in heart, 
 'Twas still some solace, in the dearth 
 Of the pure elements of earth, 
 To hearken to each other's speech, 
 And each turn comforter to each 
 With some new hope, or legend old, 60 
 Or song heroically bold; 
 But even these at length grew cold. 
 Our voices took a dreary tone, 
 An echo of the dungeon stone, 
 A grating sound, not full and free, 
 As they of yore were wont to be ; 
 It might be fancy, but to me 
 They never sounded like our own. 
 
 I was the eldest of the three. 
 And to uphold and cheer the rest 70 
 I ought to do — and did my best — 
 And each did well in his degree. 
 
 The youngest, whom my father loved, 
 Because our mother's brow was given 
 To him, with eyes as blue as heaven — 
 For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
 And truly might it be distressed 
 To see such bird in such a nest; 
 For he was beautiful as day — 
 
 (When day was beautiful to me 80 
 
 As to young eagles, being free) 
 A polar day, which will not see 
 A sunset till its summer's gone, 
 
 Its sleepless summer of long light. 
 The snow-clad offspring of the sun : 
 
 And thus he was as pure and bright, 
 And in his natural spirit gay, 
 With tears for nought but others' ills. 
 And then they flowed like mountain rills, 
 Unless he could assuage the woe 90 
 
 Which he abhorred to view below. 
 
 The other was as pure of mind, 
 But formed to combat with his kind : 
 Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
 Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, 
 And perished in the foremost rank 
 
 With joy : — but not in chains to pine : 
 His spirit withered with their clank, 
 
 I saw it silently decline — 
 
 And so perchance in sooth did mine : 100 
 But yet I forced it on to cheer 
 Those relics of a home so dear. 
 He was a hunter of the hills. 
 
 Had followed there the deer and wolf; 
 
 To him this dungeon was a gulf, 
 And fettered feet the worst of ills. 
 
 Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls : 
 A thousand feet in depth below 
 Its massy waters meet and flow; 
 Thus much the fathom-line was sent lie 
 From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 
 
 Which round about the wave inthrals : 
 A double dungeon wall and wave 
 Have made — and like a living grave. 
 Below the surface of the lake 
 The dark vault lies wherein we lay : 
 We heard it ripple night and day ; 
 
 Sounding o'er our heads it knocked; 
 And I have felt the winter's spray 
 Wash through the bars when winds were 
 high 120 
 
 And wanton in the happy sky; 
 
 And then the very rock hath rocked, 
 
 And I have felt it shake, unshocked, 
 Because I could have smiled to see 
 The death that would have set me free. 
 
 I said my nearer brother pined, 
 I said his mighty heart declined. 
 He loathed and put away his food; 
 It was not that 'twas coarse and rude. 
 For we were used to hunter's fare, 130 
 And for the like had little care : 
 The milk drawn from the mountain goat 
 Was changed for water from the moat. 
 Our bread was such as captives' tears 
 Have moistened many a thousand years, 
 Since man first pent his fellow men 
 Like brutes within an iron den ; 
 But what were these to us or him? 
 These wasted not his heart or limb; 
 My brother's soul was of that mould 140 
 Which in a palace had grown cold. 
 Had his free breathing been denied 
 The range of the steep mountain's side. 
 But why delay the truth? — he died. 
 I saw, and could not hold his head, 
 Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead, — 
 Though hard I strove, but strove in vain 
 To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
 He died, and they unlocked his chain. 
 And scooped for him a shallow grave 150 
 Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
 I begged them as a boon to lay 
 His corse in dust whereon the day
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 55 
 
 Might shine — it was a foolish thought, 
 But then within my brain it wrought, 
 That even in death his freeborn breast 
 In such a dungeon could not rest. 
 1 might have spared my Tdle prayer — 
 They coldly laughed, and laid him there : 
 The flat and turfless earth above i6o 
 
 The being we so much did love; 
 His empty chain above it leant, 
 Such murder's fitting monument! 
 
 But he, the favourite and the flower, 
 
 Most cherished since his natal hour, 
 
 His mother's image in fair face, 
 
 The infant love of all his race, 
 
 His martyred father's dearest thought. 
 
 My latest care, for whom I sought 
 
 To hoard my life, that his might be 170 
 
 Less wretched now, and one day free; 
 
 He, too, who yet had held untired 
 
 A spirit natural or inspired — 
 
 He, too, was struck, and day by day 
 
 Was withered on the stalk away. 
 
 Oh, God ! it is a fearful thing 
 
 To see the human soul take wing 
 
 In any shape, in any mood; 
 
 I've seen it rushing forth in blood, 
 
 I've seen it on the breaking ocean 180 
 
 Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, 
 
 I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 
 
 Of Sin delirious with its dread: 
 
 But these were horrors — this was woe 
 
 Unmixed with such — but sure and slow : 
 
 He faded, and so calm and meek, 
 
 So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 
 
 So tearless, yet so tender, kind. 
 
 And grieved for those he left behind; 
 
 With all the while a cheek whose bloom 
 
 Was as a mockery of the tomb, 191 
 
 Whose tints as gently sunk away 
 
 As a departing rainbow's ray ; 
 
 An eye of most transparent light. 
 
 That almost made the dungeon bright; 
 
 And not a word of murmur, not 
 
 A groan o'er his untimely lot, — 
 
 A little talk of better days, 
 
 A little hope my own to raise, 
 
 For I was sunk in silence — lost 200 
 
 In this last loss, of all the most ; 
 
 And then the sighs he would suppress 
 
 Of fainting nature's feebleness, 
 
 More slowly drawn, grew less and less. 
 
 I listened, but I could not hear; 
 
 I called, for I was wild with fear : 
 
 I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread 
 
 Would not be thus admonished ; 
 
 I called, and thought I heard a sound — 
 
 I burst my chain with one strong bound. 
 
 And rushed to him : — I found him not, 
 / only stirred in this black spot, 212 
 
 / only lived, / only drew 
 The accursed breath of dungeon-dew; 
 The last, the sole, the dearest link 
 Between me and the eternal brink. 
 Which bound me to my failing race. 
 Was broken in this fatal place. 
 One on the earth, and one beneath — 
 My brothers — both had ceased to breathe : 
 I took that hand which lay so still, 221 
 Alas! my own was full as chill; 
 I had not strength to stir, or strive, 
 But felt that I was still alive — 
 A frantic feeling, when we know 
 That what we love shall ne'er be so. 
 
 I know not why 
 
 I could not die, 
 I had no earthly hope — but faith, 
 And that forbade a selfish death. 230 
 
 What next befell me then and there 
 
 I know not well — I never knew — 
 
 First came the loss of light, and air, 
 
 And then of darkness too : 
 I had no thought, no feeling — none — 
 Among the stones I stood a stone. 
 And was, scarce conscious what I wist,''^ 
 As shrubless crags within the mist ; 
 For all was blank, and bleak, and gray; 
 It was not night, it was not day; 240 
 
 It was not even the dungeon-light, 
 So hateful to my heavy sight. 
 But vacancy absorbing space. 
 And fixedness without a place ; 
 There were no stars, no earth, no time. 
 No check, no change, no good, no crime. 
 But silence, and a stirless breath 
 Which neither was of life nor death; 
 A sea of stagnant idleness, 249 
 
 Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless ! 
 
 A light broke in upon my brain, — 
 
 It was the carol of a bird ; 
 It ceased, and then it came again. 
 
 The sweetest song ear ever heard. 
 And mine was thankful till my eyes 
 Ran over with the glad surprise. 
 And they that moment could not see 
 I was the mate of misery; 
 But then by dull degrees came back 
 My senses to their wonted track ; 260 
 
 I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
 Close slowly round me as before, 
 I saw the glimmer of the sun 
 Creeping as it before had done, 
 
 I wist. Kn^w.
 
 56 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But through the crevice where it came 
 That bird was perched, as fond and tame, 
 
 And tamer than upon the tree; 
 A lovely bird, with azure wings, 
 And song that said a thousand things, 
 
 And seemed to say them all for me ! 270 
 I never saw its like before, 
 I ne'er shall see its likeness more : 
 It seemed like me to want a mate, 
 But was not half so desolate. 
 And it was come to love me when 
 None lived to love me so again, 
 And cheering from my dungeon's brink. 
 Had brought me back to feel and think. 
 I know not if it late were free. 
 
 Or broke its cage to perch on mine, 280 
 But knowing well captivity, 
 
 Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine ! 
 Or if it were, in winged guise, 
 A visitant from Paradise; 
 For — Heaven forgive that thought ! the 
 
 while 
 Which made me both to weep and smile — 
 I sometimes deemed that it might be 
 My brother's soul come down to me; 
 But then at last away it flew. 
 And then 'twas mortal well I knew, 290 
 For he would never thus have flown. 
 And left me twice so doubly lone. 
 Lone as the corse within its shroud, 
 Lone as a solitary cloud, — 
 
 A single cloud on a sunny day, 
 While all the rest of heaven is clear, 
 A frown upon the atmosphere. 
 That hath no business to appear 
 
 When skies are blue, and earth is gay. 
 
 A kind of change came in my fate, 300 
 
 My keepers grew compassionate ; 
 
 I know not what had made them so, 
 
 They were inured to sights of woe. 
 
 But so it was : — my broken chain 
 
 With links unfastened did remain. 
 
 And it was liberty to stride 
 
 Along my cell from side to side. 
 
 And up and down, and then athwart, 
 
 And tread it over every part; 
 
 And round the pillars one by one, 310 
 
 Returning where my walk begun, 
 
 Avoiding only, as I trod. 
 
 My brothers' graves without a sod; 
 
 For if I thought with heedless tread 
 
 My step profaned their lowly bed, 
 
 My breath came gaspingly and thick, 
 
 And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. 
 
 I made a footing in the wall. 
 It was not therefrom to escape. 
 
 For I had buried one and all 320 
 
 Who loved me in a human shape; 
 
 And the whole earth would henceforth be 
 
 A wider prison unto me : 
 
 No child, no sire, no kin had I, 
 
 No partner in my misery; 
 
 I thought of this, and I was glad. 
 
 For thought of them had made me mad ; 
 
 But I was curious to ascend 
 
 To my barred windows, and to bend 
 
 Once more, upon the mountains high, 330 
 
 The quiet of a loving eye. 
 
 I saw them, and they were the same. 
 They were not changed like me in frame; 
 I saw their thousand years of snow 
 On high — their wide long lake below. 
 And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; 
 I heard the torrents leap and gush 
 O'er channelled rock and broken bush ; 
 I saw the white-walled distant town. 
 And whiter sails go skimming down; 340 
 And then there was a little isle. 
 Which in my very face did smile. 
 
 The only one in view; 
 A small green isle, it seemed no more, 
 Scarce broader than my dungeon floor. 
 But in it there were three tall trees. 
 And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 
 And by it there were waters flowing, 
 And on it there were young flowers grow- 
 ing, 
 
 Of gentle breath and hue. 350 
 
 The fish swam by the castle wall, 
 And they seemed joyous each and all; 
 The eagle rode the rising blast, 
 Methought he never flew so fast 
 As then to me he seemed to fly; 
 And then new tears came in my eye, 
 And I felt troubled — and would fain 
 I had not left my recent chain. 
 And when I did descend again, 
 The darkness of my dim abode 360 
 
 Fell on me as a heavy load ; 
 It was as is a new-dug grave. 
 Closing o'er one we sought to save, — 
 And yet my glance, too much opprest. 
 Had almost need of such a rest. 
 
 It might be months, or years, or days, 
 I kept no count, I took no note, 
 
 I had no hope my eyes to raise, 
 
 And clear them of their dreary mote; 
 
 At last men came to set me free ; 370 
 I asked not why, and recked not where;
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 57 
 
 It was at length the same to me, 
 Fettered or fetterless to be, 
 
 I learned to love despair. 
 And thus when they appeared at last. 
 And all my bonds aside were cast, 
 These heavy walls to me had grown 
 A hermitage — and all my own ! 
 And half I felt as they were come 
 To tear me from a second home : 380 
 
 With spiders I had friendship made, 
 And watched them in their sullen trade. 
 Had seen the mice by moonlight play, 
 And why should I feel less than they? 
 We were all inmates of one place, 
 And I, the monarch of each race, 
 Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell I 
 In quiet we had learned to dwell; 
 My very chains and I grew friends. 
 So much a long communion tends 390 
 
 To make us what we are : — even I 
 Regained my freedom with a sigh. 
 
 (1816) 
 
 CHRISTABEL 
 
 Pakt One 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 
 
 [This poem was designed to be, like the "Rime 
 of the Ancient Mariner," a study in the super- 
 natural; see the note on page 33. Part One 
 was written at about the same time as the more 
 famous poem, that is, in 1797. Some time later 
 Coleridge added a second part, which he pub- 
 lished with the first, but it is very inferior; the 
 concluding parts were never written. The spir- 
 itual theme of the narrative may he said to be 
 the power of purity (symbolized in Christabel) 
 to protect from evil (symbolized in Geraldine). 
 The reader should notice that the supernaturally 
 evil character of Geraldine is subtly hinted at 
 from lines 139 to 259 ;_ she avoids stepping over 
 the threshold because it was customary^ to bless 
 thresholds as a guard against evil spirits. In 
 Coleridge's manuscript he wrote, experimentally, 
 a line after 252 to rime with 251: "Are lean and 
 old and foul of hue," but rejected it for the 
 method of vag^ue suggestion.] 
 
 'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, 
 And the owls have awakened the crowing 
 
 cock, 
 Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! 
 And hark, again ! the crowing cock, 
 How drowsily it crew. 
 
 Sir LeoHne, the Baron rich, 
 Had a toothless mastiff, which 
 From her kennel beneath the rock 
 Maketh answer to the clock. 
 Four for the quarters, and twelve for the 
 hour, ID 
 
 Ever and aye, by shine and shower, 
 
 Sixteen short howls, not over loud; 
 Some say, she sees my lady's shroud. 
 
 Is the night chilly and dark? 
 The night is chilly, but not dark. 
 The thin gray cloud is spread on high, 
 It covers but not hides the sky. 
 The moon is behind, and at the full; 
 And yet she looks both small and dull. 
 The night is chill, the cloud is gray; 20 
 'Tis a month before the month of May, 
 And the Spring comes slowly up this way. 
 
 The lovely lady, Christabel, 
 Whom her father loves so well. 
 What makes her in the woods so late, 
 A furlong from the castle gate? 
 She had dreams all yesternight 
 Of her own betrothed knight; 
 And she in the midnight wood will pray 
 For the weal^ of her lover that's far 
 away. 30 
 
 She stole along, she nothing spoke, 
 
 The sighs she heaved were soft and low, 
 
 And naught was green upon the oak 
 
 But moss and rarest mistletoe : 
 
 She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, 
 
 And in silence prayeth she. 
 
 The lady sprang up suddenly. 
 
 The lovely lady, Christabel ! 
 
 It moaned as near, as near can be, 
 
 But what it is she cannot tell. — 40 
 
 On the other side it seems to be 
 
 Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree. 
 
 The night is chill ; the forest bare ; 
 Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? 
 There is not wind enough in the air 
 To move away the ringlet curl 
 From the lovely lady's cheek — 
 There is not wind enough to twirl 
 The one red leaf, the last of its clan. 
 That dances as often as dance it can, 50 
 Hanging so light, and hanging so high, 
 On the topmost twig that looks up at the 
 sky. 
 
 Hush, beating heart of Christabel ! 
 Jesu, Maria, shield her well ! 
 She folded her arms beneath her cloak. 
 And stole to the other side of the oak. 
 What sees she there? 
 
 There she sees a damsel bright. 
 Dressed in a silken robe of white, 
 
 I weal. Welfare.
 
 58 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 That shadowy in the moonlight shone ; 60 
 The neck that made the white robe wan, 
 Her stately neck, and arms were bare; 
 Her blue-veined feet unsandal'd were, 
 And wildly glittered here and there 
 The gems entangled in her hair. 
 I guess, 'twas frightful there to see 
 A lady so richly clad as she — 
 Beautiful exceedingly! 
 
 "Mary mother, save me now !" 69 
 
 (Said Christabel) "And who art thou?" 
 
 The lady strange made answer meet. 
 And her voice was faint and sweet : — 
 "Have pity on my sore distress, 
 I scarce can speak for weariness : 
 Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear !" 
 Said Christabel, "How camest thou here?" 
 And the lady, whose voice was faint and 
 
 sweet, 
 Did thus pursue her answer meet:i 
 
 "My sire is of a noble line. 
 
 And my name is Geraldine : 80 
 
 Five warriors seized me yestermorn, 
 
 Me, even me, a maid forlorn : 
 
 They choked my cries with force and 
 
 fright. 
 And tied me on a palfrey white. 
 The palfrey was as fleet as wind, 
 And they rode furiously behind. 
 They spurred amain, their steeds were 
 
 white : 
 And once we crossed the shade of night. 
 As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, 
 I have no thought what men they be; 90 
 Nor do I know how long it is 
 (For I have lain entranced, I wis^) 
 Since one, the tallest of the five, 
 Took me from the palfrey's back, 
 A weary woman, scarce alive. 
 Some muttered words his comrades spoke : 
 He placed me underneath this oak; 
 He swore they would return with haste; 
 Whither they went I cannot tell — 
 I thought I heard, some minutes past, 100 
 .Sounds as of a castle bell. 
 Stretch forth thy hand" (thus ended she), 
 "And help a wretched maid to flee." 
 
 Then Christabel stretched forth her hand. 
 And comforted fair Geraldine: 
 "O well, bright dame ! may you command 
 The service of Sir Leoline ; 
 
 1 meet. Fitting. 
 
 2 / wis. I suppose (a misunderstood form of 
 what is properly one word, "iwis," meaning "cer- 
 tainly"). 
 
 And gladly our stout chivalry 
 
 Will he send forth, and friends withal, 
 
 To guide and guard you safe and free no 
 
 Home to your noble father's hall." 
 
 She rose : and forth with steps they passed 
 
 That strove to be, and were not, fast. 
 
 Her gracious stars the lady blest. 
 
 And thus spake on sweet Christabel : 
 
 "All our household are at rest, 
 
 The hall as silent as the cell; 
 
 Sir Leoline is weak in health. 
 
 And may not well awakened be. 
 
 But we will move as if in stealth, 120 
 
 And I beseech your courtesy. 
 
 This night, to share your couch with me." 
 
 They crossed the moat, and Christabel 
 
 Took the key that fitted well ; 
 
 A little door she opened straight, 
 
 All in the middle of the gate; 
 
 The gate that was ironed within and with- 
 out, 
 
 Where an army in battle array had 
 marched out. 
 
 The lady sank, belike through pain, 
 
 And Christabel with might and main 130 
 
 Lifted her up, a weary weight. 
 
 Over the threshold of the gate : 
 
 Then the lady rose again, 
 
 And moved, as she were not in pain. 
 
 So free from danger, free from fear. 
 They crossed the court; right glad they 
 
 were. 
 And Christabel devoutly cried 
 To the lady by her side, 
 "Praise we the Virgin all divine 139 
 
 Who hath rescued thee from thy distress !" 
 "Alas, alas !" said Geraldine, 
 "I cannot speak from weariness." 
 So free from danger, free from fear, 
 They crossed the court: right glad they 
 
 were. 
 
 Outside her kennel, the mastiff old 
 Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold. 
 The mastiff old did not awake, 
 Yet she an angry moan did make! 
 And what can ail the mastiff bitch? 
 Never till now she uttered yell 150 
 
 Beneath the eye of Christabel. 
 Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch : 
 I'^or what can ail the mastiff bitch? 
 
 They passed the hall, that echoes still,^ 
 Pass as lightly as you will! 
 
 3 still. Always.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 59 
 
 The brands were flat, the brands were 
 
 dying, 
 Amid their own white ashes lying; 
 But when the lady passed, there came 
 A tongue of light, a fit of flame; 
 And Christabel saw the lady's eye, i6o 
 
 And nothing else saw she thereby, 
 Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline 
 
 tall, 
 Which hung in a murky old niche in the 
 
 wall. 
 "O softly tread," said Christabel, 
 "My father seldom sleepeth well." 
 
 Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare. 
 And jealous of the listening air 
 They steal their way from stair to stair, 
 Now in glimmer, and now in gloom. 
 And now they pass the Baron's room, 170 
 As still as death, with stifled breath ! 
 And now have reached her chamber door ; 
 And now doth Geraldine press down 
 The rushes of the chamber floor. 
 
 The moon shines dim in the open air, 
 
 And not a moonbeam enters here. 
 
 But they without its light can see 
 
 The chamber carved so curiously. 
 
 Carved with figures strange and sweet. 
 
 All made out of the carver's brain, 180 
 
 For a lady's chamber meet; 
 
 The lamp with twofold silver chain 
 
 Is fastened to an angel's feet. 
 
 The silver lamp burns dead and dim; 
 
 But Christabel the lamp will trim. 
 
 She trimmed the lamp, and made ft bright. 
 
 And left it swinging to and fro. 
 
 While Geraldine, in wretched plight. 
 
 Sank down upon the floor below. 
 
 "O weary lady, Geraldine, 190 
 
 I pray you, drink this cordial wine ! 
 It is a wine of virtuous powers ; 
 My mother made it of wild flowers." 
 
 "And will your mother pity me, 
 Who am a maiden most forlorn?" 
 Christabel answered — "Woe is me! 
 She died the hour that I was born. 
 I have heard the gray-haired friar tell 
 How on her death-l)ed she did say, 
 That she should hear the castle-bell 200 
 Strike twelve upon my wedding-day. 
 O mother dear! that thou wert here!" 
 "I would," said Geraldine, "she were I" 
 
 But soon with altered voice, said she— 
 "Off, wandering mother ! Peak and pine I'- 
 I have power to bid thee flee." 
 Alasl what ails poor Geraldine? 
 Why stares she with unsettled eye? 
 Can she the bodiless dead espy? 
 And why with hollow voice cries she, 210 
 "Off, woman, off! this hour is mine — 
 Though thou her guardian spirit be. 
 Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me." 
 
 Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, 
 And raised to heaven her eyes so blue — 
 "Alas !" said she, "this ghastly ride — 
 Dear lady! it hath wildered you!" 
 The lady wiped her moist cold brow. 
 And faintly said, " 'Tis over now!" 219 
 
 Again the wild-flower wine she drank : 
 Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright, 
 And from the floor whereon she sank, 
 The lofty lady stood upright : 
 She was most beautiful to see. 
 Like a lady of a far countree. 
 
 And thus the lofty lady spake — 
 
 "All they who live in the upper sky 
 
 Do love you, holy Christabel! 
 
 And you love them, and for their sake 
 
 And for the good which me befell. 230 
 
 Even I in my degree will try. 
 
 Fair maiden, to requite you well. 
 
 But now unrobe yourself; for I 
 
 Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie." 
 
 Quoth Christabel, "So let it be!" 
 
 And as the lady bade; did she. 
 
 Her gentle limbs did she undress, 
 
 And lay down in her loveliness. 
 
 But through her brain of weal and woe 
 
 So many thoughts moved to and fro, 240 
 
 That vain it were her lids to close ; 
 
 So half-way from the bed she rose. 
 
 And on her elbow did recline 
 
 To look at the lady Geraldine. 
 
 Beneath the lamp the lady bowed, 
 And slowly rolled her eyes around ; 
 Then drawing in her breath aloud. 
 Like one that shuddered, she unbound 
 The cincture- from beneath her breast : 
 Her silken robe, and inner vest, 250 
 
 Dropp'd to her feet, and full in view, 
 
 Behold ! her bosom and half her side 
 
 A sight to dream of, not to tell ! 
 
 O shield her ! shield sweet Christabel ! 
 
 I Peak and pine. Grow thin and weak (a cursine 
 formula). 
 
 a cincture. Girdle.
 
 60 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs ; 
 Ah ! what a stricken look was hers ! 
 Deep from within she seems half-way 
 To lift some weight with sick assay, 
 And eyes the maid and seeks delay; 
 Then suddenly, as one defied, 260 
 
 Collects herself in scorn and pride, 
 And lay down by the maiden's side! — 
 And in her arms the maid she took. 
 
 Ah wel-a-day ! 
 And with low voice and doleful look 
 
 These words did say : 
 "In the touch of this bosom there worketh 
 
 a spell, 
 Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel ! 
 Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to- 
 morrow. 
 This mark of my shame, this seal of my 
 sorrow ; 
 
 But vainly thou warrest, 270 
 
 For this is alone in 
 Thy power to declare, 
 
 That in the dim forest 
 Thou heard'st a low moaning, 
 And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly 
 
 fair; 
 And didst bring her home with thee, in 
 
 love and in charity, 
 To shield her and shelter her from the 
 damp air." 
 
 It was a lovely sight to see 
 
 The Lady Christabel, when she 280 (1816) 
 
 Was praying at the old oak tree. 
 
 Amid the jagged shadows 
 
 Of mossy leafless boughs, 
 
 Kneeling in the moonlight. 
 
 To make her gentle vows ; 
 Her slender palms together press'd, 
 Heaving sometimes on her breast ; 
 Her face resigned to bliss or bale — 
 Her face, oh call it fair, not pale. 
 And both blue eyes more bright than clear. 
 Each about to have a tear. 291 
 
 With open eyes (ah woe is me!) 
 Asleep, and dreaming fearfully. 
 Fearfully dreaming, yet, I wis, 
 Dreaming that alone, which is — 
 O sorrow and shame ! Can this be she, 
 The lady, who knelt at the old oak tree? 
 And lo I the worker of these harms. 
 That holds the maiden in her arms, 
 Seems to slumber still and mild, 300 
 
 As a mother with her child. 
 
 A star hath set, a star hath risen, 
 O Geraldine! since arms of thine 
 Have been the lovely lady's prison. 
 O Geraldine ! one hour was thine — 
 Thou'st had thy will ! By tairn^ and rill. 
 The night-birds all that hour were still, 
 But now they are jubilant anew, 
 From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu-whoo! 
 To-whoo ! tu-whoo ! from wood and 
 fell ! 2 310 
 
 And see! the lady Christabel 
 Gathers herself from out her trance; 
 Her limbs relax, her countenance 
 Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids 
 Close o'er her eyes ! and tears she sheds — 
 Large tears that leave the lashes bright! 
 And oft the while she seems to smile 
 As infants at a sudden light ! 
 
 Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, 
 Like a youthful hermitress, 320 
 
 Beauteous in a wilderness, 
 Who, praying always, prays in sleep. 
 And, if she move unquietly. 
 Perchance, 'tis but the blood so free 
 Comes back and tingles in her feet. 
 No doubt, she hath a vision sweet. 
 What if her guardian spirit 'twere. 
 What if she knew her mother near? 
 But this she knows, in joys and woes, 
 That saints will aid if men will call: 330 
 For the blue sky bends over all ! 
 
 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 
 
 CHARLES WOLFE 
 
 [Sir John Moore led an English army against 
 the French in Spain, 1808-1809. His forces be- 
 ing much smaller than the enemy's, he withdrew 
 to the seacoast, the French following, and on 
 January 16, 1809, engaged and repulsed them at 
 Corunna, but was himself killed.] 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note. 
 As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 
 
 Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
 O'er the grave where our hero we 
 buried. 
 
 We buried him darkly, at dead of night. 
 The sods with our bayonets turning; 
 
 By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 
 And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 I lairn. Lake. 
 3 fell. Hill.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 61 
 
 No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
 Not in sheet or in shroud we wound 
 him, 10 
 
 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
 With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 Few and short were the prayers we said, 
 And we spoke not a word of sorrow; 
 
 But we steadfastly gazed on the face that 
 was dead. 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
 
 We thought, as we hollowed his narrow 
 bed 
 And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
 That the foe and the stranger would tread 
 o'er his head, 
 And we far away on the billow ! 20 
 
 Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone. 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; 
 
 But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
 In the grave where a Briton has laid 
 him. 
 
 But half of our weary task was done 
 When the clock struck the note for re- 
 tfring ; 
 
 And we heard the distant and random gun 
 Of the enemy sullenly firing. 
 
 Slowly and sadly we laid him down. 
 From the field of his fame fresh and 
 gory ; _ 30 
 
 We carved not a line, and we raised not 
 a stone. 
 But we left him alone with his glory. 
 
 (1817) 
 
 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 [This poem is one of the most notable attempts 
 to imitate the method and spirit of the ballads 
 of medieval romance. The title, "The Beautiful 
 Merciless Lady," Keats obtained from an old 
 poem, attributed to Chaucer, translated from the 
 jFrench. It has been supposed that he symbolii.es 
 in the story his unhappy love for Fanny Brawne.] 
 
 O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
 
 Alone and palely loitering? 
 The sedge has withered from the lake, 
 
 And no birds sing. 
 
 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
 So haggard and so woe-begone? 
 
 The squirrel's granary is full. 
 And the harvest's done. 
 
 1 see a lily on thy brow, 
 
 With anguish moist and fever dew; 10 
 And on thy cheeks a fading rose 
 Fast withereth too. — 
 
 I met a lady in the meads, 
 Full beautiful — a faery's child; 
 
 Her hair was long, her foot was light, 
 And her eyes were wild. 
 
 I made a garland for her head. 
 
 And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; ^ 
 
 She looked at me as she did love, 
 And made sweet moan. 20 
 
 I set her on my pacing steed. 
 And nothing else saw all day long. 
 
 For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
 A faery's song. 
 
 She found me roots of relish sweet. 
 And honey wild, and manna dew; 
 
 And sure in language strange she said, 
 "I love thee true." 
 
 She took me to her elfin grot, 
 
 And there she wept, and sighed full 
 sore ; 30 
 
 And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 
 
 With kisses four. 
 
 And there she lulled me asleep, 
 And there I dreamed, ah woe betide I 
 
 The latest dream I ever dreamt 
 On the cold hill's side. 
 
 I saw pale kings, and princes too. 
 
 Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; 
 They cried, "La Belle Dame sans Merci 
 
 Hath thee in thrall !" 40 
 
 I saw their starved lips in the gloam 
 With horrid warning gaped wide — 
 
 And I awoke, and found me here, 
 On the cold hill's side. 
 
 And this is why I sojourn here, 
 
 Alone and palely loitering, 
 Though the sedge is withered from the 
 lake 
 
 And no birds sing. 
 
 (1820) 
 I tone. 
 
 Girdle.
 
 62 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 [The feast of St. Agnes is on January 21. In 
 Rome it is customary on that day to dedicate two 
 lambs to the saint, and the wool of these lambs 
 is afterward woven into priestly vestments; see 
 lines 71, 117.] 
 
 St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! 
 The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; 
 The hare limped trembling through the 
 
 frozen grass, 
 And silent was the flock in woolly fold : 
 Numb were the Beadsman's ^ fingers, while 
 
 he told 
 His rosary, and while his frosted breath. 
 Like pious incense from a censer old. 
 Seemed taking flight for heaven, without 
 
 a death, 
 Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while 
 
 his prayer he saith. 
 
 His prayer he saith, this patient, holy 
 
 man; lo 
 
 Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his 
 
 knees, 
 And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan. 
 Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees : 
 The sculptured dead, on each side, seem 
 
 to freeze, 
 Emprisoned in black, purgatorial rails : 
 Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries. 
 He passeth by ; and his weak spirit fails 
 To think how they may ache in icy 
 
 hoods and mails. 
 
 Northward he turneth through a little 
 
 door, 
 And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden 
 
 tongue 20 
 
 Flattered to tears this aged man and poor; 
 But no — already had his deathbell rung; 
 The joys of all his life were said and 
 
 sung: 
 His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve : 
 Another way he went, and soon among 
 Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, 
 And all night kept awake, for sinners' 
 
 sake to grieve. 
 
 That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude 
 
 soft; 
 And so it chanced, for many a door was 
 
 wide, 20 
 
 From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, 
 The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to 
 
 chide : 
 
 I Headsman. One appointed to pray for a bene- 
 factor's soul. 
 
 The level chambers, ready with their 
 pride. 
 
 Were glowing to receive a thousand 
 guests : 
 
 The carved angels, ever eager-eyed. 
 
 Stared, where upon their heads the cor- 
 nice rests. 
 With hair blown back, and wings put 
 crosswise on their breasts. 
 
 At length burst in the argent 2 revelry, 
 With plume, tiara, and all rich array. 
 Numerous as shadows, haunting fairily 
 The brain, new stuffed, in youth, with tri- 
 umphs gay 40 
 Of old romance. These let us wish away. 
 And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady 
 
 there, 
 Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry 
 
 day. 
 On love, and winged St. Agnes' saintly 
 care. 
 As she had heard old dames full many 
 times declare. 
 
 They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, 
 Young virgins might have visions of de- 
 light, 
 And soft adorings from their loves receive 
 Upon the honeyed middle of the night, 
 H ceremonies due they did aright; 50 
 
 As, supperless to bed they must retire, 
 And couch supine their beauties, lily 
 
 white; 
 Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require 
 Of Heaven with upward eyes for all 
 that they desire. 
 
 Full of this whim was thoughtful Made- 
 line ; 
 The music, yearning like a god in pain, 
 She scarcely heard : her maiden eyes di- 
 vine. 
 Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping 
 
 train 
 Pass by— she heeded not at all : in vain 
 Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier. 
 And back retired; not cooled by high dis- 
 dain, 61 
 But she saw not : her heart was other- 
 where : 
 She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the 
 sweetest of the year. 
 
 2 argent. Silvery.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 63 
 
 She danced along with vague, regardless 
 
 eyes, 
 Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and 
 
 short : 
 The hallowed hour was near at hand : she 
 
 sighs 
 Amid the timbrels, and the thronged resort 
 Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; 
 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and 
 
 scorn, 
 Hoodwinked^ with faery fancy; all 
 
 amort,2 70 
 
 Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn. 
 
 And all the bliss to be before to-morrow 
 
 morn. 
 
 So, purposing each moment to retire, 
 She lingered still. Meantime, across the 
 
 moors, 
 Had come young Porphyro, with heart on 
 
 fire 
 For Madeline. Beside the portal doors. 
 Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and 
 
 implores 
 All saints to give him sight of Madeline, 
 But for one moment in the tedious hours. 
 That he might gaze and worship all un- 
 seen ; 80 
 Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss — in 
 sooth such things have been. 
 
 He ventures in : let no buzzed whisper 
 
 tell: 
 All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords 
 Will storm his heart, Love's feverous cit- 
 adel : 
 For him, those chambers held barbarian 
 
 hordes, 
 Hyena foemen. and hot-blooded lords. 
 Whose very dogs would execrations howl 
 Against his lineage : not one breast af- 
 fords 
 Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, 
 Save one old beldame, weak in body and 
 in soul. 90 
 
 Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came, 
 Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand. 
 To where he stood, hid from the torch's 
 
 flame. 
 Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond 
 The sound of merriment and chorus 
 
 bland : 
 
 1 Hoodwinked. Blinded. 
 
 2 amort. Dead. 
 
 He Startled her; but soon she knew his 
 
 face. 
 And grasped his fingers in her palsied 
 
 hand, 
 Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from 
 
 this place; 
 They are all here to-night, the whole 
 
 blood-thirsty race ! 
 
 "Get hence ! get hence ! there's dwarfish 
 
 Hildebrand ; 100 
 
 He had a fever late, and in the fit 
 He cursed thee and thine, both house and 
 
 land : 
 Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not 
 
 a whit 
 More tame for his gray hairs — Alas me ! 
 
 flit! 
 Flit like a ghost away." — "Ah, Gossip'' 
 
 dear. 
 We're safe enough; here in this armchair 
 
 sit, 
 And tell me how" — "Good Saints! not 
 
 here, not here ; 
 Follow me, child, or else these stones 
 
 will be thy bier." 
 
 He followed through a lowly arched way. 
 Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty 
 
 plume; no 
 
 And as she muttered "Well-a — well-a- 
 
 day !" 
 He found him in a little moonlight room. 
 Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. 
 "Now tell me where is Madeline," said he, 
 "O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom 
 Which none but secret sisterhood may see, 
 When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving 
 
 piously." 
 
 St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve — 
 Yet men will murder upon holy days : 
 Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve. 
 And be ITege-lord of all the Elves and 
 
 Fays, 121 
 
 To venture so : it fills me with amaze 
 To see thee, Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! 
 God's help! my lady fair the conjurer 
 
 plays 
 This very night ; good angels her deceive ! 
 But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle 
 
 time to grieve." 
 
 Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon. 
 While Porphyro upon her face doth look. 
 Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone 
 Who keepcth closed a wond'rous riddle- 
 book, 130 
 3 Gossip. Godmother.
 
 64 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. 
 
 But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she 
 told 
 
 His lady's purpose; and he scarce could 
 brook ^ 
 
 Tears, at the thought of those enchant- 
 ments cold, 
 And Madeline asleep in lap of legends 
 old. 
 
 Sudden a thought came like a full-blown 
 
 rose, 
 Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart 
 Made purple riot : then doth he propose 
 A stratagem, that makes the beldame 
 
 start: 
 "A cruel man and impious thou art : 140 
 Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and 
 
 dream 
 Alone with her good angels, far apart 
 From wicked men like thee. Go, go! — I 
 
 deem 
 Thou canst not surely be the same that 
 
 thou didst seem." 
 
 "I will not harm her, by all saints I 
 
 swear," 
 Quoth Porphyro : "O may I ne'er find 
 
 grace 
 When my weak voice shall whisper its 
 
 last prayer, 
 If one of her soft ringlets I displace, 
 Or look with ruffian passion in her face; 
 Good Angela, believe me by these tears; 
 Or I will, even in a moment's space. 
 Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's 
 
 ears, 152 
 
 And beard them, though they be more 
 
 fanged than wolves and bears." 
 
 "Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? 
 A poor, weak, palsy-stricken churchyard 
 
 thing. 
 Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight 
 
 toll; 
 Whose prayers for thee, each morn and 
 
 evening, 
 Were never missed." Thus plaining,^ doth 
 
 she bring 
 A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; 
 So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, 160 
 That Angela gives promise she will do 
 Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal 
 
 or woe. 
 
 I brook. Restrain. 
 
 a plaining. Complaining. 
 
 Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy. 
 Even to Madeline's chamber, and there 
 
 hide 
 Him in a closet, of such privacy 
 That he might see her beauty unespied. 
 And win perhaps that night a peerless 
 
 bride. 
 While legioned fairies paced the coverlet, 
 And pale enchantment held her sleepy- 
 eyed. 
 Never on such a night have lovers met. 
 Since Merlin paid his Demon all the 
 monstrous debt.^ 171 
 
 "It shall be as thou wishest," said the 
 
 Dame; 
 "All cates* and dainties shall be stored 
 
 there 
 Quickly on this feast-night: by the tam- 
 bour frame ^ 
 Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to 
 
 spare, 
 For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare 
 On such a catering trust my dizzy head. 
 Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel 
 
 in prayer 
 The while : Ah ! thou must needs the lady 
 
 wed, 
 Or may I never leave my grave among 
 
 the dead." 180 
 
 So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. 
 The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; 
 The dame returned, and whispered in his 
 
 ear 
 To follow her ; with aged eyes aghast 
 From fright of dim espial. Safe at last. 
 Through many a dusky gallery, they gain 
 The maiden's chamber, silken, hushed, and 
 
 chaste; 
 Where Porphyro took covert, pleased 
 
 amain. 8 
 His poor guide hurried back with agues 
 
 in her brain. 189 
 
 Her faltering hand upon the balustrade. 
 Old Angela was feeling for the stair. 
 When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, 
 Rose, like a missioned ^ spirit, unaware : 
 With silver taper's light, and pious care. 
 She turned, and down the aged gossip led 
 To a safe level matting. Now prepare, 
 
 3 Merlin became a victim of one of his own magic 
 spells. 
 
 4 cates. Delicacies. 
 
 5 tambour frame. Drum-shaped embroidery- 
 frame. 
 
 6 amain. Greatly. 
 
 7 missioned. Sent on an angel's mission.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 65 
 
 Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed ; 
 She comes, she comes again, like ring- 
 dove frayed and fled. 198 
 
 Out went the taper as she hurried in; 
 Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: 
 She closed the door, she panted, all akin 
 To spirits of the air, and visions wide: 
 No uttered syllable, or woe betide ! 
 But to her heart, her heart was voluble, 
 Paining with eloquence her balmy side ; 
 As though a tongueless nightingale should 
 swell 
 Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, 
 in her dell. 
 
 A casement high and triple-arched there 
 was, 
 
 ATI garlanded with carven imag'ries 
 
 Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of 
 knot-grass, 210 
 
 And diamonded with panes of quaint de- 
 vice. 
 
 Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes. 
 
 As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked 
 wings; 
 
 And in the midst, 'mong thousand her- 
 aldries. 
 
 And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, 
 A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood 
 of queens and kings. 
 
 Full on this casement shone the wintry 
 
 moon. 
 And threw warm gules^ on Madeline's 
 
 fair breast. 
 As down she knelt for heaven's grace and 
 
 boon; 
 Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together 
 
 press'd, 220 
 
 And on her silver cross soft amethyst. 
 And on her hair a glory, like a saint : 
 She seemed a splendid angel, newly 
 
 dress'd. 
 Save wings, for heaven : Porphyro grew 
 
 faint : 
 She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from 
 
 mortal tamt. 
 
 Anon his heart revives : her vespers done. 
 Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she 
 
 frees ; 
 Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; 
 Loosens her fragrant bodice ; by degrees 
 Her rich attire creeps rustling to her 
 
 knees ; 230 
 
 I gules. Red (heraldic color). 
 
 Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, 
 Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and 
 
 sees. 
 In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed. 
 
 But dares not look behind, or all the 
 
 charm is fled. 
 
 Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, 
 
 In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she 
 lay, 
 
 Until the poppied warmth of sleep op- 
 pressed 
 
 Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued 
 away; 
 
 Flown, like a thought, until the morrow- 
 day ; 
 
 Blissfully havened both from joy and 
 pain ; 240 
 
 Clasped like a missal^ where swart Pay- 
 nims^ pray; 
 
 Blinded alike from sunshine and from 
 rain. 
 As though a rose should shut, and be a 
 bud again. 
 
 Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, 
 Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress. 
 And listened to her breathing, if it chanced 
 To wake into a slumberous tenderness ; 
 Which when he heard, that minute did he 
 
 bless. 
 And breathed himself: then from the 
 
 closet crept, 249 
 
 Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, 
 And over the hushed carpet, silent, 
 
 stepped. 
 And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, 
 
 lo ! how fast she slept. 
 
 Then by the bed-side, where the faded 
 
 moon 
 Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set 
 A table, and, half-anguished, threw there- 
 on 
 A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: — 
 O for some drowsy Morphean* amulet ! 
 The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, 
 The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarinet. 
 Affray his ears, though but in dying 
 tone : — 260 
 
 The hall door shuts again, and all the 
 noise is gone. 
 
 a missal. Mass-book. 
 
 3 Swarl Poynims. Dark pagans (Moslems, la 
 whose land a (Christian book would remain closed). 
 
 4 Morphtan. Of Morpheus (god of dreams).
 
 66 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, 
 In blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered, 
 While he from forth the closet brought a 
 
 heap 
 Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and 
 
 gourd ; 
 With jellies sootheri than the creamy 
 
 curd. 
 And lucent syrops, tinct- with cinnamon ; 
 Manna and dates, in argosy transferred 
 From Fez ; and spiced dainties, every one. 
 From silken Samarcand to cedared Leb- 
 anon. 270 
 
 These delicates he heaped with glowing 
 
 hand 
 On golden dishes and in baskets bright 
 Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand 
 In the retired quiet of the night, 
 Filling the chilly room with perfume 
 
 light.— 
 "And now, my love, my seraph fair, 
 
 awake ! 
 Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite ;3 
 Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake. 
 Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my 
 
 soul doth ache." 
 
 Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm 
 Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her 
 
 dream 281 
 
 By the dusk curtains : — 'twas a midnight 
 
 charm 
 Impossible to melt as iced stream : 
 The lustrous salvers in the moonlight 
 
 gleam : 
 Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies : 
 It seemed he never, never could redeem 
 From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes; 
 So mused awhile, entoiled in woofed* 
 
 phantasies. 
 
 Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, — 
 
 Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tender- 
 est be, 290 
 
 He played an ancient ditty, long since 
 mute, 
 
 In Province called, "La belle dame sans 
 mercy:" ^ 
 
 Close to her ear touching the melody; — 
 
 Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft 
 moan : 
 
 He ceased — she panted quick — and sud- 
 denly 
 
 Her blue affrayed^ eyes wide open shone : 
 
 I soother. Smoother. 2 tinct. Flavored. 
 
 3 eremite. Devotee. 4 woo/ed. Woven. 
 
 S See page 61. 
 
 Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth- 
 sculptured stone. 
 
 Her eyes wide open, but she still beheld, 
 Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: 
 There was a painful change, that nigh ex- 
 pelled 300 
 The blisses of her dream so pure and 
 
 deep. 
 At which fair Madeline began to weep. 
 And moan forth witless words with many 
 
 a sigh ; 
 While still her gaze on Porphyro would 
 
 keep; 
 Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous 
 eye, 
 Fearing to move or speak, she looked so 
 dreamingly. 
 
 "Ah, Porphyro!" she said, "but even now 
 Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine 
 
 ear, 
 Made tuneable with every sweetest vov; ; 
 And those sad eyes were spiritual and 
 
 clear; 310 
 
 How changed thou art ! how pallid, chill, 
 
 and drear ! 
 Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, 
 Those looks immortal, those complainings 
 
 dear! 
 Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, 
 For if thou diest, my Love, I know not 
 
 where to go." 
 
 Beyond a mortal man impassioned far 
 At these voluptuous accents, he arose, 
 Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star 
 Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep re- 
 pose; 
 Into her dream he melted, as the rose 320 
 Blendeth its odour with the violet, — 
 Solution sweet : meantime the frost-wind 
 
 blows 
 Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp 
 sleet 
 Against the window-panes: St. Agnes' 
 moon hath set. 
 
 'Tis dark : quick pattereth the flaw-blown 
 sleet: 
 
 "This is no dream, my bride, my Made- 
 line!" 
 
 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and 
 beat: 
 
 6 ajfrayed. Frightened.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 67 
 
 "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! 
 Porphyro will leave me here to fade and 
 
 pine. — 
 Cruel ! what traitor could thee hither 
 
 bring? 330 
 
 I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, 
 
 Though thou forsaicest a deceived thing; — 
 
 A dove forlorn and lost with sick un- 
 
 pruned wing." 
 
 "My Madeline ! sweet dreamer I lovely 
 bride ! 
 
 Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? 
 
 Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and ver- 
 meiU dyed? 
 
 Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest 
 
 After so many hours of toil and quest, 
 
 A famished pilgrim, — saved by miracle. 
 
 Though I have found, I will not rob thy 
 nest 340 
 
 Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st 
 well 
 To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude in- 
 fidel. 
 
 "Hark ! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land, 
 Of haggard- seeming, but a boon indeed : 
 Arise — arise! the morning is at hand; — 
 The bloated wassailers^ will never heed : — 
 Let us away, my love, with happy speed; 
 There are no ears to hear, or eyes to 
 
 see, — 
 Drowned all in Rhenish* and the sleepy 
 
 mead : 
 Awake ! arise ! my love, and fearless be. 
 For o'er the southern moors I have a 
 
 home for thee." 351 
 
 She hurried at his words, beset with fears, 
 For there were sleeping dragons all 
 
 around, 
 At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready 
 
 spears — 
 Down the wide stairs a darkling way they 
 
 found. — 
 In all the house was heard no human 
 
 sound. 
 A chain-drooped lamp was flickering by 
 
 each door ; 
 The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and 
 
 hound, 
 Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar ; 
 And the long carpets rose along the 
 
 gusty floor. 360 
 
 1 vermeil. Vermilion. 
 
 2 haggard. Wild. 
 
 3 wassaillers. Drinking banqueters. 
 
 4 Rhenish. Rhine wine. 
 
 They glide, like phantoms, into the wide 
 
 hall; 
 Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they 
 
 glide ; 
 Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, 
 With a huge empty flagon by his side : 
 The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook 
 
 his hide, 
 But his sagacious eye an inmate owns : 
 By one and one, the bolts full easy slide : — 
 The chains lie silent on the footworn 
 
 stones ; — 
 The key turns, and the door upon its 
 
 hinges groans. 
 
 And they are gone : ay, ages long ago 370 
 
 These lovers fled away into the storm. 
 
 That night the Baron dreamt of many a 
 woe. 
 
 And all his warrior-guests, with shade and 
 form 
 
 Of witch, and demon, and large coffin- 
 worm, 
 
 Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old 
 
 Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face de- 
 form ;•'• 
 
 The Beadsman, after thousand aves*' told. 
 For aye unsought-for slept among his 
 ashes cold. 
 
 (1820) 
 
 THE RED FISHERMAN 
 
 WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED 
 
 [The date represented by this symbolic poem 
 is evidently 1485, that of the Battle of Bosworth 
 Field (see line 130), in which Gloucester (Rich- 
 ard III) met his death. The hero may be sup- 
 posed to be the Abbot of Bury St. Edmunds (see 
 line 159), a powerful monastery whose head was 
 entitled to a seat in the House of Lords. Mis- 
 tress Shore (line 199) was a favorite of the late 
 king, Edward IV, who is doubtless referred to 
 in line 196. The mitre, with which the devil's 
 hook was baited for the Abbot himself, is sym- 
 bol of the office of bishop.] 
 
 The .A.bbot arose, and closed his book, 
 
 And donned his sandal shoon, 
 .\nd wandered forth alone, to look 
 
 Upon the summer moon. 
 .\ starlight sky was o'er his head, 
 
 .A. quiet breeze around ; 
 And the flowers a thrilling fragrance shed, 
 
 And the waves a soothing sound : 
 
 5 deform. Distorted. 
 
 6 aves. Prayers to Mary.
 
 68 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 It was not an hour nor a scene for aught 
 
 But love and calm delight ; lo 
 
 Yet the holy man had a cloud of thought 
 
 On his wrinkled brow that night. 
 He gazed on the river that gurgled by, 
 
 But he thought not of the reeds ; 
 He clasped his gilded rosary, 
 
 But he did not tell the beads; 
 If he looked to the heaven, 'twas not to 
 invoke 
 
 The Spirit that dwelleth there ; 
 If he opened his lips, the words they spoke 
 
 Had never the tone of prayer. 20 
 
 A pious priest might the Abbot seem, 
 
 He had swayed the crozier well ; 
 But what was the theme of the Abbot's 
 dream, 
 
 The Abbot were loth to tell. 
 
 Companionless, for a mile or more, 
 
 He traced the windings of the shore. 
 
 Oh, beauteous is that river still, 
 
 As it winds by many a sloping hill, 
 
 And many a dim o'erarching grove, 
 
 And many a flat and sunny cove, 30 
 
 And terraced lawns, whose bright arcades 
 
 The honeysuckle sweetly shades. 
 
 And rocks, whose very crags seem bowers, 
 
 So gay they are with grass and flowers ! 
 
 But the Abbot was thinking of scenery 
 
 About as much, in sooth. 
 As a lover thinks of constancy, 
 
 Or an advocate ^ of truth. 
 He did not mark how the skies in wrath 
 
 Grew dark above his head; 40 
 
 He did not mark how the mossy path 
 
 Grew damp beneath his tread; 
 
 And nearer he came, and still more near, 
 
 To a pool, in whose recess 
 The water had slept for many a year, 
 
 Unchanged and motionless; 
 From the river stream it spread away 
 
 The space of half a rood; 
 The surface had the hue of clay 
 
 And the scent of human blood; 50 
 
 The trees and the herbs that round it grew 
 
 Were venomous and foul. 
 And the birds that through the bushes flew 
 
 Were the vulture and the owl ; 
 The water was as dark and rank 
 
 As ever a Company pumped, 
 And the perch, that was netted and laid 
 on the bank, 
 
 Grew rotten while it jumped; 
 
 t advocate. Lawyer. 
 
 And bold was he who thither came 
 
 At midnight, man or boy, 60 
 
 For the place was cursed with an evil 
 name, 
 And that name was "The Devil's De- 
 coy" ! 
 
 The Abbot was weary as abbot could be, 
 And he sat down to rest on the stump of 
 
 a tree : 
 When suddenly rose a dismal tone, — 
 Was it a song, or was it a moan? — 
 "O ho! O ho! 
 Above — below — 
 Lightly and brightly they glide and go ! 
 The hungry and keen on the top are leap- 
 ing; 70 
 The lazy and fat in the depths are sleep- 
 ing; 
 Fishing is fine when the pool is muddy, 
 Broiling is rich when the coals are ruddy !" 
 In a monstrous fright, by the murky light, 
 He looked to the left and he looked to 
 
 the right. 
 And what was the vision close before him, 
 That flung such a sudden stupor o'er him? 
 'Twas a sight to make the hair uprise, 
 
 And the life-blood colder run : 
 The startled priest struck both his thighs, 
 And the abbey clock struck one ! 81 
 
 All alone, by the side of the pool, 
 A tall man sat on a three-legged stool, 
 Kicking his heels on the dewy sod, 
 And putting in order his reel and rod; 
 Red were the rags his shoulders wore. 
 And a high red cap on his head he bore ; 
 His arms and his legs were long and bare; 
 And two or three locks of long red hair 
 Were tossing about his scraggy neck 90 
 Like a tattered flag o'er a splitting wreck. 
 It might be time, or it might be trouble. 
 Had bent that stout back nearly double. 
 Sunk in their deep and hollow sockets 
 That blazing couple of Congreve rockets,^ 
 And shrunk and shriveled that tawny skin. 
 Till it hardly covered the bones within. 
 
 The line the Abbot saw him throw 
 
 Had been fashioned and formed long ages 
 
 ago. 
 And the hands that worked his foreign 
 
 vest 100 
 
 Long ages ago had gone to their rest : 
 
 t Congreve rockets. Military rockets, carrying 
 balls like a modern shell.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 69 
 
 You would have sworn, as you looked on 
 
 them, 
 He had fished in the flood with Ham and 
 
 Shem! 
 
 There was turning of keys, and creaking 
 
 of locks, 
 As he took forth a bait from his iron box. 
 Minnow or gentle, worm or fly, — 
 It seemed not such to the Abbot's eye; 
 Gaily it glittered with jewel and gem, 
 And its shape was the shape of a diadem. 
 It was fastened a gleaming hook about 
 By a chain within and a chain without; 
 The Fisherman gave it a kick and a spin. 
 And the water fizzed as it tumbled in ! 113 
 
 From the bowels of the earth. 
 
 Strange and varied sounds had birth; 
 
 Now the battle's bursting peal, 
 
 Neigh of steed, and clang of steel; 
 
 Now an old man's hollow groan 
 
 Echoed from the dungeon stone; 
 
 Now the weak and wailing cry 120 
 
 Of a stripling's agony! 1 
 
 Cold by this was the midnight air. 
 
 But the Abbot's blood ran colder, 
 When he saw a gasping knight lie there, 
 With a gash beneath liis clotted hair. 
 
 And a hump upon his shoulder. 
 And the loyal churchman strove in vain 
 
 To mutter a Pater Noster; 
 For he who writhed in mortal pain 
 Was camped that night on Bosworth 
 plain — 130 
 
 The cruel Duke of Gloster! 
 
 There was turning of keys, and creaking 
 
 of locks, 
 As he took forth a bait from his iron box. 
 It was a haunch 2 of princely size. 
 Filling with fragrance earth and skies. 
 The corpulent Abbot knew full well 
 The swelling form, and the steaming 
 
 smell ; 
 Never a monk that wore a hood 
 Could better have guessed the very wood 
 Where the noble hart had stood at bay, 
 Weary and wounded, at close of day. 141 
 
 Sounded then the noisy glee 
 Of a reveling company, — 
 Sprightly story, wicked jest, 
 Rated ^ servant, greeted guest, 
 
 1 Victims of Gloucester's cruelty. 
 
 2 haunch. Of venison. 
 
 3 rated. Scolded. 
 
 Flow of wine, and flight of cork. 
 Stroke of knife, and thrust of fork; 
 But, where'er the board was spread, 
 Grace, 1 ween, was never said ! 
 Pulling and tugging the Fisherman sat, 
 
 And the priest was ready to vomit, 151 
 When he hauled out a gentleman, fine and 
 
 fat. 
 With a belly as big as a brimming vat, 
 
 And a nose as red as a comet. 
 "A capital stew," the Fisherman said, 
 
 "With cinnamon and sherry !" 
 And the Abbot turned away his head. 
 For his brother was lying before him dead. 
 
 The Mayor of St. Edmund's Bury! 
 
 There was turning of keys, and creaking 
 
 of locks, 160 
 
 As he took forth a bait from his iron box. 
 It was a bundle of beautiful things, — 
 A peacock's tail, and a butterfly's wings, 
 A scarlet slipper, an auburn curl, 
 A mantle of silk, and a bracelet of pearl, 
 And a packet of letters, from whose sweet 
 
 fold 
 Such a stream of delicate odours rolled 
 That the Abbot fell on his face, and 
 
 fainted. 
 And deemed his spirit was half-way 
 
 sainted. 
 
 Sounds seemed dropping from the skies. 
 Stifled whispers, smothered sighs, 171 
 
 And the breath of vernal gales. 
 And the voice of nightingales: 
 But the nightingales were mute. 
 Envious, when an unseen lute 
 Shaped the music of its chords 
 Into passion's thrilling words: 
 "Smile, Lady, smile ! — I will not set 
 Upon my brow the coronet. 
 Till thou wilt gather roses white 180 
 
 To wear around its gems of light. 
 Smile, Lady, smile ! — I will not see 
 Rivers and Hastings bend the knee, 
 Till those bewitching lips of thine 
 Win bid me rise in bliss from mine. 
 Smile, Lady, smile ! — for who would win 
 A loveless throne through guilt and sin? 
 Or who would reign o'er vale and hill. 
 If woman's heart were rebel still?" 
 
 One jerk, and there a lady lay, 190 
 
 A lady wondrous fair; 
 But the rose of her lip had faded away, 
 And her cheek was as white and as cold 
 as clay. 
 
 And torn was her raven hair.
 
 70 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Ah ha!" said the Fisher, in merry guise, 
 
 "Her gallant was hooked before:" 
 And the Abbot heaved some piteous sighs, 
 For oft he had blessed those deep blue 
 eyes, 
 The eyes of Mistress Shore ! 
 
 There was turning of keys, and creaking 
 of locks, 200 
 
 As he took forth a bait from his iron box. 
 Many the cunning sportsman tried, 
 Many he flung with a frown aside; 
 A minstrel's harp, and a miser's chest, 
 A hermit's cowl, and a baron's crest. 
 Jewels of lustre, robes of price, 
 Tomes of heresy, loaded dice. 
 And golden cups of the brightest wine 
 That ever was pressed from the Burgundy 
 vine. 209 
 
 There was a perfume of sulphur and nitre, 
 As he came at last to a bishop's mitre ! 
 
 From top to toe the Abbot shook. 
 
 As the Fisherman armed his golden hook, 
 
 And awfully were his features wrought 
 
 By some dark dream or wakened thought. 
 
 Look how the fearful felon gazes 
 
 On the scaffold his country's vengeance 
 
 raises, 
 When the lips are cracked and the jaws 
 
 are dry 
 With the thirst which only in death shall 
 
 die: 
 Mark the mariner's frenzied frown 220 
 As the swaling 1 wherry settles down, 
 When peril has numbed the sense and will. 
 Though the hand and the foot may strug- 
 gle still : 
 Wilder far was the Abbot's glance. 
 Deeper far was the Abbot's trance: 
 Fixed as a monument, still as air. 
 He bent no knee, and he breathed no 
 
 prayer; 
 But he signed — he knew not why or how — 
 The sign of the Cross on his clammy brow. 
 
 There was turning of keys, and creaking 
 of locks, 230 
 
 As he stalked away with his iron box. 
 "O ho! O hoi 
 The cock doth crow ; 
 
 It is time for the Fisher to rise and go. 
 
 Fair luck to the Abbot, fair luck to the 
 shrine ! 
 
 He hath gnawed in twain my choicest 
 line; - 
 
 r siualing. DisappearinR. 
 
 2 By making the sign of the cross. 
 
 Let him swim to the north, let him swim 
 
 to the south. 
 The Abbot will carry my hook in his 
 
 mouth !" 
 
 The Abbot had preached for many years 
 
 With as clear articulation 240 
 
 As ever was heard in the House of Peers 
 
 Against Emancipation ;3 
 His words had made battalions quake. 
 
 Had roused the zeal of martyrs, 
 Had kept the Court an hour awake, 
 
 And the King himself three quarters; 
 But ever from that hour, 'tis said. 
 
 He stammered and he stuttered. 
 As if an axe went through his head 
 
 With every word he uttered. 250 
 
 He stuttered o'er blessing, he stuttered 
 o'er ban, 
 
 He stuttered, drunk or dry ; 
 And none but he and the Fisherman 
 
 Could tell the reason why ! 
 
 (1827) 
 
 THE BELLE OF THE BALL-ROOM 
 
 WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED 
 
 Years, years ago, ere yet my dreams 
 
 Had been of being wise or witty, 
 Ere I had done with writing themes. 
 
 Or yawned o'er this infernal Chitty;* 
 Years, years ago, while all my joys 
 
 Were in my fowling-piece and filly, — 
 In short, while I was yet a boy, 
 
 I fell in love with Laura Lilly. 
 
 I saw her at the County Ball: 
 
 There when the sounds of flute and 
 fiddle 10 
 
 Gave signal sweet in that old hall 
 
 Of hands across and down the middle, 
 Hers was the subtlest spell by far 
 Of all that sets young hearts romanc- 
 ing: 
 She was our queen, our rose, our star; 
 And then she danced — oh, heaven, her 
 dancing ! 
 
 Dark was her hair, her hand was white, 
 Her voice was exquisitely tender, 
 
 Her eyes were full of liquid light; 
 I never saw a waist so slender; 20 
 
 3 Catholic Emancipation, a parliamentary 
 measure of the period when the poem was written. 
 
 4 Chitty. Document.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 71 
 
 Her every look, her every smile, 
 
 Shot right and left a score of arrows; 
 
 I thought 'twas Venus from her isle, 
 And wondered where she'd left her 
 sparrows. 
 
 She warbled Handel, — it was grand, — 
 She made the Catalina^ jealous; 
 
 She touched the organ. — I could stand 
 For hours and hours to blow the bel- 
 lows. 
 
 She talked of politics or prayers — 
 
 Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's 
 sonnets, 
 Of danglers^ or of dancing bears. 
 
 Of battles, or the last new bonnets. 
 By candle-light, at twelve o'clock, 
 
 To me it mattered not a tittle; 30 
 
 If those bright lips had quoted Locke. 
 
 I might have thought they murmured 
 Little. 
 
 Through sunny May, through sultry June, 
 
 I loved her with a love eternal ; 
 I spoke her praises to the moon, 
 
 1 wrote them to the Sunday Journal. 
 My mother laughed; I soon found out 
 
 That ancient ladies have no feeling. 
 My father frowned; but how should gout 
 See any happiness in kneeling? 40 
 
 She was the daughter of a dean, 
 
 Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic ; 
 She had one brother just thirteen. 
 
 Whose color was extremely hectic; 
 Her grandmother, for many a year, 
 
 Had fed the parish with her bounty; 
 Her second cousin was a peer, 
 
 And lord-lieutenant of the county. 
 
 But titles and the three per cents, == 
 
 And mortgages, and great relations, 50 
 And India bonds, and tithes and rents, 
 
 Oh! what are they to love's sensations? 
 Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks, 
 
 Such wealth, such honors, Cupid 
 chooses ; 
 He cares as little for the stocks 
 
 As Baron Rothschild for the Muses. 
 
 She sketched; the vale, the wood, the 
 beach. 
 
 Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading; 
 She botanized; I envied each 59 
 
 Young blossom in her boudoir fading; 
 
 danglers. Flirts. 
 
 2 three per cents. Government bonds. 
 
 She kept an album, too, at home. 
 
 Well filled with all an album's glories; 
 Paintings of butterflies and Rome, 
 
 Patterns for trimmings, Persian stories; 
 Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo. 69 
 
 Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter, 
 And autographs of Prince Leboo, 
 
 And recipes of elder water. 
 
 And she was flattered, worshipped, bored. 
 
 Her steps were watched, her dress was 
 noted. 
 Her poodle dog was quite adored, 
 
 Her sayings were extremely quoted. 
 She laughed, and every heart was glad 
 
 As if the taxes were abolished; 
 She frowned, and every look was sad 
 
 As if the opera were demolished. 80 
 
 She smiled on many just for fun — 
 
 I knew that there was nothing in it; 
 I was the first, the only one 
 
 Her heart had thought of for a minute, 
 I knew it, for she told me so. 
 
 In phrase which was divinely moulded; 
 She wrote a charming hand, and oh ! 
 
 How sweetly all her notes were folded ! 
 
 Our love was like most other loves — 
 
 A little glow, a little shiver, 90 
 
 A rosebud and a pair of gloves. 
 
 And "Fly Not Yet" upon the river; 
 Some jealousy of some one's heir. 
 
 Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, 
 A miniature, a lock of hair, 
 
 The usual vows — and then we parted. 
 
 We parted — months and years rolled by; 
 
 We met again four summers after; 
 Our parting was all sob and sigh, 
 
 Our meeting was all mirth and laugh- 
 ter. 100 
 For in my heart's most secret cell 
 
 There had been many other lodgers. 
 And she was not the ball-room's belle, 
 
 But only — Mrs. Something Rogers ! 
 
 (1830) 
 3 Catalina. A prima donna of the period.
 
 72 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 BONNY DUNDEE 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 [John Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dun- 
 dee, supported James II of England when the 
 Scotch Parliament had taken the part of William 
 of Orange. In 1689 he defied the Parliament, 
 marched out of Edinburgh with his followers, 
 and began the long "Jacobite" rebellion.] 
 
 To the Lords of Convention 'twas Clav- 
 
 er'se who spoke, 
 "Ere the King's crown shall fall there are 
 
 crowns to be broke; 
 So let each Cavalier who loves honour and 
 
 me. 
 Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
 Come fill up my cup, come fill up my 
 
 can, 
 Come saddle your horses and call up 
 
 your men; 
 Come open the West Port^ and let me 
 
 gang free, 
 And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny 
 Dundee!" 
 
 Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the 
 
 street, 
 The bells are rung backward,^ the drums 
 
 they are beat ; lo 
 
 But the Provost,3 douce * man, said, "Just 
 
 e'en let him be, 
 The Gude Town is weel quit of that Dei! 
 
 of Dundee." 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 As he rode down the sanctified bends of 
 
 the Bow,5 
 Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her 
 
 pow; ^ 
 But the young plants of grace they looked 
 
 couthie and slee,^ 
 Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny 
 
 Dundee! 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmar- 
 
 ket 8 was crammed 
 As if half the West had set tryst to be 
 
 hanged ; 
 
 r Port. Gate. 
 
 2 rung backward. With the chimes reversed, 
 a custom in giving alarms. 
 
 3 Provost. Mayor. 
 
 4 douce. Prudent. 
 
 5 hends of the Bow. Windings of Bow Street. 
 
 6 Every old woman was scolding and shaking her 
 head. 
 
 7 cnulhie and slee. Gracious and sly. 
 
 8 Crassmarkel. The place of execution. 
 
 There was spite in each look, there was 
 
 fear in each e'e. 
 As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny 
 
 Dundee. 20 
 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 These cowls of Kilmarnock® had spits 
 and had spears, 
 
 And lang-hafted gullies i<> to kill Cava- 
 liers; 
 
 But they shrunk to close-heads ^* and the 
 causeway was free. 
 
 At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun- 
 dee. 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle 
 
 rock. 
 And with the gay Gordon he gallantly 
 
 spoke ; 
 "Let Mons Meg ^2 and her marrows ^' 
 
 speak twa words or three. 
 For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dun- 
 dee." 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 The Gordon demands of him which' way 
 he goes — 
 
 "Where'er shall direct me the shade of 
 Montrose! 1* 30 
 
 Your Grace in short space shall hear tid- 
 ings of me, 
 
 Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dun- 
 dee. 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 "There are hills beyond Pentland and 
 lands beyond Forth, 
 
 If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's 
 chiefs in the North; 
 
 There are wild Duniewassals "^^ three thou- 
 sand times three, 
 
 Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny 
 Dundee. 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 "There's brass on the target of barkened^^ 
 
 bull-hide ; 
 There's steel in the scabbard that dangles 
 
 beside ; 
 
 Men 
 
 Kilmarnock 
 
 9 cowh of Kilmarnock. 
 cowls, — Presbyterians. 
 
 10 gullies. Knives. 
 
 11 close-heads. Blind alleys. 
 
 12 Mons Meg. A cannon, 
 i.^ marrows. Mates. 
 
 14 Montrose had supported Charles I. and been 
 executed by the Covenanters in iftso. 
 
 15 Uuniewassals. Gentlemen of low degree. 
 
 16 barkened. Bark-tanned.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 n 
 
 The brass shall be burnished, the steel 
 shall flash free, 39 
 
 At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 "Away to the hills, to the caves, to the 
 
 rocks — 
 Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the 
 
 fox; 
 And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of 
 
 your glee, 
 You have not seen the last of my bonnet 
 
 and me !" 
 Come fill up my cup, etc. 
 
 He waved his proud hand and the trum- 
 pets were blown. 
 The kettle-drums clashed and the horse- 
 men rode on, 
 Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermi- 
 
 ston's lea 
 Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny 
 Dundee. 
 Come fill up my cup, come fill up my 
 
 can. 
 Come saddle the horses and call up the 
 men, 50 
 
 Come open your gates and let me gae 
 
 free. 
 For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny 
 Dundee ! 
 
 (1830) 
 
 THE SILENT TOWER OF 
 BOTTREAU 
 
 ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER 
 
 [Ttntadgel (more commonly written Tintagel) 
 is on the coast of Cornwall. Here Hawker found 
 a church-tower without bells. "On enquiry I 
 was told that the bells were once shipped for 
 this church, but that when the vessel was within 
 sight of the tower the blasphemy of her captain 
 was punished in the manner related in the 
 poem."] 
 
 Tintadgel bells ring o'er the tide, 
 The boy leans on his vessel side; 
 He hears that sound, and dreams of home 
 Soothe the wild orphan of the foam. 
 "Come to thy God in time!" 
 Thus saith their pealing chime : 
 Youth, manhood, old age past, 
 "Come to thy God at last." 
 
 But why are Bottreau's echoes still? 
 
 Her tower stands proudly on the hill ; 10 
 
 Yet the strange chough that home hath 
 
 found, 
 The lamb lies sleeping on the ground. 
 
 "Come to thy God in time !" 
 
 Should be her answering chime : 
 
 "Come to thy God at last 1" 
 
 Should echo on the blast. 
 
 The ship rode down with courses free, 
 The daughter of a distant sea : 
 Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored. 
 The merry Bottreau bells on board. 20 
 
 "Come to thy God in time!" 
 
 Rung out Tintadgel chime; 
 
 Youth, manhood, old age past, 
 
 "Come to thy God at last !" 
 
 The pilot heard his native bells 
 Hang on the breeze in fitful swells ; 
 "Thank God," with reverent brow he cried, 
 "We make the shore with evening's tide." 
 
 "Come to thy God in time !" 
 
 It was his marriage chime : 30 
 
 Youth, manhood, old age past, 
 
 His bell must ring at last. 
 
 "Thank God, thou whining knave, on land. 
 But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand," 
 The captain's voice above the gale : 
 "Thank the good ship and ready sail." 
 
 "Come to thy God in time!" 
 
 Sad grew the boding chime : 
 
 "Come to thy God at last !" 
 
 Boomed heavy on the blast. 40 
 
 Uprose that sea! as if it heard 
 The mighty Master's signal-word : 
 What thrills the captain's whitening lip? 
 The death-groans of his sinking ship. 
 
 "Come to thy God in time!" 
 
 Swung deep the funeral chime : 
 
 Grace, mercy, kindness past, 
 
 "Come to thy God at last !" 
 
 Long did the rescued pilot tell — 
 When gray hairs o'er his forehead fell, 50 
 While those around would hear and 
 
 weep — 
 That fearful judgment of the deep. 
 
 "Come to thy God in time !" 
 
 He read his native chime: 
 
 Youth, manhood, old age past, 
 
 His bell rung out at last.
 
 74 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Still when the storm of Bottreau's waves 
 Is wakening in his weedy caves, 
 Those bells, that sullen surges hide. 
 Peal their deep notes beneath the tide : 60 
 
 "Come to thy God in time!" 
 
 Thus saith the ocean chime : 
 
 Storm, billow, whirlwind past, 
 
 "Come to thy God at last !" 
 
 (1831) 
 
 THE LADY OF SHALOTT 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [This poem is a kind of symbolic version of 
 the story of Lancelot and Elaine (see page 160). 
 In both versions Sir Lancelot is represented as 
 unconsciously awakening the maiden out of the 
 dream-life of her younger days, her love for him 
 proving a curse because unrequited. With ref- 
 erence to the closing lines of Part II, Tennyson 
 said: "The new-born love for something, for 
 someone in the wide world from which she has 
 been so long secluded, takes her out of the 
 region of shadows into that of realities."] 
 
 PART I 
 
 On either side the river lie 
 Long fields of barley and of rye, 
 That clothe the wold ^ and meet the sky ; 
 And thro' the field the road runs by 
 
 To many-tower'd Camelot ; 
 And up and down the people go. 
 Gazing where the lilies blow 
 Round an island there below. 
 
 The island of Shalott. 
 
 Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 10 
 
 Little breezes dusk and shiver 
 Thro' the wave that runs for ever 
 By the island in the river 
 
 Flowing down to Camelot. 
 Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 
 Overlook a space of flowers, 
 And the silent isle imbowers 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 By the margin, willow-veil'd, 
 
 Slide the heavy barges trail'd 20 
 
 By slow horses; and unhail'd 
 
 The shallop fiitteth silken-sail'd 
 
 Skimming down to Camelot; 
 But who hath seen her wave her hand? 
 Or at the casement seen her stand? 
 Or is she known in all the land, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott? 
 I wold. Down (tract of rolling land). 
 
 Only reapers, reaping* early 
 
 In among the bearded barley, 
 
 Hear a song that echoes cheerly 30 
 
 From the river winding clearly, 
 
 Down to tower'd Camelot; 
 And by moon the reaper weary, 
 Piling sheaves in uplands airy, 
 Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy 
 
 Lady of Shalott." 
 
 PART II 
 
 There she weaves by night and day 
 
 A magic web with colors gay. 
 
 She has heard a whisper say, 
 
 A curse is on her if she stay 2 40 
 
 To look down to Camelot. 
 She knows not what the curse may be. 
 And so she weaveth steadily, 
 And little other care hath she, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 And moving thro' a mirror clear 
 That hangs before her all the year, 
 Shadows of the world appear. 
 There she sees the highway near 
 
 Winding down to Camelot; 50 
 There the river eddy whirls, 
 And there the surly village-churls, 
 And the red cloaks of market girls, 
 
 Pass onward from Shalott. 
 
 Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. 
 An abbot on an ambling pad,^ 
 Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, 
 Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, 
 
 Goes by to tower'd Camelot; 
 And sometimes thro' the mirror blue 60 
 The knights come riding two and two: 
 She hath no loyal knight and true. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 But in her web she still delights 
 To weave the mirror's magic sights. 
 For often thro' the silent nights 
 A funeral, with plumes and lights 
 
 And music, went to Camelot; 
 Or when the moon was overhead. 
 Came two young lovers lately wed : 70 
 "I am half sick of shadows," said 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 PART III 
 
 A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, 
 He rode between the barley-sheaves, 
 
 2 stay. Stop. 
 
 3 pad. Road-horse.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 75 
 
 The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, 
 And flamed upon the brazen greaves 
 
 Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
 A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd 
 To a lady in his shield, 
 That sparkled on the yellovir field, 80 
 
 Beside remote Shalott. 
 
 The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, 
 Like to some branch of stars we see 
 Hung in the golden Galaxy.i 
 The bridle bells rang merrily 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot ; 
 And from his blazon'd baldric^ slung 
 A mighty silver bugle hung. 
 And as he rode his armor rung. 
 
 Beside remote Shalott. 90 
 
 All in the blue unclouded weather 
 Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, 
 The helmet and the helmet-feather 
 Burn'd like one burning flame together. 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot; 
 As often thro' the purple night. 
 Below the starry clusters bright. 
 Some bearded^ meteor, trailing light. 
 
 Moves over still Shalott. 99 
 
 His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; 
 On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; 
 From underneath his helmet flow'd 
 His coal-black curls as on he rode, 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot. 
 From the bank and from the river 
 He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 
 "Tirra lirra," by the river 
 
 Sang Sir Lancelot. 
 
 She left the web, she left the loom, 
 She made three paces thro' the room, 110 
 She saw the water-lily bloom. 
 She saw the helmet and the plume. 
 
 She look'd down to Camelot. 
 Out flew the web and floated wide; 
 The mirror crack'd from side to side; 
 "The curse is come upon me," cried 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 PART IV 
 
 In the stormy east-wind straining. 
 The pale yellow woods were waning. 
 The broad stream in his banks complain- 
 ing, 120 
 Heavily the low sky raining 
 Over tower'd Camelot; 
 
 1 ?oM«n Galaxy. Milky Way. 
 
 2 baldric. Belt. 
 
 i bearded. Having a tail or trail. 
 
 Down she came and found a boat 
 Beneath a willow left afloat. 
 And round about the prow she wrote 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 And down the river's dim expanse 
 Like some bold seer in a trance, 
 Seeing all his own mischance — 
 With a glassy countenance 130 
 
 Did she look to Camelot. 
 And at the closing of the day 
 She loosed the chain, and down she lay; 
 The broad stream bore her far away. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Lying, robed in snowy white 
 That loosely flew to left and right — 
 The leaves upon her falling light — 
 Thro' the noises of the night 
 
 She floated down to Camelot; 140 
 And as the boat-head wound along 
 The willowy hills and fields among, 
 They heard her singing her last song, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Heard a carol, mournful, holy, 
 Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, 
 Till her blood was frozen slowly 
 And her eyes were darken'd wholly 
 
 Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. 
 For ere she reach'd upon the tide 150 
 The first house by the water-side. 
 Singing in her song she died, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Under tower and balcony, 
 
 By garden-wall and gallery, 
 
 A gleaming shape she floated by, 
 
 Dead-pale between the houses high. 
 
 Silent into Camelot. 
 Out upon the wharfs they came. 
 Knight and burgher, lord and dame, 160 
 And round the prow they read her name. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Who is this? and what is here? 
 And in the lighted palace near 
 Died the sound of royal cheer, 
 And they cross'd themselves for fear, 
 
 All the knights at Camelot : 
 But Lancelot mused a little space ; 
 He said, "She has a lovely face; 
 God in his mercy lend her grace, 170 
 
 The Lady of Shalott." 
 
 (1832)
 
 76 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE LAST BUCCANEER 
 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY 
 
 The winds were yelling, the waves were 
 swelh'ng, 
 The sky was black and drear, 
 When the crew with eyes of flame brought 
 the ship without a name 
 Alongside the last Buccaneer.i 
 
 "Whence flies your sloop full sail before 
 
 so fierce a gale. 
 
 When all others drive bare on the seas? 
 
 Say, come ye from the shore of the holy 
 
 Salvador,2 
 
 Or the Gulf of the rich Caribbees?"^ 
 
 "From a shore no search hath found, 
 from a gulf no line can sound, 
 Without rudder or needle we steer ; lo 
 Above, below our bark, dies the sea- fowl 
 and the shark. 
 As we fly by the last Buccaneer. 
 
 "To-night there shall be heard on the 
 rocks of Cape de Verde, 
 A loud crash, and a louder roar ; 
 And to-morrow shall the deep, with a 
 heavy moaning, sweep 
 The corpses and wreck to the shore." 
 
 The stately ship of Clyde* securely now 
 may ride. 
 In the breath of the citron shades ; 
 And Severn's* towering mast securely 
 now flies fast, 19 
 
 Through the sea of the balmy Trades. 
 
 From St. Jago's worthy port, from 
 Havana's royal fort. 
 The seaman goes forth without fear; 
 For since that stormy night not a mortal 
 hath had sight 
 Of the flag of the last Buccaneer. 
 
 (1839) 
 
 1 Buccaneer. One of the pirate ships engaged in 
 preying on American commerce in the seventeenth 
 century. 
 
 2 the holy Salvador. San Salvador. 
 
 3 The Caribbean Sea. 
 
 4 Clyde . . . Severn, Rivers famous for their 
 shipyards. 
 
 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS 
 
 RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM 
 
 The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair ! 
 Bishop and abbot and prior were there ; 
 Many a monk, and many a friar. 
 Many a knight, and many a squire, 
 With a great many more of lesser de- 
 gree- 
 In sooth a goodly company ; 
 And they served the Lord Primate on 
 bended knee. 
 Never, I ween, was a prouder seen. 
 Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, 
 Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of 
 Rheims ! 10 
 
 In and out, through the motley rout, 
 That little Jackdaw kept hopping about ; 
 Here and there, like a dog in a fair. 
 Over comfits^ and cates,^ and dishes 
 and plates. 
 Cowl and cope, and rochet^ and pall, 
 Mitre and crosier — he hopped upon all ! 
 
 With saucy air he perched on the chair 
 Where in state the great Lord Cardinal 
 
 sat 
 In the great Lord Cardinal's great red 
 hat ; 
 And he peered in the face of his Lord- 
 ship's Grace, 20 
 With a satisfied look, as if he would say, 
 "We two are the greatest folks here to- 
 day!" 
 And the priests, with awe, as such 
 freaks they saw. 
 Said "The devil must be that little Jack- 
 daw 1" 
 
 The feast was over, the board was cleared. 
 
 The flawns* and the custards had all dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 And six little singing-boys, — dear little 
 souls ! 
 
 In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, 
 Came in order due, two by two, 29 
 
 Marching that grand refectory through ! 
 
 A nice little boy held a golden ewer. 
 
 Embossed, and filled with water as pure 
 
 As any that flows between Rheims and 
 Namur. 
 
 Which a nice little boy stood ready to 
 catch 
 
 In a fine golden hand-basin made to 
 match. 
 
 I comfits. Preserves. 2 cates. Delicacies. 
 
 3 rochet. A bishop's vestment. 
 
 4 flawn. A kind of custard pie.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 77 
 
 Two nice little boys, rather more grown, 
 Carried lavender water and eau de 
 
 Cologne; 
 And a nice little boy had a nice cake of 
 
 soap, 
 Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope. 
 One little boy more a napkin bore, 40 
 Of the best white diaper, fringed with 
 
 pink. 
 And a cardinal's hat marked in permanent 
 
 ink. 
 
 The great Lord Cardinal turns at the 
 
 sight 
 Of these nice little boys dressed all in 
 
 white : 
 From his finger he draws his costly 
 
 turquoise. 
 And, not thinking at all about little jack- 
 daws. 
 Deposits it straight by the side of his 
 
 plate, 
 While the nice little boys on his Eminence 
 
 wait; 
 Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such 
 
 thing, 49 
 
 That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring ! 
 
 There's a cry and a shout, and a deuce 
 of a rout, 
 And nobody seems to know what they're 
 
 about. 
 But the monks have their pockets all 
 turned inside out; 
 The friars are kneeling, and hunting, 
 and feeling 
 The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and 
 the ceiling. 
 The Cardinal drew off each plum-colored 
 shoe, 
 And left his red stockings exposed to the 
 view; 
 He peeps, and he feels in the toes and 
 the heels ; 
 They turn up the dishes — they turn up the 
 
 plates — 
 They take up the poker and poke out the 
 grates — 60 
 
 They turn up the rugs — they examine 
 
 the mugs, — 
 But no ! — no such thing, — they can't find 
 THE RING! 
 And the Abbot declared that, "when no- 
 body twigged ^ it, 
 Some rascal or other had popped in and 
 prigged 2 it !" 
 
 r twigged. Noticed. 
 2 prigged. Stolen. 
 
 The Cardinal rose with a dignified look. 
 He called for his candle, his bell, and his 
 
 book ! 
 In holy anger, and pious grief, 
 He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! 
 He cursed him at board, he cursed him 
 
 in bed; 
 From the sole of his foot to the crown 
 
 of his head; 70 
 
 He cursed him in sleeping, that every 
 
 night 
 He should dream of the devil, and wake 
 
 in a fright ; 
 He cursed him in eating, he cursed him 
 
 in drinking. 
 He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, 
 
 in winking; 
 He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in 
 
 lying; 
 He cursed him in walking, in riding, in 
 
 flying. 
 He cursed him living, he cursed him dy- 
 ing! 
 Never was heard such a terrible curse; 
 
 But, what gave rise to no little surprise. 
 Nobody seemed one penny the worse ! 80 
 
 The day was gone, the night came on. 
 The monks and the friars they searched 
 till dawn. 
 When the sacristan saw, on crumpled 
 claw, 
 Come "limping a poor little lame Jackdaw. 
 
 No longer gay as on yesterday. 
 His feathers all seemed to be turned the 
 
 wrong way, — 
 His pinions drooped — he could hardly 
 
 stand — 
 His head was as bald as the palm of your 
 hand; 
 His eye so dim, so wasted each limb. 
 That, heedless of grammar, they all cried 
 "That's HIM! 90 
 
 That's the scamp that has done this scan- 
 dalous thing! 
 That's the thief that has got my Lord 
 Cardinal's ring!" 
 The poor little Jackdaw, when the 
 monks he saw, 
 Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw, 
 And turned his bald head, as much as to 
 
 say, 
 "Pray be so good as to walk this way !" 
 Slower and slower he limped on before, 
 Till they came to the back of the belfry 
 door,
 
 78 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Where the first thing they saw, midst the 
 sticks and the straw, 
 Was the RING in the nest of that little 
 Jackdaw ! loo 
 
 Then the great Lord Cardinal called for 
 his book, 
 
 And off that terrible curse he took; 
 The mute expression served in lieu of 
 confession, 
 
 And, being thus coupled with full restitu- 
 tion, 
 
 The Jackdaw got plenary absolution ! 
 When those words were heard, that poor 
 little bird 
 
 Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really 
 absurd : 
 He grew sleek and fat, — in addition to 
 that, 
 
 A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a 
 mat! 
 His tail waggled more even than be- 
 fore; . no 
 
 But no longer it wagged with an impudent 
 air. 
 
 No longer he perched on the Cardinal's 
 chair. 
 He now hopped about with a gait de- 
 vout ; 
 
 At matins, at vespers, he never was out; 
 
 And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, 
 
 He always seemed telling the Confessor's 
 beads. 
 If any one lied, or if any one swore, 
 
 Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened 
 to snore, 
 That good Jackdaw would give a great 
 "Caw !" 
 
 As much as to say, "Don't do so any 
 more !" 120 
 
 While many remarked, as his manners 
 they saw, 
 
 That they never had known such a pious 
 Jackdaw. 
 He long lived the pride of that country- 
 side, . 
 
 And at last in the odor of sanctity died; 
 When, as words were too faint his mer- 
 its to paint, 
 
 The Conclave determined to make him a 
 saint ; 
 
 And on newly made saints and Popes, as 
 you know. 
 
 It's the custom at Rome new names to be- 
 stow, — 
 
 So they canonized him by the name of 
 Jim Crow! 
 
 (1840) 
 
 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 [This poem was suggested to Longfellow by 
 the discovery of an ancient skeleton in armor, 
 unearthed at Fall River. Massachusetts, in 1839, 
 in connection with the Round Tower" at New- 
 port (see line 134), which was supposed to be a 
 relic of early Norse settlements in America.] 
 
 "Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! 
 Who, with thy hollow breast 
 Still in rude armor dressed, 
 
 Comest to daunt me! 
 Wrapped not in eastern balms. 
 But with thy fleshless palms 
 Stretched, as if asking alms, 
 
 Why dost thou haunt me?" 
 
 Then from those cavernous eyes 
 
 Pale flashes seemed to rise, lo 
 
 As when the northern skies 
 
 Gleam in December ;i 
 And, like the water's flow 
 Under December's snow, 
 Came a dull voice of woe 
 
 From the heart's chamber. 
 
 "I was a Viking old ! 
 
 My deeds, though manifold. 
 
 No Skald 2 in song has told, 
 
 No saga taught thee ! 20 
 
 Take heed that in thy verse 
 Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
 Else dread a dead man's curse; 
 
 For this I sought thee. 
 
 "Far in the Northern Land, 
 By the wild Baltic's strand, 
 I, with my childish hand, 
 
 Tamed the gerfalcon ;3 
 And, with my skates fast found. 
 Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 30 
 
 That the poor whimpering hound 
 
 Trembled to walk on. 
 
 "Oft to his frozen lair 
 Tracked I the grisly bear, 
 While from my path the hare 
 
 Fled like a shadow ; 
 Oft through the forest dark 
 Followed the were-wolf's * bark. 
 Until the soaring lark 
 
 Sang from the meadow. 40 
 
 1 The aurora borealis. 
 
 2 Skald. Poet. 
 
 3 gerfalcon. Large Arctic falcon. 
 
 4 were-wolf. A wolf incorporating the soul of a 
 man.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 79 
 
 "But when I older grew, 
 Joining a corsair's crew, 
 O'er the dark sea I flew 
 
 With the marauders. 
 Wild was the hfe we led; 
 Many the souls that sped, 
 Many the hearts that bled. 
 
 By our stern orders. 
 
 "Many a wassail-bout * 
 
 Wore the long winter out; 50 
 
 Often our midnight shout 
 
 Set the cocks crowing, 
 As we the Berserk's 2 tale * 
 Measured in cups of ale. 
 Draining the oaken pail 
 
 Filled to o'erflowing. 
 
 "Once as I told in glee 
 Tales of the stormy sea. 
 Soft eyes did gaze on me, 
 
 Burning yet tender; 60 
 
 And as the white stars shine 
 On the dark Norway pine, 
 On that dark heart of mine 
 
 Fell their soft splendor. 
 
 "I wooed the blue-eyed maid. 
 Yielding, yet half afraid, 
 And in the forest's shade 
 
 Our vows were plighted. 
 Under its loosened vest 
 P'luttered her little breast, fO 
 
 Like birds within their nest 
 
 By the hawk frighted. 
 
 "Bright in her father's hall 
 Shields gleamed upon the wall. 
 Loud sang the minstrels all, 
 
 Chanting his glory; 
 When of old Hildebrand 
 I asked his daughter's hand. 
 Mute did the minstrels stand 
 
 To hear my story. 80 
 
 "While the brown ale he quaffed, 
 Loud then the champion laughed, 
 And as the wind-gusts waft 
 
 The sea-foam brightly, 
 So the loud laugh of scorn, 
 Out of those lips unshorn, 
 From the deep drinking-horn 
 
 Blew the foam lightly. 
 
 1 wassail-bout. Drinking feast. 
 
 2 Berserk. Wild warrior. 
 
 3 tale. Portion. 
 
 "She was a prince's child, 
 
 I but a Viking wild, 90 
 
 And though she blushed and smiled, 
 
 I was discarded! 
 Should not the dove so white 
 Follow the sea-mew's flight? 
 Why did they leave that night 
 
 Her nest unguarded? 
 
 "Scarce had I put to sea. 
 Bearing the maid with me, — 
 Fairest of all was she 
 
 Among the Norsemen ! — 100 
 
 When on the white sea-strand, 
 Waving his armed hand. 
 Saw we old Hildebrand, 
 
 With twenty horsemen. 
 
 "Then launched they to the blast, 
 Bent like a reed each mast, 
 Yet we were gaining fast. 
 
 When the wind failed us ; 
 And with a sudden flaw 
 Came round the gusty Skaw,* no 
 
 So that our foe we saw 
 
 Laugh as he hailed us. 
 
 "And as to catch the gale 
 Round veered the flapping sail, 
 'Death !' was the helmsman's hail, 
 
 'Death without quarter!' 
 Midships with iron keel 
 Struck we her ribs of steel; 
 Down her black hulk did reel 
 
 Through the black water! 120 
 
 "As with his wings aslant. 
 Sails the fierce cormorant. 
 Seeking some rocky haunt, 
 
 With his prey laden, 
 So toward the open main. 
 Beating to sea again, 
 Through the wild hurricane. 
 
 Bore I the maiden. 
 
 "Three weeks we westward bore, 
 
 And when the storm was o'er, 130 
 
 Cloud-like we saw the shore 
 
 Stretching to leeward ; 
 There for my lady's bower 
 Built I the lofty tower. 
 Which, to this very hour. 
 
 Stands looking seaward. 
 
 "There lived we many years; 
 Time dried the maiden's tears; 
 She had forgot her fears. 
 
 She was a mother. 140 
 
 4 Skaw. A Jutland cape.
 
 80 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Death closed her mild blue eyes ; 
 Under that tower she lies; 
 Ne'er shall the sun arise 
 On such another, 
 
 "Still grew my bosom then. 
 Still as a stagnant fen ! 
 Hateful to me were men, 
 
 The sunlight hateful! 
 In the vast forest here, 
 Clad in my warlike gear, 
 Fell I upon my spear; 
 
 Oh, death was grateful! 
 
 "Thus, seamed with many scars. 
 Bursting these prison bars. 
 Up to its native stars 
 
 My soul ascended ! 
 There from the flowing bowl 
 Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
 Skoal!^ to the Northland! skoal!' 
 
 Thus the tale ended. 
 
 ISO 
 
 l6o 
 
 (1841) 
 
 HORATIUS 
 
 A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY 
 CCCLX 
 
 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY 
 
 [Macaulay supposes this poem to be a popular 
 ballad among the Romans, written about 390 B.C., 
 but dealing with events of about 510 B.C. At 
 that period Rome was a city ruling but a few 
 square miles of territory, and the Etruscan do- 
 minions of Lars Porsena were of much greater 
 extent. The Tarquin kings had been expelled 
 from Rome after Sextus, the son of Tarquinius 
 Superbus, had insulted and assaulted the matron 
 Lucretia; Lars Porsena then gathered an army 
 with the intention of forcing the Tarquins upon 
 the city again.] 
 
 Lars Porsena of Clusium 
 
 By the Nine Gods he swore 
 That the great house of Tarquin 
 
 Should suffer wrong no more. 
 By the Nine Gods he swore it, 
 
 And named a trysting day, 
 And bade his messengers ride forth. 
 East and west and south and north, 
 
 To summon his array. 
 
 East and west and south and north 10 
 
 The messengers ride fast, 
 And tower and town and cottage 
 
 Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
 
 I Sknal! Hail I (The Icelandic salutation when 
 abealth is pledged.) 
 
 Shame on the false Etruscan 
 
 Who lingers in his home, 
 When Porsena of Clusium 
 
 Is on the march for Rome. 
 
 The horsemen and the footmen 
 
 Are pouring in amain 
 From many a stately market-place, 20 
 
 From many a fruitful plain; 
 From many a lonely hamlet, 
 
 Which, hid by beech and pine, 
 Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest 
 
 Of purple Apennine; 
 
 From lordly Volaterrae, 
 
 Where scowls the far-famed hold 
 Piled by the hands of giants 
 
 For godlike kings of old; 
 From seagirt Populonia, 30 
 
 Whose sentinels descry 
 Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops 
 
 Fringing the southern sky; 
 
 From the proud mart of Pisae, 
 
 Queen of the western waves, 
 Where ride Massilia's triremes 
 
 Heavy with fair-haired slaves ; 
 From where sweet Clanis wanders 
 
 Through corn and vines and flowers; 
 From where Cortona lifts to heaven 40 
 
 Her diadem of towers. 
 
 Tall are the oaks whose acorns 
 
 Drop in Dark Auser's rill; 
 Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 
 
 Of the Ciminian hill ; 
 Beyond all streams Clitumnus 
 
 Is to the herdsman dear; 
 Best of all pools the fowler loves 
 
 The great Volsinian mere. 
 
 But now no stroke of woodman 
 
 Is heard by Auser's rill ; 50 
 
 No hunter tracks the stag's g^een path 
 
 Up the Ciminian hill; 
 Unwatched along Clitumnus 
 
 Grazes the milk-white steer; 
 Unharmed the water-fowl may dip 
 
 In the Volsinian mere. 
 
 The harvests of Arretium 
 
 This year old men shall reap; 
 This year, young boys in Umbro 
 
 Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 60 
 And in the vats of Luna 
 
 This year the must shall foam 
 Round the white feet of laughing girls 
 
 Whose sires have marched to Rome.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 81 
 
 There be thirty chosen prophets, 
 
 The wisest of the land, 
 Who alway by Lars Porsena 
 
 Both morn and evening stand; 
 Evening and morn the Thirty 
 
 Have turned the verses o'er, _ 70 
 Traced from the right on linen white 
 
 By mighty seers of yore. 
 
 And droves of mules and asses 
 
 Laden with skins of wine, 
 And endless flocks of goats and sheep. 
 
 And endless herds of kine, 
 And endless trains of wagons 
 
 That creaked beneath the weight 
 Of corn-sacks and of household goods, 
 
 Choked every roaring gate. 120 
 
 And with one voice the Thirty 
 Have their glad answer given : 
 
 "Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; 
 Go forth, beloved of Heaven; 
 
 Go, and return in glory 
 To Clusium's royal dome, 
 
 And hang round Nurscia's ^ altars 
 The golden shields of Rome." 
 
 80 
 
 Now from the rock Tarpeian 
 
 Could the wan burghers spy 
 The line of blazing villages 
 
 Red in the midnight sky. 
 The Fathers of the City, 
 
 They sat all night and day, 
 For every hour some horseman came 
 
 With tidings of dismay. 
 
 And now hath every city 
 
 Sent up her tale of men; 
 The foot are fourscore thousand, 
 
 The horse are thousands ten. 
 Before the gates of Sutrium 2 
 
 Is met the great array. 
 A proud man was Lars Porsena 
 
 Upon the trysting day. 
 
 To eastward and to westward 
 
 Have spread the Tuscan bands ; 
 Nor house nor fence nor dovecote 
 
 In Crustumerium stands. 
 Verbenna down to Ostia 
 
 Hath wasted all the plain ; 
 Astur hath stormed Janiculum, _ 
 
 And the stout guards are slain. 
 
 130 
 
 For all the Etruscan armies 
 
 Were ranged beneath his eye, 
 And many a banished Roman, 
 
 And many a stout ally ; 
 And with a mighty following 
 
 To join the muster came 
 The Tusculan Mamilius, 
 
 Prince of the Latian name. 
 
 I wis,3 in all the Senate, 
 90 There was no heart so bold. 
 
 But sore it ached, and fast it beat. 
 
 When that ill news was told. 140 
 
 Forthwith up rose the Consul, 
 
 Up rose the Fathers all ; 
 In haste they girded up their gowns, 
 
 And hied them to the wall. 
 
 But by the yellow Tiber 
 
 Was tumult and affright : 
 From all the spacious champaign 
 
 To Rome men took their flight. lOO 
 
 A mile around the city 
 
 The throng stopped up the ways ; 
 A fearful sight it was to see 
 
 Through two long nights and days. 
 
 For aged folks on crutches. 
 
 And women great with child, 
 And mothers sobbing over babes 
 
 That clung to them and smiled. 
 And sick men borne in litters 
 
 High on the necks of slaves, HO 
 
 And troops of sunburned husbandmen 
 
 W^ith reaping-hooks and staves, 
 
 1 Nurscia. The goddess of fortune. 
 
 2 Sutrium. Forty miles from Rome, command- 
 ing the road into Etruria. 
 
 They held a council standing 
 
 Before the River Gate; 
 Short time was there, ye well may guess, 
 
 For musing or debate. 
 Out spake the Consul roundly : 
 
 "The bridge must straight go down ; 
 For, since Janiculum is lost, 151 
 
 Nought else can save the town." 
 
 Just then a scout came flying. 
 
 All wild with haste and fear: 
 "To arms! to arms! Sir Consul; 
 
 Lars Porsena is here." 
 On the low hills to westward 
 
 The Consul fixed his eye, 
 And saw the swarthy storm of dust 
 
 Rise fast along the sky. 160 
 
 3 / uis. Properly one word, meaning surety, but 
 often understood to pi?an "I know."
 
 82 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And nearer fast, and nearer, 
 
 Doth the red whirlwind come; 
 And louder still, and still more loud, 
 From underneath that rolling cloud, 
 Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, 
 
 The trampling, and the hum. 
 And plainly and more plainly 
 
 Now through the gloom appears, 
 Far to left and far to right. 
 In broken gleams of dark-blue light, 170 
 The long array of helmets bright, 
 
 The long array of spears. 
 
 And plainly and more plainly. 
 
 Above that glimmering line. 
 Now might ye see the banners 
 
 Of twelve fair cities shine; 
 But the banner of proud Clusium 
 
 Was highest of them all, 
 The terror of the Umbrian, 
 
 The terror of the Gaul. 180 
 
 And plainly and more plainly 
 
 Now might the burghers know, 
 By port and vest, by horse and crest, 
 
 Each warlike Lucumo.i 
 There Cilnius of Arretium 
 
 On his fleet roan was seen ; ^ 
 And Astur of the fourfold shield. 
 Girt with the brand^ none else may wield, 
 Tolumnius with the belt of gold, 
 And dark Verbenna from the hold 190 
 
 By reedy Thrasymene. 
 
 Fast by the royal standard, 
 
 O'erlooking all the war, 
 Lars Porsena of Clusium 
 
 Sat in his ivory car. 
 By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 
 
 Prince of the Latian name; 
 And by the left false Sextus, 
 
 That wrought the deed of shame. 
 
 But when the face of Sextus 
 
 Was seen among the foes, 200 
 
 A yell that rent the firmament 
 
 From all the town arose. 
 On the house-tops was no woman 
 
 But spat towards him and hissed, 
 No child but screamed out curses 
 
 And shook its little fist. 
 
 But the Consul's brow was sad. 
 And the Consul's speech was low, 
 
 And darkly looked he at the wall, 210 
 
 And darkly at the foe. 
 
 1 Lucumo. Etruscan chief. 
 
 2 brand. Sword. 
 
 "Their van will be upon us 
 Before the bridge goes down ; ^ 
 
 And if they once may win the bridge, 
 What hope to save the town?" 
 
 Then out spake brave Horatius, 
 
 The Captain of the Gate: 
 "To every man upon this earth 
 
 Death cometh soon or late. 
 And how can man die better 220 
 
 Than facing fearful odds, 
 For the ashes of his fathers 
 
 And the temples of his Gods, 
 
 "And for the tender mother 
 
 Who dandled him to rest, 
 And for the wife who nurses 
 
 His baby at her breast, 
 And for the holy maidens 
 
 Who feed the eternal flame, 
 To save them from false Sextus 230 
 
 That wrought the deed of shame? 
 
 "Hew down the bridge. Sir Consul, 
 
 With all the speed ye may; 
 I, with two more to help me, 
 
 Will hold the foe in play. 
 In yon strait^ path a thousand 
 
 May well be stopped by three. 
 Now who will stand on either hand. 
 
 And keep the bridge with me?" 
 
 Then out spake Spurius Lartius; 240 
 
 A Ramnian proud was he : 
 "Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 And out spake strong Herminius; 
 
 Of Titian blood was he: 
 "I will abide on thy left side. 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 
 "Horatius," quoth the Consul, 250 
 
 "As thou sayest, so let it be." 
 And straight against that great array 
 
 Forth went the dauntless Three. 
 For Romans in Rome's quarrel 
 
 Spared neither land nor gold. 
 Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 Then none was for party ; 
 
 Then all were for the state ; 
 Then the great man helped tlie poor, 260 
 
 And the poor man loved the great: 
 Then lands were fairly portioned; 
 
 Then spoils were fairly sold ; 
 The Romans were like brothers 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 3 strait. Narrow
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 83 
 
 Now Roman is to Roman 
 
 More hateful than a foe; 
 And the Tribunes beard the high, 
 
 And the Fathers grind the low. 
 As we wax hot in faction, 270 
 
 In battle we wax cold: 
 Wherefore men fight not as they fought 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 Now while the Three were tightening 
 
 Their harness on their backs, 
 The Consul was the foremost man 
 
 To take in hand an axe; 
 And Fathers mixed with Commons 
 
 Seized hatchet, bar, and crow. 
 And smote upon the planks above, 280 
 
 And loosed the props below. 
 
 Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 
 
 Right glorious to behold. 
 Came flashing back the noonday light, 
 Rank behind rank, like surges bright 
 
 Of a broad sea of gold. 
 Four hundred trumpets sounded 
 
 A peal of warlike glee. 
 As that great host, with measured tread, 
 And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
 Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, 
 
 Where stood the dauntless Three. 292 
 
 The Three stood calm and silent, 
 
 And looked upon the foes. 
 And a great shout of laughter 
 
 From all the vanguard rose; 
 And forth three chiefs came spurring 
 
 Before that deep array ; 
 To earth they sprang, their swords they 
 
 drew. 
 And lifted high their shields, and flew 300 
 
 To win the narrow way : 
 
 Annus from green Tifernum, 
 
 Lord of the Hill of Vines; 
 And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves 
 
 Sicken in Ilva's mines ; 
 And Picus, long to Ciusium 
 
 Vassal in peace and war. 
 Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
 From that grey crag where, girt with tow- 
 ers. 
 The fortress of Nequinum lowers 310 
 
 O'er the pale waves of Nar. 
 
 Stout Lartius hurled down Annus 
 
 Into the stream beneath ; 
 Herminius struck at Seius, 
 
 And clove him to the teeth ; 
 
 At Picus brave Horatius 
 
 Darted one fiery thrust. 
 And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 
 
 Clashed in the bloody dust. 
 
 Then Ocnus of Falerii 320 
 
 Rushed on the Roman Three; 
 And Lausulus of Urgo, 
 
 The rover of the sea; 
 And Aruns of Volsinium, 
 
 Who slew the great wild boar, 
 The great wild boar that had his den 
 Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, 
 And wasted fields and slaughtered men 
 
 Along Albinia's shore. 
 
 Herminius smote down Aruns; 330 
 
 Lartius laid Ocnus low ; 
 Right to the heart of Lausulus 
 
 Horatius sent a blow. 
 "Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate ! 
 
 No more, aghast and pale. 
 From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark 
 The track of thy destroying bark. 
 No more Campania's hinds shall fly 
 To woods and caverns when they spy 
 
 Thy thrice accursed sail." 340 
 
 But now no sound of laughter 
 
 Was heard among the foes. 
 A wild and wrathful clamor 
 
 From all the vanguard rose. 
 Six spears' length from the entrance 
 
 Halted that deep array. 
 And for a space no man came forth 
 
 To win the narrow way. 
 
 But hark! the cry is Astur; 
 
 And lo ! the ranks divide; 350 
 
 And the great Lord of Luna 
 
 Comes with his stately stride. 
 Upon his ample shoulders 
 
 Clangs loud the fourfold shield. 
 And in his hand he shakes the brand 
 
 Which none but he can wield. 
 
 He smiled on those bold Romans 
 
 A smile serene and high; 
 He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 
 
 And scorn was in his eye. 360 
 
 Quoth he, "The she-wolf's litter* 
 
 Stand savagely at bay ; 
 But will ye dare to follow, 
 
 If Astur clears the way?" 
 
 I Alluding to the legend of the nursing of Romu- 
 lus and Remus by a wolf.
 
 84 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Then, whirling up his broadsword 
 
 With both hands to the height, 
 He rushed against Horatius, 
 
 And smote with all his might. 
 With shield and blade Horatius 
 
 Right deftly turned the blow. 370 
 
 The blow, though turned, came yet too 
 
 nigh; 
 It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh: 
 The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 
 
 To see the red blood flow. 
 
 He reeled, and on Herminius 
 
 He leaned one breathing-space ; 
 Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds. 
 
 Sprang right at Astur's face. 
 Through teeth, and skull, and helmet 
 
 So fierce a thrust he sped, 380 
 
 The good sword stood a hand-breadth out 
 
 Behind the Tuscan's head. 
 
 And the great Lord of Luna 
 
 Fell at that deadly stroke. 
 As falls on Mount Alvernus 
 
 A thunder-smitten oak; 
 Far o'er the crashing forest 
 
 The giant arms lie spread, 
 And the pale augurs, 1 muttering low, 
 
 Gaze on the blasted head. 
 
 On Astur's throat Horatius 390 
 
 Right firmly pressed his heel. 
 And thrice and four times tugged amain 
 
 Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
 "And see," he cried, "the welcome, 
 
 Fair guests, that waits you here ! 
 What noble Lucumo comes next 
 
 To taste our Roman cheer?" 
 
 But at his haughty challenge 
 
 A sullen murmur ran. 
 Mingled of wrath and shame and dread, 
 
 Along that glittering van. 401 
 
 There lacked not men of prowess, 
 
 Nor men of lordly race; 
 For all Etruria's noblest 
 
 Were round that fatal place. 
 
 But all Etruria's noblest 
 
 Felt their hearts sink to see 
 On the earth the bloody corpses. 
 
 In the path the dauntless Three; 
 And, from the ghastly entrance 410 
 
 Where those bold Romans stood, 
 
 I augurs. Priestly interpreters of omens. 
 
 All shrank, like boys who, unaware, 
 Ranging the woods to start a hare. 
 Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
 Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
 Lies amidst bones and blood. 
 
 Was none who would be foremost 
 
 To lead such dire attack; 
 But those behind cried "Forward !" 
 
 And those before cried "Back!" • 420 
 And backward now and forward 
 
 Wavers the deep array; 
 And on the tossing sea of steel 
 To and fro the standards reel; 
 And the victorious trumpet-peal 
 
 Dies fitfully away. 
 
 Yet one man for one moment 
 
 Strode out before the crowd; 
 Well known was he to all the Three, 
 
 And they gave him greeting loud, 430 
 "Now welcome, welcome, Sextus ! 
 
 Now welcome to thy home! 
 Why dost thou stay and turn away? 
 
 Here lies the road to Rome." 
 
 Thrice looked he at the city ; 
 
 Thrice looked he at the dead; 
 And thrice came on in fury. 
 
 And thrice turned back in dread; 
 And, white with fear and hatred, 
 
 Scowled at the narrow way 440 
 
 Where, wallowing in a pool of blood. 
 
 The bravest Tuscans lay. 
 
 But meanwhile axe and lever 
 
 Have manfully been plied; 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering 
 
 Above the boiling tide. 
 "Come back, come back, Horatius !" 
 
 Loud cried the Fathers all. 
 "Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
 
 Back, ere the ruins fall !" 450 
 
 Back darted Spurius Lartius; 
 
 Herminius darted back ; 
 And, as they passed, beneath their feet 
 
 They felt the timbers crack. 
 But when they turned their faces, 
 
 And on the farther shore 
 Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 
 
 They would have crossed once more. 
 
 But with a crash like thunder 
 l<'ell every loosened beam. 
 
 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
 Lay right athwart the stream; 
 
 460
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 85 
 
 And a long shout of triumph 
 Rose from the walls of Rome, 
 
 As to the highest turret-tops 
 Was splashed the yellow foam. 
 
 And, like a horse unbroken 
 
 When first he feels the rein, 
 The furious river struggled hard, 
 
 And tossed his tawny mane, 470 
 
 And burst the curb and bounded. 
 
 Rejoicing to be free, 
 And whirling down, in fierce career. 
 Battlement and plank and pier. 
 
 Rushed headlong to the sea. 
 
 Alone stood brave Horatius, 
 
 But constant still in mind; 
 Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 
 
 And the broad flood behind. 
 "Down with him," cried false Sextus, 480 
 
 With a smile on his pale face. 
 "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 
 
 "Now yield thee to our grace." 
 
 Round turned he, as not deigning 
 
 Those craven ranks to see; 
 Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, 
 
 To Sextus nought spake he; 
 But he saw on Palatinus 
 
 The white porch of his home; 
 And he spake to the noble river 490 
 
 That rolls by the towers of Rome. 
 
 "Oh, Tiber! father Tiber! 
 
 To whom the Romans pray, 
 A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, 
 
 Take thou in charge this day!" 
 So he spake, and speaking, sheathed 
 
 The good sword by his side, 
 And with his harness on his back. 
 
 Plunged headlong in the tide. 
 
 No sound of joy or sorrow 500 
 
 Was heard from either bank; 
 But friends and foes in dumb surprise. 
 With parted lips and straining eyes. 
 
 Stood gazing where he sank; 
 And when above the surges 
 
 They saw his crest appear. 
 All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry. 
 And even the ranks of Tuscany 
 
 Could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 But fiercely ran the current, 510 
 
 Swollen high by months of rain ; 
 
 And fast his blood was flowing. 
 And he was sore in pain, 
 
 And heavy with liis armour, 
 
 And spent with changing blows ; 
 
 And oft they thought him sinking. 
 But still again he rose. 
 
 Never, I ween, did swimmer, 
 
 In such an evil case, 
 Struggle through such a raging flood 520 
 
 Safe to the landing-place; 
 But his limbs were borne up bravely 
 
 By the brave heart within, 
 And our good father Tiber 1 
 
 Bore bravely up his chin. 
 
 "Curse on him I" quoth false Sextus; 
 
 "Will not the villain drown? 
 But for this stay, ere close of day 
 
 We should have sacked the town!" 
 "Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, 
 
 "And bring him safe to shore : 531 
 
 For such a gallant feat of arms 
 
 Was never seen before." 
 
 And now he feels the bottom ; 
 
 Now on dry earth he stands ; 
 Now round him throng the Fathers 
 
 To press his gory hands ; 
 And now, with shouts and clapping. 
 
 And noise of weeping loud. 
 He enters through the River Gate, 540 
 
 Borne by the joyous crowd. 
 
 They gave him of the corn-land. 
 
 That was of public right, 
 As much as two strong oxen 
 
 Could plough from morn till night ; 
 And they made a molten image. 
 
 And set it up on high. 
 And there it stands unto this day 
 
 To witness if I lie. 
 
 It stands in the Comitium,^ 550 
 
 Plain for all folk to see; 
 Horatius in his harness. 
 
 Halting^ upon one knee : 
 And underneath is written, 
 
 In letters all of gold. 
 How valiantly he kept the bridge 
 
 In the" brave days of old. 
 
 And still his name sounds stirring 
 
 Unto the men of Rome, 
 As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 
 
 To charge the Volscian home; 561 
 
 1 The god of the river. 
 
 2 Comilium. A space fronting the senate-house 
 in the Forum. 
 
 3 Limping.
 
 86 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And wives still pray to Juno 
 
 For boys with hearts as bold 
 As his who kept the bridge so well 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 And in the nights of winter, 
 
 When the cold north winds blow, 
 And the long howling of the wolves 
 
 Is heard amidst the snow ; 
 When round the lonely cottage 570 
 
 Roars loud the tempest's din, 
 And the good logs of Algidus 
 
 Roar louder yet within ; 
 
 When the oldest cask is opened, 
 
 And the largest lamp is lit ; 
 When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 
 
 And the kid turns on the spit; 
 When young and old in circle 
 
 Around the firebrands close ; 
 When the girls are weaving baskets, 580 
 
 And the lads are shaping bows; 
 
 When the goodman mends his armour, 
 
 And trims his helmet's plume ; 
 When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 
 
 Goes flashing through the loom ; 
 With weeping and with laughter 
 
 Still is the story told, 
 How well Horatius kept the bridge 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 (1842) 
 
 MY LAST DUCHESS 
 
 FERRARA 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 IThe Duke of Ferrara is supposed to be speak- 
 ing, — a typical character of the Italian Renais- 
 sance, when unscrupulous cruelty and artistic 
 taste were not infrequently found in combination. 
 This is a true "dramatic" monologue, in that 
 some little action, as well as character portrayal, 
 is implied in the speaker's words. The names 
 of the painter and the sculptor, Fra Pandolf and 
 Claus of Innsbruck, are fictitious.] 
 
 That's my last Duchess painted on the 
 
 wall. 
 Looking as if she were alive. I call 
 That piece a wonder, now : Fra Pandolf's 
 
 hands 
 Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 
 Will't please you sit and look at her? I 
 
 said 
 "Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read 
 
 Strangers like you that pictured counte- 
 nance. 
 The depth and passion of its earnest 
 
 glance. 
 But to myself they turned (since none 
 
 puts by 
 The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 
 And seemed as they would ask me, if they 
 
 durst, 1 1 
 
 How such a glance came there; so, not 
 
 the first 
 Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas 
 
 not 
 Her husband's presence only, called that 
 
 spot 
 Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps 
 Fra Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle 
 
 laps 
 Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint 
 Must never hope to reproduce the faint 
 Half-flush that dies along her throat:" 
 
 such stuff 
 Was courtesy, she thought, and cause 
 
 enough 20 
 
 For calling up that spot of joy. She had 
 A heart — how shall I say? — too soon made 
 
 glad. 
 Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er 
 She looked on, and her looks went every- 
 where. 
 Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her 
 
 breast, 
 The dropping of the daylight in the West, 
 The bough of cherries some officious fool 
 Broke in the orchard for her, the white 
 
 mule 
 She rode with round the terrace — all and 
 
 each 
 Would draw from her alike the approving 
 
 speech, 30 
 
 Or blush, at least. She thanked men, — 
 
 good! but thanked 
 Somehow — I know not how — as if she 
 
 ranked 
 My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name 
 With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to 
 
 blame 
 This sort of trifling? Even had you skill 
 In speech — (which I have not) — to make 
 
 your will 
 Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just 
 
 this 
 Or that in you disgusts me ; here you miss, 
 Or there exceed the mark" — and if she let 
 Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 40
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 87 
 
 Her wits to yours, forsooth, and make 
 
 excuse, 
 — E'en then would be some stooping; and 
 
 I choose 
 Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no 
 
 doubt. 
 Whene'er I passed her; but who passed 
 
 without 
 Much the same smile? This grew; I gave 
 
 commands; 
 Then al! smiles stopped together. There 
 
 she stands 
 As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll 
 
 meet 
 The company below, then. I repeat, 
 The Count your master's known munifi- 
 cence 
 Is ample warrant that no just pretence 50 
 Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; 
 Though his fair daughter's self, as I 
 
 avowed 
 At starting, is m.y object. Nay, we'll go 
 Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, 
 
 though. 
 Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity. 
 Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze 
 
 for me! 
 
 (1842) 
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF KING 
 ADMETUS 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 [This poem deals with a Greek legend of 
 Apollo, god of music and poetry, who was said 
 <o have been condemned by Jupiter to serve a 
 mortal for one year; he became shepherd to 
 Admetus, King of Thessaly.] 
 
 There came a youth upon the earth. 
 
 Some thousand years ago, 
 Whose slender hands were nothing worth. 
 
 Whether to plough, or reap, or sow. 
 
 Upon an empty tortoise-shell 
 
 He stretched some cords, and drew 
 
 Music that made men's bosoms swell 
 Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with 
 dew. 
 
 Then King Admetus, one who had 
 Pure taste by right divine. 
 
 Decreed his singing not too bad 
 To hear between the cups of wine : 
 
 10 
 
 And so, well pleased with being soothed 
 
 Into a sweet half-sleep, 
 Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, 
 
 And made him viceroy o'er his sheep. 
 
 His words were simple words enough, 
 
 And yet he used them so 
 That what in other mouths was rough 
 
 In his seemed musical and low. 20 
 
 Men called him but a shiftless youth 
 
 In whom no good they saw; 
 And yet, unwittingly, in truth, 
 
 They made his careless words their law. 
 
 They knew not how he learned at all, 
 
 For idly, hour by hour. 
 He sat and watched the dead leaves fall. 
 
 Or mused upon a common flower. 
 
 It seemed the loveliness of things 
 
 Did teach him all their use, 30 
 
 For in mere weeds, and stones, and 
 springs, 
 He found a healing power profuse. 
 
 Men granted that his speech was wise. 
 But when a glance they caught 
 
 Of his slim grace and woman's eyes. 
 They laughed, and called him good-for- 
 naught. 
 
 Yet after he was dead and gone, 
 
 And e'en his memory dim, 
 Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, 
 
 More full of love, because of him. 40 
 
 And day by day more holy grew 
 Each spot where he had trod, 
 
 Till after-poets only knew 
 Their first-born brother as a god. 
 
 (1842) 
 
 RHCECUS 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 God sends his teachers unto every age. 
 To every clime, and every race of men, 
 With revelations fitted to their growth 
 And shape of mind, nor gives the realm 
 
 of Truth 
 Into the selfish rule of one sole race : 
 Therefore each form of worship that hath 
 
 swayed 
 The life of man, and given it to grasp 
 The master-key of knowledge, reverence,
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Enfolds some germs of goodness and of 
 
 right ; 
 Else never had the eager soul, which 
 
 loathes lo 
 
 The slothful down of pampered ignorance, 
 
 Found in it even a moment's fitful rest 
 
 Hear now this fairy legend of old 
 
 Greece, 
 As full of freedom, youth, and beauty still 
 As the immortal freshness of that grace 
 Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze. 
 A youth named Rhcecus, wandering in 
 
 the wood, 
 Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall; 
 And, feeling pity of so fair a tree, 
 He propped its gray trunk with admiring 
 
 care, 20 
 
 And with a thoughtless footstep loitered 
 
 on. 
 But as he turned he heard a voice behind 
 That murmured "Rhoecus !" 'Twas as if 
 
 the leaves, 
 Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured 
 
 it; 
 
 And while he paused, bewildered, yet 
 
 again 
 It murmured "Rhoecus!" softer than a 
 
 breeze. 
 He started, and beheld with dizzy eyes 
 What seemed the substance of a happy 
 
 dream 
 Stand there before him, spreading a warm 
 
 glow 
 Within the green glooms of the shadowy 
 
 oak: 30 
 
 It seemed a woman's shape, yet all too fair 
 To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 
 For any that were wont to mate with 
 
 gods; 
 All naked like a goddess stood she there, 
 And like a goddess all too beautiful 
 To feel the guilt-born earthliness of 
 
 shame . 
 "RhcECUs, I am the Dryad of this tree ;" 
 Thus she began, dropping her low-toned 
 
 words 
 Serene and full and clear as drops of dew; 
 "And with it I am doomed to live and die: 
 The rain and sunshine are my caterers, 41 
 Nor have I other bliss than simple life. 
 Now ask me what thou wilt, that I can 
 
 give. 
 And with a thankful joy it shall be thine." 
 Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart. 
 Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, 
 
 bold. 
 
 Answered : "What is there that can sat- 
 isfy 
 The endless craving of the soul but love? 
 Give me thy love, or but the hope of that 
 Which must be evermore my spirit's goal." 
 After a little pause she said again, 51 
 But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, 
 "I give it, Rhoecus, though a perilous gift : 
 An hour before the sunset meet me here." 
 And straightway there was nothing he 
 
 could see 
 But the green glooms beneath the shadowy 
 
 oak. 
 And not a sound came to his straining 
 
 ears 
 But the low trickling rustle of the leaves 
 And, far away upon an emerald slope, 
 The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe. 60 
 Now in those days of simpleness and 
 
 faith 
 Men did not think that happy things were 
 
 dreams 
 Because they overstepped the narrow 
 
 bourne 
 Of likelihood, but reverently deemed 
 Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful 
 To be the guerdon of a daring heart. 
 So Rhoecus made no doubt that he was 
 
 blest ; 
 And all along unto the city's gate 
 Earth seemed to spring beneath him as 
 
 he walked. 
 The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its 
 
 wont, 70 
 
 And he could scarce believe he had not 
 
 wings, 
 Such sunshine seemed to glitter through 
 
 his veins 
 Instead of blood, so light he felt and 
 
 strange. 
 Young Rhoecus had a faithful heart 
 
 enough. 
 But one that in the present dwelt too 
 
 much, 
 And, taking with blithe welcome what- 
 soe'er 
 Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in 
 
 that; 
 Like the contented peasant of a vale. 
 Deemed it the world and never looked 
 
 beyond. 
 So, haply meeting in the afternoon 80 
 Some comrades who were playing at the 
 
 dice, 
 He joined them, and forgot all else beside. 
 The dice were rattling at the merriest,
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 89 
 
 And Rhoecus, who had met but sorry 
 
 luck, 
 Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw, 
 When through the room there hummed a 
 
 yellow bee 
 That buzzed about his ear with down- 
 dropped legs 
 As if to light. And Rhcecus laughed and 
 
 said, 
 Feeling how red and flushed he was with 
 
 loss, 
 "By Venus! does he take me for a rose?" 
 And brushed him off with rough, impatient 
 
 hand. 91 
 
 But still the bee came back, and thrice 
 
 again 
 Rhoecus did beat him off with growing 
 
 wrath. 
 Then through the window flew the 
 
 wounded bee ; 
 And RhcECus, tracking him with angry 
 
 eyes, 
 Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly 
 Against the red disc of the setting sun, — 
 And instantly the blood sank from his 
 
 heart, 
 As if its very walls had caved away. 
 Without a word he turned, and, rushing 
 
 forth, 100 
 
 Ran madly through the city and the gate. 
 And o'er the plain, which now the wood's 
 
 long shade, 
 By the low sun thrown forward broad 
 
 and dim. 
 Darkened well-nigh unto the city's wall. 
 Quite spent and out of breath, he 
 
 reached the tree. 
 And, listening fearfully, he heard once 
 
 more 
 The low voice murmur "Rhoecus !" close 
 
 at hand; 
 Whereat he looked around him, but could 
 
 see 
 Nought but the deepening glooms beneath 
 
 the oak. 
 Then sighed the voice, "Oh, Rhoecus, 
 
 nevermore no 
 
 Shalt thou behold me or by day or night! 
 Me, who would fain have blessed thee 
 
 with a love 
 More ripe and bounteous than ever yet 
 Filled up with nectar any mortal heart : 
 But thou didst scorn my humble mes- 
 senger. 
 And sent'st him back to me with bruised 
 
 wings. 
 We spirits only show to gentle eyes; 
 
 We ever ask an undivided love ; 
 
 And he who scorns the least of Nature's 
 
 works 
 Is thenceforth exiled and sh«t out from 
 
 all. 120 
 
 Farewell ! for thou canst never see me 
 
 more." 
 Then Rhcecus beat his breast, and 
 
 groaned aloud. 
 And cried, "Be pitiful ! forgive me yet 
 This once, and I shall never need it 
 
 more !" 
 "Alas !" the voice returned, " 'tis thou art 
 
 blind. 
 Not I unmerciful: I can forgive. 
 But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes ; 
 Only the soul hath power o'er itself." 
 With that again there murmured "Never- 
 more!" 129 
 And Rhoecus after heard no other sound, 
 Except the rattling of the oak's crisp 
 
 leaves. 
 Like the long surf upon a distant shore 
 Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down. 
 The night had gathered round him : o'er 
 
 the plain 
 The city sparkled with its thousand lights, 
 And sounds of revel fell upon his ear 
 Harshly and like a curse ; above, the sky, 
 With all its bright sublimity of stars. 
 Deepened, and on his forehead smote the 
 
 breeze. 139 
 
 Beauty was all around him, and delight ; 
 But from that eve he was alone on earth. 
 
 (1843) 
 
 ABOU BEN ADHEM 
 
 LEIGH HUNT 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe in- 
 crease!) 
 Awoke one night from a deep dream of 
 
 peace 
 And saw, within the moonlight in his 
 
 room. 
 Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
 An angel writing in a book of gold : 
 Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem 
 
 bold. 
 And to the presence in the room he said, 
 "What writest thou?" The vision raised 
 its head,
 
 90 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And, with a look made of all sweet ac- The angel wrote, and vanished. The 
 
 cord, next night 
 
 Answered, "The names of those who love it came again, with a great wakening 
 
 the Lord." lo jjgjj^ 
 
 "^"not'so"^'"^ °"^"" '^'"^ '^''°"' "^^^' ^""^ ^^"""^^^ *^^ "^""^^ "^^""^ ^''^^ ""^ 
 
 Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, ^ God had blessed,— 
 
 But cheerly still ; and said, "I pray thee, And lo ! Ben Adhem s name led all the 
 
 then, rest. 
 Write me as one that loves his fellow- 
 men." (1844) 
 
 RIME OF THE DUCHESS MAY 
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 
 
 [An imitation of an old ballad. In the original version Mrs. Browning inserts the refrain "Toll 
 slowly" in the midst of each stanza, conceiving the verses to be repeated to the accompaniment of a 
 funeral bell. The present version is much abbreviated, some thirty-six stanzas being omitted, 
 including the first thirteen.] 
 
 'Twas a Duke's fair orphan girl, and her uncle's ward, the Earl, 
 Who betrothed her, twelve years old, for the sake of dowry gold, 
 To his son, Lord Leigh, the churl. 
 
 But what time she had made good all her years of womanhood. 
 Unto both those lords of Leigh spake she out right sovranly, 
 "My will runneth as my blood. 
 
 "And while this same blood makes red this same right hand's veins," she said, 
 "'Tis my will as lady free not to wed a lord of Leigh, 
 But Sir Guy of Linteged." 
 
 The old Earl he smiled smooth, then he sighed for wilful youth — lo 
 
 "Good my niece, that hand withal looketh somewhat soft and small 
 For so large a will, in sooth." 
 
 She, too, smiled by that same sign, but her smile was cold and fine, — 
 "Little hand clasps muckle gold, or it were not worth the hold 
 Of thy son, good uncle mine!" 
 
 Then the young lord jerked his breath, and sware thickly in his teeth. 
 He would wed his own betrothed, and^ she loved him and she loathed. 
 Let the life come or the death. 
 
 Up she rose with scornful eyes, as her father's child might rise,— 
 "Thy hound's blood, my lord of Leigh, stains thy knightly heel," quoth she, 20 
 "And he moans not where he lies. 
 
 "But a woman's will dies hard, in the hall or on the sward ! 
 By that grave, my lords, which made me orphaned girl and dowered lady, 
 I deny you wife and ward." 
 
 Unto each she bowed her head, and swept past with lofty tread. 
 Ere the midnight bell had ceased, in the chapel had the priest 
 Blessed her, bride of Linteged. 
 
 I and . . . and. Whether ... or.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 91 
 
 Fast and fain the bridal train along the night-storm rode amain. 
 Hard the steeds of lord and serf struck their hoofs out on the turf, 
 
 In the pauses of the rain. 30 
 
 Fast and fain the kinsmen's train along the storm pursued amain, 
 Steed on steed-track, dashing off, — thickening, doubling, hoof on hoof, 
 In the pauses of the rain. 
 
 And the bridegroom led the flight on his red-roan steed of might. 
 And the bride lay on his arm, still, as if she feared no harm. 
 Smiling out into the night. 
 
 Up the mountain wheeled the steed, — girth to ground, and fetlocks spread, — 
 Headlong bounds, and rocking flanks, — down he staggered, to the banks, 
 To the towers of Linteged. 
 
 On the steed she dropt her cheek, kissed his mane and kissed his neck — 40 
 
 "I had happier die by thee, than live on a Lady Leigh," 
 Were the first words she did speak. 
 
 But a three months' joyaunce lay 'twixt that moment and to-day, 
 When five hundred archers tall stand beside the castle wall. 
 To recapture Duchess May. 
 
 And the castle standeth black, with the red sun at its back, 
 And a fortnight's siege is done, and, except the Duchess, none 
 Can misdoubt the coming wrack.i 
 
 Then the captain, young Lord Leigh, with his eyes so grey of blee,2 
 And thin lips that scarcely sheath the cold white gnashing teeth, 50 
 
 Gnashed in smiling, absently. 
 
 Cried aloud, "So goes the day, bridegroom fair of Duchess May! 
 Look thy last upon the sun! if thou seest to-morrow's one, 
 'Twill be through a foot of clay. 
 
 "Peck on blindly, netted dove! If a wife's name thee behoove, 
 Thou shalt wear the same to-morrow, ere the grave has hid the sorrow 
 Of thy last ill-mated love. 
 
 "O'er his fixed and silent mouth thou and I will call back troth. 
 He shall altar be, and priest, — and he will not cry, at least, 
 
 T forbid you — I am loth!' 60 
 
 "I will wring thy fingers pale in the gauntlet of my mail. 
 'Little hand and muckle gold' close shall lie within my hold. 
 As the sword did, to prevail." 
 
 Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west. 
 Oh, and laughed the Duchess May, and her soul did put away 
 All his boasting for a jest. 
 
 In her chamber did she sit, laughing low to think of it, — 
 "Tower is strong and will is free, — thou canst boast, my Lord of Leigh, 
 But thou boastest little wit." 
 
 I wrack. Destruction. 2 blee. Hue.
 
 92 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west; 70 
 
 On the tower the castle's lord leant in silence on his sword, 
 With an anguish in his breast. 
 
 With a spirit-laden weight did he lean down passionate;— 
 They have almost sapped^ the wall, — they will enter therewithal, 
 With no knocking at the gate. 
 
 Then the sword he leant upon shivered, snapped upon the stone; — 
 "Sword," he thought, with inward laugh, "ill thou servest for a staff, 
 When thy nobler use is done! 
 
 "Sword, thy nobler use is done! Tower is lost, and shame begun! 
 If we met them in the breach, hilt to hilt or speech to speech, 80 
 
 We should die there, each for one. 
 
 "If we met them at the wall, we should singly, vainly fall. 
 But if I die here alone, then I die, who am but one. 
 And die nobly for them all. 
 
 "Five true friends lie, for my sake, in the moat and in the brake ;2 
 Thirteen warriors lie at rest, with a black wound in the breast. 
 And not one of these will wake. 
 
 "So no more of this shall be! heart-blood weighs too heavily, 
 And I could not sleep in grave, with the faithful and the brave 
 
 Heaped around and over me. po 
 
 "These shall never die for me, — life-blood falls too heavily; 
 And if I die here apart, o'er my dead and silent heart 
 They shall pass out safe and free. 
 
 "When the foe hath heard it said, 'Death holds Guy of Linteged,* 
 That new corse new peace shall bring, and a blessed blessed thing 
 Shall the stone be at its head. 
 
 "Then my friends shall pass out free, and shall bear my memory; 
 Then my foes shall sleek^ their pride, soothing fair my widowed bride. 
 Whose sole sin was love of me. 
 
 "She will weep her woman's tears, she will pray her woman's prayer, 100 
 
 But her heart is young in pain, and her hopes will spring again 
 By the suntime of her years." 
 
 All these silent thoughts did swim o'er his eyes grown strange and dim, 
 Till his true men in the place wished they stood there face to face 
 With the foe instead of him. 
 
 "One last oath, my friends that were faithful hearts to do and dare! 
 Tower must fall, and bride be lost! swear me service worth the cost!" 
 Bold they stood around to swear, 
 
 "Each man clasp my hand and swear, by the deed we failed in there; 
 Not for vengeance, not for right, will ye strike one blow to-night I" no 
 
 Pale they stood around to swear. 
 
 I Sapped. Dug under. 2 brake. Brush, thicket. 3 sleek. Soothe, calm.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 93 
 
 "One last boon, young Ralph and Clare! faithful hearts to do and dare! 
 Bring that steed up from his stall, which she kissed before you all! 
 Guide him up the turret-stair. 
 
 "Ye shall harness him aright, and lead upward to this height, 
 Once in love, and twice in war, hath he borne me strong and fair; 
 He shall bear me far to-night." 
 
 Then his men looked to and fro, when they heard him speaking so. 
 '"Las! the noble heart," they thought; "he in sooth is grief-distraught. 
 
 Would we stood here with the foe !" 120 
 
 But a fire flashed from his eye, 'twixt their thought and their reply: 
 "Have ye so much time to waste? We who ride here must ride fast. 
 As we wish our foes to fly." 
 
 They have fetched the steed with care, in the harness he did wear. 
 Past the court, and through the doors, across the rushes of the floors, 
 But they goad him up the stair. 
 
 Then from out her bower chambered did the Duchess May repair. 
 "Tell me now what is your need," said the lady, "of this steed, 
 That ye goad him up the stair?" 
 
 "Get thee back, sweet Duchess May ! Hope is gone like yesterday ; 130 
 
 One-half hour completes the breach; and thy lord grows wild of speech! 
 Get thee in, sweet lady, and pray. 
 
 "In the east tower, highest of all, loud he cries for steed from stall. 
 He would ride as far, quoth he, as for love and victory, 
 Though he rides the castle wall." 
 
 She stood up in bitter case, with a pale yet steady face, 
 Like a statue thunderstruck, which, though quivering, seems to look 
 Right against the thunder-place. 
 
 And her foot trod in, with pride, her own tears i' the stone beside, — 
 "Go to, faithful friends, go to ! — judge no more what ladies do, — 140 
 
 No, nor how their lords may ride!" 
 
 Then the good steed's rein she took, and his neck did kiss and stroke; 
 Soft he neighed to answer her, and then followed up the stair, 
 For the love of her sweet look. 
 
 Oh, and steeply, steeply wound up the narrow stair around! 
 Oh, and closely, closely speeding, step by step beside her treading. 
 Did he follow, meek as hound. 
 
 On the east tower, highest of all — there, where never a hoof did fall — 
 Out they swept a vision steady, noble steed and lovely lady. 
 
 Calm as if in bower or stall. ISO 
 
 Down she knelt at her lord's knee, and she looked up silently. 
 And he kissed her twice and thrice, for that look within her eyes 
 Which he could not bear to see, 
 
 I chambere. Pronounce "shom-bare."
 
 94 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Quoth he, "Get thee from this strife— and the sweet saints bless thy Hfe! 
 In this hour I stand in need of my noble red-roan steed, 
 But no more of noble wife." 
 
 Quoth she, "Meekly have I done all thy biddings under sun; 
 But by all my womanhood, which is proved, so true and good, 
 I will never do this one. 
 
 "So the sweet saints be with me," did she utter solemnly, l6o 
 
 "If a man, this eventide, on this castle wall will ride. 
 He shall ride the same with me." 
 
 Oh, he sprang up in the selle,^ and he laughed out bitter-well: 
 "Wouldst thou ride among the leaves, as we used on other eves. 
 To hear chime a vesper bell?" 
 
 She clung closer to his knee: "Ay, beneath the cypress-tree! 
 Mock me not, for otherwhere than along the greenwood fair 
 Have I ridden fast with thee. 
 
 "Fast I rode with new-made vows, from my angry kinsman's house; 
 What, and would you men should reck^ that I dared more for love's sake 170 
 
 As a bride than as a spouse? 
 
 "What, and would you it shall fall, as a proverb, before all. 
 That a bride may keep your side while through castle-gate you ride, 
 Yet eschew^ the castle wall?" 
 
 Ho? the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her suing;* 
 With the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling in, — 
 Shrieks of doing and undoing! 
 
 Evermore the foemen pour through the crash of window and door. 
 
 And the shouts of "Leigh and Leigh," and the shrieks of "Kill" and "Flee" 
 
 Strike up clear amid the roar. 180 
 
 Thrice he wrung her hands in twain, but they closed and closed again; 
 Wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood,^ 
 In a spasm of deathly pain. 
 
 Back he reined his steed, back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone; 
 Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind. 
 Whence a hundred feet went down. 
 
 And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode, — 
 "Friends and brothers, save my wife! Pardon, sweet, in change for life, — 
 But I ride alone to God!" 
 
 Straight as if the Holy Name had upbreathed her like a flame, I90 
 
 She upsprang, she rose upright — in his selle she sate in sight; 
 By her love she overcame. 
 
 And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest. 
 "Ring!" she cried, "O vesper bell, in the beechwood's old chapelle! 
 But the passing-bell" rings best." 
 
 I sflle. Saddle. 2 reck. Think. 3 eschew. Avoid. 
 
 4 suing. Besccchini;. S rood. CruciAx. 6 passing-bell. Bell tolled fur a death.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 95 
 
 They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw loose — in vain — 
 For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, 
 On the last verge rears amain. 
 
 Now he hangs — he rocks between, and his nostrils curdle in! 
 Now he shivers head and hoof, and the flakes of foam fall off, 300 
 
 And his face grows fierce and thin! 
 
 And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go. 
 And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agojiy 
 Of the headlong death below, — 
 
 And "Ring, ring, thou passing-bell!" still she cried, "i' the old chapelle!" 
 Then, back toppling, crashing back, a dead weight fiung out to wrack. 
 Horse and riders overfell. 
 
 Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, 
 
 And I read this ancient rime in the churchyard, while the chime 
 
 Slowly tolled for one at rest. 210 
 
 The abeles^ moved in the sun, and the river smooth did run, 
 And the ancient rime rang strange, with its passion and its change, 
 Here, where all done lay undone. 
 
 Then, O spirits, did I say, ye who rode so fast that day, 
 Did star-wheels and angel wings, with their holy winnowings. 
 Keep beside you all the way? 
 
 Beating -heart and burning brow, ye are very patient now. 
 And the children might be bold to pluck the king-cups from your mould 
 Ere a month had let them grow. 
 
 In your patience ye are strong; cold and heat ye take not wrong; 220 
 
 When the trumpet of the angel blows Eternity's evangel, 
 Time will seem to you not long. 
 
 Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west. 
 And I said in underbreath — All our life is mixed with death. 
 And who knoweth which is best? 
 
 Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west. 
 And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness, 
 Round our restlessness His rest. 
 
 (1844) 
 
 I abelcs. White poplar&
 
 96 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD 
 NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [There is no definite historical basis for this 
 poem: we recognize the scene as the Netherlands, 
 and the time as the early part of the 17th cen- 
 tury, when the Low Countries were at war with 
 Spain. The towns mentioned by Browning can 
 be found on modern maps, showing the route of 
 the riders eastward from Ghent to Aix, — the lat- 
 ter over the Belgian border in Germany.] 
 
 I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; 
 I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped 
 
 all three ; 
 "Good speed !" cried the watch, as the 
 
 gate-bolts undrew; 
 "Speed I" echoed the wall to us galloping 
 
 through ; 
 Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to 
 
 rest. 
 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 
 
 Not a word to each other; we kept the 
 
 great pace 
 Neck by neck, stride by stride, never 
 
 changing our place ; 
 I turned in my saddle and made its girths 
 
 tight, 
 Then shortened each stirrup, and set the 
 
 pique^ right, lO 
 
 Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker 
 
 the bit. 
 Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 
 
 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we 
 
 drew near 
 Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight 
 
 dawned clear; 
 At Boom, a great yellow star came out to 
 
 see; 
 At Duffeld, 'twas morning as plain as 
 
 could be; 
 And from Mecheln church-steeple we 
 
 heard the half-chime. 
 So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is 
 
 time !" 
 
 At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the 
 
 sun. 
 And against him the cattle stood black 
 
 every one, 20 
 
 To stare through the mist at us galloping 
 
 past. 
 And I saw my stout galloper Roland at 
 
 last, 
 I pique. Pommel. 
 
 With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
 The haze, as some bluff river headland its 
 spray : 
 
 And his low head and crest, just one sharp 
 ear bent back 
 
 For my voice, and the other pricked out 
 on his track; 
 
 And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that 
 glance 
 
 O'er its white edge at me, his own mas- 
 ter, askance ! 
 
 And the thick heavy spume-flakes which 
 aye and anon 
 
 His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping 
 on. 30 
 
 By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried 
 
 Joris, "Stay, spur! 
 Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's 
 
 not in her. 
 We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard 
 
 the quick wheeze 
 Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and 
 
 staggering knees, 
 And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the 
 
 flank. 
 As down on her haunchas she shuddered 
 
 and sank. 
 
 So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
 Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in 
 
 the sky; 
 The broad sun above laughed a pitiless 
 
 laugh, 
 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright 
 
 stubble like chaff; 40 
 
 Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang 
 
 white. 
 And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in 
 
 sight !" 
 
 "How they'll greet us !" — and all in a mo- 
 ment his roan 
 
 Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a 
 stone ; 
 
 And there was my* Roland to bear the 
 whole weight 
 
 Of the news which alone could save Aix 
 from her fate. 
 
 With his nostrils like pits full of blood to 
 the brim. 
 
 And with circles of red for his eye-sock- 
 ets' rim. 
 
 Then I cast loose my buff coat, each hol- 
 ster let fall. 
 
 Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt 
 and all, 50
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 97 
 
 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his 
 
 car, 
 Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse 
 
 without peer; 
 Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any 
 
 noise, bad or good. 
 Till at length into Aix Roland galloped 
 
 and stood. 
 
 And all I remember is — friends flocking 
 round 
 
 As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on 
 the ground; 
 
 And no voice but was praising this Ro- 
 land of mine. 
 
 As I poured down his throat our last 
 measure of wine. 
 
 Which (the burgesses voted by common 
 consent) 
 
 Was no more than his due who brought 
 good news from Ghent. 60 
 
 (1845) 
 
 THE BOY AND THE ANGEL 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 Morning, evening, noon and night, 
 "Praise God !" sang Theocrite. 
 
 Then to his poor trade he turned, 
 Whereby the daily meal was earned. 
 
 Hard he laboured, long and well ; 
 O'er his work the boy's curls fell. 
 
 But ever, at each period, 
 
 He stopped and sang, "Praise God !" 
 
 Then back again his curls he threw, 
 And cheerful turned to work anew. 
 
 10 
 
 Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well 
 
 done; 
 I doubt not thou art heard, my son, 
 
 "As well as if thy voice to-day 
 
 Were praising God, the Pope's great way. 
 
 "This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome 
 Praises God from Peter's dome." 
 
 Said Theocrite, "Would God that I 
 Might praise him that great way, and die !" 
 
 Night passed, day shone, 
 
 And Theocrite was gone. 20 
 
 With God a day endures alway, 
 A thousand years are but a day. 
 
 God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night 
 Now brings the voice of my delight." 
 
 Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth, 
 Spread his wings and sank to earth; 
 
 Entered, in flesh, the empty cell. 
 Lived there, and played the craftsman 
 well; 
 
 And morning, evening, noon and night. 
 Praised God in place of Theocrite. 30 
 
 And from a boy, to youth he grew : 
 The man put off the stripling's hue : 
 
 The man matured and fell away 
 Into the season of decay: 
 
 And ever o'er the trade he bent, 
 And ever lived on earth content. 
 
 (He did God's will; to him, all one 
 H on the earth or in the sun.) 
 
 God said "A praise is in mine ear; 
 There is no doubt in it, no fear : 40 
 
 "So sing old worlds, and so 
 
 New worlds that from my footstool go. 
 
 "Clearer loves sound other ways : 
 I miss my little human praise." 
 
 Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell 
 The flesh disguise, remained the cell. 
 
 'Twas Easter Day : he flew to Rome, 
 And paused above St. Peter's dome. 
 
 In the tiring-room close by 
 The great outer gallery, 
 
 With his holy vestments dight,* 
 Stood the new Pope, Theocrite : 
 
 And all his past career 
 Came back upon him clear, 
 
 Since when, a boy, he plied his trade. 
 Till oh his life the sickness weighed; 
 
 I dight. Clad. 
 
 SO
 
 98 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And in his cell, when death drew near, 
 An angel in a dream brought cheer: 
 
 And rising from the sickness drear, 
 
 He grew a priest, and now stood here. 60 
 
 To the East with praise he turned, 
 And on his sight the angel burned. 
 
 "I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell, 
 And set thee here; I did not well. 
 
 "Vainly I left my angel-sphere. 
 Vain was thy dream of many a year. 
 
 "Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it 
 
 dropped — 
 Creation's chorus stopped ! 
 
 "Go back and praise again 
 The early way, while I remain. 
 
 "With that weak voice of our disdain, 
 Take up creation's pausing strain, 
 
 "Back to the cell and poor employ : 
 Resume the craftsman and the boy !" 
 
 Theocrite grew old at home; 
 
 A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome. 
 
 One vanished as the other died: 
 They sought God side by side. 
 
 (1845) 
 
 70 
 
 Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 
 
 A rider, bound on bound 
 Full-galloping; nor bridle drew 
 
 Until he reached the mound. 
 
 Then off there flung in smiling joy, 
 
 And held himself erect 
 By just his horse's mane, a boy: 
 
 You hardly could suspect — 20 
 
 (So tight he kept his lips compressed, 
 
 Scarce any blood came through) 
 You looked twice ere you saw his breast 
 
 Was all but shot in two. 
 
 "Well." cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 
 
 We've got you Ratisbon! 
 The Marshal's in the market-place, 
 
 And you'll be there anon 
 To see your flag-bird flap his vans 
 
 Where I, to heart's desire, 30 
 
 Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; 
 his plans 
 
 Soared up again like fire. 
 
 The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 
 
 Softened itself, as sheathes 
 A film the mother-eagle's eye 
 
 When her bruised eaglet breathes; 
 "You're wounded !" "Nay," the soldier's 
 pride 
 
 Touched to the quick, he said : 
 "I'm killed, Sire!" And, his chief beside. 
 
 Smiling the boy fell dead. 40 
 
 (184s) 
 
 INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [Ratisbon is the German Regensburg, m Ba- 
 varia; Napoleon stormed it in 1809, during an 
 invasion of Austria. Lannes was one of his 
 most trusted marshals.] 
 
 You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: 
 
 A mile or so away, 
 On a little mound, Napoleon 
 
 Stood on our storming-day ; 
 With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 
 
 Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
 As if to balance the prone brow 
 
 Oppressive with his mind. 
 
 Just as perhaps he mused "My plans 
 That soar, to earth may fall, 10 
 
 Let once my army-leader Lannes 
 Waver at yonder wall," — 
 
 THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [The speaker is an Italian patriot who has 
 been a leader in one or more of the uprisings 
 against Austrian rule, such as took place m 1821, 
 1831, and 1848.] 
 
 That second time they hunted me 
 From hill to plain, from shore to sea, 
 And Austria, hounding far and wide 
 Her bloodhounds through the country- 
 side. 
 Breathed hot and instant ^ on my trace, — 
 I made six days a hiding-place 
 Of that dry green old aqueduct 
 Where I and Charles, when boys, have 
 
 plucked 
 The fire-flies from the roof above, 
 Bright creeping through the moss they 
 love : 10 
 
 I imtanl. Close. .
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 99 
 
 — How long it seems since Charles was 
 
 lost! 
 Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed 
 The country in my very sight ; 
 And when that peril ceased at night, 
 The sky broke out in red dismay 
 With signal fires; well, there I lay 
 Close covered o'er in my recess, 
 Up to the neck in ferns and cress. 
 Thinking on Metternichi our friend, 
 And Charles's miserable end, 20 
 
 And much beside, two days ; the third. 
 Hunger o'ercame me when I heard 
 The peasants from the village go 
 To work among the maize ; you know. 
 With us in Lombardy, they bring 
 Provisions packed on mules, a string 
 With little bells that cheer their task, 
 And casks, and boughs on every cask 
 To keep the sun's heat from the wine ; 
 These I let pass in jingling line, 30 
 
 And, close on them, dear noisy crew. 
 The peasants from the village, too; 
 For at the very rear would troop 
 Their wives and sisters in a group 
 To help, I knew. When these had passed, 
 I threw 'my glove to strike the last, 
 Taking the chance; she did not start. 
 Much less cry out, but stooped apart, 
 One instant rapidly glanced round. 
 And saw me beckon from the ground ; 40 
 A wild bush grows and hides my crypt ; 
 She picked my glove up while she stripped 
 A branch of?, then rejoined the rest 
 With that ; my glove lay in her breast. 
 Then I drew breath: they disappeared: 
 It was for Italy I feared. 
 
 An hour, and she returned alone 
 Exactly where my glove was thrown. 
 Meanwhile came many thoughts; on me 
 Rested the hopes of Italy; 50 
 
 I had devised a certain tale 
 Which, when 'twas told her, could not 
 
 fail 
 Persuade a peasant of its truth; 
 I meant to call a freak of youth 
 This hiding, and give hopes of pay, 
 And no temptation to betray. 
 But when I saw that woman's face, 
 Its calm simplicity of grace, 
 Our Italy's own attitude 
 In which she walked thus far, and stood, 
 Planting each naked foot so firm, 61 
 
 To crush the snake and spare the worm — 
 At first sight of her eyes, I said, 
 "I am that man upon whose head 
 
 I ifeiterHirh. The Austrian prime minister. 
 
 They fix the price, because I hate 
 
 The Austrians over us : the State 
 
 Will give you gold — oh, gold so muchl — 
 
 If you betray me to their clutch. 
 
 And be your death, for aught I know. 
 
 If once they find you saved their foe. 70 
 
 Now, you must bring me food and drink, 
 
 And also paper, pen and ink, 
 
 And carry safe what I shall write 
 
 To Padua, which you'll reach at night 
 
 Before the duomo^ shuts ; go in, 
 
 And wait till Tenebrae^ begin; 
 
 Walk to the third confessional. 
 
 Between the pillar and the wall. 
 
 And kneeling whisper, Whence comes 
 
 peace? 
 Say it a second time, then cease; 80 
 
 And if the voice inside returns. 
 From Christ and Freedom; what concerns 
 The cause of Peace F — for answer, slip 
 My letter where you placed your lip ; 
 Then come back happy we have done 
 Our mother service — I, the son. 
 As you the daughter of our land!" 
 
 Three mornings more, she took her 
 stand 
 In the same place, with the same eyes : 
 I was no surer of sunrise 90 
 
 Than of her coming. We conferred 
 Of her own prospects, and I heard 
 She had a lover — stout and tall. 
 She said — then let her eyelids fall, __ 
 
 "He could do much" — as if some doubt 
 Entered her heart, — then, passing out, 
 "She could not speak for others, who 
 Had other thoughts; herself she knew:" 
 And so she brought me drink and food. 
 After four days, the scouts pursued 100 
 Another path; at last arrived 
 The help my Paduan friends contrived 
 To furnish me : she brought the news. 
 For the first time I could not choose 
 But kiss her hand, and lay my own 
 Upon her head — "This faith was shown 
 To Italy, our mother; she 
 Uses my hand and blesses thee." 
 She followed down to the sea-shore; 
 I left and never saw her more. no 
 
 How very long since I have thought 
 Concerning — much less wished for — aught 
 Beside the good of Italy, 
 For which I live and mean to die! 
 
 2 duomo. Cathedral. 
 
 J Tenebrd. A Holy Week service.
 
 100 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 I never was in love ; and since 
 
 Charles proved false, what shall now con- 
 vince 
 
 My inmost heart I have a friend ? 
 
 However, if I pleased to spend 
 
 Real wishes on myself — say, three — 
 
 I know at least what one should be. 120 
 
 I would grasp Metternich until 
 
 I felt his red wet throat distil 
 
 In blood through these two hands. And 
 next 
 
 — Nor much for that am I perplexed — 
 
 Charles, perjured traitor, for his part, 
 
 Should die slow of a broken heart 
 
 Under his new employers. Last 
 
 — Ah, there, what should I wish? For 
 fast 
 
 Do I grow old and out of strength. 
 
 If I resolved to seek at length 130 
 
 My father's house again, how scared 
 
 They all would look, and unprepared ! 
 
 My brothers live in Austria's pay 
 
 — Disowned me long ago, men say; 
 
 And all my early mates who used 
 
 To praise me so — perhaps induced 
 
 More than one early step of mine — 
 
 Are turning wise: while some opine (1845) 
 
 "Freedom grows license," some suspect 
 "Haste breeds delay," and recollect 140 
 They always said such premature 
 Beginnings never could endure ! 
 So, with a sullen "All's for best," 
 The land seems settling to its rest. 
 I think then, I should wish to stand 
 This evening in that dear, lost land. 
 Over the sea the thousand miles, 
 And know if yet that woman smiles 
 With the calm smile; some little farm 
 She lives in there, no doubt : what harm 
 If I sat on the door-side bench, 151 
 
 And, while her spindle made a trench 
 Fantastically in the dust, 
 Inquired of all her fortunes— just 
 Her children's ages and their names, 
 And what may be the husband's aims 
 For each of them, I'd talk this out, 
 And sit there, for an hour about, 
 Then kiss her hand once more, and lay 
 Mine on her head, and go my way. 160 
 
 So much for idle wishing — ^how 
 It steals the time ! To business now. 
 
 THE RAVEN 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 Once upon a midnight drearjr, while I pondered, weak and weary, 
 Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, 
 While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
 "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — 
 Only this and nothing more." 
 
 Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
 And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
 Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow 
 From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, 
 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 
 Nameless here for evermore. 
 
 And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
 Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 
 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 
 "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — 
 Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — 
 This it is and nothing more." 
 
 Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer, 
 "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 
 But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
 And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 
 That I scarce was sure I heard vou" — here I opened wide the door- 
 Darkness there and nothing more. 
 
 10 
 
 20
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 101 
 
 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; 
 But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no tok«n. 
 And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenorc!" 
 This r whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!" 
 
 Merely this and nothing more. 30 
 
 Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
 Soon again I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before. 
 "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; 
 Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore, — 
 Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore — 
 'Tis the wind and nothing more." 
 
 Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
 In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 
 Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he, 
 But with mien of lord or lady perched above my chamber door — 40 
 
 Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — 
 Perched and sat, and nothing more. 
 
 Then, this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling 
 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
 "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven. 
 Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore: 
 Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore!" 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 
 
 Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
 Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore; 50 
 
 For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
 Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — 
 Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door — 
 With such name as "Nevermore." 
 
 But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
 That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
 Nothing farther then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered; 
 Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before; 
 On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 
 
 Then the bird said, "Nevermore." 60 
 
 Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
 "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, 
 Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
 Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore. 
 Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore 
 Of 'Never — nevermore.'" 
 
 But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling. 
 Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; 
 Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
 
 Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, 70 
 
 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
 Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
 
 102 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
 To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; 
 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er. 
 But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating o'er, 
 She shall press, ah, nevermore ! 
 
 Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
 Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. 80 
 
 "Wretch!"! I cried, "thy God hath lent thee, — by these angels he hath sent thee, 
 Respite — respite and nepenthe^ from thy memories of Lenore! 
 Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 
 
 "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil, prophet still, if bird or devil! 
 
 Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore. 
 
 Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
 
 On this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore, 
 
 Is there — is there balm in Gilead?^ — tell me — tell me, I implore!" 
 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 90 
 
 "Prophet!" said I, thing of evil, prophet still, if bird or devil! 
 By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore— 
 Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,* 
 It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— 
 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 
 
 "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, up-starting; 
 "Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore! 
 Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
 Leave my loneliness unbroken! — Quit the bust above my door! lOO 
 
 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 
 
 And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 
 And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; 
 And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
 Shall be lifted — nevermore! 
 
 (1845) 
 
 1 He addresses himself. 
 
 3 nepenthe. A magic drink supposed to induce forgetfulness. 
 
 3 Cf. Jetemiah 8: 2j: "Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there?" 
 
 4 .\idcnn. Edca.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 103 
 
 IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON 
 
 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 
 
 [An incident in the story of the Trojan War. 
 After gathering at Aulis for the expedition 
 against Troy, the Greek fleet was becalmed. 
 Calchas the prophet announced that Agamemnon 
 had offended the goddess Artemis, and could only 
 win her favor and the desired winds for the 
 fleet by the sacrifice of whatever was dearest to 
 him. This was finally determined to be his 
 daughter Iphigeneia.] 
 
 Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom 
 At Auh's, and when all beside the King 
 Had gone away, took his right hand, and 
 
 said, 
 "O father! I am young and very happy. 
 I do not think the pious Calchas heard 
 Distinctly what the Goddess spake. Old- 
 age 
 Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who 
 
 knew 
 My voice so well, .sometimes misunder- 
 stood 
 While I was resting on her knee both 
 
 arms 
 And hitting it to make her mind my 
 
 words, 10 
 
 And looking in her face, and she in mine, 
 Might he not also hear one word amiss. 
 Spoken from so far off, even from Olym- 
 pus?" 
 The father placed his cheek upon her 
 
 head. 
 And tears dropped down it, but the king 
 
 of men 
 Replied not. Then the maiden spake once 
 
 more. 
 "O father! sayst thou nothing? Hear'st 
 
 thou not 
 Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour, 
 Listened to fondly, and awakened me 
 To hear my voice amid the voice of birds. 
 When it was inarticulate as theirs, 21 
 And the down deadened it within the 
 
 nest?" 
 He moved her gently from him, silent still, 
 And this, and this alone, brought tears 
 
 from her, 
 Although she saw fate nearer : then with 
 
 sighs, 
 "I thought to have laid down my hair ^ 
 
 before 
 
 X A form of sacrifice on the part of maidens. 
 
 Benignant Artemis, and not have dimmed 
 Her polished altar with my virgin blood; 
 I thought to have selected the white flow- 
 ers 
 To please the Nymphs, and to have asked 
 
 of each 30 
 
 By name, and with no sorrowful regret, 
 Whether, since both my parents willed the 
 
 change, 
 I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipped 
 
 brow ;2 
 And (after those who mind us girls the 
 
 most) 
 Adore our own Athena, that she would 
 Regard me mildly with her azure eyes, 
 But father ! to see you no more, and see 
 Your love, O father! go ere I am gone. . ." 
 Gently he moved her off, and drew her 
 
 back. 
 Bending his lofty head far over hers, 40 
 And the dark depths of nature heaved and 
 
 burst. 
 He turned away ; not far, but silent still. 
 She now first shuddered ; for in him, so 
 
 nigh. 
 So long a silence seemed the approach of 
 
 death. 
 And like it. Once again she raised her 
 
 voice. 
 "O father! if the ships are now detained. 
 And all your vows move not the gods 
 
 above, 
 When the knife strikes me there will be 
 
 one prayer 
 The less to them : and purer can there be 
 Any, or more fervent than the daughter's 
 
 prayer 50 
 
 For her dear father's safety and success?" 
 A groan that shook him shook not his re- 
 solve. 
 An aged man now entered, and without 
 One word, stepped slowly on, and took the 
 
 wrist 
 Of the pale maiden. She looked up and 
 
 saw 
 The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes. 
 Then turned she where her parent stood, 
 
 and cried 
 "O father ! grieve no more : the ships can 
 
 sail." 
 
 (1846) 
 
 3 That is, whether I might marry.
 
 104 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 [After planting the first English colony in 
 North America at St. John's, Newfoundland, on 
 August 5, 1583, Sir Humphrey Gilbert found it 
 necessary to return to England. He sailed with 
 two ships, — The Golden Hind and The Squirrel, 
 and was lost with the latter vessel north of the 
 Azores, about September 9, 1583. The Golden 
 Hind returned to England safely; its report is 
 the basis of Longfellow's version of Sir Hum- 
 phrey's last known words. Longfellow supposes 
 Campobello, on the New Brunswick coast, to 
 have been the starting-point for the voyage.] 
 
 Southward with fleet of ice 
 
 Sailed the corsair Death; 
 Wild and fast blew the blast, 
 
 And the east-wind was his breath. 
 
 His lordly ships of ice 
 
 Glisten in the sun; 
 On each side, like pennons wide, 
 
 Flashing crystal streamlets run. 
 
 His sails of white sea-mist 
 
 Dripped with silver rain; 
 But where he passed there were cast 
 
 Leaden shadows o'er the main. 
 
 Eastward from Campobello 
 Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; 
 
 Three days or more seaward he bore, 
 Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. 
 
 Alas! the land-wind failed, 
 And ice-cold grew the night; 
 
 And nevermore, on sea or shore, 
 Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 
 
 He sat upon the deck, 
 The Book was in his hand ; 
 
 "Do not fear! Heaven is as near," 
 He said, "by water as by land!" 
 
 In the first watch of the night, 
 
 Without a signal's sound, 
 Out of the sea, mysteriously, 
 
 The fleet of Death rose all around. 
 
 The moon and the evening star 
 Were hanging in the shrouds; 
 
 Every mast, as it passed, 
 
 Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 
 
 They grappled with their prize, 
 At midnight black and cold ! 
 
 As of a rock was the shock; 
 Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 
 
 10 
 
 20 
 
 30 
 
 Southward through day and dark. 
 
 They drift in close embrace. 
 With mist and rain, o'er the open main; 
 
 Yet there seems no change of place. 40 
 
 Southward, forever southward, 
 They drift through dark and day; 
 
 And like a dream, in the Gulf Stream 
 Sinking, vanish all away. 
 
 (1849) 
 
 THE FORSAKEN MERMAN 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 [This poem is based on a legend, found in 
 many places and various forms, and particularly 
 in an old Danish ballad, of a maiden who was 
 wooed and won by a merman, but later, stricken 
 by conscience and homesickness, returned to 
 land. The merman is supposed to be speaking 
 to his children, after a fruitless visit to the 
 town.] 
 
 Come, dear children, let us away; 
 Down and away below ! 
 Now my brothers call from the bay. 
 Now the great winds shoreward blow, 
 Now the salt tides seaward flow ; 
 Now the wild white horses play. 
 Champ and chafe and toss in the spray, 
 Children, dear, let us away! 
 This way, this way! 
 
 Call her once before you go — 10 
 
 Call once yet ! 
 
 In a voice that she will know: 
 
 "Margaret ! Margaret !" 
 
 Children's voices should be dear 
 
 (Call once more) to a mother's ear; 
 
 Children's voices, wild with pain — 
 
 Surely she will come again! 
 
 Call her once and come away ; 
 
 This way, this way! 
 
 "Mother dear, we cannot stay ! 20 
 
 The wild white horses foam and fret." 
 
 Margaret! Margaret! 
 
 Come, dear children, come away down; 
 Call no more ! 
 
 One last look at the white-wall'd town. 
 And the little gray church on the windy 
 
 shore, 
 Then come downl 
 
 She will not come though you call all day; 
 Come away, come away!
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 105 
 
 Children dear, was it yesterday 30 
 
 We heard the sweet bells over the bay? 
 In the caverns where we lay, 
 Through the surf and through the swell. 
 The far-off sound of a silver bell? 
 Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep. 
 Where the winds are all asleep; 
 Where the spent lights quiver and gleam. 
 Where the salt weed sways in the stream, 
 Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, 40 
 Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; 
 Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, 
 Dry their mail and bask in the brine; 
 Where great whales come sailing by. 
 Sail and sail, with unshut eye, 
 Round the world for ever and aye? 
 When did music come this way? 
 Children dear, was it yesterday? 
 
 Children dear, was it yesterday 
 
 (Call yet once) that she went away? 50 
 
 Once she sate with you and me, 
 
 On a red gold throne in the heart of the 
 
 sea, 
 And the youngest sate on her knee. 
 She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended 
 
 it well, 
 When down swung the sound of a far-off 
 
 bell. 
 She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear 
 
 green sea; 
 She said : "I must go, for my kinsfolk 
 
 pray 
 In the little gray church on the shore to- 
 day. 
 'Twill be Easter-time in the world — ah me ! 
 And I lose my poor soul, Merman ! here 
 
 with thee." 60 
 
 I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the 
 
 waves ; 
 Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind 
 
 sea-caves !" 
 She smiled, she went up through the surf 
 
 in the bay. 
 Children dear, was it yesterday? 
 
 Children dear, were we long alone? 
 "The sea grows stormy, the little ones 
 
 moan ; 
 Long prayers," I said, "in the world they 
 
 say; 
 Come !" I said : and we rose through the 
 
 surf in the bay. 
 We went up the beach, by the sandy down 
 Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white- 
 
 wall'd town; 70 
 
 Through the narrow paved streets, where 
 
 all was still. 
 To the little gray church on the windy 
 
 hill. 
 From the church came a murmur of folk 
 
 at their prayers. 
 But we stood without in the cold blowing 
 
 airs. 
 We climb'd on the graves, on the stones 
 
 worn with rains. 
 And we gazed up the aisle through the 
 
 small leaded panes. 
 She sate by the pillar ; we saw her clear : 
 "Margaret, hist! come quick, we are herel 
 Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone ; 
 The sea grows stormy, the little ones 
 
 moan." 80 
 
 But, ah, she gave me never a look, 
 For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book ! 
 Loud prays the priest; shut stands the 
 
 door. 
 Come away, children, call no more ! 
 Come away, come down, call no more! 
 
 Down, down, down! 
 Down to the depths of the seal 
 She sits at her wheel in the humming 
 
 town. 
 Singing most joyfully. 
 Hark what she sings : "O joy, O joy, 90 
 For the humming street, and the child 
 
 with its toy ! 
 For the priest and the bell, and the holy 
 
 well; 
 For the wheel where I spun, 
 And the blessed light of the sun!" 
 And so she sings her fill. 
 Singing most joyfully. 
 Till the spindle drops from her hand. 
 And the whizzing wheel stands still. 
 She steals to the window, and looks at 
 
 the sand. 
 And over the sand at the sea; 100 
 
 And her eyes are set in a stare; 
 And anon there breaks a sigh, 
 And anon there drops a tear. 
 From a sorrow-clouded eye, 
 And a heart sorrow-laden, 
 A long, long sigh ; 
 For the cold strange eyes of a little Mer- 
 
 maiden 
 And the gleam of her golden hair. 
 
 Come away, away, children ; 
 Come children, come down I 1 10 
 
 The hoarse wind blows coldly; 
 Lights shine in the town.
 
 106 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 She will start from her slumber 
 
 When gusts shake the door; 
 
 She will hear the winds howling, 
 
 Will hear the waves roar. 
 
 We shall see, while above us 
 
 The waves roar and whirl, 
 
 A ceiling of amber, 
 
 A pavement of pearl; 120 
 
 Singing: "Here came a mortal, 
 
 But faithless was she! 
 
 And alone dwell for ever 
 
 The kings of the sea." 
 
 But, children, at midnight, 
 
 When soft the winds blow. 
 
 When clear falls the moonlight. 
 
 When spring tides are low ; 
 
 When sweet airs come seaward 
 
 From heaths starr'd with broom, 130 
 
 And high rocks throw mildly 
 
 On the blanch'd sands a gloom; 
 
 Up the still, glistening beaches. 
 
 Up the creeks we will hie, 
 
 Over banks of bright seaweed 
 
 The ebb-tide leaves dry. 
 
 We will gaze, from the sand ffills, 
 
 At the white, sleeping town ; 
 
 At the church on the hill-side — 
 
 And then come back down, 140 
 
 Singing : "There dwells a loved one, 
 
 But cruel is she ! 
 
 She left lonely for ever 
 
 The kings of the sea." 
 
 (1849) 
 
 SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 [The story of this poem is from the great 
 Persian epic, or "Book of Kings," the Shah- 
 namah. Arnold develops it in the style of the 
 Homeric epic, and the numerous poetic com- 
 parisons or "Homeric similes" (as in lines 110- 
 115, 154-157, 160-169, etc.) are due to this. The 
 opening word "And" is intended to show that 
 the poem presents an episode in a longer story. 
 The scene is in the midst of an invasion of 
 Persia by the Tartars commanded by Peran- 
 Wisa, general of the Tartar king. The young 
 warrior Sohrab, though his father was Persian, 
 had grown to manhood among the Tartars, his 
 mother's people, and is now their champion. The 
 river Oxus was at this time the boundary of 
 Persia; it rises north of India in the Pamir 
 plateau, and flows northwest to the Aral Sea. At 
 certain points (as lines 388-397 and 709-715) 
 Arnold introduces the Oriental philosophy of 
 fatalism.] 
 
 And the first gray of morning fill'd the 
 
 east. 
 And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. 
 But all the Tartar camp along the stream 
 
 Was hush'd, and still the men were 
 
 plunged in sleep ; 
 Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long 
 He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed; 
 But when the gray dawn stole into his 
 
 tent. 
 He rose, and clad himself, and girt his 
 
 sword. 
 And took his horseman's cloak, and left 
 
 his tent; 
 And went abroad into the cold wet fog. 
 Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's 
 
 tent. II 
 
 Through the black Tartar tents he 
 
 pass'd, which stood 
 Clustering like beehives on the low flat 
 
 strand 
 Of Oxus, where the summer-floods o'er- 
 
 flow 
 When the sun melts tlie snows in high 
 
 Pamere ; 
 Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er 
 
 that low strand. 
 And to a hillock came, a little back 
 From the stream's brink — the spot where 
 
 first a boat. 
 Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes 
 
 the land. 
 The men of former times had crown'd the 
 
 top 20 
 
 With a clay fort ; but that was f all'n, and 
 
 now 
 The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, 
 A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were 
 
 spread. 
 And Sohrab came there, and went in, and 
 
 stood 
 Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent, 
 And found the old man sleeping on his 
 
 bed 
 Of rugs and "felts, and near him lay his 
 
 arms. 
 And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the 
 
 step 
 Was duU'd; for he slept light, an old 
 
 man's sleep; 
 And he rose quickly on one arm, and 
 
 said :— 30 
 
 "Who art thou? for it is not yet clear 
 
 dawn. 
 Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?" 
 But Sohrab came to the bedside, and 
 
 said : — 
 "Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa! it is I. 
 The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 
 Sleep ; but I sleep not ; all night long I lie 
 Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. 
 I'or so did King Afrasiab bid me seek
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 107 
 
 Thy counsel, and to heed thee as tTiy son, 
 In Samarcand, Ix^fore tlic army march'd; 
 And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 
 Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan 
 first 42 
 
 I came among the Tartars and bore arms, 
 I have still served Afrasiab well, and 
 
 shown. 
 At my boy's years, the courage of a man. 
 This too thou know'st, that while I still 
 
 bear on 
 The conquering Tartar ensigns through 
 
 the world, 
 And beat the Persians back on every field, 
 I seek one man, one man, and one alone — 
 Rustum, my father; who I hoped should 
 
 greet, 50 
 
 Should one day greet, upon some well- 
 fought field, 
 His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 
 So I long hoped, but him I never find. 
 Come then, hear now, and grant me what 
 
 I ask. 
 Let the two armies rest to-day ; but I 
 Will challenge forth the bravest Persian 
 
 lords 
 To meet me, man to man; if I prevail, 
 Rustum will surely hear it ; if I fall — 
 Old man, the dead need no one, claim no 
 
 kin. 
 Dim is the rumor of a common fight, 60 
 Where host meets host, and many names 
 
 are sunk; 
 But of a single combat fame speaks clear." 
 He spoke; and Peran-Wisa took the 
 
 hand 
 Of the young man in his, and sigh'd, and 
 
 said : — 
 "O Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine! 
 Canst thou not rest among the Tartar 
 
 chiefs, 
 And share the battle's common chance 
 
 with us 
 Who love thee, but must press for ever 
 
 first. 
 In single fight incurring single risk. 
 To find a father thou hast never seen? 
 That were far best, my son, to stay with 
 
 us _ _ 71 
 
 Unmurmuring; in our tents, while it is 
 
 war, 
 And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasiab's 
 
 towns. 
 But, if this one desire indeed rules all, 
 To seek out Rustum — seek him not 
 
 through fight ! 
 Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms, 
 O Sohrab, carry an unwounded son ! 
 
 But far hence seek him. for he is not here. 
 For now it is not as when 1 was young, 
 When Rustum was in front of every fray; 
 But now he keeps apart, and sits at home. 
 In Seistan, with Zal, his father old, 82 
 Whether that his own mighty strength at 
 
 last 
 Feels the abhorr'd approaches of old age. 
 Or in some quarrel with the Persian king. 
 There go ! — Thou wilt not? Yet my heart 
 
 forebodes 
 Danger of death awaits thee on this field. 
 Fain would I know thee safe and well, 
 
 though lost 
 To us; fain therefore send thee hence, in 
 
 peace 
 To seek thy father, not seek single fights 
 In vain; — but who can keep the lion's cub 
 From ravening, and who govern Rustum's 
 son ? 92 
 
 Go, I will grant thee what thy heart de- 
 sires." 
 So said he, and dropp'd Sohrab's hand, 
 and left 
 His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he 
 
 lay; 
 And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat 
 He pass'd, and tied his sandals on his feet. 
 And threw a white cloak round him, and 
 
 he took 
 In his right hand a ruler's stafif, no sword; 
 And on his head he set his sheep-skin cap. 
 Black, glossy, curl'd, the fleece of Kara- 
 Kul ; loi 
 
 And raised the curtain of fiis tent, and 
 
 call'd 
 His herald to his side, and went abroad. 
 The sun by this had risen, and clear'd 
 the fog 
 From the broad Oxus and the glittering 
 
 sands. 
 And from their tents the Tartar horse- 
 men filed 
 Into the open plain; so Haman bade — 
 Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa ruled 
 The host, and still was in his lusty prime. 
 From their black tents, long files of horse, 
 they stream'd ; no 
 
 As when some gray November morn the 
 
 files, 
 In marching order spread, of long-neck'd 
 
 cranes 
 Stream over Casbin and the southern 
 
 slopes 
 Of Elburz, from the Aralian estuaries. 
 Or some frore ^ Caspian reed-bed, south- 
 ward bound 
 I jroTt. Frozen.
 
 108 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 For the warm Persian sea-board — so they 
 
 stream'd. 
 The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's 
 
 guard, . 
 
 First, with black sheep-skin caps and with 
 
 long spears; 
 Large men, large steeds ; who from Bok- 
 hara come 
 And Khiva, and ferment the milk of 
 
 mares. 120 
 
 Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns of 
 
 the south. 
 The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, 
 And those from Attruck and the Caspian 
 
 sands ; 
 Light men and on light steeds, who only 
 
 drink 
 The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. 
 And then a swarm of wandering horse, 
 
 who came 
 From far, and a more doubtful service 
 
 own'd; 
 The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks 
 Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beards 
 And close-set skull-caps; and those wilder 
 
 hordes 130 
 
 Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern 
 
 waste, 
 Kalmucks and unkempt Kuzzaks, tribes 
 
 who stray 
 Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kir- 
 
 ghizzes, 
 "Who come on shaggy ponies from Pa- 
 mere; 
 These all filed out from camp into the 
 
 plain. 
 And on the other side the Persians 
 
 f orm'd ; — 
 First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they 
 
 seem'd. 
 The Ilyats of Khorassan ; and behind, 
 The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot, 
 Marshall'd battalions bright in burnish'd 
 
 steel. 140 
 
 But Peran-Wisa with his herald came. 
 Threading the Tartar squadrons to the 
 
 front, 
 And with his staff kept back the foremost 
 
 ranks. 
 And when Ferood, who led the Persians, 
 
 saw 
 That Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, 
 He took his spear, and to the front he 
 
 came, 
 And check'd his ranks, and fix'd them 
 
 where they stood. 
 And the old Tartar came upon the sand 
 
 Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and 
 
 said : 
 "Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, 
 
 hear! 150 
 
 Let there be truce between the hosts to- 
 day. 
 But choose a champion from the Persian 
 
 lords 
 To fight our champion Sohrab, man to 
 
 man." 
 As, in the country, on a morn in June, 
 When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, 
 A shiver runs through the deep corn for 
 
 joy- 
 So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa 
 
 said, 
 A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons 
 
 ran 
 Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they 
 
 loved. 159 
 
 But as a troop of pedlars from Cabool 
 Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, 
 That vast sky-neighboring mountain of 
 
 milk snow; 
 Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they 
 
 pass 
 Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the 
 
 snow. 
 Choked by the air, and scarce can they 
 
 themselves 
 Slake their parch'd throats with sugar'd 
 
 mulberries — 
 In single file they move, and stop their 
 
 breath, 
 For fear they should dislodge the o'er- 
 
 hanging snows — 
 So the pale Persians held their breath 
 
 with fear. 
 And to Ferood his brother chiefs came 
 
 up 170 
 
 To counsel : Gudurz and Zoarrah came, 
 And Feraburz, who ruled the Persian 
 
 host 
 Second, and was the uncle of the king; 
 These came and counsell'd, and then 
 
 Gudurz said : — 
 "Ferood, shame bids us take their chal- 
 lenge up. 
 Yet champion have we none to match this 
 
 youth. 
 He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's 
 
 heart. 
 But Rustum came last night; aloof he sits 
 And sullen, and has pitch'd his tents apart. 
 Him will I seek, and carry to his ear 180 
 The Tartar challenge, and this young 
 
 man's name. 
 Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 109 
 
 Stand forth the while, and take their chal- 
 lenge up." 
 So spake he ; and Ferood stood forth 
 and cried : — 
 "Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said! 
 Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." 
 He spake : and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and 
 strode 
 Back through the opening squadrons to 
 
 his tent. 
 But through the anxious Persians Gudurz 
 
 ran. 
 And cross'd the camp which lay behind, 
 and reach'd, 190 
 
 Out on the sands beyond it, Rustum's 
 
 tents. 
 Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering 
 
 gay, 
 Just pitch'd ; the high pavilion in the midst 
 Was Rustum's, and his men lay camp'd 
 
 around. 
 And Gudurz enter'd Rustum's tent and 
 
 found 
 Rustum ; his morning meal was done, but 
 
 still 
 The table stood before him, charged with 
 
 food — 
 A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of 
 
 bread, 
 And dark green melons; and there Rus- 
 tum sate 
 Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, 
 •And play'd with it; but Gudurz came and 
 stood 201 
 
 Before him; and he look'd, and saw him 
 
 stand. 
 And with a cry sprang up and dropp'd the 
 
 bird. 
 And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and 
 said : — 
 "Welcome ! these eyes could see no bet- 
 ter sight. 
 What news? but sit down first, and eat 
 and drink." 
 But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and 
 said : — 
 "Not now ! a time will come to eat and 
 
 drink, 
 But not to-day ; to-day has other needs. 
 The armies are drawn out, and stand at 
 gaze; 210 
 
 For from the Tartars is a challenge 
 
 brought 
 To pick a champion from the Persian 
 
 lords 
 To fight their champion — and thou know'st 
 
 his name — 
 Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 
 
 Rustum, like thy might is this young 
 
 man's ! 
 He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's 
 
 heart; 
 And he is young, and Iran's^ chiefs are 
 
 old, 
 Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to 
 
 thee. 
 Come down and help us, Rustum, or we 
 lose !" 
 He spoke; but Rustum answer'd with a 
 smile : — 220 
 
 "Go to! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I 
 Am older; if the young are weak, the 
 
 king 
 Errs strangely; for the king, for Kai 
 
 Khosroo, 
 Himself is young, and honors younger 
 
 men, 
 And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 
 Rustum he loves no more, but loves the 
 
 young — 
 The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, 
 
 not L 
 For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's 
 
 fame? 
 For would that I myself had such a son. 
 And not that one slight helpless girl I 
 have — 230 
 
 A son so famed, so brave, to send to war. 
 And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal, 
 My father, whom the robber Afghans vex. 
 And clip his borders short, and drive his 
 
 herds. 
 And he has none to guard his weak old 
 
 age. 
 There would I go, and hang my armor up. 
 And with my great name fence that weak 
 
 old man. 
 And spend the goodly treasures I have 
 
 got, 
 And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's 
 
 fame. 
 And leave to death the hosts of thankless 
 kings, 240 
 
 And with these slaughterous hands draw 
 sword no more." 
 He spoke, and smiled ; and Gudurz made 
 reply : — 
 "What then, O Rustum, will men say to 
 
 this. 
 When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and 
 
 seeks 
 Thee most of all, and thou, whom most 
 
 he seeks, 
 Hidest thy face? Take heed lest men 
 should say : 
 
 1 Iran. Persia.
 
 110 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his 
 
 fame, 
 And shuns to peril it with younger men." 
 And, greatly moved, then Rustum made 
 
 reply : — 
 "O Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such 
 
 words? 250 
 
 Thou knowest better words than this to 
 
 say. 
 What is one more, one less, obscure or 
 
 famed. 
 Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? 
 Are not they mortal, am not I myself? 
 But who for men of nought would do 
 
 great deeds? 
 Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards 
 
 his fame! 
 But I will fight unknown, and in plain 
 
 arms; 
 Let not men say of Rustum, he was 
 
 match'd 
 In single fight with any mortal man." 
 He spoke, and frown'd; and Gudurz 
 
 turn'd, and ran ^ 260 
 
 Back quickly through the camp in fear 
 
 and joy — 
 Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum 
 
 came. 
 But Rustum strode to his tent-door, and 
 
 call'd 
 His followers in, and bade them bring his 
 
 arms. 
 And clad himself in steel; the arms he 
 
 chose 
 Were plain, and on his shield was no de- 
 vice. 
 Only his helm was rich, Inlaid with gold, 
 And, from the fluted spine atop, a plume 
 Of horsehair waved, a scarlet horsehair 
 
 plume. 
 So arm'd, he issued forth ; and Ruksh, his 
 
 horse, 270 
 
 Follow'd him like a faithful hound at 
 
 heel — 
 Ruksh, -whose renown was noised through 
 
 all the earth, 
 The horse whom Rustum on a foray once 
 Did in Bokhara by the river find 
 A colt beneath its dam, and drove him 
 
 home. 
 And rear'd him; a bright bay, with lofty 
 
 crest, 
 Dight ^ with a saddle-cloth of broider'd 
 
 green 
 Crusted with gold, and on the ground were 
 
 work'd 
 X Dighl. Decked. 
 
 All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunt- 
 ers know. 
 So follow'd, Rustum left his tents, and 
 
 cross'd 280 
 
 The camp, and to the Persian host ap- 
 
 pear'd. 
 And all the Persians knew him, and with 
 
 shouts 
 Hail'd; but the Tartars knew not who he 
 
 was. 
 And dear as the wet diver to the eyes 
 Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on 
 
 shore. 
 By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf, 
 Plunging all day in the blue waves, at 
 
 night, 
 Having made up his tale of precious pearls, 
 Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands — 
 So dear to the pale Persians Rustum 
 
 came. 290 
 
 And Rustum to the Persian front ad- 
 vanced. 
 And Sohrab arm'd in Haman's tent, and 
 
 came. 
 And as afield the reapers cut a swath 
 Down through the middle of a rich man's 
 
 corn, 
 And on each side are squares of standing 
 
 corn. 
 And in the midst a stubble, short and 
 
 bare — 
 So on each side were squares of men, with 
 
 ^ spears 
 Bristling, and in the midst the open sand. 
 And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast 
 His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw 
 Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he 
 
 came. 301 
 
 As some rich woman, on a winter's 
 
 morn, 
 Eyes through her silken curtains the poor 
 
 drudge 
 Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes 
 
 her fire — 
 At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn. 
 When the frost flowers the whiten'd win- 
 dow-panes — 
 And wonders how she lives, and what the 
 
 thoughts 
 Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum 
 
 eyes 
 The unknown adventurous youth, who 
 
 from afar 
 Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 
 All the most valiant chiefs; long he pe- 
 rused 311 
 His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was. 
 For very young he sccm'd, tenderly rear'd ;
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 111 
 
 Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, 
 
 and straight, 
 Which fn a queen's secluded garden 
 
 throws 
 Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, 
 By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's 
 
 sound — 
 So slender Sohrab seem'd, so softly rear'd. 
 And a deep pity enter'd Rustum's soul 
 As he beheld him coming; and he stood. 
 And beckon'd to him with his hand, and 
 
 said: — 321 
 
 "O thou young man, the air of Heaven 
 
 is soft, 
 And warm, and pleasant ; but the grave 
 
 is cold ! 
 Heaven's air is better than the cold dead 
 
 grave. 
 Behold me ! I am vast, and clad in iron. 
 And tried; and I have stood on many a 
 
 f^eld 
 Of blood, and I have fought with many 
 
 a foe — 
 Never was that field lost, or that foe 
 
 saved. 
 O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on 
 
 death? 
 Be govem'd ! quit the Tartar host, and 
 
 come 330 
 
 To Iran, and be as my son to me, 
 And fight beneath my banner till I die ! 
 There are no >ouths in Iran brave as 
 
 thou." 
 So he spake, mildly; Sohrab heard his 
 
 voice. 
 The mighty voice of Rustum, and he saw 
 His giant figure planted on the sand. 
 Sole, like some single tower, which a chief 
 Hath builded on the waste in former 
 
 years 
 Against the robbers ; and he saw that head, 
 Streak'd with its first gray hairs; — hope 
 
 fill'd his soul, 340 
 
 And he ran forward and embraced his 
 
 knees. 
 And clasp'd his hand within his own, and 
 
 said : — 
 "O, by thy father's head ! by thine own 
 
 soul ! 
 Art thou not Rustum ? speak ! art thou 
 
 not he?" 
 But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling 
 
 youth. 
 And turn'd away, and spake to his own 
 
 soul : — 
 "Ah me. I muse what this young fox 
 
 may mean ! 
 
 False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar 
 boys. 
 
 For if I now confess this thing he asks. 
 
 And hide it not, but say: Rustum is here! 
 
 He will not yield indeed, nor quit our 
 foes, ' 351 
 
 But he will find some pretext not to fight. 
 
 And praise my fame, and proffer court- 
 eous gifts, 
 
 A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. 
 
 And on a feast-tide, in Afrasiab's hall, 
 
 In Samarcand, he will arise and cry: 
 
 'I challenged once, when the two armies 
 camp'd 
 
 Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 
 
 To cope with me in single fight ; but they 
 
 Shrank, only Rustum dared; then he and 
 I 360 
 
 Changed gifts, and went on equal terms 
 away.' 
 
 So will he speak, perhaps, while men ap- 
 plaud; 
 
 Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed 
 through me." 
 And then he turn'd, and sternly spake 
 aloud : — 
 
 "Rise ! wherefore dost thou vainly ques- 
 tion thus 
 
 Of Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast 
 call'd 
 
 By challenge forth ; make good thy vaunt, 
 or yield! 
 
 Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight? 
 
 Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face 
 and flee ! 
 
 For well I know, that did great Rustum 
 stand 370 
 
 Before thy face this day, and were re- 
 veal'd, 
 
 There would be then no talk of fighting 
 more. 
 
 But being what I am, I tell thee this— 
 
 Do thou record it in thine inmost soul : 
 
 Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and 
 yield. 
 
 Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, 
 till winds 
 
 Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer- 
 floods, 
 
 Oxus in summer wash them all away." 
 He spoke; and Sohrab answer'd, on his 
 feet :— 
 
 "Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright 
 me so ! 380 
 
 I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 
 
 Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum 
 stand
 
 112 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Here on this field, there were no fighting 
 
 then. 
 But Rustum is far hence, and we stand 
 
 here. 
 Begin! thou art more vast, more dread 
 
 than I, 
 And thou art proved, I know, and I am 
 
 young — 
 But yet success sways with the breath of 
 
 Heaven. 
 And though thou thinkest that thou know- 
 
 est sure 
 Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely 
 
 know. 389 
 
 For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 
 Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, 
 Which hangs uncertain to which side to 
 
 fall. 
 And whether it will heave us up to land, 
 Or whether it will roll us out to sea, 
 Back out to sea, to the deep waves of 
 
 death, 
 We know not, and no search will make us 
 
 know ; 
 Only the event will teach us in its hour." 
 He spoke, and Rustum answer'd not, 
 
 but hurl'd 
 His spear; down from the shoulder, down 
 
 it came, 399 
 
 As on some partridge in the corn a hawk, 
 That long has tower'd in the airy clouds. 
 Drops like a plummet; Sohrab saw it 
 
 come. 
 And sprang aside, quick as a flash; the 
 
 spear 
 Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the 
 
 sand. 
 Which it sent flying wide; — then Soh'- 
 
 rab threw 
 In turn, and full struck Rustum's shield; 
 
 sharp rang, 
 The iron plates rang sharp, but turn'd the 
 
 spear. 
 And Rustum seized his club, which none 
 
 but he 
 Could wield ; an unlopp'd trunk it was, 
 
 and huge, 
 Still rough — like those which men in tree- 
 less plains 410 
 To build them boats fish from the flooded 
 
 rivers, 
 Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up 
 By their dark springs, the wind in winter- 
 time 
 Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack, 
 And strewn the channels with torn boughs 
 — so huge 
 
 The club which Rustum lifted now, and 
 
 struck 
 One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang 
 
 aside. 
 Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club 
 
 came 
 Thundering to earth, and leap'd from 
 
 Rustum's hand. 
 And Rustum follow'd his own blow, and 
 
 fell 420 
 
 To his knees, and with his fingers clutch'd 
 
 the sand. 
 And now might Sohrab have unsheathed 
 
 his sword. 
 And pierced the mighty Rustum while 
 
 he lay 
 Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with 
 
 sand; 
 But he look'd on, and smiled, nor bared 
 
 his sword, 
 But courteously drew back, and spoke, 
 
 and said : — 
 "Thou strik'st too hard! that club of 
 
 thine will float 
 Upon the summer-floods, and not my 
 
 bones. 
 But rise, and be not wroth ! not wroth am 
 
 I; 
 No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my 
 
 soul. 430 
 
 Thou say'st thou art not Rustum; be it 
 
 so! 
 Who art thou then, that canst so touch 
 
 my soul? 
 Boy as I am, I have seen battles too — 
 Have waded foremost in their bloody 
 
 waves. 
 And heard their hollow roar of dying 
 
 men; 
 But never was my heart thus touch'd 
 
 before. 
 Are they from Heaven, these softenings of 
 
 the heart? 
 O thou old warrior, let us yield to 
 
 Heaven ! 
 Come, plant we here in earth our angry 
 
 spears. 
 And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 
 And pledge each other in red wine, like 
 
 friends, 441 
 
 And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's 
 
 deeds. 
 There are enough foes in the Persian 
 
 host, 
 Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel 
 
 no pang; 
 Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom 
 
 thou
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 113 
 
 Mayst fight; fight them, when they con- 
 front thy spear ! 
 
 But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee 
 and me!" 
 He ceased, but while he spake, Rus- 
 tum had risen, 
 
 And stood erect, trembling with rage; 
 his club 
 
 He left to He, but had regain'd his spear, 
 
 Whose fiery point now in his mail'd 
 right-hand 451 
 
 Blazed bright and baleful, like that au- 
 tumn-star, 
 
 The baleful sign of fevers; dust had soil'd 
 
 His stately crest, and dimm'd his glitter- 
 ing arms. 
 
 His breast heav'd, his lips foam'd, and 
 twice his voice 
 
 Was chok'd with rage; at last these 
 words broke way: — 
 "Girl ! nimble with thy feet, not with 
 thy hands ! 
 
 Curl'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet 
 words ! 
 
 Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no 
 morel 
 
 Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 
 
 With Tartar girls, with whom thou art 
 wont to dance; 461 
 
 But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance 
 
 Of battle, and with me, who make no 
 play 
 
 Of war; I fight it out, and hand to hand. 
 
 Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, 
 and wine! 
 
 Remember all thy valor; try thy feints 
 
 And cunning! all the pity I had is gone; 
 
 Because thou hast shamed me before both 
 the hosts 
 
 With thy light skipping tricks, and thy 
 girl's wiles." 
 He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his 
 taunts, 470 
 
 And he too drew his sword; at once 
 they Tush'd 
 
 Together, as two eagles on one prey 
 
 Come rushing down together from the 
 clouds, 
 
 One from the east, one from the west; 
 their shields 
 
 Dash'd with a clang together, and a din 
 
 Rose, such as that the sinewy wood- 
 cutters 
 
 Make often in the forest's heart at morn, 
 
 Of hewing axes, crashing trees — such 
 blows 
 
 Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd. 
 
 And you would say that sun and stars 
 
 took part 480 
 
 In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud 
 Grew suddenly in heaven, and dark'd the 
 
 sun 
 Over the fighters' heads ; and a wind rose 
 Under their feet, and moaning swept 
 
 the plain. 
 And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the 
 
 pair. 
 In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and 
 
 they alone; 
 For both the on-looking hosts on either 
 
 hand 
 Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was 
 
 pure. 
 And the sun sparkled on the Oxus 
 
 stream. 
 But in the gloom they fought, with blood- 
 shot eyes 490 
 And laboring breath; first Rustum struck 
 
 the shield 
 Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel- 
 spiked spear 
 Rent the tough plates, but fail'd to reach 
 
 the skin. 
 And Rustum pluck'd it back with angry 
 
 groan. 
 Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rus- 
 
 tum's helm. 
 Nor clove its steel quite through; but all 
 
 the crest 
 He shore away, and that proud horse- 
 hair plume. 
 Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; 
 And Rustum bow'd his head ; but then 
 
 the gloom 
 Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, 
 And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, 
 
 the horse, 501 
 
 Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful 
 
 cry; — 
 No horse's cry was that, most like the 
 
 roar 
 Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day 
 Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his 
 
 side 
 And comes at night to die upon the 
 
 sand. 
 The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked 
 
 for fear, 
 And Oxus curdled as it cross'd his stream. 
 But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but 
 
 Tush'd on. 
 And struck again ; and again Rustum 
 
 bow'd 510 
 
 His head; but this time all the blade, 
 
 like glass,
 
 114 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, 
 
 And in the hand the hilt remain'd alone. 
 
 Then Rustum raised his head ; his dread- 
 ful eyes 
 
 Glared, and he shook on high his menac- 
 ing spear, 
 
 And shouted: Rustum! — Sohrab heard 
 that shout, 
 
 And shrank amazed; back he recoil'd one 
 step. 
 
 And scann'd with blinking eyes the ad- 
 vancing form; 
 
 And then he stood bewilder'd; and he 
 dropp'd 
 
 His covering shield, and the spear pierced 
 his side. 520 
 
 He reel'd, and staggering back, sank to 
 the ground. 
 
 And then the gloom dispers'd, and the 
 wind fell. 
 
 And the bright sun broke forth, and 
 melted all 
 
 The cloud; and the two armies saw the 
 pair — 
 
 Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet. 
 
 And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand. 
 Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum be- 
 gan:— 
 
 "Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to 
 kill 
 
 A Persian lord this day, and strip his 
 corpse, 
 
 And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent. 
 
 Or else that the great Rustum would 
 come down 531 
 
 Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would 
 move 
 
 His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. 
 
 And then that all the Tartar host would 
 praise 
 
 Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy 
 fame. 
 
 To glad thy father in his weak old age. 
 
 Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown 
 man! 
 
 Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be 
 
 Than to thy friends, and to thy father 
 old." 
 And with a fearless mien, Sohrab re- 
 plied :— 540 
 
 "Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt 
 is vain. 
 
 Thou dost not slay me, proud and boast- 
 ful man ! 
 
 No ! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. 
 
 For were I match'd with ten such men as 
 thee, 
 
 And I were that which till to-day I was, 
 
 They should be lying here, I standing 
 
 there. 
 But that beloved name unnerv'd my arm — 
 That name, and something, I confess, in 
 
 thee. 
 Which troubles all my heart, and made 
 
 my shield 
 Fall; and thy spear transfix'd an un- 
 
 arm'd foe. 550 
 
 And now thou boastest, and insult'st my 
 
 fate. 
 But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble 
 
 to hear: 
 The mighty Rustum shall avenge my 
 
 death ! 
 My father, whom I seek through all the 
 
 world. 
 He shall avenge my death, and punish 
 
 thee!" 
 As when some hunter in the spring 
 
 hath found 
 A breeding eagle sitting on her nest. 
 Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake, 
 And pierced her with an arrow as she 
 
 rose, 
 And follow'd her to find her where she 
 
 fell 560 
 
 Far off; — anon her mate comes winging 
 
 back 
 From hunting, and a great way off de- 
 scries 
 His huddling young left sole; at that, he 
 
 checks 
 His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 
 Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 
 Chiding his mate back to her nest; but 
 
 she 
 Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, 
 In some far stony gorge out of his ken, 
 A heap of fluttering feathers — never more 
 Shall the lake glass^ her, flying over it; 
 Never the black and dripping precipices 
 Echo her stormy scream as she sails by, — 
 As that poor bird flies home, nor knows 
 
 his loss, 573 
 
 So Rustum knew not his own loss, but 
 
 stood 
 Over his dying son, and knew him not. 
 But, with a cold incredulous voice, he 
 
 said : — 
 "What prate is this of fathers and re- 
 venge ? 
 The mighty Rustum never had a son." 
 And, with a failing voice, Sohrab re- 
 plied : — 
 "Ah yes, he had ! and that lost son am I. 
 
 I glass. Reflect.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 115 
 
 Surely the news will one day reach his 
 
 ear, 581 
 
 Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries 
 
 long. 
 Somewhere, I know not where, but far 
 
 from here 
 And pierce him like a stab, and make him 
 
 leap 
 To arms, and cry for vengeance upon 
 
 thee. 
 Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only 
 
 son! 
 What will that grief, what will that ven- 
 geance be? 
 Oh, could I live, till I that grief had seen! 
 Yet him I pity not so much, but her. 
 My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells 
 With that old king, her father, who 
 
 grows gray 591 
 
 With age, and rules over the valiant 
 
 Koords. 
 Her most I pity, who no more will see 
 Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, 
 With spoils and honor, when the war is 
 
 done. 
 But a dark rumor will be bruited^ up. 
 From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear ; 
 And then will that defenceless woman 
 
 learn 
 That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no 
 
 more. 
 But that in battle with a nameless foe. 
 By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." 601 
 He spoke; and as he ceased, he wept 
 
 aloud, 
 Thinking of her he left, and his own 
 
 death. 
 He spoke; but Rustum listen'd, plung'd 
 
 in thought. 
 Nor did he yet believe it was his son 
 Who spoke, although he call'd back names 
 
 he knew; 
 For he had had sure tidings that the babe, 
 Which was in Ader-baijan born to him. 
 Had been a puny girl, no boy at all — 
 So that sad mother sent him word, for 
 
 fear 610 
 
 Rustum should seek the boy, to train in 
 
 arms; 
 And so he deem'd that either Sohrab 
 
 took. 
 By a false boast, the style^ of Rustum's 
 
 son ; 
 Or that men gave it him, to swell his 
 
 fame. 1 
 
 I bruited. Noised. 
 3 stylt. Title. 
 
 So deem'd he; yet he listen'd, plung'd in 
 
 thought. 
 And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide 
 Of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore 
 At the full moon; tears gather'd in his 
 
 eyes ; 
 l'"or he remember'd his own early youth, 
 And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn, 
 The sheplierd from his mountain-lodge 
 
 descries 621 
 
 A far, bright city, smitten by the sun, 
 Through many rolling clouds — so Rustum 
 
 saw 
 His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her 
 
 bloom ; 
 And that old king, her father, who loved 
 
 well 
 His wandering guest, and gave him his 
 
 fair child 
 With joy; and all the pleasant life they 
 
 led, 
 They^ three, in that long-distant summer- 
 time — 
 The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt 
 And hound, and morn on those delightful 
 
 hills 630 
 
 In Ader-baijan.. And he saw that youth, 
 Of age and looks to be his own dear son, 
 Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand. 
 Like some rich hyacinth which by the 
 
 scythe 
 Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, 
 Mowing the garden grass-plots near its 
 
 bed. 
 And lies, a fragrant tower of purple 
 
 bloom. 
 On the mown, dying grass — so Sohrab lay, 
 Lovely in death, upon the common sand. " 
 And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and 
 
 said : — 640 
 
 "O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son 
 
 Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well 
 
 have loved. 
 Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 
 Have told thee false — thou art not Rus- 
 tum's son. 
 For Rustum had no son; one child he 
 
 had— 
 But one — a girl; who with her mother 
 
 now 
 Plies some light female task, nor dreams 
 
 of us — 
 Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor 
 
 war." 
 But Sohrab answer'd him in wrath ; for 
 
 now 
 The anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew 
 
 fierce, 650
 
 116 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And he desired to draw forth the steel, 
 And let the blood flow free, and so to die — 
 But first he would convince his stubborn 
 
 foe; 
 And, rising sternly on one arm, he said : — 
 "Man, who art thou who dost deny my 
 
 words? 
 Truth sits upon the lips of dying men, 
 And falsehood, while I lived, was far from 
 
 mine. 
 I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm I bear 
 That seal which Rustum to my mother 
 
 gave. 
 That she might prick it on the babe she 
 
 bore." 660 
 
 He spoke ; and all the blood left Rus- 
 
 tum's cheeks. 
 And his knees totter'd, and he smote his 
 
 hand 
 Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand. 
 That the hard iron corslet clank'd aloud; 
 And to his heart he press'd the other hand. 
 And in a hollow voice he spake, and 
 
 said : — 
 "Sohrab, that were a proof which could 
 
 not liel 
 If thou show this, then art thou Rus- 
 
 tum's son." 
 Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab 
 
 loosed 
 His belt, and near the shoulder bared his 
 
 arm, ... ^^o 
 
 And show'd a sign in faint vermilion 
 
 points 
 Prick'd; as a cunning workman, in Pe- 
 
 kin, 
 Pricks with vermilion some clear porce- 
 lain vase. 
 An emperor's gift — at early morn he 
 
 paints, 
 And all day long, and, when night comes, 
 
 the lamp 
 Lights up his studious forehead and thin 
 
 hands — 
 So delicately prick'd the sign appear'd 
 On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's 
 
 seal. 
 It was that griffin, which of old rear'd 
 
 Zal, 
 Rustum's great father, whom they left 
 
 to die, 680 
 
 A helpless babe, among the mountain- 
 rocks; 
 Him that kind creature found, and rear'd, 
 
 and loved — 
 Then Rustum took it for his glorious 
 
 sign. 
 And Sohrab bared that image on his arm. 
 
 And himself scann'd it long with mourn- 
 ful eyes. 
 
 And then he touch'd it with his hand and 
 said : — 
 "How say'st thou? Is that sign the 
 proper sign 
 
 Of Rustum's son, or of some other 
 man's?" 
 He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and 
 gazed, and stood 
 
 Speechless; and then he utter'd one sharp 
 ciy : 690 
 
 boy — thy father! — and his voice chok'd 
 
 there. 
 And then a dark cloud pass'd before his 
 
 eyes. 
 And his head swam, and he sank down 
 
 to earth. 
 But Sohrab crawl'd to where he lay, and 
 
 cast 
 His arms about his neck, and kiss'd his 
 
 lips. 
 And with fond faltering fingers strok'd 
 
 his cheeks. 
 Trying to call him back to life; and life 
 Came back to Rustum, and he oped his 
 
 eyes. 
 And they stood wide with horror; and 
 
 he seized 
 In both his hands the dust which lay 
 
 around, 700 
 
 And threw it on his head, and smirch'd 
 
 his hair, — 
 His hair, and face, and beard, and glit- 
 tering arms; 
 And strong convulsive groanings shook 
 
 his breast. 
 And his sobs chok'd him; and he 
 
 clutch'd his sword, 
 To draw it, and for ever let life out. 
 But Sohrab saw his thought, and held 
 
 his hands. 
 And with a soothing voice he spake, and 
 
 said : — 
 "Father, forbear! for I but meet to-day 
 The doom which at my birth was written 
 
 down 
 In heaven, and thou art Heaven's un- 
 conscious hand. 710 
 Surely my heart cried out that it was 
 
 thou, 
 When first I saw thee; and thy heart 
 
 spoke, too, 
 
 1 know it ! but fate trod those prompt- 
 
 ings down 
 ' Under its iron heel ; fate, fate engaged 
 The strife, and hurl'd me on my father's 
 
 spear.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 117 
 
 But let us speak no more of this : I find 
 My father; let me feel that I have found! 
 Come, sit beside me on this sand, and 
 
 take 
 My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my 
 
 cheeks, 
 And wash them with thy tears, and say: 
 
 My son! 720 
 
 Quick ! quick ! for number'd are my sands 
 
 of life, 
 And swift; for like the lightning to this 
 
 field 
 I came, and like the wind I go away — 
 Sudden, and swift, and like a passing 
 
 wind. 
 But it was writ in heaven that this should 
 
 be." 
 So said he, and his voice released the 
 
 heart 
 Of Rustum, and his tears broke forth; 
 
 he cast 
 His arms round his son's neck, and wept 
 
 aloud. 
 And kiss'd him. And awe fell on both 
 
 the hosts. 
 When they saw Rustum's grief; and 
 
 Ruksh, the horse, 730 
 
 With his head bowing to the ground and 
 
 mane 
 Sweeping the dust, came near, and in 
 
 mute woe 
 First to the one, then to the other moved 
 His head, as if inquiring what their grief 
 Might mean; and from his dark, compas- 
 sionate eyes, 
 The big warm tears TolI'd down, and 
 
 caked the sand. 
 But Rustum chid him with stern voice, 
 
 and said : — 
 "Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O 
 
 Ruksh; thy feet 
 Should first have rotted on their nimble 
 
 joints. 
 Or ere they brought thy master to this 
 
 field !" 740 
 
 But Sohrab look'd upon the horse and 
 
 said; — 
 "Is this, then, Ruksh? How often, in 
 
 past days. 
 My mother told me of thee, thou brave 
 
 steed. 
 My terrible father's terrible horse! and 
 
 said. 
 That I should one day find thy lord and 
 
 thee. 
 Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane ! 
 O Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I ; 
 
 For thou hast gone where I shall never 
 
 go, 
 And snuff 'd the breezes of my father's 
 
 home. 
 And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan, 
 And seen the River of Helmund, and the 
 
 Lake 751 
 
 Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself 
 Has often stroked thy neck, and given 
 
 thee food, 
 Corn in a golden platter soak'd with wine. 
 And said: O Ruksh! bear Rustum well! 
 
 —but I 
 Have never known my grandsire's fur- 
 
 Tow'd face. 
 Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, 
 Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Hel- 
 mund stream; 
 But lodged among my father's foes, and 
 
 seen 
 Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 760 
 Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste. 
 And the black -Toorkmun tents ; and only 
 
 drunk 
 The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, 
 Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their 
 
 sheep. 
 The northern Sir; and this great Oxus 
 
 stream. 
 The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die." 
 Then, with a heavy groan, Rustum be- 
 
 wail'd : — 
 "Oh, that its waves were flowing over 
 
 me! 
 Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt 
 Roll tumbling in the current o'er my 
 
 head!" 770 
 
 But, with a grave mild voice, Sohrab 
 
 replied : — 
 "Desire not that, my father ! thou must 
 
 live. 
 For some are born to do great deeds, and 
 
 live. 
 As some are born to be obscured, and die. 
 Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, 
 And reap a second glory in thine age ; 
 Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. 
 But come ! thou seest this great host of 
 
 men 
 Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not 
 
 these ! 
 Let me entreat for them; what have they 
 
 done ? 780 
 
 They foUow'd me, my hope, my fame, 
 
 my star. 
 Let them all cross the Oxus back in 
 
 peace.
 
 118 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But me thou must bear hence, not send 
 
 with them, 
 But carry me with thee to Seistan, 
 And place me on a bed, and mourn for 
 
 me, 
 Thou, and the snow-hair'd Zal, and all 
 
 thy friends, 
 And thou must lay me in that lovely 
 
 earth, 
 And heap a stately mound above my 
 
 bones. 
 And plant a far-seen pillar over all; 
 That so the passing horseman on the 
 
 waste 790 
 
 May see my tomb a great way off, and 
 
 cry : 
 Sohrab, the mighty Rustum's son, lies 
 
 there. 
 Whom his great father did in ignorance 
 
 kill! 
 And I be not forgotten in my grave." 
 And, with a mournful voice, Rustum 
 
 replied : — 
 "Fear not; as thou hast said, Sohrab, my 
 
 son. 
 So shall it be; for I will bum my tents, 
 And quit the host, and bear thee hence 
 
 with me, 
 And carry thee away to Seistan, 
 And place thee on a bed, and mourn for 
 
 thee, 800 
 
 With the snow-headed Zal, and all my 
 
 friends, 
 And I will lay thee in that lovely earth, 
 And heap a stately mound above thy 
 
 bones. 
 And plant a far-seen pillar over all. 
 And men shall not forget thee in thy 
 
 grave. 
 And I will spare thy host; yea, let them 
 
 go; 
 Let them all cross the Oxus back m 
 
 peace ! 
 What should I do with slaying any more? 
 For would that all that I have ever slain 
 Might be once more alive; my bitterest 
 
 foes, 810 
 
 And they who were call'd champions in 
 
 their time. 
 And through whose death I won that 
 
 fame I have — 
 And I were nothing but a gjmmon man, 
 A poor, mean soldier, and without re- 
 nown. 
 So thou mightest live too, my son, my 
 
 son! 
 Or rather would that T, even 1 myself. 
 Might now be lying on this bloody sand, 
 
 Near death, and by an ignorant stroke 
 
 of thine. 
 Not thou of mine ! and I might die, not 
 
 thou; 
 And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan; 
 And Zal might weep above my grave, 
 
 not thine; 821 
 
 And say: O son, I weep thee not too sore, 
 For willingly, I knoiv, thou met'st thine 
 
 end! 
 But now in blood and battles was my 
 
 youth. 
 And full of blood and battles is my age, 
 And I shall never end this life of blood." 
 Then, at the point of death, Sohrab 
 
 replied : — 
 "A life of blood .indeed, thou dreadful 
 
 man ! 
 But thou shalt yet have peace; only not 
 
 now. 
 Not yet ! but thou shalt have it on that 
 
 day, 830 
 
 When thou shalt sail in a high-masted 
 
 ship. 
 Thou and the other peers of Kai Khos- 
 
 roo, 
 Returning home over the salt blue sea. 
 From laying thy dear master in his 
 
 grave." 
 And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, 
 
 and said : — 
 "Soon be that day, my son, and deep 
 
 that sea! 
 Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure." 
 He spoke; and Sohrab smiled on him, 
 
 and took 
 The spear, and drew it from his side, and 
 
 eased 
 His wound's imperious anguish; but the 
 
 blood 840 
 
 Came welling from the open gash, and 
 
 life 
 Flow'd with the stream ; — all down his 
 
 cold white side 
 The crimson torrent ran, dim now and 
 
 soil'd. 
 Like the soil'd tissue of white violets 
 Left, freshly gather'd, on the native bank. 
 By children whom their nurses call with 
 
 haste 
 Indoors from the sun's eye; his head 
 
 droop'd low. 
 His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, 
 
 he lay — 
 White, with eyes closed ; only when heavy 
 
 gasps, 
 Deep heavy gasps, quivering through all 
 
 his frame, 850
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 119 
 
 Convuls'd him back to life, he open'd 
 
 them, 
 And fix'd them feebly on his father's 
 
 face; 
 Till now all strength was ebb'd, and from 
 
 his limbs 
 Unwillingly the spirit fled away, 
 Regretting the warm mansion which it 
 
 left, 
 And youth, and bloom, and this delight- 
 ful world. 
 So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay 
 
 dead; 
 And the great Rustum drew his horse- 
 man's cloak 
 Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead 
 
 son. 
 As those black granite pillars, once high- 
 
 rear'd 860 
 
 By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear 
 His house, now 'mid their broken flights 
 
 of steps 
 Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain 
 
 side — 
 So in the sand lay Rustum by his son. 
 And night came down over the solemn 
 
 waste, 
 And the two gazing hosts, and that sole 
 
 pair. 
 And darken'd all; and a cold fog, with 
 
 night. 
 Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose. 
 As of a great assembly loos'd, and fires 
 Began to twinkle through the fog; for 
 
 now 870 
 
 Both armies moved to camp, and took 
 
 their meal; 
 The Persians took it on the open sands 
 Southward, the Tartars by the river 
 
 marge ; 
 And Rustum and his son were left alone. 
 
 But the majestic river floated on, 
 Out of the mist and hum of that low 
 
 land, 
 Into the frosty starlight, and there moved. 
 Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian 
 
 waste, 
 Under the solitary moon; — he flow'd 
 Right for the polar star, past Orgunje, 
 Brimming, and bright, and large; then 
 
 sands began 881 
 
 To hem his watery march, and dam his 
 
 streams, 
 And split his currents ; that .for many a 
 
 league 
 The shorn and parcell'd Oxus strains 
 
 along 
 
 Through beds of sand and matted rushy 
 
 isles; 
 Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had 
 In his high mountain-cradle in Pamere, 
 A foil'd circuitous wanderer — till at last 
 The long'd-for dash of waves is heard, 
 
 and wide 
 His luminous home of waters opens, 
 
 bright 890 
 
 And tranquil, from whose floor the new- 
 
 bath'd stars 
 Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. 
 
 (1853) 
 
 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT 
 BRIGADE 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [This poem deals with an incident in the Bat- 
 tle of Balaclava, in the Crimean War, fought 
 on October 25, 1854. The Russians had begun 
 the conflict by capturing Vorontsov Heights; 
 their cavalry then advanced in large numbers to 
 clear Balaclava plain, which was partly occupied 
 by British cavalry. The charge of the Heavy 
 Brigade (see page 000), under General Scarlett, 
 routed them and compelled them to return to 
 the hill-crest. An order — the result of a mis- 
 understanding — was then brought commanding 
 the Light Brigade to charge the Russian guns; 
 in making the effort the brigade lost over half 
 its horses and over a third of its men.] 
 
 Half a league, half a league, 
 Half a league onward. 
 All in the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 "Forward the Light Brigade ! 
 Charge for the guns !" he said. 
 Into the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 "Forward, the Light Brigade!" 
 Was there a man dismay'd? 10 
 
 Not tho' the soldier knew 
 
 Some one had blunder'd. 
 Theirs not to make reply, 
 Theirs not to reason why, 
 Theirs but to do and die: 
 Into the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them. 
 Cannon in front of them 
 VoUey'd and thunder'd ; 
 
 2a
 
 120 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
 Boldly they rode and well, 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Into the mouth of hell 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flash'd all their sabres bare, 
 Flash'd as they turn'd in air 
 Sabring the gunners there. 
 Charging an army, while 30 
 
 AH the world wonder'd. 
 Plunged in the battery-smoke 
 Right thro' the line they broke; 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 
 
 Shatter'd and sunder'd. 
 Then they rode back, but not — 
 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 
 Cannon to left of them, 40 
 
 Cannon behind them 
 
 Volley'd and thunder'd ; 
 Storm'd at with shot and shell. 
 While horse and hero fell, 
 They that had fought so well 
 Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
 Back from the mouth of Hell, 
 All that was left of them, 
 
 Left of six hundred. 
 
 When can their glory fade 50 
 
 O the wild charge they made! 
 
 All the world wonder'd. 
 Honour the charge they made! 
 Honour the Light Brigade, 
 
 Noble six hundred! 
 
 (1854) 
 
 INSTANS TYRANNUS 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [The title means "The Harassing Tyrant." It 
 is he who speaks, narrating an unexpected de- 
 feat.] 
 
 Of the million or two, more or less, 
 I rule and possess, 
 One man, for some cause undefined, 
 Was least to my mind. 
 
 I struck him, he groveled of course — 
 For what was his force? 
 I pinned him to earth with my weight 
 And persistence of hate : 
 
 And he lay, would not moan, would not 
 
 curse. 
 As his lot might be worse. 10 
 
 "Were the object less mean, would he 
 
 stand 
 At the swing of my hand! 
 For obscurity helps him and blots 
 The hole where he squats." 
 So, I set my five wits on the stretch 
 To inveigle the wretch. 
 All in vain! Gold and jewels I threw, 
 Still he couched there perdue ; ^ 
 I tempted his blood and his flesh. 
 Hid in roses my mesh,^ 20 
 
 Choicest cates ^ and the flagon's best 
 
 spilth :* 
 Still he kept to his filth. 
 
 Had he kith now or kin, were access 
 
 To his heart, did I press : 
 
 Just a son or a mother to seize! 
 
 No such booty as these. 
 
 Were it simply a friend to pursue 
 
 'Mid my million or two. 
 
 Who could pay me in person or pelf 
 
 What he owes me himself ! 30 
 
 No: I could not but smile through my 
 
 chafe :S 
 For the fellow lay safe 
 As his mates do, the midge and the nit, 
 — Through minuteness, to wit. 
 
 Then a humor more great took its place 
 
 At the thought of his face, 
 
 The droop, the low cares of the mouth, 
 
 The trouble uncouth 
 
 'Twixt the brows, all that air one is fain 
 
 To put out of its pain. 40 
 
 And "no!" I admonished myself, 
 
 "Is one mocked by an elf. 
 
 Is one baffled by toad or by rat? 
 
 The gravamen's'^ in that ! 
 
 How the lion, who crouches to suit 
 
 His back to my foot. 
 
 Would admire'^ that I stand in debate! 
 
 But the small turns^ the great 
 
 If it vexes you, — that is the thing! 
 
 Toad or rat vex the king? SO 
 
 Though I waste half my realm to unearth 
 
 Toad or rat, 'tis well worth 1" 
 
 I perdue. In concealment. 
 3 mesh. Net. 
 
 3 catfs. Dainties. 
 
 4 spilth. Outpourings. 
 
 5 chafe. Vexation. 
 
 6 gravamen. Chief hardship. 
 
 7 admire. Wonder. 
 
 8 turns. Becomes. 
 
 K^
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 121 
 
 So I soberly laid my last plan 
 
 To extinguish the man. 
 
 Round his creep-hole, with never a break, 
 
 Ran my fires for his sake ; 
 
 Over-head did my thunder combine 
 
 With my underground mine : 
 
 Till I looked from my labor content 
 
 To enjoy the event.^ 60 
 
 When sudden . . . how think ye, the 
 end? 
 
 Did I say "without friend"? 
 
 Say rather, from marge^ to blue marge 
 
 The whole sky grew his targe,^ 
 
 With the sun's self for visible boss, 
 
 While an Arm ran across 
 
 Which the earth heaved beneath like a 
 breast 
 
 Where the wretch was safe pressed ! 
 
 Do you see? Just my vengeance com- 
 plete. 
 
 The man sprang to his feet, 70 
 
 Stood erect, caught at God's skirts, and 
 prayed ! 
 
 — So, / was afraid! 
 
 (1855) 
 
 But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, 
 And spoke unto his men : 10 
 
 "Half England is wrong, if he be right; 
 Bear off to the westward then." 
 
 "O whither sail you, brave Englishman?" 
 
 Cried the little Esquimau. 
 "Between your land and the polar star 
 
 My goodly vessels go." 
 
 "Come down, if you would journey 
 there," 
 
 The little Indian said ; 
 "And change your cloth for fur clothing. 
 
 Your vessel for a sled." 20 
 
 But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, 
 And the crew laughed with him too: 
 
 "A sailor to change from ship to sled, 
 I ween, were something new." 
 
 All through the long, long polar day 
 
 The vessels westward sped. 
 And wherever the sail of Sir John was 
 blown. 
 
 The ice gave way and fled; — 
 
 A BALLAD OF SIR JOHN 
 
 FRANKLIN 
 
 GEORGE HENRY BOKER 
 
 [In May, 1845, Sir John Franklin, British 
 rear-admiral and explorer, set sail with two ships, 
 under orders of the Admiralty, to discover a 
 northwest passage to the Pacific. With provision 
 for three years he left Greenland, and was last 
 seen July 26, 1845, near the western outlet of 
 Baffin Bay. Fourteen years later a private ex- 
 pedition found a record of the voyage of dis- 
 covery; Franklin had sailed through Lancaster 
 Sound, Barrow Strait, southward through Peel 
 and Franklin Straits, and had almost found 
 M'CHntock Strait, which would have led him 
 through to the Pacific. He died June 11, 1847, 
 and the rest of his party perished while trying 
 to work south by land.] 
 
 "O, whither sail you. Sir John Franklin?" 
 Cried a whaler in Baffin's Bay. 
 
 "To know if between the land and the 
 Pole 
 I may find a broad sea-way." 
 
 "I charge you back. Sir John Franklin, 
 As you would live and thrive ; 
 
 For between the land and the frozen Pole 
 No man may sail alive." 
 
 I event. Outcome. 
 
 3 marge. Edge, horizon. 
 
 3 targe. Shield. 
 
 Gave way with many a hollow groan. 
 And with many a surly roar, 30 
 
 But it murmured and threatened on every 
 side. 
 And closed where he sailed before. 
 
 "Ho! see ye not, my merry men, 
 
 The broad and open sea? 
 Bethink ye what the whaler said ! 
 Think of the little Indian's sledl" 
 
 The crew laughed out in glee. 
 
 "Sir John, Sir John, 'tis bitter cold, 
 The scud* drives on the breeze : 
 
 The ice comes looming from the North, 
 The very sunbeams freeze." 41 
 
 "Bright summer goes, dark winter 
 comes, — 
 
 We cannot rule the year; 
 But long ere summer's sun goes down. 
 
 On yonder sea we'll steer." 
 
 The dripping icebergs dipped and rose. 
 And floundered down the gale ; 
 
 The ships were stayed, the yards were 
 manned, 
 And furled the useless sail. 
 
 4 scud. Body of flying clouds. 

 
 122 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "The summer's gone, the winter's come, — 
 We sail not on yonder sea. 51 
 
 Why sail we not, Sir John Franklin?" 
 A silent man was he. 
 
 "The summer goes, the winter comes, — 
 
 We cannot rule the year; 
 I ween we cannot rule the ways, 
 
 Sir John, wherein we'd steer." 
 
 The cruel ice came floating on. 
 
 And closed beneath the lee, 
 Till the thickening waters dashed no 
 more : 60 
 
 'Twas ice around, behind, before — 
 
 My God ! there is no sea ! 
 
 What think you of the whaler now? 
 
 What of the Esquimau? 
 A sled were better than a ship 
 
 To cruise through ice and snow. 
 
 Down sank the baleful crimson sun, 
 The northern light came out. 
 
 And glared upon the ice-bound ships, 
 And shook its spears about. 70 
 
 The snow came down, storm breeding 
 storm, 
 
 And on the decks was laid, 
 Till the weary sailor, sick at heart, 
 
 Sank down beside his spade, 
 
 "Sir John, the night is black and long, 
 
 The hissing wind is bleak, 
 The hard, green ice is strong as death; — 
 
 I prithee. Captain, speak !" 
 
 "The night is neither bright nor short, 
 The singing breeze is cold ; — 80 
 
 The ice is not so strong as hope; 
 The heart of man is bold!" 
 
 "What hope can scale this icy wall. 
 
 High over the main flag-staff? 
 Above the ridges the wolf and bear 
 Look down, with a patient, settled stare, 
 Look down on us and laugh." 
 
 "The summer went, the winter came, — 
 
 We could not rule the year; 
 But summer will melt the ice again, 90 
 And open a path to the sunny main. 
 
 Whereon our ships shall steer." 
 
 The winter went, the summer went. 
 
 The winter came around ; 
 But the hard, green ice was strong as 
 
 death. 
 And the voice of hope sank to a breath, 
 
 Yet caught at every sound. 
 
 "Hark ! heard you not the noise of 
 guns? — 
 
 And there, and there, again?" 
 '*Tis some uneasy iceberg's roar, 100 
 
 As he turns in the frozen main. 
 
 "Hurra 1 Hurra! the Esquimaux 
 
 Across the ice-fields steal : 
 God give them grace for their charity !" — 
 
 Ye pray for the silly seal. 
 
 "Sir John, where are the English fields. 
 And where are the English trees. 
 
 And where are the little English flowers 
 That open in the breeze?" 
 
 "Be still, be still, my brave sailors! no 
 You shall see the fields again. 
 
 And smell the scent of the opening flow- 
 ers. 
 The grass, and the waving grain." 
 
 "Oh ! when shall I see my orphan child ? 
 
 My Mary waits for me." 
 "Oh ! when shall I see my old mother. 
 
 And pray at her trembling knee?" 
 
 "Be still, be still, my brave sailors ! 
 
 Think not such thoughts again." 
 But a tear froze slowly on his cheek : 120 
 
 He thought of Lady Jane. 
 
 "Ah I bitter, bitter grows the cold, 
 The ice grows more and more; 
 
 More settled stare the wolf and bear, 
 More patient than before. 
 
 "O think you, good Sir John Franklin, 
 
 We'll ever see the land? 
 'Twas cruel to send us here to starve, 
 
 Without a helping hand. 
 
 " 'Twas cruel. Sir John, to send us here, 
 So far from help or home, 131 
 
 To starve and freeze on this lonely sea : 
 I ween the lords of the Admiralty 
 Would rather send than come." 
 
 "Oh! whether we starve to death alone, 
 
 Or sail to our own country. 
 We have done what man has never done— 
 The truth is found, the secret won— 
 
 We passed the Northern Sea!" 
 
 (1856)
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 123 
 
 SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WillTTIER 
 
 [Based on a story of Marblehead which Whit- 
 tier heard in his boyhood. Its historicity, how- 
 ever, has been denied, and he said that the 
 ballad should be thought of as "pure fancy."] 
 
 Of all the rides since the birth of time, 
 Told in story or sung in rhyme, — 
 On Apuleius's Golden Ass,^ 
 Or one-eyed Calender*s horse of brass, 
 Witch astride of a human back, 
 Islam's prophet on Al-Borak, — 
 The strangest ride that ever was sped 
 Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead ! 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a 
 cart 10 
 
 By the women of Marblehead! 
 
 Body of turkey, head of owl, 
 Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, 
 Feathered and ruffled in every part. 
 Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 
 Scores of women, old and young. 
 Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue. 
 Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane. 
 Shouting and singing the shrill refrain : 
 
 "Here's Flud Oirson , fur his horrd 
 horrt, 20 
 
 Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
 By the women o' Morble'ead !" 
 
 Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, 
 Girls in bloom of cheek and lips. 
 Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 
 Bacchus round sotne antique vase, 
 Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, 
 Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, 
 With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' 
 
 twang, 
 Over and over the Maenads^ sang : 30 
 "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd 
 
 horrt, 
 Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a 
 corrt 
 By the women o' Morble'ead!" 
 
 Small pity for him ! — He sailed away 
 From a leaking ship on Chaleur Bay, — ^ 
 
 1 The Golden Ass of Apuleius was a famous 
 Latin story of the second century. Calender and 
 his horse are from the Arabian Nights. Al-Borak 
 was sent by Gabriel to carry Mohammed to the 
 heavens. 
 
 2 Mienads. Furies. 
 
 3 Chaleur Bay. In the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 
 
 Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
 With his own town's-pcople on her deck! 
 "Lay by! lay by!" they called to him. 
 Back he answered, "Sink or swim! 
 Brag of your catch of fish again !" 40 
 And off he sailed through the fog and 
 rain! 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a 
 cart 
 By the women of Marblehead! 
 
 Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 
 That wreck shall lie forevermore. 
 Mother and sister, wife and maid. 
 Looked from the rocks of Marblehead 
 Over the moaning and rainy sea,— 
 Looked for the coming that might not 
 be ! .50 
 
 What did the winds and the sea-birds say 
 Of the cruel captain who sailed away? — • 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a 
 cart 
 By the women of Marblehead! 
 
 Through the street, on either side. 
 Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; 
 Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray. 
 Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. 
 Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 60 
 Hulks of old sailors run aground. 
 Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane. 
 And cracked with curses the hoarse re- 
 frain : 
 "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd 
 
 horrt, 
 Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a 
 corrt 
 By the women o' Morble'ead!" 
 
 Sweetly along the Salem road 
 Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. 
 Little the wicked skipper knew 69 
 
 Of the fields so green and sky so blue. 
 Riding there in his sorry trim. 
 Like an Indian idol glum and grim, 
 Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear 
 Of voices shouting, far and near: 
 
 "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd 
 
 horrt, 
 Torr'd an' futherr'd an* corr'd in a 
 corrt 
 By the women o' Morble'ead!" 
 
 "Hear me, neighbors !" at last he cried, — 
 "What to me is this noisy ride? 79 
 
 \\'hat is the shame that clothes the skin 
 To the nameless horror that lives within?
 
 124 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, 
 And hear a cry from a reeling deck! 
 Hate me and curse me, — I only dread 
 The hand of God and the face of the 
 dead !" 
 Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard 
 
 heart, 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a 
 cart 
 By the women of Marblehead! 
 
 Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea 
 Said, "God has touched him! why should 
 wel" 90 
 
 Said an old wife mourning her only son, 
 "Cut the rogue's tether and let him run !" 
 So with soft relentings and rude excuse. 
 Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 
 And gave him a cloak to hide him in. 
 And left him alone with his shame and 
 sin. 
 Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a 
 cart 
 By the women of Marblehead! 
 
 (i8S7) 
 
 KING SOLOMON 
 
 OWEN MEREDITH 
 
 (ROBERT, LORD LYTTON) 
 
 [Jewish legendry was full of stories connect- 
 ing King Solomon with magical powers, cabalistic 
 symbols, etc. On one of these legends the pres- 
 ent poem is based. The Pentagraph (more 
 firoperly Pentagram) was a five-pointed design 
 ike a star, credited with mystic significance.] 
 
 King Solomon stood, in his crown of 
 gold. 
 Between the pillars, before the altar 
 In the House of the Lord. And the King 
 was old. 
 And his strength began to falter. 
 So that he leaned on his ebony staff, 
 Sealed with the seal of the Pentagraph. 
 
 All of the golden fretted work. 
 Without and within so rich and rare. 
 
 As high as the nest of the building stork. 
 Those pillars of cedar were, — 10 
 
 Wrought up to the brazen chapiters ^ 
 
 Of the Sidonian artificers. 
 
 I chapiters. Capitals. See / Kings, 7: 13-16. 
 
 And the King stood still as a carven king. 
 The carven cedarn beams below. 
 
 In his purple robe, with his signet-ring. 
 And his beard as white as snow. 
 
 And his face to the Oracle,^ where the 
 hymn 
 
 Dies under the wing of the cherubim. 
 
 The wings fold over the Oracle, 
 
 And cover the heart and eyes of God: 
 
 The Spouse with pomegranate, lily, and 
 
 bell,3 ^ 21 
 
 Is glorious in her abode; 
 
 For with gold of Ophir, and scent of 
 
 myrrh. 
 And purple of Tyre, the King clothed her. 
 
 By the soul of each slumbrous instrument 
 Drawn soft through the musical misty 
 air. 
 
 The stream of folk that came and went, 
 For worship, and praise, and prayer, 
 
 Flowed to and fro, and up and down. 
 
 And round the King in his golden crown. 
 
 And it came to pass, as the King stood 
 there. 31 
 
 And looked on the house he had built, 
 with pride. 
 
 That the Hand of the Lord came un- 
 aware, 
 And touched him ; so that he died. 
 
 In his purple robe, with his signet-ring. 
 
 And the crown wherewith they had 
 crowned him king. 
 
 And the stream of the folk that came 
 and went 
 To worship the Lord with prayer and 
 praise, 
 Went softly ever, in wonderment, 
 
 For the King stood there always ; 40 
 And it was solemn and strange to behold 
 The dead king crowned with a crown of 
 gold. 
 
 For he leaned on his ebony staff upright ; 
 
 And over his shoulders the purple robe ; 
 
 And his hair and his beard were both 
 
 snow-white. 
 
 And the fear of him filled the globe; 
 
 So that none dared touch him, though he 
 
 was dead. 
 He looked so royal about the head. 
 
 2 Oracle. See / Kings, 6: 19-28. 
 
 3 See Psalm 45: 8-13; Exodus, 38:33; / Kings, 
 7: 18-10.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 125 
 
 And the moons were changed; and the 
 
 years rolled on; 
 
 And the new king reigned in the old 
 
 king's stead; So 
 
 And men were married and buried anon; 
 
 But the King stood, stark and dead, 
 Leaning upright on his ebony staff, 
 Preserved by the sign of the Pentagraph. 
 
 And the stream of life, as it went and 
 
 came, 
 Ever for worship and praise and prayer, 
 Was awed by the face, and the fear, and 
 
 the fame 
 Of the dead king standing there; 
 For his hair was so white, and his eyes 
 
 so cold. 
 That they left him alone with his crown 
 
 of gold, 60 
 
 So King Solomon stood up, dead, in the 
 House 
 Of the Lord, held there by the Penta- 
 graph, 
 
 Until out from the pillar there ran a red 
 mouse, 
 And gnawed through his ebony staff; 
 
 Then flat on his face the King fell down, 
 
 And they picked from the dust a golden 
 crown. 
 
 (1857) 
 
 KING ROBERT OF SICILY 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 ["The Sicilian's Tale" in Tales of a Wayside 
 Inn. The story is a medieval legend found in 
 various forms.] 
 
 Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Ur- 
 bane 
 And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
 Appareled in magnificent attire, 
 With retinue of many a knight and 
 
 squire, 
 On St. John's Eve, at vespers, proudly 
 
 sat 
 And heard the priests chant the Mag- 
 
 nificat.i 
 And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 
 Repeated, like a burden or refrain, 
 He caught the words, Deposuit potcntes 
 De sede, et exaltavit humiles; 10 
 
 And slowly lifting up his kingly head. 
 He to a learned clerk beside him said, 
 I Magnificat, The hymn from Luke i:46.ss. 
 
 "What mean these words?" The clerk 
 
 made answer meet, 
 "He has put down the mighty from 
 
 their seat. 
 And has exalted them of low degree." 
 Thereat King Robert muttered scorn- 
 fully, 
 "'Tis well that such seditious words are 
 
 sung 
 Only by priests and in the Latin 
 
 tongue; 
 For unto priests and people be it known 
 There is no power can push me from 
 
 my throne!" 20 
 
 And leaning back, he yawned and fell 
 
 asleep. 
 Lulled by the chant monotonous and 
 
 deep. 
 
 When he awoke, it was already night; 
 The church was empty, and there was 
 
 no light. 
 Save where the lamps, that glimmered 
 
 few and faint. 
 Lighted a little space before some saint. 
 He started from his seat and gazed 
 
 around. 
 But saw no living thing and heard no 
 
 sound. 
 He groped towards the door, but it was 
 
 locked; 
 He cried aloud, and listened, and then 
 
 knocked, 30 
 
 And uttered awful threatenings and 
 
 complaints, 
 And imprecations upon men and saints. 
 The sounds reechoed from the roof and 
 
 walls 
 As if dead priests were laughing in their 
 
 stalls. 
 
 At length the sexton, hearing from 
 
 without 
 The tumult of the knocking and the 
 
 shout, 
 And thinking thieves were in the house 
 
 of prayer, 
 Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is 
 
 there?" 
 Half choked with rage, King Robert 
 
 fiercely said, 
 "Open: 'tis I, the king! Art thou 
 
 afraid?" 40 
 
 The frightened sexton, muttering, with 
 
 a curse, 
 "This is some drunken vagabond, or 
 
 worse,"
 
 126 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Turned the great key and flung the por- 
 tal wide; 
 
 A man rushed by him at a single stride, 
 
 Haggard, half naked, without hat or 
 cloak, 
 
 Who neither turned, nor looked at him, 
 nor spoke, 
 
 But leaped into the blackness of the 
 night. 
 
 And vanished like a spectre from his 
 sight. 
 
 Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Ur- 
 bane 
 
 And Valmond, Emperor of AUemaine, 
 
 Despoiled of his magnificent attire, 51 
 
 Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent 
 with mire. 
 
 With sense of wrong and outrage des- 
 perate, 
 
 Strode on and thundered at the palace 
 gate; 
 
 Rushed through the courtyard, thrust- 
 ing in his rage 
 
 To right and left each seneschal and 
 page, 
 
 And hurried up the broad and sound- 
 ing stair. 
 
 His white face ghastly in the torches* 
 glare. 
 
 From hall to hall he passed with 
 breathless speed; 
 
 Voices and cries he heard, but did not 
 heed, 60 
 
 Until at last he reached the banquet- 
 room, 
 
 Blazing with light, and breathing with 
 perfume. 
 
 There on the dais sat another king, 
 
 Wearing his robes, his crown, his sig- 
 net-ring, 
 
 King Robert's self in features, form, 
 and height, 
 
 But all transfigured with angelic light! 
 
 It was an Angel; and his presence there 
 
 With a divine effulgence filled the air, 
 
 An exaltation, piercing the disguise, 
 
 Though none the hidden angel recog- 
 nize. 70 
 
 A moment speechless, motionless, 
 amazed, 
 
 The throneless monarch on the Angel 
 gazed. 
 
 Who met his look of anger and sur- 
 prise 
 
 With the divine compassion of his eyes; 
 
 Then said, "Who art thou? and why 
 
 com'st thou here?" 
 To which King Robert answered with 
 
 a sneer, 
 "I am the king, and come to claim my 
 
 own 
 From an impostor, who usurps my 
 
 throne!" 
 And suddenly, at these audacious 
 
 words, 
 Up sprang the angry guests, and drew 
 
 their swords; 80 
 
 The Angel answered, with unruffled 
 
 brow, 
 "Nay, not the king, but the king's jes- 
 ter, thou 
 Henceforth shall wear the bells and 
 
 scalloped cape, 
 And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape ; 
 Thou shalt obey my servants when they 
 
 call. 
 And wait upon my henchmen in the 
 
 hall!" 
 
 Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries 
 and prayers, 
 
 They thrust him from the hall and down 
 the stairs; 
 
 A group of tittering pages ran before. 
 
 And as they opened wide the folding- 
 door, 90 
 
 His heart failed, for he heard, with 
 strange alarms. 
 
 The boisterous laughter of the men-at- 
 arms, 
 
 And all the vaulted chamber roar and 
 ring 
 
 With the mock plaudits of "Long live 
 the king!" 
 
 Next morning, waking with the day's 
 
 first beam. 
 He said within himself, "It was a 
 
 dream!" 
 But the straw rustled as he turned his 
 
 head; 
 There were the cap and bells beside his 
 
 bed; 
 Around him rose the bare, discolored 
 
 walls; 
 Close by, the steeds were champing in 
 
 their stalls, ^ 100 
 
 And in the' corner, a revolting shape, 
 Shivering and chattering, sat the 
 
 wretched ape. 
 It was no dream; the world he loved 
 
 so much 
 Had turned to dust and ashes at his 
 
 touch!
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 127 
 
 Days came and went; and now returned 
 
 again 
 To Sicily the old Saturnian reign;i 
 Under the Angel's governance benign 
 The happy island danced with corn and 
 
 wine, 
 And deep within the mountain's burn- 
 ing breast 
 Enceladus,2 the giant, was at rest, no 
 Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his 
 
 fate. 
 Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 
 Dressed in the motley garb that jesters 
 
 wear, 
 With look bewildered and a vacant 
 
 stare, 
 Close shaven along the ears, as monks 
 
 are shorn. 
 By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed 
 
 to scorn, 
 His only friend the ape, his only food 
 What others left, — he still was unsub- 
 dued. 
 And when the Angel met him on his 
 
 way. 
 And half in earnest, half in jest, would 
 
 say, 120 
 
 Sternly though tenderly, that he might 
 
 feel 
 The velvet scabbard held a sword of 
 
 steel, 
 "Art thou the king?" the passion of his 
 
 woe 
 Burst from him in resistless overflow. 
 And, lifting high his forehead, he would 
 
 fling 
 The haughty answer back, "I am, I am 
 
 the king !" 
 
 Almost three years were ended; when 
 
 there came 
 Ambassadors of great repute and name 
 From Valmond, Emperor of AUemaine, 
 Unto King Robert, saying that Pope 
 
 Urbane 130 
 
 By letter summoned them forthwith to 
 
 come 
 On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 
 The Angel with great joy received his 
 
 guests. 
 And gave them presents of embroidered 
 
 vests. 
 And velvet mantles with rich ermine 
 
 lined, 
 And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 
 
 1 Saturnian reign. Reign of the god Saturn, 
 reputed to be the "golden age" of antiquity. 
 
 2 Enceladus. Buried, according to ancient 
 myth, beneath the volcano .iStna. 
 
 Then he departed with them o'er the 
 sea 
 
 Into the lovely land of Italy, 
 
 Whose loveliness was more resplendent 
 made 
 
 By the mere passing of that cavalcade, 
 
 With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, 
 and the stir 141 
 
 Of jeweled bridle and of golden spur. 
 
 And lo! among the menials, in mock 
 state, 
 
 Upon a piebald steed, with shambling 
 gait. 
 
 His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the 
 wind, 
 
 The solemn ape demurely perched be- 
 hind. 
 
 King Robert rode, making huge merri- 
 ment 
 
 In all the country towns through which 
 they went. 
 
 The Pope received them with great 
 
 pomp and blare 
 Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's 
 
 square, 150 
 
 Giving his benediction and embrace. 
 Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
 While with congratulations and with 
 
 prayers 
 He entertained the Angel unawares, 
 Robert, the Jester, bursting through the 
 
 crowd, 
 Into their presence rushed, and cried 
 
 aloud, 
 "I am the king! Look, and behold in me 
 Robert, your brother. King of Sicily! 
 This man, who wears my semblance in 
 
 your eyes, 
 Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 160 
 Do you not know me? does no voice 
 
 within 
 Answer my cry, and say we are akin?" 
 The Pope in silence, but with troubled 
 
 mien. 
 Gazed at the Angel's countenance se- 
 rene; 
 The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is 
 
 strange sport 
 To keep a madman for thy fool at 
 
 court!" 
 And the poor, bafHed jester in disgrace 
 Was hustled back among the populace. 
 
 In solemn state the Holy Week went 
 
 by, 
 And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the 
 
 sky; 170
 
 128 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The presence of the Angel, with its 
 
 light, 
 Before the sun rose, made the city 
 
 bright, 
 And with new fervor filled the hearts of 
 
 men, 
 Who felt that Christ indeed had risen 
 
 again. 
 Even the jester, on his bed of straw, 
 With haggard eyes the unwonted splen- 
 dor saw; 
 He felt within a power unfelt before, 
 And, kneeling humbly on his chamber 
 
 floor. 
 He heard the rustling garments of the 
 
 Lord 
 Sweep through the silent air, ascending 
 
 heavenward. i8o 
 
 And now the visit ending, and once 
 
 more 
 Valmond returning to the Danube's 
 
 shore, 
 Homeward the Angel journeyed, and 
 
 again 
 The land was made resplendent with 
 
 his train, 
 Flashing along the towns of Italy 
 Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 
 And when once more within Palermo's 
 
 wall. 
 And, seated on the throne in his great 
 
 hall, 
 He heard the angelus from convent 
 
 towers. 
 As if the better world conversed with 
 
 ours, 190 
 
 He beckoned to King Robert to draw 
 
 nigher. 
 And with a gesture bade the rest retire; 
 And when they were alone, the Angel 
 
 said, 
 "Art thou the king?" Then, bowing 
 
 down his head. 
 King Robert crossed both hands upon 
 
 his breast. 
 And meekly answered him: "Thou 
 
 knowest best! 
 My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, 
 And in some cloister's school of peni- 
 tence, 
 Across those stones that pave the way 
 
 to heaven 
 Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be 
 
 shriven !"i 200 
 
 The Angel smiled, and from his radiant 
 
 face 
 A holy light illumined all the place, 
 
 I shriven. Confessed (and forgiven). 
 
 And through the open window, loud 
 
 and clear. 
 They heard the monks chant in the 
 
 chapel near. 
 Above the stir and tumult of the street: 
 "He has put down the mighty from 
 
 their seat, 
 And has exalted them of low degree." 
 And through the chant a second melody 
 Rose like the throbbing of a single 
 
 string, 
 "I am an Angel, and thou art the 
 
 king!" 210 
 
 King Robert, who was standing near 
 
 the throne. 
 Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! 
 But all appareled as in days of old. 
 With ermined mantle and with cloth 
 
 of gold; 
 And when his courtiers came, they 
 
 found him there 
 Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in 
 
 silent prayer. 
 
 (1861) 
 
 THE COURTIN' 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 [A ballad in the dialect of rural New England 
 of the early 19th century, supposed to have been 
 written by Hosea Bigelow, the chief character 
 in Lowell's Bigelow Papers.] 
 
 God makes sech nights, all white an' 
 still 
 
 Fur 'z you can look or listen; 
 Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill. 
 
 All silence an' all glisten. 
 
 Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown 
 An' peeked in thru the winder; 
 
 An' there sot Huldy all alone, 
 'Ith no one nigh to hinder. 
 
 A fireplace filled the room's one side 
 With half a cord o' wood in — 10 
 
 There warn't no stoves (tell comfort 
 died) 
 To bake ye to a puddin'. 
 
 The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out 
 Towards the pootiest, bless her, 
 
 An' leetle flames danced all about 
 The chiny on the dresser.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 129 
 
 Agin the chimbley crook-necks ^ hung, 
 
 An' in amongst 'em rusted 
 The ole queen's-arm 2 thet gran'ther 
 Young 
 
 Fetched back from Concord busted. 
 
 The very room, coz she was in, 21 
 
 Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', 
 
 An* she looked full ez rosy agin 
 Ez the apples she was peelin'. 
 
 'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look 
 
 On sech a blessed cretur; 
 A dogrose blushin' to a brook 
 
 Ain't modester nor sweeter. 
 
 He kin' o' I'itered on the mat. 
 
 Some doubtful o' the sekle;-*^ 
 His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, 
 
 But hern went pity-Zekle. 60 
 
 An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk 
 Ez though she wished him furder. 
 
 An' on her apples kep' to work, 
 Parin' away like murder. 
 
 "You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" 
 "Wal — no — I come designin' " — 
 
 "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' 
 clo'es 
 Agin to-morrer's i'nin.' " 
 
 He was six foot o' man, A i, 
 Clean grit an' human natur'; 
 
 None couldn't quicker pitch a ton 
 Nor dror a furrer straighten 
 
 To say why gals acts so or so, 
 30 Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; 
 
 Mebby to mean yes an' say no 
 Comes nateral to women. 
 
 70 
 
 He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, 
 He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 
 'em. 
 
 Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells — 
 All is, he couldn't love 'em. 
 
 But long o' her his veins 'ould run 
 All crinkly like curled maple; 
 
 The side she breshed felt full o' sun 
 Ez a south slope in Ap'il. 40 
 
 She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing 
 
 Ez hisn in the choir; 
 My ! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, 
 
 She knowed the Lord was nigher. 
 
 An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, 
 When her new meetin'-bunnet 
 
 Felt somehow thru its crown a pair 
 O' blue eyes sot upon it. 
 
 Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some! 
 
 She seemed to've gut a new soul, 50 
 For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, 
 
 Down to her very shoe-sole. 
 
 She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, 
 
 A-raspin' on the scraper, — 
 All ways to once her feelin's flew 
 
 Like sparks in burnt-up paper. 
 
 I crook-necks. Squashes. 
 a queen's-arm. Musket. 
 
 He stood a spell on one foot fust. 
 Then stood a spell on t'other. 
 
 An' on which one he felt the wust 
 He couldn't ha' told ye nuther. 
 
 Says he, "I'd better call agin"; 
 
 Says she, "Think likely, Mister" — 
 Thet last word pricked him like a pin, 
 
 An' — wal, he up an' kist her. 80 
 
 When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, 
 
 Huldy sot pale ez ashes, 
 All kin' o' smily roun' the lips 
 
 An' teary roun' the lashes. 
 
 Fur she was jes' the quiet kind 
 
 Whose naturs never vary. 
 Like streams that keep a summer mind 
 
 Snow-hid in Jenooary. 
 
 The blood clost roun' her heart felt 
 glued 
 
 Too tight for all expressin', 90 
 
 Tell mother see how matters stood 
 
 An' gin 'em both her blessin'. 
 
 Then her red come back like the tide 
 Down to the Bay o' Fundy; 
 
 An' all I know is they was cried^ 
 In meetin' come nex' Sunday. 
 
 (1866) 
 
 3 sekle. Sequel. 
 
 4 they was cried. 
 announced. 
 
 Their marhage-bans were
 
 130 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAND 
 
 WILLIAM MORRIS 
 
 A certain man, having landed on an island in 
 the Greek Sea, found there a beautiful dam- 
 sel, whom he would fain have delivered from 
 a strange and dreadful doom, but failing 
 herein, he died soon afterwards. 
 
 It happened once, some men of Italy 
 
 Midst the Greek Islands went a sea- 
 roving, 
 
 And much good fortune had they on the 
 sea: 
 
 Of many a man they had the ransoming, 
 
 And many a chain they gat, and goodly 
 thing ; 
 
 And midst their voyage to an isle they 
 came, 
 
 Whereof my story keepeth not the name. 
 
 Nov/ though but little was there left to 
 
 gain, 
 Because the richer folk had gone away, 
 Yet since by this of water they were 
 
 faini 10 
 
 They came to anchor in a land-locked bay, 
 Whence in a while some went ashore to 
 
 Going but lightly armed in twos or threes, 
 For midst that folk they feared no ene- 
 mies. 
 
 And of these fellows that thus went 
 
 ashore, 
 One was there who left all his friends 
 
 behind ; 
 Who going inland ever more and more, 
 And being left quite alone, at last did find 
 A lonely valley sheltered from the wind, 
 Wherein, amidst an ancient cypress wood, 
 A long-deserted ruined castle stood. 21 
 
 The wood, once ordered in fair grove and 
 
 glade, 
 With gardens overlooked by terraces, 
 And marble-paved pools for pleasure 
 
 made. 
 Was tangled now, and choked with fallen 
 
 trees ; 
 And he who went there, with but little 
 
 ease 
 Must stumble by the stream's side, once 
 
 made meet 
 For tender women's dainty wandering 
 
 feet. 
 
 I fain. Desirous. 
 
 The raven's croak, the low wind choked 
 and drear, 
 
 The bafHed stream, the gray wolf's dole- 
 ful cry, 30 
 
 Were all the sounds that mariner could 
 hear. 
 
 And through the wood he wandered pain- 
 fully; 
 
 But as unto the house he drew anigh, 
 
 The pillars of a ruined shrine he saw. 
 
 The once fair temple of a fallen law.* 
 
 No image was there left behind to tell 
 Before whose face the knees of men had 
 
 bowed ; 
 An altar of black stone, of old wrought 
 
 well, 
 Alone beneath a ruined roof now showed 
 The goal whereto the folk were wont to 
 
 crowd, 40 
 
 Seeking for things forgotten long ago, 
 Praying for heads long ages laid a-low. 
 
 Close to the temple was the castle-gate; 
 Doorless and crumbling; there our fellow 
 
 turned, 
 Trembling indeed at what might chance 
 
 to wait 
 The prey entrapped, yet with a heart that 
 
 burned 
 To know the most of what might there be 
 
 learned, 
 And hoping somewhat too, amid his fear, 
 To light on such things as all men bold 
 
 dear. 
 
 Noble the house was, nor seemed built for 
 
 war, so 
 
 But rather like the work of other days, 
 When men, in better peace than now they 
 
 are. 
 Had leisure on the world around to gaze, 
 And noted well the past times' changing 
 
 ways ; 
 And fair with sculptured stories it was 
 
 wrought. 
 By lapse of time unto dim ruin brought. 
 
 Now as he looked about on all these 
 things. 
 
 And strove to read the moldering his- 
 tories, 
 
 Above the door an image with wide 
 wings, 
 
 Whose unclad limbs a serpent seemed to 
 seize, 60 
 
 He dimly saw, although the western breeze, 
 
 2 law. Religion.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 131 
 
 And years of biting frost and washing 
 
 rain, 
 Had made the carver's labor well-nigh 
 
 vain. 
 
 But this, though perished sore, and worn 
 
 away, 
 He noted well, because it seemed to be, 
 After the fashion of another day. 
 Some great man's badge of war, or ar- 
 mory; 
 And round it a carved wreath he seemed 
 
 to see : 
 But taking note of these things, at the last 
 The mariner beneath the gateway passed. 
 
 And there a lovely cloistered court he 
 
 found, 71 
 
 A fountain in the midst o'erthrown and 
 
 dry, 
 And in the cloister briers twining round 
 The slender shafts ; the wondrous 
 
 imagery 
 Outworn by more than many years gone 
 
 by; 
 Because the country people, in their fear 
 Of wizardry, had wrought destruction 
 
 here; 
 
 And piteously these fair things had been 
 maimed; 
 
 There stood great Jove, lacking his head 
 of might; 
 
 Here was the archer, swift Apollo, lamed; 
 
 The shapely limbs of Venus hid from 
 sight 81 
 
 By weeds and shards ;i Diana's ankles 
 light 
 
 Bound with the cable of some coasting 
 ship ; 
 
 And rusty nails through Helen's madden- 
 ing lip. 
 
 Therefrom unto the chambers did he pass. 
 And found them fair still, midst of their 
 
 decay. 
 Though in them now no sign of man there 
 
 was, 
 And everything but stone had passed 
 
 away 
 That made them lovely in that vanished 
 
 day; 
 Nay, the mere walls themselves would 
 
 soon be gone, 90 
 
 And naught be left but heaps of molder- 
 
 ing stone. 
 
 I shards. Fragments. 
 
 But he, when all the place he had gone 
 
 o'er. 
 And with much trouble clomb the broken 
 
 stair. 
 And from the topmost turret seen the 
 
 shore 
 And his good ship drawn up at anchor 
 
 there, 
 Came down again, and found a crj^pt most 
 
 fair 
 Built wonderfully beneath the greatest 
 
 hall, 
 And there he saw a door within the wall. 
 
 Well-hinged, close shut ; nor was there in 
 
 that place 
 Another on its hinges ; therefore he 100 
 Stood there and pondered for a little 
 
 space. 
 And thought, "Perchance some marvel I 
 
 shall see, 
 For surely here some dweller there must 
 
 be. 
 Because this door seems whole, and new, 
 
 and sound. 
 While naught but ruin I can see around." 
 
 So with that word, moved by a strong 
 
 desire. 
 He tried the hasp, that yielded to his 
 
 hand. 
 And in a strange place, lit as by a fire 
 Unseen but near, he presently did stand; 
 And by an odorous breeze his face was 
 
 fanned, no 
 
 As though in some Arabian plain he 
 
 stood, 
 Anigh the border of a spice-tree wood. 
 
 He moved not for awhile, but looking 
 round, 
 
 He wondered much to see the place so 
 fair. 
 
 Because, unlike the castle above ground. 
 
 No pillager or wrecker had been there ; 
 
 It seemed that time had passed on other- 
 where. 
 
 Nor laid a finger on this hidden place. 
 
 Rich with the wealth of some forgotten 
 race. 
 
 With hangings, fresh as when they left 
 the loom, 120 
 
 The walls were hung a space above the 
 head ; 
 
 Slim ivory chairs were set about tlie room. 
 
 And in one corner was a dainty bed,
 
 132 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 That seemed for some fair queen ap- 
 pareled ; 
 
 And marble was the worst stone of the 
 floor, 
 
 That with rich Indian webs was covered 
 o'er. 
 
 The wanderer trembled when he saw all 
 
 this, 
 Because he deemed by magic it was 
 
 wrought ; 
 Yet in his heart a longing for some bliss, 
 Whereof the hard and changing world 
 
 knows naught, 130 
 
 Arose and urged him on, and dimmed 
 
 the thought 
 That there perchance some devil lurked 
 
 to slay 
 The heedless wanderer from the light of 
 
 day. 
 
 Over against him was another door 
 Set in the wall ; so, casting fear aside, 
 With hurried steps he crossed the varied 
 
 floor. 
 And there again the silver latch he tried 
 And with no pain the door he opened 
 
 wide, 
 And entering the new chamber cautiously 
 The glory of great heaps of gold could 
 
 see. 140 
 
 Upon the floor uncounted medals lay, 
 
 Like things of little value; here and 
 there 
 
 Stood golden caldrons, that might well 
 outweigh 
 
 The biggest midst an emperor's copper- 
 ware. 
 
 And golden cups were set on tables fair. 
 
 Themselves of gold; and in all hollow 
 things 
 
 Were stored great gems, worthy the 
 crowns of kings. 
 
 The walls and roof with gold were over- 
 laid, 
 
 And precious raiment from the wall hung 
 down ; 
 
 The fall of kings that treasure might have 
 stayed, 150 
 
 Or gained some longing conqueror great 
 renown. 
 
 Or built again some god-destroyed old 
 town; 
 
 What wonder, if this plunderer of the sea 
 
 Stood gazing at it long and dizzily? 
 
 But at the last his troubled eyes and 
 
 dazed 
 He lifted from the glory of that gold, 
 And then the image, that well-nigh 
 
 erased 
 Over the castle-gate he did behold. 
 Above a door well wrought in colored 
 
 gold 
 Again he saw ; a naked girl with wings 
 Enfolded in a serpent's scaly rings. 161 
 
 And even as his eyes were fixed on it 
 
 A woman's voice came from the other 
 side. 
 
 And through his heart strange hopes be- 
 gan to flit 
 
 That in some wondrous land he might 
 abide 
 
 Not dying, master of a deathless bride. 
 
 So o'er the gold he scarcely now could 
 see 
 
 He went, and passed this last door 
 eagerly. 
 
 Then in a room he stood wherein there 
 
 was 
 A marble bath, whose brimming water 
 
 yet 170 
 
 Was scarcely still; a vessel of green 
 
 glass 
 Half full of odorous ointment was there 
 
 set 
 Upon the topmost step that still was wet. 
 And jeweled shoes and women's dainty 
 
 geari 
 Lay cast upon the varied pavement near. 
 
 In one quick glance these things his eyes 
 did see. 
 
 But speedily they turned round to be- 
 hold 
 
 Another sight, for throned on ivory 
 
 There sat a girl, whose dripping tresses 
 rolled 
 
 On to the floor in waves of gleaming gold. 
 
 Cast back from such a form as, erewhile 
 shown 181 
 
 To one poor shepherd, lighted up Troy 
 town.2 
 
 Naked she was, the kisses of her feet 
 Upon the floor a dying path had made 
 From the full bath into her ivory seat ; 
 In her right hand, upon her bosom laid, 
 She held a golden comb, a mirror weighed 
 
 1 gear. Clothing. 
 
 2 That is, the beauty of Helen, which caused 
 the Trojan war.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 133 
 
 Her left hand down, aback her fair head 
 
 lay 
 Dreaming awake of some long vanished 
 
 day. 
 
 Her eyes were shut, but she seemed not 
 
 to sleep, 190 
 
 Her lips were murmuring things unheard 
 
 and low. 
 Or sometimes twitched as though she 
 
 needs must weep. 
 Though from her eyes the tears refused 
 
 to flow, 
 And oft with heavenly red her cheek did 
 
 glow. 
 As if remembrance of some half -sweet 
 
 shame 
 Across the web of many memories came. 
 
 There stood the man, scarce daring to 
 draw breath 
 
 For fear the lovely sight should fade 
 away; 
 
 Forgetting heaven, forgetting life and 
 death, 
 
 Trembling for fear lest something he 
 should say 200 
 
 Unwitting, lest some sob should yet be- 
 tray 
 
 His presence there, for to his eager eyes 
 
 Already did the tears begin to rise. 
 
 But as he gazed, she moved, and with a 
 
 sigh 
 Bent forward, dropping down her golden 
 
 head; 
 "Alas, alas ! another day gone by. 
 Another day and no soul come," she said ; 
 "Another year, and still I am not dead !" 
 And with that word once more her head 
 
 she raised, 
 And on the trembling man with great eyes 
 
 gazed. 210 
 
 Then he imploring hands to her did reach. 
 And toward her very slowly 'gan to 
 
 move 
 And with wet eyes her pity did beseech. 
 And, seeing her about to speak, he strove 
 From trembling lips to utter words of 
 
 love; 
 But with a look she stayed his doubtful 
 
 feet, 
 And made sweet music as their eyes did 
 
 meet. 
 
 For now she spoke in gentle voice and 
 
 clear. 
 Using the Greek tongue that he knew 
 
 full well; 
 "What man art thou, that thus hast 
 
 wandered here. 220 
 
 And found this lonely chamber where I 
 
 dwell? 
 Beware, beware ! for I have many a spell ; 
 If greed of power and gold have led thee 
 
 on, 
 Not lightly shall this untold wealth be 
 
 won. 
 
 "But if thou com'st here, knowing of my 
 
 tale. 
 In hope to bear away my body fair. 
 Stout must thine heart be, nor shall that 
 
 avail 
 If thou a wicked soul in thee dost bear; 
 So once again I bid thee to beware. 
 Because no base man things like this 
 
 may see, 230 
 
 And live thereafter long and happily." 
 
 "Lady," he said, "in Florence is my 
 
 home. 
 And in my city noble is my name ; 
 Neither on peddling voyage am I come, 
 But, like my fathers, bent to gather fame ; 
 And though thy face has set my heart 
 
 aflame 
 Yet of thy story nothing do I know, 
 But here have wandered heedlessly enow. 
 
 "But since the sight of thee my eyes did 
 
 bless. 
 What can I be but thine? what wouldst 
 
 thou have? 240 
 
 From those thy words, I deem from some 
 
 distress 
 By deeds of mine thy dear life I might 
 
 save ; 
 O then, delay not! if one ever gave 
 His life to any, mine I give to thee; 
 Come, tell me what the price of love must 
 
 be? 
 
 "Swift death, to be with thee a day and 
 
 night 
 And with the earliest dawning to be slain? 
 Or better, a long year of great delight. 
 And many years of misery and pain? 
 Or worse, and this poor hour for all my 
 
 gain ? 250 
 
 A sorry merchant am I on this day, 
 E'en as thou wiliest so must I obey."
 
 134 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 She said, "What brave words! naught 
 
 divine am I, 
 But an unhappy and unheard-of maid 
 Compelled by evil fate and destiny 
 To live, who long ago should have been 
 
 laid 
 Under the earth within the cypress shade. 
 Hearken awhile, and quickly shalt thou 
 
 know 
 What deed I pray thee to accomplish now. 
 
 "God grant indeed thy words are not for 
 naught ! 260 
 
 Then shalt thou save me, since for many 
 a day 
 
 To such a dreadful life I have been 
 brought : 
 
 Nor will I spare with all my heart to pay 
 
 What man soever takes my grief away; 
 
 Ah ! I will love thee, if thou lovest me 
 
 But well enough my savior now to be. 
 
 "My father lived a many years agone 
 Lord of this land, master of all cunning,* 
 Who ruddy gold could draw from out 
 
 gray stone. 
 And gather wealth from many an un- 
 
 couth^ thing; 270 
 
 He made the wilderness rejoice and sing, 
 And such a leech^ he was that none could 
 
 say 
 Without his word what soul should pass 
 
 away. 
 
 "Unto Diana such a gift he gave. 
 Goddess above, below, and on the earth, 
 That I should be her virgin and her slave 
 From the first hour of my most wretched 
 
 birth ; 
 Therefore my life had known but little 
 
 mirth 
 When I had come unto my twentieth year 
 And the last time of hallowing drew 
 
 anear. 280 
 
 "So in her temple had I lived and died 
 And all would long ago have passed away, 
 But ere that time came, did strange things 
 
 betide. 
 Whereby I am alive unto this day; 
 Alas, the bitter words that I must say! 
 Ah! can I bring my wretched tongue to 
 
 tell 
 How I was brought unto this fearful hell? 
 
 I cunning. Knowledge (here accented on the 
 second syllable). 
 
 3 uncouth. Strange. 
 3 leech. Physician. 
 
 "A queen I was, what gods I knew I 
 
 loved. 
 And nothing evil was there in my thought. 
 And yet by love my wretched heart was 
 
 moved 290 
 
 Until to utter ruin I was brought ! 
 Alas I thou sayest our gods were vain and 
 
 naught ; 
 Wait, wait, till thou hast heard this tale 
 
 of mine, 
 Then shalt thou think them devilish or 
 
 divine. 
 
 "Hearken ! in spite of father and of vow 
 I loved a man ; but for that sin I think 
 Men had* forgiven me — yea, yea, even 
 
 thou; 
 But from the gods the full cup must I 
 
 drink. 
 And into misery unheard-of sink, 
 Tormented, when their own names are 
 
 forgot, 300 
 
 And men must doubt if they e'er lived or 
 
 not. 
 
 "Glorious my lover was unto my sight. 
 Most beautiful, — of love we grew so fain 
 That we at least agreed, that on a night 
 We should be happy, but that^ he were 
 
 slain 
 Or shut in hold; and neither joy nor pain 
 Should else forbid that hoped-for time 
 
 to be; 
 So came the night that made a wretch of 
 
 "Ah! well do I remember all that night, 
 When through the window shone the orb 
 
 of June, 310 
 
 And by the bed flickered the taper's light, 
 Whereby I trembled, gazing at the moon : 
 Ah me ! the meeting that we had, when 
 
 soon 
 Into his strong, well-trusted arms I fell. 
 And many a sorrow we began to tell. 
 
 "Ah me! what parting on that night wc 
 
 had! 
 I think the story of my great despair 
 A little while might merry folk make sad; 
 For, as he swept away my yellow hair 
 To make my shoulder and my bosom 
 
 bare, 320 
 
 I raised mine eyes, and shuddering could 
 
 behold 
 A shadow cast upon the bed of gold : 
 
 4 had. Would have. 
 
 5 but that. Unless.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 135 
 
 "Then suddenly was quenched my hot 
 desire 
 
 And he untwined his arms; the moon so 
 pale 
 
 A while ago, seemed changed to blood 
 and fire, 
 
 And yet my limbs beneath me did not fail, 
 
 And neither had I strength to cry or 
 wail, 
 
 But stood there helpless, bare, and shiv- 
 ering. 
 
 With staring eyes still fixed upon the 
 thing. 
 
 "Because the shade that on the bed of 
 
 gold 330 
 
 The changed and dreadful moon was 
 
 throwing down 
 Was of Diana, whom I did behold, 
 With knotted hair, and shining girt-up 
 
 gown. 
 And on the high white brow, a deadly 
 
 frown 
 Bent upon us, who stood scarce drawing 
 
 breath, 
 Striving to meet the horrible sure death. 
 
 "No word at all the dreadful goddess said, 
 But soon across my feet my lover lay. 
 And well indeed I knew that he was 
 
 dead; 
 And would that I had died on that same 
 day ! 340 
 
 For in a while the image turned away, 
 And without words my doom I under- 
 stood. 
 And felt a horror change my human 
 blood. 
 
 "And there I fell, and on the floor I lay 
 By the dead man, till daylight came on 
 
 me. 
 And not a word thenceforward could I 
 
 say 
 For three years; till of grief and misery, 
 The lingering pest, the cruel enemy. 
 My father and his folk were dead and 
 
 gone. 
 And in this castle I was left alone : 350 
 
 "And then the doom foreseen upon me 
 
 fell. 
 For Queen Diana did my body change 
 Into a fork-tongued dragon, flesh and 
 
 fell,i 
 
 I fell. Skin. 
 
 And through the island nightly do I 
 
 range, 
 Or in the green sea mate with monsters 
 
 strange. 
 When in the middle of the moonlit night 
 The sleepy mariner I do affright. 
 
 "But all day long upon this gold I lie 
 Within this place, where never mason's 
 
 hand 
 Smote trowel on the marble noisily; 360 
 Drowsy I lie, no folk at my command. 
 Who once was called the Lady of the 
 
 Land; 
 Who might have bought a kingdom with 
 
 a kiss. 
 Yea, half the world with such a sight as 
 
 this." 
 
 And therewithal, with rosy fingers light. 
 Backward her heavy-hanging hair she 
 
 threw. 
 To give her naked beauty more to sight; 
 But when, forgetting all the things he 
 
 knew. 
 Maddened with love unto the prize he 
 
 drew. 
 She cried, "Nay, wait! for wherefore 
 
 wilt thou die, 370 
 
 Why should we not be happy, thou and I ? 
 
 "Wilt thou not save me? once in every 
 
 year 
 This rightful form of mine that thou 
 
 dost see 
 By favor of the goddess have I here 
 From sunrise unto sunset given me. 
 That some brave man may end my 
 
 misery. 
 And thou — art thou not brave? can thy 
 
 heart fail, 
 Whose eyes e'en now are weeping at my 
 
 tale? 
 
 "Then listen ! when this day is overpast, 
 A fearful monster shall I be again, 380 
 And thou may'st be my savior at the last; 
 Unless, once more, thy words are naught 
 
 and vain. 
 If thou of love and sovereignty art fain. 
 Come thou next morn, and when thou 
 
 seest here 
 A hideous dragon, have thereof no fear.
 
 136 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "But take the loathsome head up in thine 
 hands, 
 
 And kiss it, and be master presently 
 
 Of twice the wealth that is in all the 
 lands 
 
 From Cathayi to the head of Italy; 
 
 And master also, if it pleaseth thee, 390 
 
 Of all thou praisest as so fresh and 
 bright, 
 
 Of what thou callest crown of all de- 
 light. 
 
 "Ah ! with what joy then shall I see again 
 The sunlight on the green grass and the 
 
 trees. 
 And hear the clatter of the summer rain, 
 And see the joyous folks beyond the seas. 
 Ah, me ! to hold my child upon my knees. 
 After the weeping of unkindly tears, 
 And all the wrongs of these four hun- 
 dred years. 
 
 "Go now, go quick! leave this gray heap 
 
 of stone; 400 
 
 And from thy glad heart think upon thy 
 
 way. 
 How I shall love thee — yea, love thee 
 
 alone. 
 That bringest me from dark death unto 
 
 day; 
 For this shall be thy wages and thy pay; 
 Unheard-of wealth, unheard-of love is 
 
 near. 
 If thou hast heart a little dread to 
 
 bear." . . . 
 
 Then at the doorway where her rosy heel 
 Had glanced and vanished, he awhile did 
 
 stare, 
 And still upon his hand he seemed to feel 
 The varying kisses of her fingers fair; 
 Then turned he toward the dreary crypt 
 
 and bare, 411 
 
 And dizzily throughout the castle passed, 
 Till by the ruined fane^ he stood at last. 
 
 Then weighing still the gem within his 
 hand, 
 
 He stumbled backward through the cy- 
 press wood. 
 
 Thinking the while of some strange lovely 
 land. 
 
 Where all his life should be most fair 
 and good 
 
 Till on the valley's wall of hills he stood, 
 
 I Cathay. Asia. ' 
 a fane. Temple. 
 
 And slowly thence passed down unto the 
 
 bay 
 Red with the death of that bewildering 
 
 day. 420 
 
 The next day came, and he, who all the 
 
 night 
 Had ceaselessly been turning in his 
 
 bed. 
 Arose and clad himself in armor bright, 
 And many a danger he remembered ; 
 Storming of towns, long sieges full of 
 
 dread, 
 That with renown his heart had borne 
 
 him through. 
 And this thing seemed a little thing to do. 
 
 So on he went, and on the way he 
 
 thought 
 Of all the glorious things of yesterday, 
 Naught of the price whereat they must 
 
 be bought, 430 
 
 But ever to himself did softly say, 
 "No roaming now, my wars are passed 
 
 away; 
 No long dull days devoid of happiness, 
 When such a love my yearning heart shall 
 
 bless." 
 
 Thus to the castle did he come at last. 
 But when unto the gateway he drew near, 
 And underneath its ruined archway 
 
 passed 
 Into the court, a strange noise did he 
 
 hear, 
 And through his heart there shot a pang 
 
 of fear; ^ 
 
 Trembling, he gat his sword into his 
 
 hand, 440 
 
 And midmost of the cloisters took his 
 
 stand. 
 
 But for a while that unknown noise in- 
 creased, 
 
 A rattling, that with strident roars did 
 blend, 
 
 And whining moans; but suddenly it 
 ceased, — 
 
 A fearful thing stood at the cloister's 
 end. 
 
 And eyed him for a while, then 'gan to 
 wend 
 
 Adown the cloisters, and began again 
 
 That rattling, and the moan like fiends 
 in pain.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 137 
 
 And as it came on towards him, with its 
 teeth 
 
 The body of a slain goat did it tear, 450 
 
 The blood whereof in its hot jaws did 
 seethe, 
 
 And on its tongue he saw the smoking 
 hair; 
 
 Then his heart sank, and standing trem- 
 bling there, 
 
 Throughout his mind wild thoughts and 
 fearful ran, 
 
 "Some fiend she was," he said, "the bane^ 
 of man." 
 
 Yet he abode her still, although his blood 
 Curdled within him : the thing dropped 
 
 the goat, 
 And creeping on, came close to where he 
 
 stood. 
 And raised its head to him, and wrinkled 
 
 throat ; 
 Then he cried out and wildly at her 
 
 smote, 460 
 
 Shutting his eyes, and turned, and from 
 
 the place 
 Ran swiftly, with a white and ghastly face. 
 
 But little things rough stones and tree- 
 trunks seemed. 
 
 And if he fell, he rose and ran on still; 
 
 No more he felt his hurts than if he 
 dreamed. 
 
 He made no stay for valley or steep hill. 
 
 Heedless he dashed through many a 
 foaming rill, 
 
 Until he came unto the ship at last 
 
 And with no word into the deep hold 
 passed. 
 
 Meanwhile the dragon, seeing him clean 
 gone, 470 
 
 Followed him not, but crying horribly. 
 Caught up within her jaws a block of 
 
 stone 
 And ground it into powder, then turned she, 
 With cries that folk could hear far out 
 
 at sea, 
 And reached the treasure set apart of old. 
 To brood above the hidden heaps of gold. 
 
 Yet was she seen again on many a day 
 By some half-waking mariner, or heard. 
 Playing amid the ripples of the bay. 
 Or on the hills, making all things afeard. 
 Or in the wood that did that castle gird; 
 But never any man again durst go 482 
 To seek her woman's form, and end her 
 
 woe. 
 I bane. 
 
 Destroyer. 
 
 As for the man, who knows what things 
 
 he bore? 
 What mournful faces peopled the sad 
 
 night. 
 What waitings vexed him with reproaches 
 
 sore. 
 What images of that nigh-gained delight ! 
 What dreamed caresses from soft hands 
 
 and white. 
 Turning to horrors ere they reached the 
 
 best; 
 What struggles vain, what shame, what 
 
 huge unrest? 490 
 
 No man he knew, three days he lay and 
 
 raved. 
 And cried for death, until a lethargy 
 Fell on him, and his fellows thought him 
 
 saved ; 
 But on the third night he awoke to die ; 
 And at Byzantium doth his body lie 
 Between two blossoming pomegranate 
 
 trees. 
 Within the churchyard of the Genoese. 
 
 (1868) 
 
 GARETH AND LYNETTE 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [Tennyson's Idylls of the King, from which 
 this and the two following poems are taken, tell 
 the story of King Arthur, whom medieval ro- 
 mance celebrates as the hero-king of early Brit- 
 ain. Throughout the poems there is a blending 
 of ordinary traditional story with mystical, mi- 
 raculous elements, and these elements Tennyson 
 used to s>'mbolize moral and spiritual truths. 
 Thus Arthur is, in one aspect of the story, a 
 normal human king, the son of Uther Pendragon, 
 and in another aspect a person of miraculous 
 birth, come to set up a kingdom of purity and 
 righteousness in Britain, especially through the 
 agency of the ideal knights of the Round Table. 
 The opposition to him on the part of the heathen 
 and of all evil men, Tennyson explains as sym- 
 bolic of "sense at war with soul," — "sense" 
 meaning the low desires of the animal or "beast" 
 element in man. The present poem is an episode 
 representative of the brightest days of the Ar- 
 thurian reign, and Gareth is typical of youth 
 winning its spurs of knighthood. In particular, 
 the struggle against the evil knights of Morn- 
 ing, Noon, and Evening (see lines 619 and 1174) 
 symbolizes the overcoming of the temptations of 
 youth, middle life, and old age.] 
 
 The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent, 
 And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring 
 Stared at the spate.^ A slender-shafted 
 
 pine 
 Lost footing, fell, and so was whirled 
 
 away. 
 1 spate. Swollen river.
 
 138 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "How he went down," said Gareth, "as a 
 
 false knight 
 Or evil king before my lance, if lance 
 Were mine to use — O senseless cataract, 
 Bearing all down in thy precipitancy — 
 And yet thou art but swollen with cold 
 
 snows 
 And mine is living blood : thou dost His 
 
 will, 10 
 
 The Maker's, and not knowest, and I that 
 
 know, 
 Have strength and wit, in my good moth- 
 er's hall 
 Linger with vacillating obedience, 
 Prisoned, and kept and coaxed and whis- 
 tled to— 
 Since the good mother holds me still a 
 
 child ! 
 Good mother is bad mother unto me! 
 A worse were better; yet no worse 
 
 would I. 
 Heaven yield ^ her for it, but in me put 
 
 force 
 To weary her ears with one continuous 
 
 prayer. 
 Until she let me fly discaged to sweep 20 
 In ever-highering eagle-circles up 
 To the great Sun of Glory, and thence 
 
 swoop 
 Down upon all things base, and dash 
 
 them dead, 
 A knight of Arthur, working out his 
 
 will. 
 To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, 
 
 when he came 
 With Modred hither in the summertime,^ 
 Asked me to tilt with him, the proven 
 
 knight. 
 Modred, for want of worthier, was the 
 
 judge. 
 Then I so shook him in the saddle, he 
 
 said, 
 "Thou hast half prevail'd against me," 
 
 said so — he — 30 
 
 Tho' Modred biting his thin lips was 
 
 mute. 
 For he is always sullen: what care I?" 
 
 And Gareth went, and hovering round 
 
 her chair 
 Asked, "Mother, tho' ye count me still 
 
 the child. 
 Sweet mother, do ye love the child?" She 
 
 laughed, 
 "Thou art but a wild-goose to question 
 
 it." 
 
 1 yield. Reward. 
 
 2 Gawain and Modred were brothers of Gareth. 
 
 "Then, mother, an^ ye love the child," he 
 said, 
 
 "Being a goose and rather tame than 
 wild. 
 
 Hear the child's story." "Yea, my well- 
 beloved. 
 
 An 'twere but of the goose and golden 
 eggs." 40 
 
 And Gareth answered her with kin- 
 dling eyes, 
 
 "Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of 
 mine 
 
 Was finer gold than any goose can lay; 
 
 For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid 
 
 Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm 
 
 As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours.* 
 
 And there was ever haunting round the 
 palm 
 
 A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw 
 
 The splendor sparkling from aloft, and 
 thought 
 
 'An I could climb and lay my hand upon 
 it, 50 
 
 Then were I wealthier than a leash ^ of 
 kings.* 
 
 But ever when he reached a hand to 
 climb, 
 
 One, that had loved him from his child- 
 hood, caught 
 
 And stayed him, 'Climb not lest thou 
 break thy neck, 
 
 I charge thee by my love,' and so the 
 boy. 
 
 Sweet mother, neither clomb, nor brake 
 his neck. 
 
 But brake his very heart in pining for it, 
 
 And passed away." 
 
 To whom the mother said, 
 "True love, sweet son, had risked himself 
 
 and climbed. 
 And handed down the golden treasure to 
 
 him." 60 
 
 And Gareth answered her with kindling 
 
 eyes, 
 "Gold? said I gold? — ay then, why he, 
 
 or she. 
 Or whosoe'er it was, or half the world 
 Had ventured— /larf the thing I spake of 
 
 been 
 Mere gold— but this was all of that true 
 
 steel, 
 
 3 an. If. 
 
 4 Book of Hours. A prayer-book (often beau- 
 tifully illuminated). 
 
 5 leash of. Three (from "a leash of hounds").
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 139 
 
 WheTcof they forged the brand^^ Excali- 
 
 bur, 
 And lightnings played about it in the 
 
 storm, 
 And all the little fowl were flurried at it, 
 And there were cries and clashings in 
 
 the nest, 
 That sent him from his senses : — let me 
 
 go." 70 
 
 Then Bellicent bemoaned herself and 
 
 said, 
 "Hast thou no pity upon my loneliness? 
 Lo, where thy father Lot beside the hearth 
 Lies like a log, and all but smouldered 
 
 out! 
 For ever since when traitor to the King 
 He fought against him in the Barons' 
 
 war, 
 And Arthur gave him back his territory, 
 His age hath slowly drooped, and now 
 
 lies there 
 A yet-warm corpse, and yet unburiable. 
 No more; nor sees, nor hears, nor speaks, 
 
 nor knows. 80 
 
 And both thy brethren are in Arthur's 
 
 hall. 
 Albeit neither loved with that full love 
 I feel for thee, nor worthy such a love : 
 Stay therefore thou; red berries charm 
 
 the bird. 
 And thee, mine innocent, the jousts, the 
 
 wars. 
 Who never knewest finger-ache, nor pang 
 Of wrenched or broken limb — an often 
 
 chance 
 In those brain-stunning shocks, and tour- 
 ney-falls, 
 Frights to my heart ; but stay : follow the 
 
 deer 
 By these tall firs and our fast-falling 
 
 burns ;2 90 
 
 So make thy manhood mightier day by 
 
 day; 
 Sweet is the chase : and I will seek thee 
 
 out 
 Some comfortable bride and fair, to 
 
 grace 
 Thy climbing life, and cherish my prone ^ 
 
 year. 
 Till falling into Lot's forgetfulness 
 I know not thee, myself, nor anything. 
 Stay, my best son ! ye are yet more boy 
 
 than man." 
 
 I brand. Sword. 
 3 burns. Brooks. 
 3 prone. Falling. 
 
 Then Gareth, "An ye hold me yet for 
 child. 
 
 Hear yet once more the story of the child. 
 
 For, mother, there was once a King, like 
 ours, 100 
 
 The prince his heir, when tall and mar- 
 riageable. 
 
 Asked for a bride ; and thereupon the 
 King 
 
 Set two before him. One was fair, 
 strong, armed — 
 
 But to be won by force — and many men 
 
 Desired her; one, good lack, no man 
 desired. 
 
 And these were the conditions of the 
 King: 
 
 That save he won the first by force, he 
 needs 
 
 Must wed that other, whom no man de- 
 sired, 
 
 A red-faced bride who knew herself so 
 vile. 
 
 That evermore she longed to hide her- 
 self, no 
 
 Nor fronted man or woman, eye to eye — 
 
 Yea — some she cleaved to, but they died 
 of her. 
 
 And one — they called her Fame — and one 
 — O Mother, 
 
 How can ye keep me tethered to you — 
 Shame. 
 
 Man am I grown, a man's work must I 
 do. 
 
 Follow the deer? follow the Christ, the 
 King, 
 
 Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow 
 the King — 
 
 Else, wherefore born?" 
 
 To whom the mother said. 
 "Sweet son, for there be many who deem 
 
 him not. 
 Or will not deem him, wholly proven 
 
 King — 120 
 
 Albeit in mine own heart I knew him 
 
 King, 
 When I was frequent, with him in my 
 
 youth. 
 And heard him Kingly speak, and doubted 
 
 him 
 No more than he, himself; but felt him 
 
 mine, 
 Of closest kin to me: yet — wilt thou leave 
 Thine easeful biding here, and risk thine 
 
 all. 
 Life, limbs, for one that is not proven 
 
 King?
 
 140 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Stay, till the cloud that settles round his 
 
 birth 
 Hath lifted but a little. Stay, sweet son." 
 
 And Gareth answered quickly, "Not an 
 
 hour, 130 
 
 So that ye yield me — I will walk thro' fire, 
 Mother, to gain it — your full leave to go. 
 Not proven, who swept the dust of ruined 
 
 Rome 
 From off the threshold of the realm, and 
 
 crushed 
 The Idolaters, and made the people free? 
 Who should be King save him who makes 
 
 us free?" 
 
 So when the Queen, who long had 
 
 sought in vain 
 To break him from the intent to which he 
 
 grew. 
 Found her son's will unwaveringly one, 
 She answered craftily, "Will ye walk 
 
 thro' fire? 140 
 
 Who walks thro' fire will hardly heed the 
 
 smoke. 
 Ay, go then, an ye must : only one proof. 
 Before thou ask the King to make thee 
 
 knight. 
 Of thine obedience and thy love to me, 
 Thy mother, — I demand." 
 
 And Gareth cried, 
 "A hard one, or a hundred, so I go. 
 Nay — quick ! the proof to prove me to the 
 quick !" 
 
 But slowly spake the mother, looking at 
 him, 
 
 "Prince, thou shalt go disguised to 
 Arthur's hall. 
 
 And hire thyself to serve for meats and 
 drinks 150 
 
 Among the scullions and the kitchen- 
 knaves. 
 
 And those that hand the dish across the 
 bar.i 
 
 Nor shalt thou tell thy name to any one. 
 
 And thou shalt serve a twelvemonth and 
 a day." 
 
 For so the Queen believed that when 
 her son 
 Beheld his only way to glory lead 
 Low down thro' villain^ kitchen-vassal- 
 age, 
 
 1 bar. Kitchen counter. 
 
 2 villain. Low-born. 
 
 Her own true Gareth was too princely- 
 proud 
 
 To pass thereby; so should he rest with 
 her. 
 
 Closed in her castle from the sound of 
 arms. 160 
 
 Silent awhile was Gareth, then replied, 
 
 "The thrall in person may be free in soul. 
 
 And I shall see the jousts. Thy son am 
 I, 
 
 And since thou art my mother, must obey. 
 
 I therefore yield me freely to thy will; 
 
 For hence will I, disguised, and hire 
 myself 
 
 To serve with scullions and with kitchen- 
 knaves ; 
 
 Nor tell my name to any — no, not the 
 King." 
 
 Gareth awhile lingered. The mother's 
 
 eye. 
 Full of the wistful fear that he would 
 
 go, 170 
 
 And turning toward him whereso'er he 
 
 turned, 
 Perplexed his outward purpose, till an 
 
 hour. 
 When, wakened by the wind which with 
 
 full voice 
 Swept bellowing thro' the darkness on to 
 
 dawn. 
 He rose, and out of slumber calling two 
 That stilP had tended on him from his 
 
 birth, 
 Before the wakeful mother heard him, 
 
 went. 
 
 The three were clad like tillers of the 
 
 soil. 
 Southward they set their faces. The 
 
 birds made 
 Melody on branch, and melody in mid 
 
 air. 180 
 
 The damp hill-slopes were quickened into 
 
 green, 
 And the live green had kindled into 
 
 flowers, 
 For it was past the time of Easterday. 
 
 So, when their feet were planted on the 
 plain 
 That broadened toward the base of 
 
 Camelot, 
 Far off they saw the silver-misty morn 
 Rolling her smoke about the Royal mount, 
 That rose between the forest and the field. 
 3 still. Always.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 141 
 
 At times the summit of the high city 
 flashed; 
 
 At times the spires and turrets half-way- 
 down 190 
 
 Pricked thro' the mist ; at times the great 
 gate shone 
 
 Only, that opened on the field below : 
 
 Anon, the whole fair city had disappeared. 
 
 Then those who went with Gareth were 
 
 amazed, 
 One crying, "Let us go no further, lord. 
 Here is a city of Enchanters, built 
 By fairy Kings." The second echoed 
 
 him, 
 "Lord, we have heard from our wise man 
 
 at home 
 To Northward, that this King is not the 
 
 King, 
 But only changeling out of Fairyland, 200 
 Who drave the heathen hence by sorcery 
 And Merlin's glamour." Then the first 
 
 again, 
 "Lord, there is no such city anywhere, 
 But all a vision." 
 
 Gareth answered them 
 With laughter, swearing he had glamour 
 
 enow 
 In his own blood, his princedom, youth 
 
 and hopes. 
 To plunge old Merlin in the Arabian sea ; 
 So pushed them all unwilling toward the 
 
 gate. 
 And there was no gate like it under 
 
 heaven. 
 For barefoot on the keystone, which was 
 
 lined 210 
 
 And rippled like an ever-fleeting wave, 
 The Lady of the Lake stood : all her dress 
 Wept from her sides as water flowing 
 
 away ; 
 But like the cross her great and goodly 
 
 arms 
 Stretched under all the cornice and up- 
 held: 
 And drops of water fell from either 
 
 hand; 
 And down from one a sword was hung, 
 
 from one 
 A censer, either worn with wind and 
 
 storm ; 
 And o'er her breast floated the sacred 
 
 fish; 
 And in the space to left of her, and right. 
 Were Arthur's wars in weird devices 
 
 done, 221 
 
 New things and old co-twisted, as if 
 
 Time 
 Were nothing, so inveterately.^ that men 
 Were giddy gazing there; and over all 
 High on the top were those three Queens, 
 
 the friends 
 Of Arthur, who should help him at his 
 
 need. 
 
 Then those with Gareth for so long a 
 
 space 
 Stared at the figures, that at last it 
 
 seemed 
 The dragon-boughts2 and elvish emblem- 
 
 ings 
 Began to move, seethe, twine, and curl : 
 
 they called 230 
 
 To Gareth, "Lord, the gateway is alive." 
 
 And Gareth likewise on them fixed his 
 
 eyes 
 So long, that ev'n to him they seemed to 
 
 move. 
 Out of the city a blast of music pealed. 
 Back from the gate started the three, to 
 
 whom 
 From out thereunder came an ancient 
 
 man,3 
 Long-bearded, saying, "Who be ye, my 
 
 sons ?" 
 
 Then Gareth, "We be tillers of the soil, 
 Who leaving share in furrow come to see 
 The glories of our King : but these, my 
 
 men, 240 
 
 (Your city moved so weirdly in the mist) 
 Doubt if the King be King at all, or come 
 From Fairyland; and whether this be 
 
 built 
 By magic, and by fairy Kings and 
 
 Queens ; 
 Or whether there be any city at all. 
 Or all a vision : and this music now 
 Hath scared them both; but tell thou 
 
 these the truth." 
 
 Then that old Seer made answer play- 
 ing on him 
 
 And saying. "Son, I have seen the good 
 ship sail 
 
 Keel upward, and mast downward, in the 
 heavens, 250 
 
 And solid turrets topsy-turvy in air : 
 
 And here is truth; but an it please thee 
 not, 
 
 I inveterately. Endlessly. 
 
 a boughts. Bends (of the tails). 
 
 3 Evidently the magician Merlin.
 
 142 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Take thou the truth as thou hast told it 
 me. 
 
 For truly, as thou sayest, a Fairy King 
 
 And Fairy Queens have built the city, 
 son; 
 
 They came from out a sacred mountain- 
 cleft 
 
 Toward the sunrise, each with harp in 
 hand, 
 
 And built it to the music of their harps. 
 
 And, as thou sayest, it is enchanted, son, 
 
 For there is nothing in it as it seems 260 
 
 Saving the King; tho' some there be that 
 hold 
 
 The King a shadow, and the city real : 
 
 Yet take thou heed of him, for, so thou 
 pass 
 
 Beneath this archway, then wilt thou be- 
 come 
 
 A thrall to his enchantments, for the 
 King 
 
 Will bind thee by such vows, as is a 
 shame 
 
 A man should not be bound by, yet the 
 which 
 
 No man can keep; but, so thou dread to 
 swear. 
 
 Pass not Iseneath this gateway, but abide 
 
 Without, among the cattle of the field. 
 
 For an ye heard a music, like enow 271 
 
 They are building still, seeing the city is 
 built 
 
 To music, therefore never built at all, 
 
 And therefore built for ever." 
 
 Gareth spake 
 Angered, "Old master, reverence thine 
 
 own beard 
 That looks as white as utter truth, and 
 
 seems 
 Wellnigh as long as thou art statured 
 
 tall! 
 Why mockest thou the stranger that hath 
 
 been 
 To thee fair-spoken?" 
 
 But the Seer replied, 
 "Know ye not then the Riddling of the 
 
 Bards ? 280 
 
 'Confusion, and illusion, and relation. 
 Elusion, and occasion, and evasion'? 
 I mock thee not but as thou mockest me, 
 And all that see thee, for thou art not 
 
 who 
 Thou seemest, but I know thee who thou 
 
 art. 
 
 And now thou goest up to mock the King, 
 Who cannot brook^ the shadow of any 
 lie." 
 
 Unmockingly the mocker, ending here. 
 Turned to the right, and passed along the 
 
 plain ; 
 Whom Gareth looking after said, "My 
 men, 290 
 
 Our one white lie sits like a little ghost 
 Here on the threshold of our enterprise. 
 Let love be blamed for it, not she, nor I : 
 Well, we will make amends." 
 
 With all good cheer 
 He spake and laughed, then entered with 
 
 his twain 
 Camelot, a city of shadowy palaces 
 And stately, rich in emblem and the work 
 Of ancient kings who did their days in 
 
 stone ; 
 Which Merlin's hand, the Mage at Ar- 
 thur's court. 
 Knowing all arts, had touched, and 
 everywhere 300 
 
 At Arthur's ordinance, tipped with lessen- 
 ing peak 
 And pinnacle, and had made it spire to 
 
 heaven. 
 And ever and anon a knight would pass 
 Outward, or inward to the hall : his arms 
 Clashed; and the sound was good to 
 
 Gareth's ear. 
 And out of bower and casement shyly 
 
 glanced 
 Eyes of pure women, wholesome stars of 
 
 love; 
 And all about a healthful people stepped 
 As in the presence of a gracious king. 
 
 Then into hall Gareth ascending heard 
 A voice, the voice of Arthur, and beheld 
 Far over heads in that long-vaulted hall 
 The splendor of the presence of the King 
 Throned, and delivering doom^ — and 
 
 looked no more — 314 
 
 But felt his young heart hammering in 
 
 his ears. 
 And thought : "For this half-shadow of a 
 
 lie 
 The truthful King will doom me when 
 
 I speak." 
 Yet pressing on, tho' all in fear to find 
 Sir Gawain or Sir Modred, saw nor one 
 Nor other, but in all the listening eyes 
 
 I brook. Endure. 
 a doom. Judgment.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 143 
 
 Of those tall knights, that ranged about 
 the throne, 321 
 
 Clear honor shining like the dewy star 
 Of dawn, and faith in their great King, 
 
 with pure 
 Affection, and the light of victory. 
 And glory gained, and evermore to gain. 
 
 Then came a widow crying to the 
 
 King, 
 "A boon, Sir King! Thy father, Uther, 
 
 reft 
 From my dead lord a field with violence : 
 For howsoe'er at first he proffered gold. 
 Yet, for the field was pleasant in our 
 
 eyes, 330 
 
 We yielded not; and then he reft us of it 
 Perforce, and left us neither gold nor 
 
 field." 
 
 Said Arthur, "Whether^- would ye? gold 
 
 or field?" 
 To whom the woman weeping, "Nay, my 
 
 lord, 
 The field was pleasant in my husband's 
 
 eye." 
 
 And Arthur : "Have thy pleasant field 
 
 again, 
 And thrice the gold for Uther's use 
 
 thereof, 
 According to the years. No boon is here, 
 But justice, so they say be proven true. 
 Accursed, who from the wrongs his 
 
 father did 340 
 
 Would shape himself a right!" 
 
 And while she passed. 
 Came yet another widow crying to him, 
 "A boon. Sir King! Thine enemy, King, 
 
 am I. 
 With thine own hand thou slewest my 
 
 dear lord, 
 A knight of Uther in the Barons' war. 
 When Lot and many another rose and 
 
 fought 
 Against thee, saying thou wert basely 
 
 born. 
 I held with these, and loathe to ask thee 
 
 aught. 
 Yet lo ! my husband's brother had my son 
 Thralled in his castle, and hath starved 
 
 him dead; 350 
 
 And standeth seized^ of that inheritance 
 
 1 Whether. Which. 
 
 2 seized of. Possessing. 
 
 Which thou that slewest the sire hast left 
 
 the son. 
 So tho' I scarce can ask it thee for hate, 
 Grant me some knight to do the battle for 
 
 me. 
 Kill the foul thief, and wreak^ me for 
 
 my son." 
 
 Then strode a good knight forward, 
 
 crying to him, 
 "A boon. Sir King! I am her kinsman, I. 
 Give me to right her wrong, and slay the 
 
 man." 
 
 Then came Sir Kay, the seneschal, and 
 
 cried, 
 "A boon. Sir King! even that thou grant 
 
 her none, 360 
 
 This railer, that hath mocked thee in full 
 
 hail- 
 None; or the wholesome boon of gyve 
 
 and gag." 
 
 But Arthur, "We sit King, to help the 
 
 wronged 
 Thro' all our realm. The woman loves 
 
 her lord. 
 Peace to thee, woman, with thy loves and 
 
 hates I 
 The kings of old had doomed thee to the 
 
 flames, 
 Aurelius Emrys would have scourged 
 
 thee dead. 
 And Uther sHt thy tongue: but get thee 
 
 hence — 
 Lest that rough humor of the kings of 
 
 old 
 Return upon me! Thou that art her kin, 
 Go likewise; lay him low and slay him 
 
 not, 371 
 
 But bring him here, that I may judge 
 
 the right. 
 According to the justice of the King: 
 Then, be he guilty, by that deathless King 
 Who lived and died for men, the man 
 
 shall die." 
 
 Then came in hall the messenger of 
 
 Mark, 
 A name of evil savor in the land, 
 The Cornish king. In either hand he 
 
 bore 
 What dazzled all, and shone far-off as 
 
 shines 
 A field of charlock* in the sudden sun 380 
 
 3 wreak. Avenge. 
 
 4 charlock. Mustard.
 
 144 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Between two sliowers, a cloth of palest 
 
 gold, 
 Which down he laid before the throne, 
 
 and knelt, 
 Delivering, that his lord, the vassal king, 
 Was ev'n upon his way to Camelot; 
 For having heard that Arthur of his 
 
 grace 
 Had made his goodly cousin, Tristram, 
 
 knight, 
 And, fori himself was of the greater 
 
 state, 
 Being a king, he trusted his liege-lord 
 Would yield him this large honor all the 
 
 more; 
 So prayed him well to accept this cloth 
 
 of gold, 390 
 
 In token of true heart and fealty. 
 
 Then Arthur cried to rend the cloth, to 
 
 rend 
 In pieces, and so cast it on the hearth. 
 An oak-tree smouldered there. "The 
 
 goodly knight ! 
 What! shall the shield of Mark stand 
 
 among these?" 
 For, midway down the side of that long 
 
 hall 
 A stately pile — whereof along the front. 
 Some blazoned,^ some but carven, and 
 
 some blank, 
 There ran a treble range of stony 
 
 shields — 
 Rose, and high-arching overbrowed the 
 
 hearth. 400 
 
 And under every shield a knight was 
 
 named : 
 For this was Arthur's custom in his hall ; 
 When some good knight had done one 
 
 noble deed, 
 His arms were carven only; but if twain 
 His arms were blazoned also; but if none. 
 The shield was blank and bare, without a 
 
 sign 
 Saving the name beneath; and Gareth saw 
 The shield of Gawain blazoned rich and 
 
 bright, 
 And Modred's blank as death; and Ar- 
 thur cried 
 To rend the cloth and cast it on the 
 
 hearth. 410 
 
 "More like are we to reave^ him of his 
 
 crown 
 Than make him knight because men call 
 
 him king. 
 
 1 jor. Since. 
 
 2 blazoned. Bearing the heraldic colors. 
 
 3 reave. Deprive. 
 
 The kings we found, ye know we stayed 
 
 their hands 
 From war among themselves, but left 
 
 them kings; 
 Of whom were any bounteous, merciful, 
 Truth-speaking, brave, good livers, them 
 
 we enrolled 
 Among us, and they sit within our hall. 
 But Mark hath tarnished the great name 
 
 of king, 
 As Mark would sully the low state of 
 
 churl : 
 And, seeing he hath sent us cloth of gold. 
 Return, and meet, and hold him from our 
 
 eyes, 421 
 
 Lest we should lap him up in cloth of 
 
 lead, 
 iSilenced for ever — craven — a man of 
 
 plots. 
 Craft, poisonous counsels, wayside am- 
 
 bushings — 
 No fault of thine: let Kay the seneschal 
 Look to thy wants, and send thee satis- 
 fied- 
 Accursed, who strikes nor lets the hand 
 
 be seen!" 
 
 And many another suppliant crying 
 
 came 
 With noise of ravage wrought by beast 
 
 and man. 
 And evermore a knight would ride away. 
 
 Last, Gareth, leaning both hands heavily 
 
 Down on the shoulders of the twain, his 
 men, 432 
 
 Approached between them toward the 
 King, and asked, 
 
 "A boon, Sir King" (his voice was all 
 ashamed), 
 
 "For see ye not how weak and hunger- 
 worn 
 
 I seem — leaning on these? grant me to 
 serve 
 
 For meat and drink among thy kitchen- 
 knaves 
 
 A twelvemonth and a day, nor seek my 
 name. 
 
 Hereafter I will fight." 
 
 To him the King, 
 "A goodly youth and worth a goodlier 
 
 boon ! 440 
 
 But so thou wilt no goodlier, then must 
 
 Kay, 
 The master of the meats and drinks, be 
 
 thine."
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 145 
 
 He rose and passed ; then Kay, a man 
 of mien 
 Wan-sallow as the plant that feels itself 
 Root-bitten by white lichen, 
 
 "Lo ye now ! 
 This fellow hath broken from some 
 
 Abbey, where, 
 God wot, he had not beef and brewis^ 
 
 enow, 
 However that might chance! but an he 
 
 work. 
 Like any pigeon will I cram his crop. 
 And sleeker shall he shine than any hog." 
 
 Then Lancelot standing near, "Sir 
 Seneschal, 451 
 
 Sleuth-hound thou knowest, and gray,^ 
 and all the hounds ; 
 
 A horse thou knowest, a man thou dost 
 not know: 
 
 Broad brows and fair, a fluent hair and 
 fine, 
 
 High nose, a nostril large and fine, and 
 hands 
 
 Large, fair and fine! — Some young lad's 
 mystery — 
 
 But, or from sheepcot or king's hall, the 
 boy 
 
 Is noble-natured. Treat him with all 
 grace. 
 
 Lest he should come to shame thy judg- 
 ing of him." 
 
 Then Kay, "What murmurest thou of 
 mystery ? 460 
 
 Think ye this fellow will poison the 
 King's dish? 
 
 Nay, for he spake too fool-like : mystery ! 
 
 Tut, an the lad were noble, he had asked 
 
 For horse and armor: fair and fine, for- 
 sooth I 
 
 Sir Fine-face, Sir Fair-hands? but see 
 thou to it 
 
 That thine own fineness, Lancelot, some 
 fine day 
 
 Undo thee not — and leave my man to 
 me." 
 
 So Gareth all for glory underwent 
 
 The sooty yoke of kitchen-vassalage; 
 
 Ate with young lads his portion by the 
 door, 470 
 
 And couched at night with grimy kitchen- 
 knaves. 
 
 And Lancelot ever spake him pleasantly, 
 
 I hrewi^. Broth. 
 3 gray. Greyhound. 
 
 But Kay the seneschal, who loved him 
 
 not. 
 Would hustle and harry^ him, and labor 
 
 him 
 Beyond his comrade of the hearth, and set 
 To turn the broach,* draw water, or hew 
 
 wood. 
 Or grosser tasks; and Gareth bowed him- 
 self 
 With all obedience to the King, and 
 
 wrought 
 All kind of service with a noble ease 
 That graced the lowliest act in doing it. 
 And when the thralls had talk among 
 
 themselves, 481 
 
 And one would praise the love that 
 
 linked the King 
 And Lancelot — how the King had saved 
 
 his life 
 In battle twice, and Lancelot once the 
 
 King's — 
 For Lancelot was the first in Tourna- 
 ment, 
 But Arthur mightiest on the battle-field — 
 Gareth was glad. Or if some other told, 
 How once the wandering forester at 
 
 dawn. 
 Far over the blue tarns^ and hazy seas, 
 On Caer-Eryri's^ highest found the King, 
 A naked babe, of whom the Prophet 
 
 spake, 491 
 
 "He passes to the Isle Avilion, 
 He passes and Is healed and cannot 
 
 die" — 
 Gareth was glad. But if their talk were 
 
 foul, 
 Then would he whistle rapid as any lark, 
 Or carol some old roundelay, and so loud 
 That first they mocked, but, after, rev- 
 erenced him. 
 Or Gareth, telling some prodigious tale 
 Of knights who sliced a red life-bubbling 
 
 way 
 Thro' twenty folds of twisted dragon, 
 
 held 500 
 
 All in a gap-mouthed circle his good 
 
 mates 
 Lying or sitting round him, idle hands. 
 Charmed; till Sir Kay, the seneschal, 
 
 would come 
 Blustering upon them, like a sudden wind 
 Among dead leaves, and drive them ail 
 
 apart, 
 
 3 harry. Drive. 
 
 4 broach. Roasting spit. 
 
 5 tarns. Lakes. 
 
 6 Caer-Eryri. Mount Saowdon.
 
 146 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Or when the thralls had sport among 
 
 themselves, 
 So there were any trial of mastery, 
 He, by two yards in casting bar or stone 
 Was counted best; and if there chanced 
 
 a joust, 
 So that Sir Kay nodded him leave to go. 
 Would hurry thither, and when he saw 
 
 the knights 51 1 
 
 Clash like the coming and retiring wave. 
 And the spear spring, and good horse 
 
 reel, the boy 
 Was half beyond himself for ecstasy. 
 
 So for a month he wrought among the 
 
 thralls ; 
 But in the weeks that followed, the good 
 
 Queen, 
 Repentant of the word she made him 
 
 swear, 
 And saddening in her childless castle, sent, 
 Between the in-crescent and de-crescent 
 
 moon, 
 Arms for her son, and loosed him from 
 
 his vow. 520 
 
 This, Gareth hearing from a squire of 
 
 Lot 
 With whom he used to play at tourney once, 
 When both were children, and in lonely 
 
 haunts 
 Would scratch a ragged oval on the sand, 
 And each at either dash from either end — 
 Shame never made girl redder than 
 
 Gareth joy. 
 He laughed; he sprang. "Out of the 
 
 smoke, at once 
 I leap from Satan's foot to Peter's knee — 
 These news be mine, none other's — nay, 
 
 the King's — 
 Descend into the city" : whereon he 
 
 sought 530 
 
 The King alone, and found, and told him 
 
 all. 
 
 Lowly, to kiss his hand, who answered 
 
 him, 
 "Son, the good mother let me know thee 
 
 here, 
 And sent her wish that I would yield thee 
 
 thine. 540 
 
 Make thee my knight? my knights are 
 
 sworn to vows 
 Of utter hardihood, utter gentleness. 
 And, loving, utter faithfulness in love. 
 And uttermost obedience to the King." 
 
 Then Gareth, lightly springing from his 
 
 knees, 
 "My King, for hardihood I can promise 
 
 thee. 
 For uttermost obedience make demand 
 Of whom ye gave me to, the Seneschal, 
 No mellow master of the meats and 
 
 drinks! 
 And as for love, God wot, I love not yet, 
 But love I shall, God willing." 551 
 
 And the King — 
 "Make thee my knight in secret? yea, 
 
 but he. 
 Our noblest brother, and our truest man. 
 And one with me in all, he needs must 
 
 know." 
 
 "Let Lancelot know, my King, let Lance- 
 lot know. 
 Thy noblest and thy truest!" 
 
 And the King — 
 "But wherefore would ye men should 
 
 wonder at you ? 
 Nay, rather for the sake of me, their 
 
 King, 
 And the deed's sake my knighthood do 
 
 the deed. 
 Than to be noised of." 
 
 "I have staggered thy strong Gawain 
 
 in a tilt 
 For pastime ; yea, he said it : joust can L 
 Make me thy knight — in secret ! let my 
 
 name 
 Be hidd'n, and give me the first quest, I 
 
 spring 
 Like flame from ashes." 
 
 Here the King's cairn eye 
 Fell on, and checked, and made him flush, 
 and bow 
 
 Merrily Gareth asked, 
 "Have I not earned my cake in baking 
 
 of it? 561 
 
 Let be my name until I make my name ! 
 My deeds will speak : it is but for a 
 
 day." 
 So with a kindly hand on Gareth's arm 
 Smiled the great King, and half-unwill- 
 
 ingly, 
 Loving his lusty youthhood, yielded to 
 
 him. ., 
 
 Then, after summoning Lancelot privily,
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 147 
 
 "I have given him the first quest : he is 
 
 not proven. 
 Look therefore, when he calls for this in 
 
 hall, 
 Thou get to horse and follow him far 
 
 away. 570 
 
 Cover the lions on thy shield, and see 
 Far as thou mayest, he be nor ta'en nor 
 
 slain." 
 
 Then that same day there passed into 
 the hall 
 
 A damsel of high lineage, and a brow 
 
 May-blossom, and a cheek of apple-blos- 
 som. 
 
 Hawk-eyes ; and lightly was her slender 
 nose 
 
 Tip-tilted like the petal of a flower; 
 
 She into hall passed with her page and 
 cried, 
 
 "O King, for thou hast driven the foe 
 
 without 579 
 
 See to the foe within ! bridge, ford, beset 
 
 By bandits, every one that owns a tower 
 
 The lord for half a league. Why sit ye 
 
 there? 
 Rest would I not, Sir King, an I were 
 
 king, 
 Till ev'n the lonest hold were all as free 
 From cursed bloodshed, as thine altar- 
 cloth 
 From that best blood it is a sin to spill." 
 
 "Comfort thyself," said Arthur, "I nor 
 
 mine 
 Rest: so my knighthood keep the vows 
 
 they swore. 
 The wastest moorland of our realm shall 
 
 be 
 Safe, damsel, as the centre of this hall. 
 What is thy name? thy need?" 59i 
 
 "My name?" she said — 
 "Lynette my name ; noble ; my need, a 
 
 knight 
 To combat for my sister, Lyonors, 
 A lady of high lineage, of great lands. 
 And comely, yea, and comelier than my- 
 self. 
 She lives in Castle Perilous: a river 
 Runs in three loops about her living- 
 place; 
 And o'er it are three passings, and three 
 
 knights 
 Defend the passings, brethren, and a 
 fourth 
 
 And of that four the mightiest, holds her 
 stayed 6oo 
 
 In her own castle, and so besieges her 
 To break her will, and make her wed 
 
 with him: 
 And but delays his purport till thou send 
 To do the battle with him, thy chief man 
 Sir Lancelot, whom he trusts to over- 
 throw. 
 Then wed. with glory: but she will not 
 
 wed 
 Save whom she loveth, or a holy life. 
 Now, therefore, have I come for Lance- 
 lot." 
 
 Then Arthur, mindful of Sir Gareth, 
 
 asked, 
 "Damsel, ye know this Order lives to 
 
 crush 6io 
 
 All wrongers of the Realm. But say, 
 
 these four. 
 Who be they? What the fashion of the 
 
 "They be of foolish fashion, O Sir 
 
 King, 
 The fashion of that old knight-errantry 
 Who ride abroad, and do but what they 
 
 will; 
 Courteous or bestial from the moment, 
 
 such 
 As have nor law nor king; and three of 
 
 these 
 Proud in their fantasy call themselves 
 
 the Day, 
 Morning-Star, and Noon-Sun, and Eve- 
 ning-Star, 
 Being strong fools; and never a whit 
 
 more wise 620 
 
 The fourth, who alway rideth armed in 
 
 black, 
 A huge man-beast of boundless savagery. 
 He names himself the Night and oftener 
 
 Death, 
 And wears a helmet mounted with a 
 
 skull. 
 And bears a skeleton figured on his arms, 
 To show that who may slay or scape the 
 
 three. 
 Slain by himself, shall enter endless 
 
 night. 
 And all these four be fools, but mighty 
 
 men. 
 And therefore am I come for Lancelot." 
 
 Hereat Sir Gareth called from where 
 he rose, 630
 
 148 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 A head with kindling eyes above the 
 throng, 
 
 "A boon, Sir King — this quest!" then — 
 for he marked 
 
 Kay near him groaning like a wounded 
 bull— 
 
 "Yea, King, thou knowest thy kitchen- 
 knave am 1, 
 
 And mighty thro' thy meats and drinks 
 am I, 
 
 And I can topple over a hundred such. 
 
 Thy promise, King," and Arthur, glanc- 
 ing at him, 
 
 Brought down a momentary brow. "Rough, 
 sudden, 
 
 And pardonable, worthy to be knight — 
 
 Go therefore," and all hearers were 
 amazed. 640 
 
 But on the damsel's forehead shame, 
 pride, wrath 
 
 Slew the May-white: she lifted eitber 
 arm, 
 
 "Fie on thee, King ! I asked for thy chief 
 knight. 
 
 And thou hast given me but a kitchen- 
 knave." 
 
 Then ere a man in hall could stay her, 
 turned. 
 
 Fled down the lane of access to the King, 
 
 Took horse, descended the slope street, 
 and passed 
 
 The weird white gate, and paused with- 
 out, beside 
 
 The field of tourney, murmuring "kitch- 
 en-knave." 
 
 Now two great entries opened from the 
 
 hall, 650 
 
 At one end one, that gave upon a range 
 Of level pavement where the King would 
 
 pace 
 At sunrise, gazing over plain and wood; 
 And down from this a lordly stairway 
 
 sloped 
 Till lost in blowing trees and tops of 
 
 towers ; 
 And out by this main doorway passed the 
 
 King. 
 But one was counter to the hearth, and 
 
 rose 
 High that the highest-crested helm could 
 
 ride 
 Therethro' nor graze; and by this entry 
 
 fled 
 The damsel in her wrath, and on to this 
 Sir Gareth strode, and saw without the 
 
 door 661 
 
 King Arthur's gift, the worth of half a 
 
 town, 
 A warhorse of the best, and near it stood 
 The two that out of north had followed 
 
 him : 
 This bare a maiden shield, a casque ; that 
 
 held 
 The horse, the spear; whereat Sir Gareth 
 
 loosed 
 A cloak that dropped from collar-bone to 
 
 heel, 
 A cloth of Toughest web, and cast it 
 
 down. 
 And from it, like a fuel-smothered fire, 
 That looked half-dead, brake bright, and 
 
 flashed as those 670 
 
 Dull-coated things, that making slide 
 
 apart 
 Their dusk wing-cases, all beneath there 
 
 burns 
 A jeweled harness, ere they pass and 
 
 fly. 
 So Gareth, ere he parted, flashed in 
 
 arms. 
 Then as he donned the helm, and took 
 
 the shield. 
 And mounted horse and grasped a spear, 
 
 of grain 
 Storm-strengthened on a windy site, and 
 
 tipped 
 With trenchant steel, around him slowly 
 
 pressed 
 The people, while from out of kitchen 
 
 came 
 The thralls in throng, and seeing who had 
 
 worked 680 
 
 Lustier than any, and whom they could 
 
 but love. 
 Mounted in arms, threw up their caps and 
 
 cried, 
 "God bless the King, and all his fellow- 
 ship !" 
 And on thro* lanes of shouting Gareth 
 
 rode 
 Down the slope street, and passed without 
 
 the gate. 
 
 So Gareth passed with joy; but as the 
 
 cur 
 Plucked from the cur he fights with, ere 
 
 his cause 
 Be cooled by fighting, follows, being 
 
 named. 
 His owner, but remembers all, and growls 
 Remembering, so Sir Kay beside the 
 
 door 690
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 149 
 
 Muttered in scorn of Gareth whom he 
 
 used 
 To harry and hustle. 
 
 "Bound upon a quest' 
 With horse and arms — the King hath 
 
 passed his time — 
 My scuUion knave ! Thralls, to your 
 
 work again, 
 For an your fire be low ye kindle mine ! 
 Will there be dawn in West and eve in 
 
 East? 
 Begone I — toy knave ! — belike and like 
 
 enow 
 Some old head-blow not heeded in his 
 
 youth 
 So shook his wits they wander in his 
 
 prime — 
 Crazed! How the villain lifted up his 
 
 voice, 700 
 
 Nor shamed to bawl himself a kitchen- 
 knave. 
 Tut, he was tame and meek enow with me, 
 Till peacocked up with Lancelot's noticing. 
 Well — I will after my loud knave, and 
 
 learn 
 Whether he know me for his master yet. 
 Out of the smoke he came, and so my lance 
 Hold, by God's grace, he shall into the 
 
 mire — 
 Thence, if the King awaken from his craze. 
 Into the smoke again." 
 
 But Lancelot said, 
 "Kay, wherefore wilt thou go against the 
 King, 710 
 
 For that did never he whereon ye rail, 
 But ever meekly served the King in thee? 
 Abide : take counsel ; for this lad is great 
 And lusty, and knowing both of lance 
 
 and sword." 
 "Tut. tell not me," said Kay, "ye are 
 
 overfine 
 To mar stout knaves with foolish courte- 
 sies" : 
 Then mounted, on thro' silent faces rode 
 Down the slope city, and out beyond the 
 gate. 
 
 But by the field of tourney lingering 
 
 yet 
 Muttered the damsel, "Wherefore did the 
 
 King 720 
 
 Scorn me? for, were Sir Lancelot lacked, 
 
 at least 
 He might have yielded to me one of 
 
 those 
 Who tilt for lady's love and glory here. 
 
 Rather than — O sweet heaven ! O fie 
 
 upon him ! — 
 His kitchen-knave." 
 
 To whom Sir Gareth drew 
 (And there were none but few goodlier 
 
 than he) 
 Shining in arms, "Damsel, the quest is 
 
 mine. 
 Lead, and I follow." She thereat, as one 
 That smells a foul-fieshed agaric^ in the 
 
 holt,2 
 And deems it carrion of some woodland 
 
 thing, 730 
 
 Or shrew, or weasel, nipped her slender 
 
 nose 
 With petulant thumb and finger, shrilling, 
 
 "Hence! 
 Avoid, thou smellest all of kitchen-grease. 
 And look who comes behind," for there 
 
 was Kay. 
 "Knowest thou not me? thy master? I 
 
 am Kay. 
 We lack thee by the hearth." 
 
 And Gareth to him, 
 "Master no more! too well I know thee. 
 
 ay— 
 The most ungentle knight in Arthur's 
 
 hall." 
 "Have at thee, then," said Kay: they 
 
 shocked, and Kay 
 Fell shoulder-slipped, and Gareth cried 
 
 again, 740 
 
 "Lead, and I follow," and fast away she 
 
 fled. 
 
 But after sod and shingle^ ceased to fly 
 Behind her, and the heart of her good 
 
 horse 
 Was nigh to burst with violence of the 
 
 beat. 
 Perforce she stayed, and overtaken spoke. 
 
 "What doest thou, scullion, in my fel- 
 lowship? 
 Deem'st thou that I accept thee aught 
 
 the more 
 Or love thee better, that by some device 
 Full cowardly, or by mere unhappiness, 
 Thou hast overthrown and slain thy mas- 
 ter — thou ! — 750 
 Dish-washer and broach-turner, loon! — 
 
 to me 
 Thou smellest all of kitchen as before." 
 
 1 agaric. Fungus. 
 
 2 holt. Wood. 
 
 3 shingle. Sand.
 
 150 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Damsel," Sir Gareth answered gently, 
 "say 
 Whate'er ye will, but whatsoe'er ye say, 
 I leave not till I finish this fair quest, 
 Or die therefor." 
 
 "Ay, wilt thou finish it? 
 
 Sweet lord, how like a noble knight he 
 talks ! _ 
 
 The listening rogue hath caught the man- 
 ner of it. 
 
 But, knave, anon thou shalt be met with, 
 knave. 
 
 And then by such a one that thou for 
 all 760 
 
 The kitchen brewis that was ever supped 
 
 Shalt not once dare to look him in the 
 face. 
 
 "I shall assay,"^ said Gareth with a 
 
 smile 
 That maddened her, and away she flashed 
 
 again 
 Down the long avenues of a boundless 
 
 wood. 
 And Gareth following was again be- 
 
 knaved. 
 
 "Sir Kitchen-knave, I have missed the 
 
 only way 
 Where Arthur's men are set along the 
 
 wood; 
 The wood is nigh as full of thieves as 
 
 leaves : 
 If both be slain, I am rid of thee: but 
 
 yet, 770 
 
 Sir Scullion, canst thou use that spit of 
 
 thine? 
 Fight, an thou canst : I have missed the 
 
 only way." 
 
 So till the dusk that followed evensong 
 Rode on the two, reviler and reviled ; 
 Then after one long slope was mounted, 
 
 saw, 
 Bowl-shaped, thro' tops of many thou- 
 sand pines 
 A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink 
 To westward — in the deeps whereof a 
 
 mere,2 
 Round as the red eye of an Eagle-owl, 
 Under the half -dead sunset glared; and 
 shouts 780 
 
 Ascended, and there brake a servingman 
 Flying from out of the black wood, and 
 crying, 
 
 1 assay. Make trial. 
 
 2 mere. Lake. 
 
 "They have bound my lord to cast him in 
 
 the mere." 
 Then Gareth, "Bound am I to right the 
 
 wronged, 
 But straitlier bound am I to bide with 
 
 thee." 
 And when the damsel spake contemptu- 
 ously, 
 "Lead, and I follow," Gareth cried again, 
 "Follow, I lead !" so down among the 
 
 pines 
 He plunged; and there, blackshadowed 
 
 nigh the mere, 
 And mid - thigh - deep in bulrushes and 
 
 reed, 790 
 
 Saw six tall men haling a seventh along, 
 A stone about his neck to drown him in 
 
 it. 
 Three with good blows he quieted, but 
 
 three 
 Fled thro* the pines; and Gareth loosed 
 
 the stone 
 From off his neck, then in the mere be- 
 side 
 Tumbled it ; oilily bubbled up the mere. 
 Last, Gareth loosed his bonds and on free 
 
 feet 
 Set him, a stalwart Baron, Arthur's 
 
 friend. 
 
 "Well that ye came, or else these caitiflf 
 
 rogues 
 Had wreaked themselves on me ; good 
 
 cause is theirs 800 
 
 To hate me, for my wont hath ever been 
 To catch my thief, and then like vermin 
 
 here 
 Drown him, and with a stone about his 
 
 neck; 
 And under this wan^ water many of them 
 Lie rotting, but at night let go the stone, 
 And rise, and flickering in a grimly light 
 Dance on the mere. Good now, ye have 
 
 saved a life 
 Worth somewhat as the cleanser of this 
 
 wood. 
 And fain would I reward thee worship- 
 
 fully.4 
 What guerdon will ye?" 810 
 
 Gareth sharply spake,- 
 "None ! for the deed's sake have I done 
 
 the deed. 
 In uttermost obedience to the King. 
 But wilt thou yield this damsel harbor- 
 age?" 
 
 3 wan. Dark. 
 
 4 worshipjully. Honorably.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 151 
 
 Whereat the Baron saying, "I well be- 
 lieve 
 
 You be of Arthur's Table," a light laugh 
 
 Broke from Lynette, "Ay, truly of a 
 truth. 
 
 And in a sort, being Arthur's kitchen- 
 knave ! — 
 
 But deem not I accept thee aught the 
 more. 
 
 Scullion, for running sharply with thy 
 spit 
 
 Down on a rout of craven foresters. 820 
 
 A thresher with his flail had^ scattered 
 them. 
 
 Nay — for thou smellest of the kitchen 
 still. 
 
 But an this lord will yield us harborage, 
 
 Well." 
 
 So she spake. A league beyond 
 
 the wood. 
 All in a full-fair manor and a rich, 
 His towers, where that day a feast had 
 
 been 
 Held in high hall, and many a viand left. 
 And many a costly cate,^ received the 
 
 three. 
 And there they placed a peacock in his 
 
 pride 
 Before the damsel, and the Baron set 830 
 Gareth beside her, but at once she rose. 
 
 "Meseems, that here is much discour- 
 tesy, 
 
 Setting this knave, Lord Baron, at my 
 side. 
 
 Hear me — this morn I stood in Arthur's 
 hall. 
 
 And prayed the King would grant me 
 Lancelot 
 
 To fight the brotherhood of Day and 
 Night— 
 
 The last a monster unsubduable 
 
 Of any save of him for whom I called — 
 
 Suddenly bawls this frontless^ kitchen- 
 knave, 
 
 'The quest is mine; thy kitchen-knave am 
 I, 840 
 
 And mighty thro' thy meats and drinks 
 am L' 
 
 Then Arthur, all at once gone mad, re- 
 plies, 
 
 *Go therefore,' and so gives the quest to 
 him — 
 
 Him — here — a villain fitter to stick swine 
 
 1 had. Would have. 
 
 2 cate. Dainty. 
 
 3 fronlless. Shameless. 
 
 Than ride abroad redressing women's 
 
 wrong, 
 Or sit beside a noble gentlewoman." 
 
 Then half-ashamed and part-amazed, 
 the lord 
 Now looked at one and now at other, left 
 The damsel by the peacock in his pride. 
 And, seating Gareth at another board, 850 
 Sat down beside him, ate and then began, 
 
 "Friend, whether thou be kitchen- 
 knave, or not, 
 
 Or whether it be the maiden's fantasy, 
 
 And whether she be mad, or else the 
 King, 
 
 Or both or neither, or thyself be mad, 
 
 I ask not : but thou strikest a strong 
 stroke. 
 
 For strong thou art and goodly there- 
 withal. 
 
 And saver of my life; and therefore now. 
 
 For here be mighty men to joust with, 
 weigh* 
 
 Whether thou wilt not with thy damsel 
 back 860 
 
 To crave again Sir Lancelot of the King. 
 
 Thy pardon; I but speak for thine avail, 
 
 The saver of my life." 
 
 And Gareth said, 
 "Full pardon, but I follow up the quest, 
 Despite of Day and Night and Death and 
 Hell." 
 
 So when, next morn, the lord whose 
 
 life he saved 
 Had, some brief space, conveyed them on 
 
 their way 
 And left them with God-speed, Sir 
 
 Gareth spake, 
 "Lead, and I follow." Haughtily she 
 
 replied, 
 
 "I fly no more : I allow thee for an 
 
 hour. 870 
 
 Lion and stoat have isled^ together, 
 
 knave. 
 In time of flood. Nay, furthermore, me- 
 
 thinks 
 Some ruth^ is mine for thee. Back wilt 
 
 thou, fool? 
 For hard by here is one will overthrow 
 And slay thee : then will I to court again, 
 
 4 weigh. Consider. 
 
 5 isled. Found island shelter. 
 
 6 ruth. Pity.
 
 152 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And shame the King for only yielding 
 
 me 
 My champion from the ashes of his 
 
 hearth." 
 
 To whom Sir Gareth answered courte- 
 ously, 
 
 "Say thou thy say, and I will do my 
 deed. 
 
 Allow me for mine hour, and thou wilt 
 find 880 
 
 My fortunes all as fair as hers who lay 
 
 Among the ashes and wedded the King's 
 son. 
 
 Then to the shore of one of those long 
 
 loops 
 Wherethro' the serpent river coiled, they 
 
 came. 
 Rough-thicketed were the banks and 
 
 steep; the stream 
 Full, narrow; this a bridge of single arc 
 Took at a leap; and on the further side 
 Arose a silk pavilion, gay with gold 
 In streaks and rays, and all Lent-lily^ in 
 
 hue, 
 Save that the dome was purple, and 
 
 above, . 890 
 
 Crimson, a slender banneret fluttering. 
 And therebefore the lawless warrior 
 
 paced 
 Unarmed, and calling, "Damsel, is this 
 
 he, 
 The champion thou hast brought from 
 
 Arthur's hall 
 For whom we let thee pass ?" "Nay, 
 
 nay," she said, 
 "Sir Morning-Star. The King in utter 
 
 scorn 
 Of thee and thy much folly hath sent 
 
 thee here 
 His kitchen-knave: and look thou to thy- 
 self: 
 See that he fall not on thee suddenly. 
 And slay thee unarmed : he is not knight 
 
 but knave." 900 
 
 Then at his call, "O daughters of the 
 Dawn, 
 And servants of the Morning-Star, ap- 
 proach, 
 Arm me," from out the silken curtain- 
 folds 
 Bare-footed and bare-headed three fair 
 girls 
 I Lent-lily. Daffodil. 
 
 In gilt and rosy raiment came : their feet 
 In dewy grasses glistened ; and the hair 
 All over glanced with dewdrop or with 
 
 gem 
 Like sparkles in the stone Avanturine.^ 
 These armed him in blue arms, and gave 
 
 a shield 909 
 
 Blue also, and thereon the morning star. 
 And Gareth silent gazed upon the knight, 
 Who stood a moment, ere his horse was 
 
 brought, 
 Glorying; and in the stream beneath him, 
 
 shone 
 Immingled with Heaven's azure waver- 
 
 ingly, 
 The gay pavilion and the naked feet, 
 His arms, the rosy raiment, and the star. 
 
 Then she that watched him, "Where- 
 fore stare ye so? 
 
 Thou shakest in thy fear: there yet is 
 time: 
 
 Flee down the valley before he get to 
 horse. 
 
 Who will cry shame? Thou art not 
 knight but knave." 920 
 
 Said Gareth, "Damsel, whether knave 
 
 or knight, 
 Far liefer had I fight a score of times 
 Than hear thee so missay me and revile. 
 Fair words were best for him who fights 
 
 for thee; 
 But truly foul are better, for they send 
 That strength of anger thro' mine arms, 
 
 I know 
 That I shall overthrow him." 
 
 And he that bore 
 The star, when mounted, cried from o'er 
 
 the bridge, 
 "A kitchen-knave, and sent in scorn of 
 
 me! 
 Such fight not I, but answer scorn with 
 
 scorn. 930 
 
 For this were shame to do him further 
 
 wrong 
 Than set him on his feet, and take his 
 
 horse 
 And arms, and so return him to the 
 
 King. 
 Come, therefore, leave thy lady lightly, 
 
 knave. 
 
 3 AvanluriHC. Sparkling quartz.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 153 
 
 Avoid : for it beseemeth not a knave 
 To ride with such a lady." 
 
 "Dog, thou liest ! 
 I spring from loftier lineage than thine 
 
 own." 
 He spake ; and all at fiery speed the two 
 Shocked on the central bridge, and either 
 
 spear 
 Bent but not brake, and either knight at 
 
 once, 940 
 
 Hurled as a stone from out of a catapult 
 Beyond his horse's crupper and the 
 
 bridge. 
 Fell, as if dead; but quickly rose and drew. 
 And Gareth lashed so fiercely with his 
 
 brand 
 He drave his enemy backward down the 
 
 bridge. 
 The damsel crying, "Well-stricken, kitch- 
 en-knave !" 
 Till Gareth's shield was cloven; but one 
 
 stroke 
 Laid hira that clove it grovelling on the 
 
 ground. 
 
 Then cried the fall'n, "Take not my 
 
 life: I yield." 949 
 
 And Gareth, "So this damsel ask it of me 
 
 Good — I accord it easily as a grace." 
 
 She reddening, "Insolent scullion: I of 
 
 thee? 
 I bound to thee for any favor asked !" 
 "Then shall he die." And Gareth there 
 
 unlaced 
 His helmet as to slay him, but she 
 
 shrieked, 
 "Be not so hardy, scullion, as to slay 
 One nobler than thyself." "Damsel, thy 
 
 charge 
 Is an abounding pleasure to me. Knight, 
 Thy life is thine at her command. Arise 
 And quickly pass to Arthur's hall, and 
 say 960 
 
 His kitchen-knave hath sent thee. See 
 
 thou crave 
 His pardon for thy breaking of his laws. 
 Myself, when I return, will plead for thee. 
 Thy shield is mine — farewell; and, dam- 
 sel, thou, 
 Lead, and I follow." 
 
 And fast away she fled. 
 Then when he came upon her, spake, 
 
 "Methought, 
 Knave, when I watched thee striking on 
 
 the bridge 
 The savor of thy kitchen came upon me 
 
 A little faintlier; but the wind hath 
 
 changed ; 
 I scent it twenty-fold." And then she 
 
 sang, 970 
 
 " 'O morning star' (not that tall felon 
 
 there 
 Whom thou by sorcery or unhappiness 
 Or some device, hast foully overthrown), 
 'O morning star that smilest in the blue, 
 O star, my morning dream hath proven 
 
 true. 
 Smile sweetly, thou ! my love hath smiled 
 
 on me.' 
 
 "But thou begone, take counsel, and 
 away, 
 For hard by here is one that guards a 
 
 ford— 
 The second brother in their fool's para- 
 ble- 
 Will pay thee all thy wages, and to boot. 
 Care not for shame: thou art not knight 
 but knave." 981 
 
 To whom Sir Gareth answered laugh- 
 ingly, 
 
 "Parables? Hear a parable of the knave. 
 
 When I was kitchen-knave among the 
 rest 
 
 Fierce was the hearth, and one of my co- 
 mates 
 
 Owned a rough dog, to whom he cast his 
 coat, — 
 
 'Guard it,' and there was none to meddle 
 with it. 
 
 And such a coat art thou, and thee the 
 King 
 
 Gave me to guard, and such a dog am I, 
 
 To worry, and not to flee — and — knight 
 or knave — 990 
 
 The knave that doth thee service as full 
 knight 
 
 Is all as good, meseems, as any knight 
 
 Toward thy sister's freeing." 
 
 "Ay, Sir Knave I 
 Ay, knave, because thou strikest as a 
 
 knight. 
 Being but knave, I hate thee all the more." 
 
 "Fair damsel, you should worship^ me 
 the more. 
 That, being but knave, I throw thine en- 
 emies." 
 
 "Ay, ay," she said, "but thou shalt meet 
 thy match." 
 
 r worship. Honor.
 
 154 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 So when they touched the second river- 
 loop, 
 Huge on a huge red horse, and all in mail 
 Burnished to blinding, shone the Noon- 
 day Sun looi 
 Beyond a raging shallow. As if the 
 
 flower, 
 That blows a globe of after arrowIets,i 
 Ten thousand-fold had grown, flashed the 
 
 fierce shield, 
 All sun ; and Gareth's eyes had flying 
 
 blots 
 Before them when he turned from watch- 
 ing him. 
 He from beyond the roaring shallow 
 
 roared, 
 "What doest thou, brother, in my march- 
 
 es^ here?" 
 And she athwart the shallow shrilled 
 
 again, 
 "Here is a kitchen-knave from Arthur's 
 
 hall loio 
 
 Hath overthrown thy brother, and hath 
 
 his arms." 
 "Ugh !" cried the Sun, and vizoring up a 
 
 red 
 And cipher face of rounded foolishness. 
 Pushed horse across the foamings of the 
 
 ford. 
 Whom Gareth met mid-stream: no room 
 
 was there 
 For lance or tourney-skill : four strokes 
 
 they struck 
 With sword, and these were mighty; the 
 
 new knight 
 Had fear he might be shamed ; but as the 
 
 Sun 
 Heaved up a ponderous arm to strike the 
 
 fifth, 
 The hoof of his horse slipped in the 
 
 stream, the stream 1020 
 
 Descended, and the Sun was washed away. 
 
 Then Gareth laid his lance athwart the 
 
 ford; 
 So drew him home ; but he that fought no 
 
 more, 
 As being all bone-battered on the rock. 
 Yielded ; and Gareth sent him to the King. 
 "Myself when I return will plead for 
 
 thee"— 
 "Lead, and I follow." Quietly she led. 
 "Hath not the good wind, damsel, changed 
 
 again?" 
 "Nay, not a point: nor art thou victor 
 
 here. 
 
 I The dandelion. 
 
 3 marches. Territory. 
 
 There lies a ridge of slate across the ford ; 
 
 His horse thereon stumbled — ay, for I 
 
 saw it. 1031 
 
 " 'O Sun' (not this strong fool whom 
 
 thou, Sir Knave, 
 Hast overthrown thro' mere unhappi- 
 
 ness),^ 
 'O Sun, that wakenest all to bliss or pain, 
 O moon, that layest all to sleep again. 
 Shine sweetly : twice my love hath smiled 
 
 on me.' 
 
 "What knowest thou of lovesong or of 
 love? 
 
 Nay, nay, God wot, so thou wert nobly 
 born. 
 
 Thou hast a pleasant presence. Yea, per- 
 chance, — 
 
 " 'O dewy flowers that open to the sun, 
 O dewy flowers that close when day is 
 
 done, 1 04 1 
 
 Blow sweetly : twice my love hath smiled 
 
 on me.* 
 
 "What knowest thou of flowers, except, 
 
 belike. 
 To garnish meats with? hath not our 
 
 good King 
 Who lent me thee, the flower of kitchen- 
 
 dom, 
 A foolish love for flowers? what stick ye 
 
 round 
 The pasty? wherewithal deck the boar's 
 
 head? 
 Flowers? nay, the boar hath rosemaries 
 
 and bay. 
 
 " 'O birds, that warble to the morning 
 
 sky, 
 O birds that warble as the day goes by. 
 Sing sweetly : twice my love hath smiled 
 
 on me.' 105 1 
 
 "What knowest thou of birds, lark, 
 
 mavis, merle. 
 Linnet? what dream ye when they utter 
 
 forth 
 . May-music growing with the growing 
 
 light. 
 Their sweet sun-worship? these be for 
 
 the snare 
 (So runs thy fancy), these be for the 
 
 spit, 
 
 3 unhappiness. Mischance.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 155 
 
 Larding and basting. See thou have not 
 now 
 
 Larded thy last, except thou turn and fly. 
 
 There stands the third fool of their alle- 
 gory." 
 
 For there beyond a bridge of treble 
 
 bow.i 1060 
 
 All in a rose-red from the west, and all 
 Naked it seemed, and glowing in the 
 
 broad 
 Deep-dimpled current underneath, the 
 
 knight, 
 That named himself the Star of Evening, 
 
 stood. 
 
 And Gareth, "Wherefore waits the mad- 
 man there 
 
 Naked in open dayshine?" "Nay," she 
 cried, 
 
 "Not naked, only wrapt in hardened skins 
 
 That fit him like his own ; and so ye 
 cleave 
 
 His armor oflf him, these will turn the 
 blade." 
 
 Then the third brother shouted o'er the 
 
 bridge. 1070 
 
 "O brother-star, why shine ye here so 
 
 low? 
 Thy ward^ is higher up : but have ye slain 
 The damsel's champion?" and the damsel 
 cried, 
 
 "No star of thine, but shot from Ar- 
 thur's heaven 
 
 With all disaster unto thine and thee ! 
 
 For both thy younger brethren have gone 
 down 
 
 Before this youth; and so wilt thou. Sir 
 Star; 
 
 Art thou not old?" 
 
 "Old, damsel, old and hard. 
 Old, with the might and breath of twenty 
 
 boys." 
 Said Gareth, "Old, and over-bold in brag! 
 But that same strength which threw the 
 
 Morning Star 1081 
 
 Can throw the Evening." 
 
 Then that other blew 
 A hard and deadly note upon the horn. 
 "Approach and arm me !" With slow 
 
 steps from out 
 An old storm-beaten, russet, many-stained 
 
 I treble boiv. Triple arch. 
 3 ward. Position. 
 
 Pavilion, forth a grizzled damsel came, 
 And armed him in old arms, and brought 
 
 a helm 
 With but a drying evergreen for crest, 
 And gave a shield whereon the Star of 
 
 Even 
 Half-tarnished and half-bright, his em- 
 blem, shone. 1090 
 But when it glittered o'er the saddle-bow. 
 They madly hurled together on the 
 
 bridge ; 
 And Gareth overthrew him, lighted, drew. 
 There met him drawn, and overthrew him 
 
 again ; 
 But up like fire he started: and as oft 
 As Gareth brought him grovelling on his 
 
 knees. 
 So many a time he vaulted up again; 
 Till Gareth panted hard, and his great 
 
 heart. 
 Foredooming all his trouble was in vain. 
 Labored within him, for he seemed as one 
 That all in later, sadder age begins iioi 
 To war against ill uses of a life. 
 But these from all his life arise, and cry, 
 "Thou hast made us lords, and canst not 
 
 put us down !" 
 He half despairs; so Gareth seemed to 
 
 strike 
 Vainly, the damsel clamoring all the while, 
 "Well done, knave-knight, well stricken, 
 
 O good knight-knave — 
 O knave, as noble as any of all the 
 
 knights — 
 Shame me not, shame me not. I have 
 
 prophesied — 
 Strike, thou art worthy of the Table 
 
 Round— mo 
 
 His arms are old, he trusts the hardened 
 
 skin — 
 Strike — strike — the wind will never 
 
 change again." 
 And Gareth, hearing, ever stronglier 
 
 smote. 
 And hewed great pieces of his armor off 
 
 him, 
 But lashed in vain against the hardened 
 
 skin. 
 And could not wholly bring him under, 
 
 more 
 Than loud Southwesterns, rolling ridge 
 
 on ridge. 
 The buoy that rides at sea, and dips and 
 
 springs 
 For ever; till at length Sir Gareth's 
 
 brand 
 Clashed his, and brake it utterly to the 
 
 hilt. 1 120
 
 156 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "I have thee now;" but forth that other 
 sprang, 
 
 And, all unknightlike, writhed his wiry 
 arms 
 
 Around him, till he felt, despite his mail, 
 
 Strangled, but straining ev'n his utter- 
 most 
 
 Cast, and so hurled him headlong o'er the 
 bridge 
 
 Down to the river, sink or swim, and 
 cried, 
 
 "Lead, and I follow." 
 
 But the damsel said, 
 "I lead no longer; ride thou at my side; 
 Thou art the kingliest of all kitchen- 
 knaves. 
 
 " 'O trefoil,* sparkling on the rainy 
 plain, 1 130 
 
 O rainbow with three colors after rain, 
 Shine sweetly : thrice my love hath smiled 
 on me.' 
 
 "Sir, — and, good faith, I fain had added 
 
 Knight, 
 But that I heard thee call thyself a 
 
 knave, — 
 Shamed am I that I so rebuked, reviled, 
 Missaid thee; noble I am; and thought 
 
 the King 
 Scorned me and mine; and now thy par- 
 don, friend, 
 For thou hast ever answered courteously. 
 And wholly bold thou art, and meek 
 
 withal 
 As any of Arthur's best, but, being 
 
 knave, 1140 
 
 Hast mazed my wit : I marvel what thou 
 
 art." 
 
 "Damsel," he said, "you be not all to 
 
 blame, 
 Saving that you mistrusted our good King 
 Would handle scorn, or yield you, asking, 
 
 one 
 Not fit to cope your quest. You said 
 
 your say; 
 Mine answer was my deed. Good sooth ! 
 
 I hold 
 He scarce is knight, yea but half-man, 
 
 nor meet 
 To fight for gentle damsel, he, who lets 
 His heart be stirred with any foolish heat 
 At any gentle damsel's waywardness. 
 Shamed ? care not ! thy foul sayings 
 
 fought for me: 1151 
 
 I trefoil. Clover (or a similar plant). 
 
 And seeing now they words are fair, me- 
 
 thinks 
 There rides no knight, not Lancelot, his 
 
 great self. 
 Hath force to quell me." 
 
 Nigh upon that hour 
 When the lone hern^ forgets his melan- 
 choly. 
 Lets down his other leg, and stretching, 
 
 dreams 
 Of goodly supper in the distant pool, 
 Then turned the noble damsel smiling at 
 
 him, 
 And told him of a cavern hard at hand. 
 Where bread and baken meats and good 
 red wine 1 160 
 
 Of Southland, which the Lady Lyonors 
 Had sent her coming champion, waited 
 him. 
 
 Anon they passed a narrow comb 
 
 wherein 
 Were slabs of rock with figures, knights 
 
 on horse 
 Sculptured, and decked in slowly-waning 
 
 hues. 
 "Sir Knave, my knight, a hermit once 
 
 was here, 
 Whose holy hand hath fashioned on the 
 
 rock 
 The war of Time against the soul of 
 
 man. 
 And yon four fools have sucked their 
 
 allegory 
 From these damp walls, and taken but 
 
 the form. 1170 
 
 Know ye not these?" and Gareth looked 
 
 and read — 
 In letters like to those the vexillary^ 
 Hath left crag-carven o'er the streaming 
 
 Gelt— 
 "Phosphorus," then "Meridies," — "Hes- 
 perus" ^ — 
 "Nox" — "Mors," ^ beneath five figures, 
 
 armed men, 
 Slab after slab, their faces forward all. 
 And running down the Soul, a Shape that 
 
 fled 
 With broken wings, torn raiment and 
 
 loose hair. 
 For help and shelter to the hermit's cave. 
 
 2 hern. Heron. 
 
 3 vexillary. Standard-bearer. (A Roman sol- 
 dier carved an inscription on the rocks above th* 
 River Gelt which still remains.) 
 
 4 Dawn, Noon, Evening. 
 
 5 Nox, Mors. Night, Death.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 157 
 
 "Follow the faces, and we find it. — Look, 
 Who comes behind?" 1181 
 
 For one — delayed at first 
 Thro* helping back the dislocated Kay 
 To Camelot, then by what thereafter 
 
 chanced, 
 The damsel's headlong error^ thro' the 
 
 wood — 
 Sir Lancelot, having swum the river- 
 loops — 
 His blue shield-lions covered — softly drew 
 Behind the twain, and when he saw the 
 
 star 
 Gleam, on Sir Gareth's turning to him, 
 
 cried, 
 "Stay, felon knight, I avenge me for my 
 
 "friend." 
 And Gareth crying pricked against the 
 
 cry; I 190 
 
 But when they closed — in a moment — at 
 
 one touch 
 Of that skilled spear, the wonder of the 
 
 world — 
 Went sliding down so easily, and fell, 
 That when he found the grass within his 
 
 hands 
 He laughed; the laughter, jarred upon 
 
 Lynette : 
 Harshly she asked him, "Shamed and 
 
 overthrown. 
 And tumbled back into the kitchen-knave, 
 Why laugh ye? that ye blew your boast 
 
 in vain?" 
 "Nay, noble damsel, but that I, the son 
 Of old King Lot and good Queen Belli- 
 
 cent, 1200 
 
 And victor of the bridges and the ford. 
 And knight of Arthur, here lie thrown 
 
 by whom 
 I know not, all thro' mere unhappiness — 
 Device and sorcery and unhappiness — 
 Out, sword ; we are thrown !" And 
 
 Lancelot answered, "Prince, 
 O Gareth — thro* the mere unhappiness 
 Of one who came to help thee, not to 
 
 harm, 
 Lancelot, and all as glad to find thee 
 
 whole, 
 As on the day when Arthur knighted 
 
 him." 
 
 Then Gareth, "Thou — Lancelot ! — thine 
 the hand 1210 
 
 That threw me? An some chance to mar 
 the boast 
 t error, waodering. 
 
 Thy brethren of thee make — which could 
 
 not chance — 
 Had sent thee down before a lesser spear, 
 Shamed had I been, and sad — O Lance- 
 lot—thou !" 
 
 Whereat the maiden, petulant: "Lance- 
 lot, 
 Why came ye not, when called? and 
 
 wherefore now 
 Come ye, not called? I gloried in my 
 
 knave. 
 Who being still rebuked, would answer 
 
 still 
 Courteous as any knight — but now, if 
 
 knight. 
 The marvel dies, and leaves me fooled 
 
 and tricked, 1220 
 
 And only wondering wherefore played 
 
 upon : 
 And doubtful whether I and mine be 
 
 scorned. 
 Where should be truth if not in Arthur's 
 
 hall, 
 In Arthur's presence? Knight, knave, 
 
 prince and fool, 
 I hate thee and for ever." 
 
 And Lancelot said, 
 
 "Blessed be thou. Sir Gareth ! knight art 
 thou 
 
 To the King's best wish. O damsel, be 
 you wise 
 
 To call him shamed, who is but over- 
 thrown? 
 
 Thrown have I been, nor once, but many 
 a time. 1229 
 
 Victor from vanquished issues at the last. 
 
 And overthrower from being overthrown. 
 
 With sword we have not striven ; and thy 
 good horse 
 
 And thou are weary ; yet not less I felt 
 
 Thy manhood thro' that wearied lance of 
 thine. 
 
 W^ell hast thou done; for all the stream 
 is freed, 
 
 And thou hast wreaked his justice on his 
 foes. 
 
 And when reviled, hast answered gra- 
 ciously. 
 
 And makest merry when overthrown. 
 Prince, Knight, 
 
 Hail, Knight and Prince, and of our 
 Table Round !" 
 
 And then when turning to Lynette he 
 told 1240 
 
 The tale of Gareth, petulantly she said.
 
 158 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Ay well — ay well — for worse than being 
 
 fooled 
 Of others, is to fool one's self. A cave, 
 Sir Lancelot, is hard by, with meats and 
 
 drinks 
 And forage for the horse, and flint for 
 
 fire. 
 But all about it flies a honeysuckle. 
 Seek, till we find." And when they 
 
 sought and found. 
 Sir Gareth drank and ate. and all his life 
 Passed into sleep; on whom the maiden 
 
 gazed. 
 "Sound sleep be thine! sound cause to 
 
 sleep hast thou. 1250 
 
 Wake lusty! Seem I not as tender to 
 
 him 
 As any mother? Ay, but such a one 
 As all day long hath rated 1 at her child. 
 And vexed his day, but blesses him 
 
 asleep — 
 Good Lord, how sweetly smells the 
 
 honeysuckle 
 In the hushed night, as if the world were 
 
 one 
 Of utter peace, and love, and gentleness! 
 O Lancelot, Lancelot," — and she clapped 
 
 her hands — 
 "Full merry am I to find my goodly 
 
 knave 
 Is knight and noble. See now, sworn 
 
 have I— 1260 
 
 Else yon black felon had not let me 
 
 pass — 
 To bring thee back to do the battle with 
 
 him. 
 Thus an thou goest, he will fight thee 
 
 first; 
 Who doubts thee victor? so will my 
 
 knight-knave 
 Miss the full flower of this accomplish- 
 ment." 
 
 Said Lancelot : "Peradventure, he you 
 
 name 
 May know my shield. Let Gareth, an 
 
 he will, 
 Change his for mine, and take my 
 
 charger, fresh, 
 Not to be spurred, loving the battle as 
 
 well 
 As he that rides him." "Lancelot-like," 
 
 she said. 1270 
 
 "Courteous in this, Lord Lancelot, as in 
 
 all." 
 
 I rated. Scolded. 
 
 And Gareth, wakening, fiercely clutched 
 
 the shield ; 
 "Ramp, ye lance-splintering lions, on 
 
 whom all spears 
 Are rotten sticks! ye seem agape to roar! 
 Yea, ramp and roar at leaving of your 
 
 lord!— 
 Care not, good beasts, so well I care for 
 
 you. 
 
 noble Lancelot, from my hold on these 
 Streams virtue — fire — thro' one that will 
 
 not shame 
 Even the shadow of Lancelot under 
 
 shield. 
 Hence: let us go.'* 
 
 Silent the silent field 
 
 They traversed. Arthur's Harp,^ tho' 
 
 summer- wan, 1281 
 
 In counter motion to the clouds, allured 
 
 The glance of Gareth dreaming on his 
 
 liege.3 
 A star shot: "Lo," said Gareth, "the foe 
 
 falls !" 
 An owl whooped: "Hark the victor peal- 
 ing there!" 
 Suddenly she that rode upon his left 
 Clung to the shield that Lancelot lent him, 
 
 crying, 
 "Yield, yield him this again: 'tis he must 
 fight: 
 
 1 curse the tongue that all thro' yesterday 
 Reviled thee, and hath wrought on Lance- 
 lot now 1290 
 
 To lend thee horse and shield: wonders 
 
 ye have done; 
 Miracles ye cannot : here is glory enow 
 In having flung the three: I see thee 
 
 maimed. 
 Mangled : I swear thou canst not fling 
 
 the fourth." 
 
 "And wherefore, damsel? tell me all 
 
 ye know. 
 You cannot scare me; nor rough face, or 
 
 voice. 
 Brute bulk of limb, or boundless savagery 
 Appal me from the quest." 
 
 "Nay, Prince." she cried. 
 "God wot, I never looked upon the face. 
 Seeing he never rides abroad by day. 
 But watched him have I like a phantom 
 
 pass 1301 
 
 Chilling the night: nor have I heard the 
 
 voice. 
 
 7 Arthur's Harf. 
 3 liege. Prince. 
 
 The constellation Lyra.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 159 
 
 Always he made his mouthpiece of a 
 page 
 
 Who came and went, and still reported 
 him 
 
 As closing in himself the strength of ten, 
 
 And when his anger tare him, massa- 
 cring 
 
 Man, woman, lad and girl — yea, ttie soft 
 babe! 
 
 Some hold that he hath swallowed Infant 
 flesh, 
 
 Monster! O Prince. I went for Lance- 
 lot first, 
 
 The quest is Lancelot's : give him back 
 the shield." 1310 
 
 Said Gareth laughing, "An he fight for 
 this, 
 Belike he wins it as the better man: 
 Thus — and not else!" 
 
 But Lancelot on him urged 
 All the devisings of their chivalry 
 When one might meet a mightier than 
 
 himself ; 
 How best to manage horse, lance, sword 
 
 and shield, 
 And so fill up the gap where force might 
 
 fail 
 With skill and fineness. Instant^ were his 
 
 words. 
 
 Then Gareth, "Here be rules. I know 
 
 but one — 
 To dash against mine enemy and to win. 
 Yet have I watched thee victor in the 
 
 joust, 1321 
 
 And seen thy way." "Heaven help thee !" 
 
 sighed Lynette. 
 
 Then for a space, and under cloud that 
 
 grew 
 To thunder-gloom palling all stars, they 
 
 rode 
 In converse till she made her palfrey halt. 
 Lifted an arm, and softly whispered, 
 
 "There." 
 And all the three were silent, seeing, 
 
 pitched 
 Beside the Castle Perilous on flat field, 
 A huge pavilion like a mountain peak 
 Simder the glooming crimson on the 
 
 maTge,2 1330 
 
 Black, with black banner, and a long black 
 
 horn 
 
 t Instant. Earnest. 
 
 a Margt, Horizon. (It is now dawn.) 
 
 Beside it hanging; which Sir Gareth 
 
 grasped. 
 And so, before the two could hinder him. 
 Sent all his heart and breath thro' all the 
 
 horn. 
 Echoed the walls, a light twinkled; anon 
 Came lights and lights, and once again he 
 
 blew; 
 Whereon were hollow tramplings up and 
 
 down 
 And mufHed voices heard, and shadows 
 
 passed ; 
 Till high above him, circled with her 
 
 maids, 1339 
 
 The Lady Lyonors at a window stood, 
 Beautiful among lights, and waving to him 
 White hands, and courtesy; but when the 
 
 Prince 
 Three times had blown — after long hush 
 
 — at last — 
 The huge pavilion slowly yielded up. 
 Thro' those black foldings, that which 
 
 housed therein. 
 High on a nightblack horse, in nightblack 
 
 arms, 
 With white breast-bone, and barren ribs 
 
 of Death, 
 And crowned with fleshless laughter — 
 
 some ten steps — 
 In the half-light — thro' the dim dawn — 
 
 advanced 
 The monster, and then paused, and spake 
 
 no word. 1350 
 
 But Gareth spake and all indignantly, 
 "Fool, for thou hast, men say, the strength 
 
 of ten. 
 Canst thou not trust the limbs thy God 
 
 hath given. 
 But must, to make the terror of thee 
 
 more. 
 Trick thyself out in ghastly imageries 
 Of that which Life hath done with, and 
 
 the clod. 
 Less dull than thou, will hide with man- 
 tling flowers 
 As if for pity?" But he spake no word; 
 Which set the horror higher: a maiden 
 
 swooned ; 
 The Lady Lyonors wrimg her hands and 
 
 wept, 1360 
 
 As doomed to be the bride of Night and 
 
 Death ; 
 Sir Gareth's head prickled beneath his 
 
 helm; 
 And even Sir Lancelot thro' his warm 
 
 blood felt
 
 160 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Ice strike, and all that marked him were 
 aghast. 
 
 At once Sir Lancelot's charger fiercely 
 
 neighed, 
 And Death's dark war-horse bounded 
 
 forward with him. 
 Then those that did not blink the terror, 
 
 saw 
 That Death was cast to ground, and 
 
 slowly rose. 
 But with one stroke Sir Gareth split the 
 
 skull. 
 Half fell to right and half to left and 
 
 lay. 1370 
 
 Then with a stronger buflfet he clove the 
 
 helm 
 As throughly* as the skull ; and out from 
 
 this 
 Issued the bright face of a blooming boy 
 Fresh as a flower new-born, and crying, 
 
 "Knight, 
 Slay me not : my three brethren bade me 
 
 do it. 
 To make a horror all about the house. 
 And stay the world from Lady Lyonors. 
 They never dreamed the passes would be 
 
 passed." 
 Answered Sir Gareth graciously to one 
 Not many a moon his younger, "My fair 
 
 child, 1380 
 
 What madness made thee challenge the 
 
 chief knight 
 Of Arthur's hall?" "Fair Sir, they bade 
 
 me do it. 
 They hate the King, and Lancelot, the 
 
 King's friend. 
 They hoped to slay him somewhere on 
 
 the stream; 
 They never dreamed the passes could be 
 
 passed." 
 
 Then sprang the happier day from un- 
 derground ; 
 
 And Lady Lyonors and her house, with 
 dance 
 
 And revel and song, made merry over 
 Death, 
 
 As being, after all their foolish fears 
 
 And horrors, only proven a blooming boy. 
 
 So large mirth lived, and Gareth won the 
 quest. 1 39 1 
 
 And he that told the tale in older times 
 Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyonors, 
 But he, that told it later, says Lynette. 
 
 (1872) 
 
 I throughly. Thoroughly. 
 
 LANCELOT AND ELAINE 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [This poem deals with an incident of the days 
 when the corruption and fall of Arthur's king- 
 dom were beginning, the chief cause being the 
 guilty love of Lancelot, Arthur's most trusted 
 knipht, and Guinevere, his Queen. It should be 
 noticed that, after the opening of the poem, the 
 story goes back (line 34) to the tale of the 
 diamond necklace, and that we turn to the open- 
 ing scene at line 396.] 
 
 Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, 
 Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, 
 High in her chamber up a tower to the 
 
 east 
 Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ; 
 Which first she placed where morning's 
 
 earliest ray 
 Might strike it, and awake her with the 
 
 gleam ; 
 Then, fearing rust or soilure, fashioned 
 
 for it 
 A case of silk, and braided thereupon 
 All the devices blazon'd on the shield 
 In their own tinct,^ and added, of her 
 
 wit, 10 
 
 A border fantasy of branch and flower. 
 And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. 
 Nor rested thus content, but day by day. 
 Leaving her household and good father, 
 
 climbed 
 That eastern tower, and entering barred 
 
 her door, 
 Stripped off the case, and read the naked 
 
 shield, — 
 Now guessed a hidden meaning in his 
 
 arms. 
 Now made a pretty history to herself 
 Of every dint a sword had beaten in it. 
 And every scratch a lance had made upon 
 
 it, 20 
 
 Conjecturing when and where: this cut 
 
 is fresh ; 
 That ten years back; this dealt him at 
 
 Caerlyle ; 
 That at Caerleon; this at Camelot: 
 And ah God's mercy, what a stroke 
 
 was there ! 
 And here a thrust that might have killed, 
 
 but God 
 Broke the strong lance, and rolled his 
 
 enemy down, 
 And saved him : so she lived in fantasy.^ 
 
 How came the lily maid by that good 
 shield 
 
 2 tinct. Color. 
 
 3 fantasy. Imagination.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 161 
 
 Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his 
 
 name? 
 He left it with her, when he rode to tilt 
 For the great diamond in the diamond 
 
 jousts, 31 
 
 Which Arthur had ordained, and by that 
 
 name 
 Had named them, since a diamond was 
 
 the prize. 
 
 For Arthur, long before they crowned 
 
 him King, 
 Roving the trackless realms of Lyonesse, 
 Had found a glen, gray boulder and black 
 
 tarn.i 
 A horror lived about the tarn, and clave 
 Like its own mists to all the mountain 
 
 side: 
 For here two brothers, one a king, had 
 
 met 
 And fought together; but their names 
 
 were lost; 40 
 
 And each had slain his brother at a blow ; 
 And down they fell and made the glen 
 
 abhorred : 
 And there they lay till all their bones 
 
 were bleached. 
 And lichened into color with the crags : 
 And he, that once was king, had on a 
 
 crown 
 Of diamonds, one in front, and four 
 
 aside. 
 And Arthur came, and laboring up the 
 
 pass. 
 All in a misty moonshine, unawares 
 Had trodden that crowned skeleton, and 
 
 the skull 
 Brake from the nape, and from the skull 
 
 the crown 50 
 
 Rolled into light, and, turning on its rims. 
 Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn ; 
 And down the shingly scaur^ he plunged, 
 
 and caught. 
 And set it on his head, and in his heart 
 Heard murmurs, "Lo, thou likewise shalt 
 
 be King." 
 
 Thereafter, when a King, he had the 
 
 gems 
 Plucked from the crown, and showed 
 
 them to his knights. 
 Saying, "These jewels, whereupon I 
 
 chanced 
 Divinely, are the kingdom's, not the 
 
 King's — 
 
 1 tarn. Lake. 
 
 2 shingly scaur. Sandy bank. 
 
 For public use: henceforward let there 
 
 be, 60 
 
 Once every year, a joust for one of these : 
 For so by nine years' proof we needs must 
 
 learn 
 Which is our mightiest, and ourselves 
 
 shall grow 
 In use of arms and manhood, till we 
 
 drive 
 The heathen, who, some say, shall rule 
 
 the land 
 Hereafter, which God hinder." Thus he 
 
 spoke : 
 And eight years past, eight jousts had 
 
 been, and still. ^ 
 Had Lancelot won the diamond of the 
 
 year, 
 With purpose to present them to the 
 
 Queen, 
 When all were won; but, meaning all at 
 
 once 70 
 
 To snare her royal fancy with a boon 
 Worth half her realm, had never spoken 
 
 word. 
 
 Now for the central diamond and the 
 
 last 
 And largest, Arthur, holding then his 
 
 court 
 Hard on the river nigh the place which 
 
 now 
 Is this world's hugest, let proclaim^ a 
 
 joust 
 At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh 
 Spake (for she had been sick) to Guine- 
 vere, 
 "Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot 
 
 move 
 To these fair jousts?" "Yea, lord," she 
 
 said, "ye know it." 80 
 
 "Then will ye miss," he answered, "the 
 
 great deeds 
 Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists, 
 A sight ye love to look on." And the 
 
 Queen 
 Lifted her eyes, and they dwelt languidly 
 On Lancelot, where he stood beside the 
 
 King. 
 He, thinking that he read her meaning 
 
 there, 
 "Stay with me, I am sick ; my love is 
 
 more 
 Than many diamonds," yielded; and a 
 
 heart 
 Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen 
 
 3 still. Always. 
 
 4 let prodain:. Had proclaimed.
 
 162 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 (However much he yearned to make 
 
 complete 90 
 
 The tale^ of diamonds for his destined 
 
 boon) 
 Urged him to speak against the truth, 
 
 and say, 
 "Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly 
 
 whole, 
 And lets2 me from the saddle;" and the 
 
 King 
 Glanced first at him, then her, and went 
 
 his way. 
 No sooner gone than suddenly she began : 
 
 "To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much 
 
 to blame ! 
 Why go ye not to these fair jousts? the 
 
 knights 
 Are half of them our enemies, and the 
 
 crowd 
 Will murmur, 'Lo the shameless ones. 
 
 who take 100 
 
 Their pastime now the trustful King is 
 
 gone !' " 
 Then Lancelot, vexed at having lied in 
 
 vain: 
 "Are ye so wise? ye were not once so 
 
 wise, 
 My Queen, that summer, when ye loved 
 
 me first. 
 Then of the crowd ye took no more ac- 
 count 
 Than of the myriad cricket of the mead. 
 When its own voice clings to each blade 
 
 of grass. 
 And every voice is nothing. As to knights, 
 Them surely can I silence with all ease. 
 But now my loyal worship^ is allowed no 
 Of all men: many a bard, without offence. 
 Has linked our names together in his 
 
 lay, — 
 Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guine- 
 vere, 
 The pearl of beauty : and our knights at 
 
 feast 
 Have pledged us in this union, while the 
 
 King 
 Would listen smiling. How then? is there 
 
 more? 
 Has Arthur spoken aught? or would 
 
 yourself, 
 Now weary of my service and devoir,* 
 Henceforth be truer to your faultless 
 
 lord?" 
 
 I tale. Number. 
 a lets. Hinders. 
 
 3 worship. Honor. 
 
 4 devoir. Devotion. 
 
 She broke into a little scornful laugh: 
 "Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless 
 
 King, 121 
 
 That passionate perfection, my good 
 
 lord- 
 But who can gaze upon the Sun in heav- 
 en? 
 He never spake word of reproach to me, 
 He never had a glimpse of mine untruth, 
 He cares not for me : only here to-day 
 There gleamed a vague suspicion in his 
 
 eyes: 
 Some meddling rogue has tampered with 
 
 him — else 
 Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round, 
 And swearing men to vows impossible, 
 To make them like himself: but, friend, 
 
 to me 131 
 
 He is all fault who hath no fault at all : 
 For who loves me must have a touch of 
 
 earth ; 
 The low sun makes the color : I am yours, 
 Not Arthur's, as ye know, save by the 
 
 bond. 
 And therefore hear my words : go to the 
 
 jousts : 
 The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our 
 
 dream 
 When sweetest; and the vermin voices 
 
 here 
 May buzz so loud — we scorn them, but 
 
 they sting." 
 
 Then answered Lancelot, the chief of 
 knights : 140 
 
 "And with what face, after my pretext 
 made. 
 
 Shall I appear, O Queen, at Camelot, I 
 
 Before a King who honors his own word, 
 
 As if it were his God's?" 
 
 "Yea," said the Queen, 
 "A moral child without the craft-"" to rule. 
 Else had he not lost me : but listen to me, 
 HI must find you wit: we hear it said 
 That men go down before your spear at 
 
 a touch, 
 But knowing you are Lancelot; your great 
 
 name. 
 This conquers: hide it therefore; go un- 
 known : 150 
 Win ! by this kiss you will : and our true 
 
 King 
 Will then allow your pretext, O my 
 
 knight, 
 As all for glory; for to speak him true, 
 S craft. Skill.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 163 
 
 Ye know right well, fiow meek soe'er he 
 seem, 
 
 No keener hunter after glory breathes. 
 
 He loves it in his knights more than him- 
 self: 
 
 They prove to him his work : win and 
 return." 
 
 Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to 
 horse, 
 
 Wroth at himself. Not willing to be 
 known, 
 
 He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare, 
 
 Chose the green path that showed the 
 rarer foot, i6i 
 
 And there among the solitary downs, 
 
 Full often lost in fancy, lost his way; 
 
 Till as he traced a faintly-shadowed track, 
 
 That all in loops and links among the 
 dales 
 
 Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw 
 
 Fired^ from the west, far on a hill, the 
 towers. 
 
 Thither he made, and blew the gateway 
 horn. 
 
 Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrin- 
 kled man. 
 
 Who let him into lodging and disarmed. 
 
 And Lancelot marvelled at the wordless 
 man; 171 
 
 And issuing found the Lord of Astolat 
 
 With two strong sons. Sir Torre and Sir 
 Lavaine, 
 
 Moving to meet him in the castle court; 
 
 And close behind them stepped the lily 
 maid 
 
 Elaine, his daughter : mother of the house 
 
 There was not: some light jest among 
 them rose 
 
 With laughter dying down as the great 
 knight 
 
 Approached them : then the Lord of As- 
 tolat : 
 
 "Whence comest thou, my guest, and by 
 what name 180 
 
 Livest between the lips? for by thy state 
 
 And presence I might guess thee chief of 
 those. 
 
 After the King, who eat in Arthur's halls. 
 
 Him have I seen : the rest, his Table 
 Round, 
 
 Known as they arc, to me they are un- 
 known." 
 
 Then answered Lancelot, the chief of 
 
 knights : 
 I Fired. Lighted up. 
 
 "Known am I, and of Arthur's hall, and 
 
 known. 
 What I by mere mischance have brought, 
 
 my shield. 
 But since I go to joust as one unknown 
 At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not ; 
 Hereafter ye shall know me — and the 
 
 shield — 191 
 
 I pray you lend me one, if such you have. 
 Blank, or at least with some device not 
 
 mine." 
 
 Then said the Lord of Astolat, "Here 
 
 is Torre's : 
 Hurt in his first tilt was my son. Sir 
 
 Torre. 
 And so, God wot, his shield is blank 
 
 enough. 
 His ye can have." Then added plain Sir 
 
 Torre, 
 "Yea, since I cannot use it, ye may have 
 
 it." 
 Here laughed the father, saying, "Fie, Sir 
 
 Churl, 
 Is that an answer for a noble knight? 200 
 Allow him ! but Lavaine, my younger 
 
 here, 
 He is so full of lustihood. he will ride. 
 Joust for it, and win, and bring it in an 
 
 hour, 
 And set it in this damsel's golden hair. 
 To make her thrice as wilful as before." 
 
 "Nay, father, nay good father, shame 
 
 me not 
 Before this noble knight," said young 
 
 Lavaine, 
 "For nothing. Surely I but played on 
 
 Torre : 
 He seemed so sullen, vexed he could not 
 
 go: 
 A jest, no more! for, knight, the maiden 
 
 dreamt 210 
 
 That some one put this diamond in her 
 
 hand, 
 And that it was too slippery to be held. 
 And slipped and fell into some pool or 
 
 stream. 
 The castle-well, belike; and then I said 
 That if I went and if I fought and won it 
 (But all was jest and joke among our- 
 selves) 
 Then must she keep it safelier. All was 
 
 jest. 
 But, father, give me leave, an if he will, 
 To ride to Camelot with this noble 
 
 knight :
 
 164 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Win shall I not, but do my best to win: 
 Young as I am, yet would I do my best." 
 
 "So ye will grace me," answered Lance- 
 lot, 222 
 Smiling a moment, "with your fellowship 
 O'er these waste downs whereon I lost 
 
 myself, 
 Then were I glad of you as guide and 
 
 friend: 
 And you shall win this diamond, — as I 
 
 hear 
 It is a fair large diamond, — if ye may. 
 And yield it to this maiden, if ye will." 
 "A fair large diamond," added plain Sir 
 
 Torre, 
 "Such be for queens, and not for simple 
 maids." 230 
 
 Then she, who held her eyes upon the 
 
 ground, 
 Elaine, and heard her name so tossed 
 
 about. 
 Flushed slightly at the slight disparage- 
 ment 
 Before the stranger knight, who, looking 
 
 at her. 
 Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus re- 
 turned : 
 "If what is fair be but for what is fair, 
 And only queens are to be counted so, 
 Rash were my judgment then, who deem 
 
 this maid 
 Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth. 
 Not violating the bond of like to like." 
 
 He spoke and ceased : the lily maid 
 
 Elaine, 241 
 
 Won by the mellow voice before she 
 
 looked, 
 Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments. 
 The great and guilty love he bare the 
 
 Queen, 
 In battle with the love he bare his lord. 
 Had marred his face, and marked it ere 
 
 his time. 
 Another^ sinning on such heights with 
 
 one. 
 The flower of all the west and all the 
 
 world. 
 Had been the sleeker for it : but in him 
 His mood was often like a fiend, and rose 
 And drove him into wastes and solitudes 
 For agony, who was yet a living soul. 
 Marred as he was, he seemed the good- 
 liest man 253 
 That ever among ladies ate in hall, 
 And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes. 
 I Another. Any other man. 
 
 However marred, of more than twice her 
 
 years. 
 Seamed with an ancient swordcut on the 
 
 cheek. 
 And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up 
 
 her eyes 
 And loved him, with that love which was 
 
 her doom. 
 
 Then the great knight, the darling of 
 
 the court, 260 
 
 Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall 
 Stepped with all g^race, and not with half 
 
 disdain 
 Hid under grace, as in a smaller time. 
 But kindly man moving among his kind : 
 Whom they with meats and vintage of 
 
 their best 
 And talk and minstrel melody entertained. 
 And much they asked of court and Table 
 
 Round, 
 And ever well and readily answered he : 
 But Lancelot, when they glanced at - 
 
 Guinevere, 
 Suddenly speaking of the wordless man. 
 Heard from the Baron that, ten years 
 
 before, 271 
 
 The heathen caught and reft him of his 
 
 tongue. 
 "He learnt and warned me of their fierce 
 
 design 
 Against my house, and him they caught 
 
 and maimed; 
 But I. my sons, and little daughter fled 
 From bonds or death, and dwelt among 
 
 the woods 
 By the great river in a boatman's hut. 
 Dull days were those, till our good Arthur 
 
 broke 
 The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill." 
 
 "O there, great lord, doubtless," La- 
 vaine said, rapt^ 280 
 
 By all the sweet and sudden passion of 
 youth 
 
 Toward greatness in its elder, "you have 
 fought. 
 
 O tell us — for we live apart — you know 
 
 Of Arthur's glorious wars." And Lance- 
 lot spoke 
 
 And answered him at full, as having been 
 
 With Arthur in the fight which all day 
 long 
 
 Rang by the white mouth of the violent 
 Glem ; 
 
 And in the four loud battles by the shore 
 
 a glanced at. Referred to. 
 3 rapt. Seized.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 165 
 
 Of Duglas; that on Bassa; then the war 
 That thundered in and out the gloomy 
 
 skirts 290 
 
 Of Celidon the forest; and again 
 By Castle Gurnion, where the glorious 
 
 King 
 Had on his cuirass worn our Lady's 
 
 Head. 
 Carved of one emerald centered in a sun 
 Of silver rays, that lightened as he 
 
 breathed ; 
 And at Caerleon had he helped his lord. 
 When the strong neighings of the wild 
 
 White Horse^^ 
 Set every gilded parapet shuddering; 
 And up in Agned-Cathregonion too. 
 And down the waste sand-shores of Trath 
 
 Treroit, 300 
 
 Where many a heathen fell; "and on the 
 
 mount 
 Of Badon I myself beheld the King 
 Charge at the head of all his Table 
 
 Round, 
 And all his legions crying Christ and him, 
 And break them; and I saw him, after, 
 
 stand 
 High on a heap of slain, from spur to 
 
 plume 
 Red as the rising sun with heathen blood. 
 And seeing me, with a great voice he 
 
 cried, 
 'They are broken, they are broken !' for 
 
 the King, 
 However mild he seems at home, nor 
 
 cares 310 
 
 For triumph in our mimic wars, the 
 
 jousts — 
 For if his own knight cast him down, he 
 
 laughs 
 Saying, his knights are better men than 
 
 he — 
 Yet in this heathen war the fire of God 
 Fills him : I never saw his like : there 
 
 lives 
 No greater leader." 
 
 While he uttered this, 
 Low to her own heart said the lily maid, 
 "Save your great self, fair lord"; and 
 
 when he fell 
 From talk of war to traits of pleasantry — 
 Being mirthful he, but in a stately kind — 
 She still took note that when the living 
 
 smile 321 
 
 Died from his lips, across him came a 
 
 cloud 
 Of melancholy severe, from which again, 
 I White Horse. Emblem of the Saxons. 
 
 Whenever in her hovering to and fro 
 The lily maid had striven to make him 
 
 cheer, 
 There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness 
 Of manners and of nature: and she 
 
 thought 
 That all was nature, all, perchance, for 
 
 her, 
 And all night long his face before her 
 
 lived. 
 As when a painter, poring on a face, 330 
 Divinely thro' all hindrance finds the man 
 Behind it, and so paints him that his face. 
 The shape and color of a mind and life, 
 Lives for his children, ever at its best 
 And fullest; so the face before her lived. 
 Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, 
 
 full 
 Of noble things, and held her from her 
 
 sleep. 
 Till rathe2 she rose, half -cheated in the 
 
 thought 
 She needs must bid farewell to sweet 
 
 Lavaine. 339 
 
 First as in fear, step after step, she stole 
 Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating: 
 Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the 
 
 court, 
 "This shield, my friend, where is it?" and 
 
 Lavaine 
 Passed inward, as she came from out the 
 
 tower. 
 There to his proud horse Lancelot turned, 
 
 and smoothed 
 The glossy shoulder, humming to himself. 
 Half-envious of the flattering hand, she 
 
 drew 
 Nearer and stood. He looked, and more 
 
 amazed 348 
 
 Than if seven men had set upon him, saw 
 The maiden standing in the dewy light. 
 He had not dreamed she was so beautiful. 
 Then came on him a sort of sacred fear, 
 For silent, tho' he greeted her, she stood 
 Rapt^ on his face as if it were a god's. 
 Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire. 
 That he should wear her favor at the tilt. 
 She braved a riotous heart in asking for 
 
 it. 
 "Fair lord, whose name I know not — 
 
 noble it is, 
 I well believe, the noblest — will you wear 
 My favor at this tourney?" "Nay," said 
 
 he. 360 
 
 "Fair lady, since I never yet have worn 
 Favor of any lady in the lists. 
 
 2 rathe. 
 
 3 Rapt. 
 
 Early. 
 
 Gazing intensely.
 
 166 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Such is my wont, as those, who know me, 
 
 know." 
 "Yea, so," she answer'd; "then in wear- 
 ing mine 
 Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble 
 
 lord. 
 That those who know should know you." 
 
 And he turned 
 Her counsel up and down within his 
 
 mind, 
 And found it true, and answered, "True, 
 
 my child. 
 Well, I will wear it : fetch it out to me : 
 What is it?" and she told him, "A red 
 
 sleeve 370 
 
 Broidered with pearls," and brought it : 
 
 then he bound 
 Her token on his helmet, with a smile 
 Saying, "I never yet have done so much 
 For any maiden living," and the blood 
 Sprang to her face and filled her with 
 
 delight ; 
 But left her all the paler, when Lavaine 
 Returning brought the yet - unblazoned 
 
 shield. 
 His brother's ; which he gave to Lancelot, 
 Who parted with his own to fair Elaine: 
 "Do me this grace, my child, to have my 
 
 shield 380 
 
 In keeping till I come." "A grace to me," 
 She answered, "twice to-day. I am your 
 
 squire !" 
 Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, "Lily 
 
 maid, 
 For fear our people call you lily maid 
 In earnest, let me bring your color back; 
 Once, twice, and thrice : now get you 
 
 hence to bed :" 
 So kissed her, and Sir Lancelot his own 
 
 hand, 
 And thus they moved away : she stayed a 
 
 minute, 
 Then made a sudden step to the gate, and 
 
 there — 
 Her bright hair blown about the serious 
 
 face 390 
 
 Yet rosy-kindled with her brother's kiss — 
 Paused by the gateway, standing near the 
 
 shield 
 In silence, while she watched their arms 
 
 far-off 
 Sparkle, until they dipped below the 
 
 downs. 
 Then to her tower she climbed, and took 
 
 the shield, 
 There kept it, and so lived in fantasy. 
 
 Meanwhile the new companions passed 
 away 
 
 Far o'er the long backs of the bushless 
 downs. 
 
 To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a 
 knight 
 
 Not far from Camelot, now for forty 
 years 400 
 
 A hermit, who had prayed, labored and 
 prayed. 
 
 And ever laboring had scooped himself 
 
 In the white rock a chapel and a hall 
 
 Of massive columns, like a shorecliff 
 cave. 
 
 And cells and chambers : all were fair 
 and dry; 
 
 The green light from the meadows under- 
 neath 
 
 Struck up and lived along the milky 
 roofs ; 
 
 And in the meadows tremulous aspen- 
 trees 
 
 And poplars made a noise of falling 
 showers. 
 
 And thither wending, there that night 
 they bode. 410 
 
 But when the next day broke from un- 
 derground. 
 
 And shot red fire and shadows thro' the 
 cave. 
 
 They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and 
 rode away : 
 
 Then Lancelot saying, "Hear, but hold my 
 name 
 
 Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the 
 Lake," 
 
 Abashed Lavaine, whose instant rever- 
 ence, 
 
 Dearer to true young hearts than their 
 own praise. 
 
 But left him leave to stammer, "Is it in- 
 deed?" 
 
 And after muttering "The great Lance- 
 lot," 
 
 At last he got his breath and answered, 
 "One, 420 
 
 One have I seen — that other, our liege 
 lord. 
 
 The dread Pendragon, Britain's King of 
 kings, 
 
 Of whom the people talk mysteriously. 
 
 He will be there — then were I stricken 
 blind 
 
 That minute, I might say that I had seen." 
 
 So spake Lavaine, and when they 
 reached the lists
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 167 
 
 By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes 
 
 Run thro' the peopled gallery which half 
 round 
 
 Lay like a rainbow fall'n upon the grass, 
 
 Until they found the clear-faced King, 
 who sat 430 
 
 Robed in red samite,^ easily to be known, 
 
 Since to his crown the golden dragon 
 clung. 
 
 And down his robe the dragon writhed 
 in gold. 
 
 And from the carvcn-work behind him 
 crept 
 
 Two dragons gilded, sloping down to 
 make 
 
 Arms for his chair, while all the rest of 
 them 
 
 Thro' knots and loops and folds innu- 
 merable 
 
 Fled ever thro' the woodwork, till they 
 found 
 
 The new design wherein they lost them- 
 selves, 439 
 
 Yet with all ease, so tender was the work : 
 
 And, in the costly canopy o'er him set. 
 
 Blazed the last diamond of the nameless 
 king. 
 
 Then Lancelot answered young Lavaine 
 
 and said, 
 "Me you call great : mine is the firmer 
 
 seat, 
 The truer lance: but there is many a 
 
 youth 
 Now crescent,^ who will come to all I am 
 And overcome it ; and in me there dwells 
 No greatness, save it be some far-off 
 
 touch 
 Of greatness to know well I am not 
 
 great : 
 There is the man." And Lavaine gaped 
 
 upon him 450 
 
 As on a thing miraculous, and anon 
 The trumpets blew ; and then did either 
 
 side. 
 They that assailed, and they that held 
 
 the lists, 
 Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly 
 
 move. 
 Meet in the midst, and there so furiously 
 Shock, that a man far-off might well 
 
 perceive — 
 If any man that day were left afield — 
 The hard earth shake, and a low thunder 
 
 of arms. 
 And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw 
 
 1 samite. Heavy silk. 
 
 2 crescent. Growing up. 
 
 Which were the weaker ; then he hurled 
 into it 460 
 
 Against the stronger : little need to speak 
 
 Of Lancelot in his glory! King, duke, 
 earl. 
 
 Count, baron — whom he smote, he over- 
 threw. 
 
 But in the field were Lancelot's kith 
 
 and kin, 
 Ranged with the Table Round that held 
 
 the lists. 
 Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger 
 
 knight 
 Should do and almost overdo the deeds 
 Of Lancelot; and one said to the other, 
 
 "Lo! 
 What is he? I do not mean the force 
 
 alone — 
 The grace and versatility of the man! 470 
 Is it not Lancelot?" "When has Lancelot 
 
 worn , 
 
 Favor of any lady in the lists? 
 Not such his wont, as we, that know him, 
 
 know." 
 "How then? who then?" a fury seized 
 
 them all, 
 A fiery family passion for the name 
 Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs. 
 They couched their spears and pricked 
 
 their steeds, and thus, 
 Their plumes driv'n backward by the 
 
 wind they made 
 In moving, all together down upon him 
 Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North- 
 sea, 480 
 Green-glimmering toward the summit, 
 
 bears, with all 
 Its stormy crests that smoke against the 
 
 skies, 
 Down on a bark, and overbears the bark. 
 And him that helms it, so they overbore 
 Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear 
 Down-glancing lamed the charger, and 
 
 a spear 
 Pricked sharply his own cuirass, and the 
 
 head 
 Pierced thro' his side, and there snapped, 
 
 and remained. 
 
 Then Sir Lavaine did well and wor- 
 
 shipfuUy ;3 
 He bore a knight of old repute to the 
 
 earth, 490 
 
 And brought his horse to Lancelot where 
 
 he lay. 
 He up the side, sweating with agony, got, 
 
 3 worshipfully. Honorably.
 
 168 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But thought to do while he might yet en- 
 dure, 
 
 And being lustily holpen by the rest, 
 
 His party, — tho' it seemed half-miracle 
 
 To those he fought with, — drave his kith 
 and kin, 
 
 And all the Table Round that held the 
 lists, 
 
 Back, ti). the barrier; then the trumpets 
 blew 
 
 Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the 
 sleeve 
 
 Of scarlet, and the p«arls; and all the 
 knights, 500 
 
 His party, cried "Advance and take thy 
 prize 
 
 The diamond"; but he answer'd, "Dia- 
 mond me 
 
 No diamonds ! for God's love, a little 
 air! 
 
 Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death ! 
 
 Hence will I, and I charge you, follow 
 me not." 
 
 He spoke, and vanished suddenly from 
 
 the field 
 With young Lavaine into the poplar 
 
 grove. 
 There from his charger down he slid, 
 
 and sat. 
 Gasping to Sir Lavaine, "Draw the lance- 
 head :" 
 "Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot," said 
 
 Lavaine, 510 
 
 "I dread me, if I draw it, you will die." 
 But he, "I die already with it : draw — 
 Draw," — and Lavaine drew, and Sir 
 
 Lancelot gave 
 A marvellous great shriek and ghastly 
 
 groan, 
 And half his blood burst forth, and down 
 
 he sank 
 For the pure pain, and wholly swooned 
 
 away. 
 Then came the hermit out and bare him 
 
 in. 
 There stanched his wound; and there, in 
 
 daily doubt 
 Whether to live or die, for many a week 
 Hid from the wild world's rumor by the 
 
 grove 520 
 
 Of poplars with their noise of falling 
 
 showers. 
 And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he lay. 
 
 But on that day when Lancelot fled the 
 lists. 
 
 His party, knights of utmost North and 
 
 West, 
 Lords of waste marches, kings of desolate 
 
 isles. 
 Came round their great Pendragon, say- 
 ing to him, 
 "Lo, Sire, our knight, thro' whom we 
 
 won the day. 
 Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left 
 
 his prize 
 Untaken, crying that his prize is death." 
 "Heaven hinder," said the King, "that 
 such an one, 530 
 
 So great a knight as we have seen to-day — 
 He seemed to me another Lancelot — 
 Yea, twenty times I thought him Lance- 
 lot- 
 He must not pass uncared for. Where- 
 fore, rise, 
 
 Gawain, and ride forth and find the 
 
 knight. 
 Wounded and wearied needs must he be 
 near. 
 
 1 charge you that you get at once to 
 
 horse. 
 And, knights and kings, there breathes 
 
 not one of you 
 Will deem this prize of ours is rashly 
 
 given : 
 His prowess was too wondrous. We 
 
 will do him 540 
 
 No customary honor: since the knight 
 Came not to us, of us to claim the prize, 
 Ourselves will send it after. Rise and 
 
 take 
 This diamond, and deliver it, and return, 
 And bring us where he is, and how he 
 
 fares. 
 And cease not from your quest until ye 
 
 find." 
 
 So saying, from the carven flower 
 
 above. 
 To which it made a restless heart, he 
 
 took, 
 And gave, the diamond : then from where 
 
 he sat 
 At Arthur's right, with smiling face 
 
 arose, 55o 
 
 With smiling face and frowning heart, a 
 
 Prince 
 In the mid might and flourish of his May, 
 Gawain, surnamed The Courteous, fair 
 
 and strong, 
 And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint 
 And Gareth, a good knight, but there- 
 withal
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 169 
 
 Sir Modred's brother, and the child of Lot, 
 Nor often loyal to his word, and now 
 Wroth that the King's command to sally 
 
 forth 
 In quest of whom he knew not, made him 
 
 leave 
 The banquet, and concourse of knights 
 
 and kings. 560 
 
 So all in wrath he got to horse and 
 
 went; 
 While Arthur to the banquet, dark in 
 
 mood. 
 Passed, thinking "Is it Lancelot who hath 
 
 come 
 Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain 
 Of glory, and hath added wound to 
 
 wound, 
 And ridd'n away to die?" So feared the 
 
 King, i 
 
 And, after two days' tarriance there, re- 
 turned. 
 Then when he saw the Queen, embracing 
 
 asked, 
 "Love, are you yet so sick?" "Nay, lord," 
 
 she said. 
 "And where is Lancelot?" Then the 
 
 Queen amazed, 570 
 
 "Was he not with you? won he not your 
 
 prize?" 
 "Nay, but one like him." "Why, that like 
 
 was he." 
 And when the King demanded how she 
 
 knew, 
 Said, "Lord, no sooner had ye parted 
 
 from us. 
 Than Lancelot told me of a common talk 
 That men went down before his spear at 
 
 a touch, 
 But knowing he was Lancelot; his great 
 
 name 
 Conquered ; and therefore would he hide 
 
 his name 
 From all men, ev'n the King, and to this 
 
 end 
 Had made the pretext of a hindering 
 
 wound, 580 
 
 That he might joust unknown of all, and 
 
 learn 
 If his old prowess were in aught decayed; 
 And added, 'Our true Arthur, when he 
 
 learns, 
 Will well allow my pretext, as for gain 
 Of purer glory.' " 
 
 Then replied the King: 
 "Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been. 
 
 In lieu of idly dallying with the truth. 
 To have trusted me as he hath trusted 
 
 thee. 
 Surely his King and most familiar friend 
 Might well have kept his secret. True, 
 
 indeed, 590 
 
 Albeit I know my knights fantastical. 
 So fine a fear in our large Lancelot 
 Must needs have moved my laughter : 
 
 now remains 
 But little cause for laughter : his own 
 
 kin — 
 111 news, my Queen, for all who love him, 
 
 this !— 
 His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon 
 
 him; 
 So that he went sore wounded from the 
 
 field: 
 Yet good news too: for goodly hopes are 
 
 mine 
 That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart. 
 He wore, against his wont, upon his helm 
 A sleeve of scarlet, broidered with great 
 
 pearls, 601 
 
 Some gentle maiden's gift." 
 
 "Yea, lord," she said, 
 "Thy hopes are mine," and saying that, 
 
 she choked, 
 And sharply turned about to hide her 
 
 face. 
 Passed to her chamber, and there flung 
 
 herself 
 Down on the great King's couch, and 
 
 writhed upon it. 
 And clenched her fingers till they bit the 
 
 palm. 
 And shrieked out "Traitor" to the unhear- 
 
 ing wall. 
 Then flashed into wild tears, and rose 
 
 again. 
 And moved about her palace, proud and 
 
 pale. 610 
 
 Gawain the while thro' all the region 
 
 round 
 Rode with his diamond, wearied of the 
 
 quest. 
 Touched at all points, except the poplar 
 
 grove, 
 And came at last, tho' late, to Astolat : 
 Whom glittering in enamelled arms the 
 
 maid 
 Glanced at, and cried, "What news from 
 
 Camelot, lord?
 
 170 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 What of the knight with the red sleeve?" 
 
 "He won." 
 "I knew it," she said, "But parted from 
 
 the jousts 
 Hurt in the side," whereat she caught her 
 
 breath ; 
 Thro' her own side she felt the sharp 
 
 lance go; ' 620 
 
 Thereon she smote her hand: wellnigh 
 
 she swooned : 
 And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, 
 
 came 
 The Lord of Astolat out, to whom the 
 
 Prince 
 Reported who he was, and on what quest 
 Sent, that he bore the prize and could 
 
 not find 
 The victor, but had ridd'n a random 
 
 round 
 To seek him, and had wearied of the 
 
 search. 
 To whom the Lord of Astolat, "Bide with 
 
 us. 
 And ride no more at random, noble 
 
 Prince ! 
 Here was the knight, and here he left a 
 
 shield ; 630 
 
 This will he send or come for : further- 
 more 
 Our son is with him ; we shall hear 
 
 anon, 
 Needs must we hear." To this the cour- 
 teous Prince 
 Accorded with his wonted courtesy, 
 Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it. 
 And stayed; and cast his eyes on fair 
 
 Elaine : 
 Where could be found face daintier? then 
 
 her shape 
 From forehead down to foot, perfect — 
 
 again 
 From foot to forehead exquisitely turned : 
 "Well — if I bide, lo ! this wild flower for 
 
 me !" 640 
 
 And oft they met among the garden yews, 
 And there he set himself to play upon her 
 With sallying wit, free flashes from a 
 
 height 
 Above her, graces of the court, and songs, 
 Sighs, and slow smiles, and golden elo- 
 quence 
 And amorous adulation, till the maid 
 Rebelled against it, saying to him, 
 
 "Prince, 
 O loyal nephew of our noble King, 
 Why ask you not to see the shield he left. 
 Whence you might learn his name? Why 
 
 slight your King, 650 
 
 And lose the quest he sent you on, and 
 
 prove 
 No surer than our falcon yesterday, 
 Who lost the hern we slipped^ her at, and 
 
 went 
 To all the winds?" "Nay, by mine 
 
 head," said he, 
 "I lose it, as we lose the lark in heaven, 
 
 damsel, in the light of your blue eyes; 
 But, an ye will it, let me see the shield." 
 And when the shield was brought, and 
 
 Gawain saw 
 Sir Lancelot's azure lions, crowned with 
 
 gold, 
 Ramp in the field, he smote his thigh, and 
 
 mocked : 660 
 
 "Right was the King! our Lancelot! that 
 
 tru.; man !" 
 "And right was I," she answered merrily, 
 
 Who dreamed my knight the greatest 
 
 knight of all." 
 "And if / dreamed," said Gawain, "that 
 
 you love 
 This greatest knight, your pardon! lo, ye 
 
 know it ! 
 Speak therefore: shall I waste myself in 
 
 vain?" 
 Full simple was her answer, "What know 
 
 I? 
 My brethren have been all my fellowship ; 
 And I, when often they have talked of 
 
 love, 
 Wished it had been my mother, for they 
 
 talked, 670 
 
 Meseemed, of what they knew not; so 
 
 myself — 
 
 1 know not if I know what true love is, 
 But if I know, then, if I love not him, 
 
 I know there is none other I can love." 
 "Yea, by God's death," said he, "ye love 
 
 him well, 
 But would not, knew ye what all others 
 
 know. 
 And whom he loves." "So be it," cried 
 
 Elaine, 
 And lifted her fair face and moved away: 
 But he pursued her, calling, "Stay a little ! 
 One golden minute's grace ! he wore your 
 
 sleeve : 680 
 
 Would he break faith with one I may not 
 
 name? 
 Must our true man change like a leaf at 
 
 last? 
 Nay — like enow : why then, far be it 
 
 from me 
 
 I slipped. Let loose (to attack the prey).
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 171 
 
 To cross our mighty Lancelot in his 
 
 loves ! 
 And, damsel, for I deem you know full 
 
 well 
 Where your great knight is hidden, let me 
 
 leave 
 My quest with you ; the diamond also : 
 
 here ! 
 For if you love, it will be sweet to give it; 
 And if he love, it will be sweet to have it 
 From your own hand ; and whether he 
 
 love or not. 690 
 
 A diamond is a diamond. Fare you well 
 A thousand times ! — a thousand times 
 
 farewell ! 
 Yet, if he love, and his love hold, we two 
 May meet at court hereafter : there, I 
 
 think. 
 So ye will learn the courtesies of the 
 
 court, 
 We two shall know each other." 
 
 Then he gave. 
 And slightly kissed the hand to which he 
 
 gave, 
 The diamond, and all wearied of the quest 
 Leaped on his horse, and, carolling as he 
 
 went 
 A true-love ballad, lightly rode away. 700 
 
 Thence to the court he passed ; there 
 told the King 
 
 What the King knew, "Sir Lancelot is the 
 knight." 
 
 And added, "Sire, my liege, so much I 
 learnt ; 
 
 But failed to find him, tho' I rode all 
 round 
 
 The region: but I lighted on the maid 
 
 Whose sleeve he wore ; she loves him ; 
 and to her, 
 
 Deeming our courtesy is the truest law, 
 
 I gave the diamond : she will render it ; 
 
 For by mine head she knows his hiding- 
 place." 
 
 The seldom - frowning King frowned, 
 
 and replied, 710 
 
 "Too courteous truly ! ye shall go no 
 
 more 
 On quest of mine, seeing that ye forget 
 Obedience is the courtesy due to kings." 
 
 He spake and parted. Wroth, but all 
 
 in awe, 
 For twenty strokes of the blood, without 
 
 a word, 
 Lingered that other, staring after him ; 
 
 Then shook his hair, strode off, and 
 
 buzzed abroad 
 About the maid of Astolat, and her love. 
 All ears were pricked at once, all tongues 
 
 were loosed : 
 "The maid of Astolat loves Sir Lance- 
 lot, 720 
 Sir Lancelot loves the maid of Astolat." 
 Some read the King's face, some the 
 
 Queen's, and all 
 Had marvel what the maid might be, but 
 
 most 
 Predoomed^ her as unworthy. One old 
 
 dame 
 Came suddenly on the Queen with the 
 
 sharp news. 
 She, that had heard the noise of it before. 
 But sorrowing Lancelot should have 
 
 stooped so low. 
 Marred her friend's aim with pale tran- 
 quillity. 
 So ran the tale like fire about the court, 
 Fire in dry stubble a nine-days' wonder 
 
 flared : 730 
 
 Till ev'n the knights at banquet twice or 
 
 thrice 
 Forgot to drink to Lancelot and the 
 
 Queen. 
 And pledging Lancelot and the lily maid 
 Smiled at each other, while the Queen, 
 
 who sat 
 With lips severely placid, felt the knot 
 Climb in her throat, and with her feet 
 
 unseen 
 Crushed the wild passion out against the 
 
 floor 
 Beneath the banquet, where the meats 
 
 became 
 As wormwood, and she hated all who 
 
 pledged. 
 
 But far away the maid in Astolat, 740 
 Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept 
 The one-day-seen Sir Lancelot in her 
 
 heart. 
 Crept to her father, while he mused 
 
 alone. 
 Sat on his knee, stroked his gray face and 
 
 said, 
 "Father, you call me wilful, and the 
 
 fault 
 Is yours who let me have my will, and 
 
 now. 
 Sweet father, will you let me lose my 
 
 wits?" 
 "Nay." said he, "surely." "Wherefore, 
 
 let me hence," 
 
 I Prsdoomed. Prejudged.
 
 172 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 She answered, "and find out our dear La- 
 
 vaine." 
 "Ye will not lose your wits for dear La- 
 
 vaine : 750 
 
 Bide," answered he: "we needs must 
 
 hear anon 
 Of him, and of that other," "Ay," she 
 
 said, 
 "And of that other, for I needs must 
 
 hence 
 And find that other, wheresoe'er he be, 
 And with mine own hand give his dia- 
 mond to him. 
 Lest I be found as faithless in the quest 
 As yon proud Prince who left the quest 
 
 to me. 
 Sweet father, I behold him in my dreams 
 Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself, 
 Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden's 
 
 aid. 760 
 
 The gentler-born the maiden, the more 
 
 bound. 
 My father, to be sweet and serviceable 
 To noble knights in sickness, as ye know, 
 When these have worn their tokens: let 
 
 me hence, 
 I pray you." Then her father nodding 
 
 said, 
 "Ay, ay, the diamond: wit* ye well, my 
 
 child, 
 Right fain were I to learn this knight 
 
 were whole, 
 Being our greatest: yea, and you must 
 
 give it — 
 And sure I think this fruit is hung too 
 
 high 
 For any mouth to gape for save a 
 
 queen's — 770 
 
 Nay, I mean nothing: so then, get you 
 
 gone. 
 Being so very wilful you must go." 
 
 Lightly, her suit allowed, she slipped 
 
 away, 
 And while she made her ready for her 
 
 ride, 
 Her father's latest word hummed in her 
 
 ear, 
 "Being so very wilful you must go," 
 And changed itself, and echoed in her 
 
 heart, 
 "Being so very wilful you must die." 
 But she was happy enough and shook it 
 
 off. 
 As we shake off the bee that buzzes at us ; 
 And in her heart she answered it and 
 
 said, 781 
 
 I ■wit. Know. 
 
 "What matter, so I helped him back to 
 Hfe?" 
 
 Then far away, with good Sir Torre for 
 guide. 
 
 Rode o'er the long backs of the bushless 
 downs 
 
 To Camelot, and before the city-gates 
 
 Came on her brother with a happy face 
 
 Making a roan horse caper and curvet 
 
 For pleasure all about a field of flowers : 
 
 Whom when she saw, "Lavaine," she 
 cried, "Lavaine, 
 
 How fares my lord Sir Lancelot?" He 
 amazed, 790 
 
 "Torre and Elaine! why here? Sir 
 Lancelot ! 
 
 How know ye my lord's name is Lance- 
 lot?" 
 
 But when the maid had told him all her 
 tale. 
 
 Then turned Sir Torre, and being in his 
 moods 
 
 Left them, and under the strange-statued 
 gate. 
 
 Where Arthur's wars were rendered mys- 
 tically. 
 
 Passed up the still rich city to his kin, 
 
 His own far blood, which dwelt at Came- 
 lot; 
 
 And her, Lavaine across the poplar grove 
 
 Led to the caves : there first she saw the 
 casque 800 
 
 Of Lancelot on the wall: her scarlet 
 sleeve, 
 
 Tho' carved and cut, and half the pearls 
 away. 
 
 Streamed from it still ; and in her heart 
 she laughed. 
 
 Because he had not loosed it from his 
 helm, 
 
 But meant once more perchance to tour- 
 ney in it. 
 
 And when they gained the cell wherein 
 he slept. 
 
 His battle-writhen arms and mighty hands 
 
 Lay naked on the wolfskin, and a dream 
 
 Of dragging down his enemy made them 
 move. 
 
 Then she that saw him lying unsleek, 
 unshorn, 810 
 
 Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself. 
 
 Uttered a little tender dolorous cry. 
 
 The sound not wonted in a place so still 
 
 Woke the sick knight, and while he 
 rolled his eyes, 
 
 Yet blank from sleep, she started to him, 
 saying,
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 173 
 
 "Your prize the diamond sent you by the 
 
 King:" 
 His eyes glistened : she fancied, "Is it for 
 
 me?" 
 And when the maid had told him all the 
 
 tale 
 Of King and Prince, the diamond sent, 
 
 the quest 
 Assigned to her not worthy of it, she 
 
 knelt 820 
 
 Full lowly by the corners of his bed, 
 And laid the diamond in his open hand. 
 Her face was near, and as we kiss the 
 
 child 
 That does the task assigned, he kissed her 
 
 face. 
 At once she slipped like water to the 
 
 floor. 
 "Alas," he said, "your ride hath wearied 
 
 you. 
 Rest must you have." "No rest for me," 
 
 she said; 
 "Nay, for near you, fair lord, I am at 
 
 rest." 
 What might she mean by that? his large 
 
 black eyes. 
 Yet larger thro' his leanness, dwelt upon 
 
 her, 830 
 
 Till all her heart's sad secret blazed itself 
 In the heart's colors on her simple face; 
 And Lancelot looked, and was perplexed 
 
 in mind, 
 And being weak in body said no more ; 
 But did not love the color ; woman's love, 
 Save one, he not regarded, and so turned 
 Sighing, and feigned a sleep until he slept. 
 
 Then rose Elaine and glided thro' the 
 
 fields. 
 And passed beneath the weirdly-sculp- 
 tured gates 
 Far up the dim rich city to her kin ; 840 
 There bode the night : but woke with 
 
 dawn, and passed 
 Down thro' the dim rich city to the fields. 
 Thence to the cave : so day by day she 
 
 passed 
 In either twilight ghost-like to and fro 
 Gliding, and every day she tended him, 
 And likewise many a night : and Lancelot 
 Would, tho' he called his wound a little 
 
 hurt 
 Whereof he should be quickly whole, at 
 
 times 
 Brain-feverous in his heat and agony, 
 
 seem 
 Uncourteous, even he : but the meek 
 
 maid 850 
 
 Sweetly forbore him ever, being to him 
 Meeker than any child to a rough nurse. 
 Milder than any mother to a sick child, 
 And never woman yet, since man's first 
 
 fall. 
 Did kindlier unto man, but her deep love 
 Upbore her; till the hermit, skilled in all 
 The simples and the science of that time, 
 Told him that her fine care had saved his 
 
 hfe. 
 And the sick man forgot her simple 
 
 blush. 
 Would call her friend and sister, sweet 
 
 Elaine, 860 
 
 Would listen for her coming and regret 
 Her parting step, and held her tenderly. 
 And loved her with all love except the 
 
 love 
 Of man and woman when they love their 
 
 best. 
 Closest and sweetest, and had died the 
 
 death 
 In any knightly fashion for her sake. 
 And peradventure had he seen her first 
 She might have made this and that other 
 
 world 
 Another world for the sick man; but now 
 The shackles of an old love straitened^ 
 
 him, 870 
 
 His honor rooted in dishonor stood. 
 And faith unfaithful^ kept him falsely 
 
 true. 
 
 Yet the great knight in his mid-sickness 
 
 made 
 Full many a holy vow and pure resolve. 
 These, as but born of sickness, could not 
 
 live: 
 For when the blood ran lustier in him 
 
 again, 
 Full often the bright image of one face, 
 Making a treacherous quiet in his heart. 
 Dispersed his resolution like a cloud. 
 Then if the maiden, while that ghostly 
 
 grace^ 880 
 
 Beamed on his fancy, spoke, he answered 
 
 not. 
 Or short and coldly, and she knew right 
 
 well 
 What the rough sickness meant, but what 
 
 this meant 
 She knew not, and the sorrow dimmed 
 
 her sight. 
 And drave her ere her time across the 
 
 fields 
 
 1 straitened. Restrained. 
 
 2 faith unfaithful. Disloyal loyalty. 
 
 3 ghostly grace. Spirit-like beauty.
 
 174 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Far in^o the rich city, where alone 
 
 She murmured, "Vain, in vain : it cannot 
 
 be. 
 He will not love me : how then ? must I 
 
 die?" 
 Then as a little helpless innocent bird. 
 That has but one plain passage of few 
 
 notes, 890 
 
 Will sing the simple passage o'er and o'er 
 For all an April morning, till the ear 
 Wearies to hear it, so the simple maid 
 Went half the night repeating, "Must I 
 
 die?" 
 And now to right she turned, and now 
 
 to left. 
 And found no ease in turning or in rest; 
 And "Him or death," she muttered, 
 
 "death or him," 
 Again and like a burthen,^ "Him or 
 
 death," 
 
 But when Sir Lancelot's deadly hurt 
 
 was whole. 
 To Astolat returning rode the three. 900 
 
 self 
 There morn by morn, arraying her sweet 
 In that wherein she deemed she looked 
 
 her best. 
 She came before Sir Lancelot, for she 
 
 thought 
 "H I be loved, these are my festal robes. 
 If not, the victim's flowers before he 
 
 fall." 
 And Lancelot ever pressed upon the maid 
 That she should ask some goodly gift of 
 
 him 
 For her own self or hers; "and do not 
 
 shun 
 To speak the wish most near to your true 
 
 heart ; 
 Such service have ye done me that I make 
 My will of yours, and Prince and Lord 
 
 am I 911 
 
 In mine own land, and what I will I can." 
 Then like a ghost she lifted up her face, 
 But like a ghost without the power to 
 
 speak. 
 And Lancelot saw that she withheld her 
 
 wish. 
 And bode among them yet a little space 
 Till he should learn it; and one morn it 
 
 chanced 
 He found her in among the garden yews, 
 And said, "Delay no longer, speak your 
 
 wish, 919 
 
 Seeing I go to-day:" then out she brake: 
 "Going? and we shall never see you more. 
 I burthen. Refrain. 
 
 And I must die for want of one bold 
 
 word." 
 "Speak : that I live to hear," he said, "is 
 
 yours." 
 Then suddenly and passionately she 
 
 spoke : 
 "I have gone mad. I love you : let me 
 
 die." 
 "Ah, sister," answer'd Lancelot, "what is 
 
 this?" 
 And innocently extending her white arms. 
 "Your love." she said, "your love — to be 
 
 your wife." 
 And Lancelot answered, "Had I chosen to 
 
 wed, 929 
 
 I had been wedded earlier, sweet Elaine : 
 But now there never will be wife of 
 
 mine." 
 "No, no," she cried, "I care not to be 
 
 wife. 
 But to be with you still,^ to see your face. 
 To serve you, and to follow you thro' the 
 
 world." 
 And Lancelot answered, "Nay, the world, 
 
 the world, 
 All ear and eye, with such a stupid heart 
 To interpret ear and eye, and such a 
 
 tongue 
 To blare its own interpretation — nay. 
 Full ill then should I quit your brother's 
 
 love. 
 And your good father's kindness." And 
 
 she said, 940 
 
 "Not to be with you, not to see your 
 
 face — 
 Alas for me then, my good days are 
 
 done." 
 "Nay, noble maid,' he answered, "ten 
 
 times nay! 
 This is not love : but love's first flash in 
 
 youth, 
 Most common : yea, I know it of mine 
 
 own self : 
 And you yourself will smile at your own 
 
 self 
 Hereafter, when you yield your flower of 
 
 life 
 To one more fitly yours, not thrice your 
 
 age: 
 And then will I, — for true you are and 
 
 sweet 
 Beyond mine old belief in womanhood, — 
 More specially should your good knight 
 
 be poor, 951 
 
 Endow you with broad land and territory 
 Even to the half my realm beyond the 
 
 seas, 
 
 3 still. Always.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 175 
 
 So^ that would make you happy : further- 
 more, 
 
 Ev'n to the death, as tho' ye were my 
 blood, 
 
 In all your quarrels will I be your knight. 
 
 This will I do, dear damsel, for your 
 sake, 
 
 And more than this I cannot." 
 
 While he spoke 
 She neither blushed nor shook, but death- 
 ly-pale 
 Stood grasping what was nearest, then 
 replied : q6o 
 
 "Of all this will I nothing"; and so fell, 
 And thus they bore her swooning to her 
 tower. 
 
 Then spake, to whom thro' those black 
 
 walls of yew 
 Their talk had pierced, her father : "Ay, 
 
 a flash, 
 I fear me, that will strike my blossom 
 
 dead. 
 Too courteous are ye, fair Lord Lancelot. 
 I pray you, use some rough discourtesy 
 To blunt or break her passion." 
 
 Lancelot said, 
 "That were against me : what I can I 
 
 will"; 
 And there that day remained, and toward 
 
 even 970 
 
 Sent for his shield : full meekly rose the 
 
 maid, 
 Stripped off the case, and gave the naked 
 
 shield ; 
 Then, when she heard his horse upon the 
 
 stones. 
 Unclasping flung the casement back, and 
 
 looked 
 Down on his helm, from which her sleeve 
 
 had gone. 
 And Lancelot knew the little clinking 
 
 sound ; 
 And she by tact of love was well aware 
 That Lancelot knew that she was looking 
 
 at him. 
 And yet he glanced not up, nor waved his 
 
 hand, 979 
 
 Nor bad farewell, but sad!y rode away. 
 This was the one discourtesy that he used. 
 
 So in her tower alone the maiden sat : 
 His very shield was gone ; only the case, 
 Her own poor work, her empty labor, left. 
 
 I So. It. 
 
 But still she heard him, still his picture 
 
 formed 
 And grew between her and the pictured 
 
 wall. 
 Then came her father, saying in low 
 
 tones, 
 "Have comfort," whom she greeted 
 
 quietly. 
 Then came her brethren saying, "Peace 
 
 to thee, 
 Sweet sister," whom she answered with 
 
 all calm. 990 
 
 But when they left her to herself again, 
 Death, like a friend's voice from a distant 
 
 field 
 Approaching thro' the darkness, called; 
 
 the owls 
 Wailing had power upon her, and she 
 
 mixed 
 Her fancies with the sallow-rifted glooms 
 Of evening, and the moanings of the 
 
 wind. 
 
 And in those days she made a little 
 
 song. 
 And called her song "The Song of Love 
 
 and Death," 
 And sang it : sweetly could she make- 
 
 and sing. 
 
 "Sweet is true love tho' given in vain, 
 
 in vain; 1000 
 
 And sweet is death who puts an end to 
 
 pain: 
 I know not which is sweeter, no, not L 
 
 "Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death 
 must be : 
 Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to 
 me. 
 
 Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 
 
 "Sweet love, that seems not made to 
 fade away, 
 Sweet death, that seems to make us love- 
 less clay, 
 
 1 know not which is sweeter, no, not L 
 
 "I fain would follow love, if that could 
 
 be; 
 
 I needs must follow death, who calls for 
 
 me; loio 
 
 Call and I follow, I follow ! let me die." 
 
 High with the last line scaled her voice, 
 and this. 
 All in a fiery dawning wild with wind 
 
 2 make. Compose.
 
 176 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 That shook her tower, the brothers heard, 
 
 and thought 
 With shuddering, "Hark the Phantom of 
 
 the house 
 That ever shrieks before a death," and 
 
 called 
 The father, and all three in hurry and 
 
 fear 
 Ran to her, and lo! the blood-red light of 
 
 dawn 
 Flared on her face, she shrilling, "Let me 
 
 die!" 
 
 As when we dwell upon a word we 
 
 know, 1020 
 
 Repeating, till the word we know so well 
 Becomes a wonder, and we know not 
 
 why, 
 So dwelt the father on her face, and 
 
 thought 
 "Is this Elaine?" till back the maiden 
 
 fell, 
 Then gave a languid hand to each, and 
 
 lay, 
 Speaking a still good-morrow with her 
 
 eyes. 
 At last she said, "Sweet brothers, yester- 
 night 
 I seemed a curious little maid again, 
 As happy as when we dwelt among the 
 
 woods, 
 And when ye used to take me with the 
 
 flood 1030 
 
 Up the great river in the boatman's boat. 
 Only ye would not pass beyond the cape 
 That has the poplar on it : there ye fixed 
 Your limit, oft returning with the tide. 
 And yet I cried because ye would not 
 
 pass 
 Beyond it, and far up the shining flood 
 Until we found the palace of the King. 
 And yet ye would not; but this night •! 
 
 dreamed 
 That I was all alone upon the flood, 
 And then I said, 'Now shall I have my 
 
 will :' 1040 
 
 And there I woke, but still the wish re- 
 mained. 
 So let me hence that I may pass at last 
 Beyond the poplar and far up the flood. 
 Until I find the palace of the King. 
 There will I enter in among them all. 
 And no man there will dare to mock at 
 
 me; 
 But there the fine Gawain will wonder at 
 
 me. 
 And there the great Sir Lancelot muse at 
 
 me; 
 
 Gawain, who bade a thousand farewells 
 
 to me, 
 Lancelot, who coldly went, nor bade me 
 
 one : 1050 
 
 And there the King will know me and my 
 
 love. 
 And there the Queen herself will pity me, 
 And all the gentle court will welcome 
 
 me, 
 And after my long voyage I shall rest 1" 
 
 "Peace," said her father, "O my child, 
 
 ye seem 
 Light-headed, for what force is yours to 
 
 go 
 So far, being sick? and wherefore would 
 
 ye look 
 On this proud fellow again, who scorns 
 
 us all?" 
 
 Then the rough Torre began to heave 
 
 and move, 1059 
 
 And bluster into stormy sobs and say, 
 "I never loved him : an I meet with him, 
 1 care not howsoever great he be, 
 Then will I strike at him and strike him 
 
 down. 
 Give me good fortune, I will strike him 
 
 dead. 
 For this discomfort he hath done the 
 
 house." 
 
 To whom the gentle sister made reply, 
 "Fret not yourself, dear brother, nor be 
 
 wroth. 
 Seeing it is no more Sir Lancelot's fault 
 Not to love me, than it is mine to love 
 Him of all men who seems to me the 
 
 highest." 1070 
 
 "Highest?" the father answer'd, echo- 
 ing "highest?" 
 
 (He meant to break the passion in her) 
 "nay, 
 
 Daughter, 1 know not what you call the 
 highest; 
 
 But this I know, for all the people know 
 it, 
 
 He ,loves the Queen, and in an open 
 shame : 
 
 And she returns his love in open shame; 
 
 If this te high, what is it to be low?" 
 
 Then spake the lily maid of Astolat : 
 "Sweet father, all too faint and sick am 
 I 1079 
 
 For anger : these are slanders : never yet 
 Was noble man but made ignoble talk.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 177 
 
 He makes no friend who never made a 
 
 foe. 
 But now it is my glory to have loved 
 One peerless, without stain : so let me 
 
 pass, 
 My father, howsoe'er I seem to you, 
 Not all unhappy, having loved God's best 
 And greatest, tho' my love had no return : 
 Yet, seeing you desire your child to live. 
 Thanks, but you work against your own 
 
 desire ; 1089 
 
 For if I could believe the things you say 
 I should but die the sooner; wherefore 
 
 cease, 
 Sweet father, and bid call the ghostly 
 
 man! 
 Hither, and let me shrive^ me clean, and 
 
 die." 
 
 And therefore let our dumb old man 
 alone 1120 
 
 Go with me; he can steer and row, and 
 he 
 
 Will guide me to that palace, to the 
 doors." 
 
 She ceased : her father promised ; where- 
 upon 
 
 She grew so cheerful that they deemed 
 her death 
 
 Was rather in the fantasy than the blood. 
 
 But ten slow mornings passed, and on the 
 eleventh 
 
 Her father laid the letter in her hand, 
 
 And closed the hand upon it, and she 
 died. 
 
 So that day there was dole^ in Astolat. 
 
 So when the ghostly man had come and 
 
 gone, 
 She with a face, bright as for sin for- 
 given, 
 Besought Lavaine to write as she devised 
 A letter, word for word; and when he 
 
 asked 
 "Is it for Lancelot, is it for my dear lord? 
 Then will I bear it gladly" ; she replied, 
 "For Lancelot and the Queen and all the 
 
 world, 1 100 
 
 But I myself must bear it." Then he 
 
 wrote 
 The letter she devised ; which being writ 
 And folded, "O sweet father, tender and 
 
 true, 
 Deny me not," she said — "ye never yet 
 Denied my fancies — this, however strange, 
 My latest : lay the letter in my hand 
 A little ere I die, and close the hand 
 Upon it; I shall guard it even in death. 
 And when the heat is gone from out my 
 
 heart. 
 Then take the little bed on which I died 
 For Lancelot's love, and deck it like the 
 
 Queen's mi 
 
 For richness, and me also like the Queen 
 In all I have of rich, and lay me on it. 
 And let there be prepared a chariot-bier 
 To take me to the river, and a barge 
 Be ready on the river, clothed in black. 
 I go in state to court, to meet the Queen. 
 There surely I shall speak for mine own 
 
 self. 
 And none ot you can speak for me so 
 
 well. 
 
 1 ghostly man. Priest. 
 
 2 shrive. Confess. 
 
 But when the next sun brake from 
 
 underground, 1130 
 
 Then, those two brethren slowly with 
 
 bent brows 
 Accompanying, the sad chariot-bier 
 Passed like a shadow thro' the field, that 
 
 shone 
 Full-summer, to that stream whereon the 
 
 barge. 
 Palled all its length in blackest samite, 
 
 lay. 
 There sat the lifelong creature of the 
 
 house, 
 Loyal, the dumb old servitor, on deck. 
 Winking his eyes, and twisted all his face. 
 So those two brethren from the chariot 
 
 took 
 And on the black decks laid her in her 
 
 bed, 1 140 
 
 Set in her hand a lily, o'er her hung 
 The silken case with braided blazonings,* 
 And kissed her quiet brows, and saying to 
 
 her 
 "Sister, farewell for ever," and again 
 "Farewell, sweet sister," parted all in 
 
 tears. 
 Then rose the dumb old servitor, and the 
 
 dead. 
 Oared by the dumb, went upward with 
 
 the flood — 
 In her right hand the lily, in her left 
 The letter — all her bright hair streaming 
 
 down — 
 And all the coverlid was cloth of gold 
 Drawn to her waist, and she herself in 
 
 white 1151 
 
 3 dole. Mourning. 
 
 4 See line 9.
 
 178 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 All but her face, and that clear-featured 
 
 face 
 Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead, 
 But fast asleep, and lay as tho' she 
 
 smiled. 
 
 That day Sir Lancelot at the palace 
 
 craved 
 Audience of Guinevere, to give at last 
 The price of half a realm, his costly gift, 
 Hard-won and hardly won with bruise 
 
 and blow, 
 With deaths of others, and almost his 
 
 own, 
 The nine-years-fought-for diamonds : for 
 
 he saw 1160 
 
 One of her house, and sent him to the 
 
 Queen 
 Bearing his wish, whereto the Queen 
 
 agreed 
 With such and so unmoved a majesty 
 She might have seemed her statue, but 
 
 that he. 
 Low-drooping till he wellnigh kissed her 
 
 feet 
 For loyal awe, saw with a sidelong eye 
 The shadow of some piece of pointed 
 
 lace, 
 In the Queen's shadow, vibrate on the 
 
 walls, 
 And parted, laughing in his courtly heart. 
 
 All in an oriel^ on the summer side, 
 Vine-clad, of Arthur's palace toward the 
 
 stream, 1171 
 
 They met, and Lancelot kneeling uttered, 
 
 "Queen, 
 Lady, my liege, in whom I have my joy. 
 Take, what I had not won except for 
 
 you, 
 These jewels, and make me happy, mak- 
 ing them 
 An armlet for the roundest arm on earth, 
 Or necklace for a neck to which the 
 
 swan's 
 Is tawnier than her cygnet's : these are 
 
 words : 
 Your beauty is your beauty, and I sin 
 In speaking, yet O grant my worship of 
 
 it 1 180 
 
 Words, as we grant grief tears. Such 
 
 sin in words. 
 Perchance, we both can pardon : but, my 
 
 Queen, 
 I hear of rumors flying thro' your court. 
 Our bond, as not the bond of man and 
 
 wife, 
 
 I oriel. Portico. 
 
 Should have in it an absoluter trust 
 To make up that defect : let rumors be : 
 When did not rumors fly? these, as I 
 
 trust 
 That you trust me in your own nobleness, 
 I may not well believe that you believe." 
 
 While thus he spoke, half turned away, 
 
 the Queen 1190 
 
 Brake from the vast oriel-embowering 
 
 vine 
 Leaf after leaf, and tore, and cast them 
 
 oflf, 
 Till all the place whereon she stood was 
 
 green ; 
 Then, when he ceased, in one cold passive 
 
 hand 
 Received at once and laid aside the gems 
 There on a table near her, and replied : 
 
 "It may be, I am quicker of belief 
 Than you believe me, Lancelot of the 
 
 Lake. 
 Our bond is not the bond of man and 
 
 wife. 
 This good is in it, whatsoe'er of ill, 1200 
 It can be broken easier. I for you 
 This many a year have done despite and 
 
 wrong 
 To one whom ever in my heart of hearts 
 I did acknowledge nobler. What are 
 
 these? 
 Diamonds for me ! they had been thrice 
 
 their worth 
 Being your gift, had you not lost your 
 
 own. 
 To loyal hearts the value of all gifts 
 Must vary as the giver's. Not for me! 
 For her ! for your new fancy. Only this 
 Grant me, I pray you : have your joys 
 
 apart. 1210 
 
 I doubt not that, however changed, you 
 
 keep 
 So much of what is graceful : and myself 
 Would shun to break those bounds of 
 
 courtesy 
 In which as Arthur's Queen I move and 
 
 rule: 
 So cannot speak my mind. An end to 
 
 this! 
 A strange one! yet I take it with Amen. 
 So pray you, add my diamonds to her 
 
 pearls ; 
 Deck her with these; tell her, she shines 
 
 me down : 
 An armlet for an arm to which the 
 
 Queen's 
 Is haggard, or a necklace for a neck 1220
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 179 
 
 O as much fairer — as a faith once fair 
 Was richer than these diamonds — hers 
 
 not mine — 
 Nay, by the mother of our Lord himself, 
 Or hers or mine, mine now to work my 
 
 will- 
 She shall not have them." 
 
 Saying which she seized, 
 And, thro' the casement standing wide 
 
 for heat, 
 Flung them, and down they flashed, and 
 
 smote the stream. 
 Then from the smitten surface flashed, 
 
 as it were, 
 Diamonds to meet them, and they passed 
 
 away. 
 Then while Sir Lancelot leant, in half 
 
 disdain 1230 
 
 At love, life, all things, on the window 
 
 ledge. 
 Close underneath his eyes, and right 
 
 across 
 Where these had fallen, slowly passed the 
 
 barge 
 Whereon the lily maid of Astolat 
 Lay smiling, like a star in blackest night. 
 
 But the wild Queen, who saw not, 
 
 burst away 
 To weep and wail in secret; and the 
 
 barge. 
 On to the palace-doorway sliding, paused. 
 There two stood armed, and kept the 
 
 door; to whom. 
 All up the marble stair, tier over tier, 
 Were added mouths that gaped, and eyes 
 
 that asked 1241 
 
 "What is it?" but that oarsman's haggard 
 
 face, 
 As hard and still as is the face that men 
 Shape to their fancy's eye from broken 
 
 rocks 
 On some cliff-side, appalled them, and 
 
 they said, 
 "He is enchanted, cannttrt speak — and she. 
 Look how she sleeps — the Fairy Queen, 
 
 so fair ! 
 Yea, but how pale! what are they? flesh 
 
 and blood? 
 Or come to take the King to Fairyland? 
 For some do hold our Arthur cannot 
 
 die, 1250 
 
 But that he passes into Fairyland." 
 
 While thus they babbled of the King, 
 the King 
 
 Came girt with knights : then turned the 
 
 tongueless man 
 From the half- face to the full eye, and 
 
 ro.se 
 And pointed to the damsel, and the doors. 
 So Arthur bade the meek Sir Percivale 
 And pure Sir Galahad to uplift the maid; 
 And reverently they bore her into hall. 
 Then came the fine Gawain and wondered 
 
 at her. 
 And Lancelot later came and mused at 
 
 her, 1260 
 
 And last the Queen herself, and pitied 
 
 her: 
 But Arthur spied the letter in her hand. 
 Stooped, took, brake seal, and read it ; this 
 
 was all : 
 
 "Most noble lord, Sir Lancelot of the 
 
 Lake, 
 I, sometime called the maid of Astolat, 
 Come, for you left me taking no farewell, 
 Hither, to take my last farewell of you. 
 I loved you, and my love had no return, 
 And therefore my true love has been my 
 
 death. 1269 
 
 And therefore to our Lady Guinevere, 
 And to all other ladies, I make moan : 
 Pray for my soul, and yield me burial. 
 Pray for my soul thou too. Sir Lancelot, 
 As thou art a knight peerless." 
 
 Thus he read; 
 And ever in the reading, lords and dames 
 Wept, looking often from his face who 
 
 read 
 To hers which lay so silent, and at times. 
 So touched were they, half-thinking that 
 
 her hps. 
 Who had devised the letter, moved again. 
 
 Then freely spoke Sir Lancelot to them 
 
 all : 1280 
 
 "My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that 
 
 hear. 
 Know that for this most gentle maiden's 
 
 death 
 Right heavy am I ; for good she was and 
 
 true, 
 But loved me with a love beyond all love 
 In women, whomsoever I have known. 
 Yet to be loved makes not to love again; 
 Not at my years, however it hold in 
 
 youth. 
 I swear by truth and knighthood that I 
 
 gave 
 No cause, not willingly, for such a love: 
 To this I call my friends in testimony.
 
 180 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Her brethren, and her father, who him- 
 self 1291 
 
 Besought me to be plain and blunt, and 
 use. 
 
 To break her passion, some discourtesy 
 
 Against my nature : what I could, I did. 
 
 I left her and I bade her no farewell; 
 
 Tho', had I dreamt the damsel would 
 have died, 
 
 I might have put my wits to some rough 
 use, 
 
 And helped her from herself." 
 
 Then said the Queen 
 (Sea was her wrath, yet working after 
 
 storm) 
 "Ye might at least have done her so much 
 
 grace, 1300 
 
 Fair lord, as would have helped her from 
 
 her death." 
 He raised his head, their eyes met, and 
 
 hers fell, 
 He adding: 
 
 "Queen, she would not be content 
 Save that I wedded her, which could not 
 
 be. 
 Then might she follow me thro' the world, 
 
 she asked ; 
 It could not be. I told her that her love 
 Was but the flash of youth, would darken 
 
 down 
 To rise hereafter in a stiller flame 
 Toward one more worthy of her — then 
 
 would I, 1309 
 
 More specially were he she wedded poor, 
 Estate them with large land and territory 
 In mine own realm beyond the narrow 
 
 seas. 
 To keep them in all joyance : more than 
 
 this 
 I could not; this she would not, and she 
 
 died." 
 
 He pausing, Arthur answered, "O my 
 
 knight. 
 It will be to thy worship,^ as my knight. 
 And mine, as head of all our Table 
 
 Round, 
 To see that she be buried worshipfully." 
 
 So toward that shrine which then in all 
 
 the realm 
 
 Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went 
 
 The marshalled Order of their Table 
 
 Round, 1321 
 
 And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to see 
 
 I worship. Honor. 
 
 The maiden buried, not as one unknown. 
 Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies. 
 And mass, and rolling music, like a queen. 
 And when the knights had laid her comely 
 
 head 
 Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings, 
 Then Arthur spake among them, "Let her 
 
 tomb 
 Be costly, and her image thereupon, 
 And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet 
 Be carven, and her lily in her hand. 1331 
 And let the story of her dolorous voyage 
 For all true hearts be blazoned on her 
 
 tomb 
 In letters gold and azure!" which was 
 
 wrought 
 Thereafter; but when now the lords and 
 
 dames 
 And people, from the high door stream- 
 ing, brake 
 Disorderly, as homeward each, the Queen, 
 Who marked Sir Lancelot where he 
 
 moved apart. 
 Drew near, and sighed in passing, "Lance- 
 lot, 
 Forgive me; mine was jealousy in love." 
 He answered, with his eyes upon the 
 ground, 1341 
 
 "That is love's curse; pass on, my Queen, 
 
 forgiven." 
 But Arthur, who beheld his cloudy brows. 
 Approached him, and with full affection 
 said, 
 
 "Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom 
 
 I have 
 Most joy and most afiiance,2 for I know 
 What thou hast been in battle by my side, 
 And many a time have watched thee at 
 
 the tilt 
 Strike down the lusty and long-practised 
 
 knight, 1349 
 
 And let the younger and unskilled go by 
 To win his honor and to make his name, 
 And loved thy courtesies and thee, a man 
 Made to be loved; but now I would to 
 
 God, 
 Seeing the homeless trouble in thine eyes, 
 Thou couldst have loved this maiden, 
 
 shaped, it seems, 
 By God for thee alone, and from her 
 
 face, 
 If one may judge the living by the dead. 
 Delicately pure and marvellously fair, 
 Who might have brought thee, now a 
 
 lonely man 1359 
 
 Wifeless and heirless, noble issue, sons 
 a a fiance. Confidence.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 181 
 
 Born to the glory of thy name and fame, 
 My knight, the great Sir Lancelot of the 
 Lake." 
 
 Then answered Lancelot : "Fair she 
 
 was, my King, 
 Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be. 
 To doubt her fairness were to want an 
 
 eye, 
 To doubt her pureness were to want a 
 
 heart — 
 Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love 
 Could bind him, but free love will not be 
 
 bound." 
 
 "Free love, so bound, were freest," said 
 
 the King. 
 "Let love be free; free love is for the 
 
 best : 1370 
 
 And, after heaven, on our dull side of 
 
 death, 
 What should be best, if not so pure a love 
 Clothed in so pure a loveliness? yet thee 
 She failed to bind, tho' being, as I think, 
 Unbound as yet, and gentle, as I know." 
 
 And Lancelot answered nothing, but he 
 
 went. 
 And at the inrunning of a little brook 
 Sat by the river in a cove, and watched 
 The high reed wave, and lifted up his 
 
 eyes 
 And saw the barge that brought her mov- 
 ing down, 1380 
 Far-off, a blot upon the stream, and said 
 Low in himself: "Ah, simple heart and 
 
 sweet. 
 Ye loved me, damsel, surely with a love 
 Far tenderer than my Queen's. Pray for 
 
 thy soul? 
 Ay, that will I. Farewell too — now at 
 
 last- 
 Farewell, fair lily. 'Jealousy in love?' 
 Not rather dead love's harsh heir, jealous 
 
 pride? 
 Queen, if I grant the jealousy as of love. 
 May not your crescent^ fear for name 
 
 and fame 
 Speak, as it waxes,^ of a love that wanes? 
 Why did the King dwell on my name to 
 
 me? 1391 
 
 Mine own name shames me, seeming a 
 
 reproach, 
 Lancelot, whom the Lady of the Lake 
 Caught from his mother's arms — the 
 
 wondrous one 
 
 1 crescent. Growing. 
 
 2 waxes. Increases. 
 
 Who passes thro' the vision of the night — 
 She chanted snatches of mysterious 
 
 hymns 
 Heard on the winding waters; eve and 
 
 morn 
 She kissed me, saying, 'Thou art fair, 
 
 my child. 
 As a king's son,' and often in her arms 
 She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere.^ 
 Would she had drowned me in it, wher- 
 e'er it be! 1401 
 For what am I ? what profits me my name 
 Of greatest knight? I fought for it, and 
 
 have it : 
 Pleasure to have it, none ; to lose it, pain ; 
 Now grown a part of me: but what use 
 
 in it? 
 To make men worse by making my sin 
 
 known? 
 Or sin seem less, the sinner seeming 
 
 great ? 
 Alas for Arthur's greatest knight, a man 
 Not after Arthur's heart! I needs must 
 
 break 
 These bonds that so defame me: not 
 
 without 1410 
 
 She wills it: would I, if she willed it? 
 
 nay. 
 Who knows? but if I would not, then may 
 
 God, 
 I pray him, send a sudden Angel down 
 To seize me by the hair and bear me far, 
 And fling me deep in that forgotten mere. 
 Among the tumbled fragments of the 
 
 hills." 
 
 So groaned Sir Lancelot in remorseful 
 pain. 
 Not knowing he should die a holy man. 
 
 (i8S9) 
 
 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [This is the conclusion of the Idylls of the 
 King; for the significance, see the note at the 
 beginning of Gareth and Lynette. Lancelot had 
 fled from Arthur's court to his own land, be- 
 cause of his guilt, and the wicked knight Modred 
 had usurped the kingdom while Arthur was in 
 pursuit.] 
 
 That Story which the bold Sir Bedivere, 
 First made and latest left of all the 
 knights. 
 
 3 mere. Lake.
 
 182 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Told, when the man was no more than 
 
 a voice 
 In the white winter of his age, to those 
 With whom he dwelt, new faces, other 
 
 minds. 
 
 For on their march to westward, Bed- 
 
 ivere, 
 Who slowly paced among the slumbering 
 
 host. 
 Heard in his tent the moanings of the 
 
 King: 
 
 "I found Him in the shining of the 
 
 stars, 
 I marked Him in the flowering of His 
 
 fields, 10 
 
 But in his ways with men I find Him not. 
 I waged His wars, and now I pass and 
 
 die. 
 O me! for why is all around us here 
 As if some lesser god had made the 
 
 world, 
 But had not force to shape it as he would. 
 Till the High God behold it from beyond. 
 And enter it, and make it beautiful? 
 Or else as if the world were wholly fair. 
 But that these eyes of men are dense and 
 
 dim. 
 And have not power to see it as it is : 20 
 Perchance, because we see not to the 
 
 close ; — 
 For I, being simple,* thought to work His 
 
 will. 
 And have but stricken with the sword in 
 
 vain ; 
 And all whereon I leaned in wife and 
 
 friend 
 Is traitor to my peace, and all my realm 
 Reels back into the beast,^ and is no more. 
 My God, thou hast forgotten me in my 
 
 death : 
 Nay — God my Christ — I pass but shall 
 
 not die." 
 
 Then, ere that last weird battle in the 
 west. 
 
 There came on Arthur sleeping, Gawain 
 killed 30 
 
 In Lancelot's war, the ghost of Gawain 
 blown 
 
 Along a wandering wind, and past his ear 
 
 Went shrilling, "Hollow, hollow all de- 
 light ! 
 
 Hail, King! to-morrow thou shalt pass 
 away. 
 
 I simple. Foolish. 
 
 a the beast. Primitive evil and violence. 
 
 Farewell ! there is an isle of rest for thee. 
 And I am blown along a wandering wind. 
 And hollow, hollow, hollow all delight." 
 And fainter onward, like wild birds that 
 
 change 
 Their season in the night and wail their 
 
 way 
 From cloud to cloud, down the long wind 
 
 the dream 40 
 
 Shrilled; but in going mingled with dim 
 
 cries 
 Far in the moonlit haze among the hills. 
 As of some lonely city sacked by night, 
 When all is lost, and wife and child with 
 
 wail 
 Pass to new lords ; and Arthur woke and 
 
 called, 
 "Who spake? A dream. O light' upon 
 
 the wind, 
 Thine, Gawain, was the voice — are these 
 
 dim cries 
 Thine? or doth all that haunts the waste 
 
 and wild 
 Mourn, knowing it will go along with 
 
 me?" 
 
 This heard the bold Sir Bedivere and 
 
 spake : 5° 
 
 "O me, my King, let pass whatever will, 
 
 ' Elves, and the harmless glamour of the 
 
 field; 
 But in their stead thy name and glory 
 
 cling 
 To all high places like a golden cloud 
 For ever: but as yet thou shalt not pass. 
 Light was Gawain in life, and light in 
 
 death 
 Is Gawaiw, for the ghost is as the man; 
 And care not thou for dreams from him, 
 
 but rise — 
 I hear the steps of Modred in the west, 
 And with him many of thy people, and 
 
 knights 60 
 
 Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but 
 
 grosser grown 
 Than heathen, spitting at their vows and 
 
 thee. 
 Right well in heart they know thee for 
 
 the King. 
 Arise, go forth and conquer as of old." 
 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedi- 
 vere : 
 "Far other is this battle in the west 
 Whereto we move, than when we strove 
 in youth, 
 
 3 light. Cf. line 56.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 183 
 
 And brake the petty kings, and fought 
 
 with Rome, 
 Or thrust the heathen from the Roman 
 
 wall, 
 And shook him thro' the north. Ill doom 
 
 is mine 70 
 
 To war against my people and my 
 
 knights. 
 The king who fights his people fights him- 
 self. 
 And they my knights, who loved me once, 
 
 the stroke 
 That strikes them dead is as my death to 
 
 me. 
 Yet let us hence, and find or feel a way 
 Thro' this blind haze, which ever since I 
 
 saw 
 One lying in the dust at Almesbury.i 
 Hath folded in the passes of the world." 
 
 Then rose the King and moved his 
 
 host by night, 
 And ever pushed Sir Modred, league by 
 
 league, 80 
 
 Back to the sunset bound of Lyonesse^ — 
 A land of old upheaven from the abyss 
 By fire, to sink into the abyss again; 
 Where fragments of forgotten peoples 
 
 dwelt, 
 And the long mountains ended in a coast 
 Of ever-shifting sand, and far away 
 The phantom circle of a moaning sea. 
 There the pursuer could pursue no more. 
 And he that fled no further fly the King ; 
 And there, that day when the great light 
 
 of heaven 90 
 
 Burned at his lowest in the rolling year, 
 On the waste sand by the waste sea they 
 
 closed. 
 Nor ever yet had Arthur fought a fight 
 Like this last, dim, weird battle of the 
 
 west. 
 A deathwhite mist slept over sand and 
 
 sea: 
 Whereof the chill, to him who breathed 
 
 it, drew 
 Down with his blood, till all his heart was 
 
 cold 
 With formless fear; and ev'n on Arthur 
 
 fell 
 Confusion, since he saw not whom he 
 
 fought. 
 For friend and foe were shadows in the 
 
 mist, 100 
 
 1 His wife Guinevere, in a convent at Almesbury, 
 where she had prostrated herself before him in 
 penitence. 
 
 2 Lyonesse. The extreme southwestern portion 
 of Britain. 
 
 And friend slew friend, not knowing 
 
 whom he slew ; 
 And some had visions out of golden 
 
 youth, 
 And some beheld the faces of old ghosts 
 Look in upon the battle ; and in the mist 
 Was many a noble deed, many a base, 
 And chance and craft and strength in 
 
 single fights. 
 And ever and anon with host to host 
 Shocks, and the splintering spear, the 
 
 hard mail hewn, 
 Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, 
 
 the crash 
 Of battleaxes on shattered helms, and 
 
 shrieks no 
 
 After the Christ, of those who falling 
 
 down 
 Looked up for heaven, and only saw the 
 
 mist ; 
 And shouts of heathen and the traitor 
 
 knights. 
 Oaths, insult, filth, and monstrous blas- 
 phemies. 
 Sweat, writhings, anguish, laboring of the 
 
 lungs 
 In that close mist, and cryings for the 
 
 light, 
 Moans of the dying, and voices of the 
 
 dead. 
 
 Last, as by some one deathbed after 
 
 wail 
 Of suffering, silence follows, or thro' 
 
 death 
 Or deathlike swoon, thus over all that 
 
 shore, 120 
 
 Save for some whisper of the seething 
 
 seas, 
 A dead hush fell; but when the dolorous 
 
 day 
 Grew drearier toward twilight falling, 
 
 came 
 A bitter wind, clear from the North, and 
 
 blew 
 The mist aside, and with that wind the 
 
 tide 
 Rose, and the pale King glanced across 
 
 the field 
 Of battle: but no man was moving there; 
 Nor any cry of Christian heard thereon, 
 Nor yet of heathen ; only the wan wave 
 Brake in among dead faces, to and fro 
 Swaying the helpless hands, and up and 
 
 down 131 
 
 Tumbling the hollow helmets of the 
 
 fallen.
 
 184 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And shivered brands that once had fought 
 
 with Rome, 
 And rolling far along the gloomy shores 
 The voice of days of old and days to be. 
 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedi- 
 
 vere, 
 And whiter than the mist that all day 
 
 long 
 Had held the field of battle was the 
 
 King: 
 
 "Hearest thou this great voice that 
 
 shakes the world, 
 And wastes the narrow realm whereon 
 
 we move, 140 
 
 And beats upon the faces of the dead, 
 My dead, as tho' they had not died for 
 
 me? — 
 O Bedivere, for on my heart hath fall'n 
 Confusion, till I know not what I am. 
 Nor whence I am, nor whether I be King. 
 Behold, I seem but King among the 
 
 dead." 
 
 Then spake the bold Sir Bedivere : "My 
 
 King, 
 King everywhere! and so the dead have 
 
 kings. 
 There also will I worship^ thee as King. 
 Yet still thy life is whole, and still I live 
 Who love thee; but who hates thee, he 
 
 that brought 151 
 
 The heathen back among us, yonder 
 
 stands, 
 Modred, unharmed, the traitor of mine 
 
 house." 
 
 Then spake the King: "My house hath' 
 
 been my doom. 
 But call not thou this traitor of my house 
 Who hath but dwelt beneath one roof 
 
 with me. 
 My house are rather they who sware my 
 
 vows, 
 Yea, even while they brake them, owned 
 
 me King. 
 And well for thee, saying in my dark 
 
 hour, 
 When all the purport of my throne hath 
 
 failed, 160 
 
 That quick^ or dead thou boldest me for 
 
 King. 
 King am I, whatsoever be their cry; 
 And one last act of kinghood shalt thou 
 
 see 
 
 I worship. Honor, 
 a quick. Alive. 
 
 Yet, ere I pass." And uttering this the 
 
 King 
 Made at the man : then Modred smote his 
 
 liege 
 Hard on that helm which many a heathen 
 
 sword 
 Had beaten thin; while Arthur at one 
 
 blow. 
 Striking the last stroke with Excalibur, 
 Slew him, and all but slain himself, he 
 
 fell. 
 
 So all day long the noise of battle 
 
 rolled 170 
 
 Among the mountains by the winter sea; 
 Until King Arthur's Table, man by man. 
 Had fallen in Lyonesse about their lord. 
 King Arthur. Then, because his wound 
 
 was deep. 
 The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. 
 And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, 
 A broken chancel with a broken cross. 
 That stood on a dark strait^ of barren 
 
 land: 
 On one side lay the Ocean, and on one 
 Lay a great water, and the moon was 
 
 full. 180 
 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedi- 
 vere : 
 "The sequel of to-day unsolders all 
 The goodliest fellowship of famous 
 
 knights 
 Whereof this world holds record. Such 
 
 a sleep 
 They sleep — the men I loved. I think 
 
 that we 
 Shall never more, at any future time. 
 Delight our souls with talk of knightly 
 
 deeds, 
 Walking about the gardens and the halls 
 Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 
 I perish by this people which I made, — 
 Tho* Merlin sware that I should come 
 
 again 191 
 
 To rule once more; but, let what will be, 
 
 be, 
 I am so deeply smitten thro* the helm 
 That without help I cannot last till morn. 
 Thou therefore take my brand* Excalibur, 
 Which was my pride : for thou remem- 
 
 berest how 
 In those old days, one summer noon, an 
 
 arm 
 Rose up from out the; bosom of the lake, 
 
 3 strait. Isthmus. 
 
 4 brand. Sword.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 185 
 
 Clothed in white samite,^ mystic, wonder- 
 ful, 
 Holding the sword — and how I rowed 
 across 200 
 
 And took it, and have worn it, like a 
 
 king; 
 And, wheresoever I am sung or told 
 In aftertime, this also shall be known: 
 But now delay not: take Excalibur, 
 And fling him far into the middle mere:^ 
 Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring 
 me word." 
 
 To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: 
 "It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee 
 
 thus. 
 Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the 
 
 helm — 209 
 
 A little thing may harm a wounded man ; 
 Yet I thy hest^ will all perform at full. 
 Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee 
 
 word." 
 
 So saying, from the ruined shrine he 
 
 stepped, 
 And in the moon athwart the place of 
 
 tombs, 
 Where lay the mighty bones of ancient 
 
 men, 
 Old knights, and over them the sea-wind 
 
 sang 
 Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, 
 
 stepping down 
 By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, 
 Came on the shining levels of the lake. 
 
 There drew he forth the brand Excali- 
 bur, 220 
 And o'er him, drawing it, the winter 
 
 moon. 
 Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, 
 
 ran forth 
 And sparkled keen with frost against the 
 
 hilt: 
 For all the haft twinkled with diamond 
 
 sparks. 
 Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work 
 Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long 
 That both his eyes were dazzled as he 
 
 stood. 
 This way and that dividing the swift 
 
 mind. 
 In act to throw: but at the last it seemed 
 Better to leave Excalibur concealed 230 
 There in the many-knotted waterflags, 
 
 1 samite. Silk. 
 
 2 mere. Lake. 
 
 3 hest. Command. 
 
 That whistled stiff and dry about the 
 
 marge. 
 So strode he back slow to the wounded 
 
 King. 
 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedi- 
 vere : 
 
 "Hast thou performed my mission which 
 I gave? 
 
 What is it thou hast seen? or what hast 
 heard?" 
 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedi- 
 vere: 
 "I heard the ripple washing in the reeds. 
 And the wild water lapping on the crag." 
 
 To whom replied King Arthur, faint 
 
 and pale : 240 
 
 "Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy 
 
 name. 
 Not rendering true answer, as beseemed 
 Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight : 
 For surer sign had followed, either hand. 
 Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. 
 This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
 Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again. 
 As thou art lief^ and dear, and do the 
 
 thing 
 I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me 
 
 word." 
 
 Then went Sir Bedivere the second 
 
 time 250 
 
 Across the ridge, and paced beside the 
 
 mere, 
 Counting the dewy pebbles, fixed in 
 
 thought ; 
 But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. 
 How curiously and strangely chased, he 
 
 smote 
 His palms together, and he cried aloud : 
 
 "And if indeed I cast the brand away. 
 
 Surely a precious thing, one worthy note. 
 
 Should thus be lost for ever from the 
 earth, 
 
 Which might have pleased the eyes of 
 many men. 
 
 What good should follow this, if this 
 were done? 260 
 
 What harm, undone? Deep harm to dis- 
 obey. 
 
 Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. 
 
 Were it well to obey then, if a king de- 
 mand 
 
 4 lief. Beloved.
 
 186 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 An act unprofitable, against himself? 
 The King is sick, and shows not what he 
 
 does. 
 What record, or what relic of my lord 
 Should be to aftertime, but empty breath 
 And rumors of a doubt? But were this 
 
 kept, 
 Stored in some treasure-house of mighty 
 
 kings, 
 Some one might show it at a joust of 
 
 arms, 270 
 
 Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, 
 Wrought by the lonely maiden of the 
 
 Lake. 
 Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the 
 
 deeps 
 Upon the hidden bases of the hills.' 
 So might some old man speak in the 
 
 aftertime 
 To all the people, winning reverence. 
 But now much honor and much fame 
 
 were lost." 
 
 So spake he, clouded with his own con- 
 ceit, ^ 
 And. hid Excalibur the second time. 
 And so strode back slow to the wounded 
 King. 280 
 
 Then spoke King Arthur, breathing 
 heavily : 
 "What is it thou hast seen? or what hast 
 heard?" 
 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedi- 
 vere: 
 "I heard the water lapping on the crag. 
 And the long ripple washing in the reeds." 
 
 To whom replied King Arthur, much 
 
 in wrath : 
 "Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, 
 Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me! 
 Authority forgets a dying king. 
 Laid widowed of the power in his eye 
 That bowed the will. I see thee what 
 
 thou art, 291 
 
 For thou, the latest -left of all my knights, 
 In whom should meet the offices of all. 
 Thou wouldst betray me for the precious 
 
 hilt; 
 Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 
 Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 
 Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice. 
 And the third time may prosper, get thee 
 
 hence : 
 But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, 
 I will arise and slay thee with my hands." 
 I conceit. Thought. 
 
 Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and 
 
 ran, 301 
 
 And, leaping down the ridges lightly, 
 
 plunged 
 Among the bulrush beds, and clutched the 
 
 sword. 
 And strongly wheeled and threw it. The 
 
 great brand 
 Made lightnings in the splendor of the 
 
 moon, 
 And flashing round and round, and 
 
 whirled in an arch, 
 Shot like a streamer of the northern 
 
 morn,2 
 Seen where the moving isles of winter 
 
 shock 
 By night, with noises of the Northern 
 
 Sea. 
 So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: 
 But ere he dipped the surface, rose an 
 
 arm 311 
 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonder- 
 ful, 
 And caught him by the hilt, and Drand- 
 
 ished him 
 Three times, and drew him under in the 
 
 mere. 
 And lightly went the other to the King. 
 
 Then spoke King Arthur, drawing 
 
 thicker breath: 
 "Now see I by thine eyes that this is 
 
 done. 
 Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, 
 
 or seen?" 
 
 And answer made the bold Sir iJedi- 
 vere: 
 
 "Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the 
 gems 320 
 
 Should blind my purpose, for I never saw. 
 
 Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I 
 die, 
 
 Nor tho' I live three lives of mortal men, 
 
 So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
 
 Then with both hands I flung him, wheel- 
 ing him ; 
 
 But when I looked again, behold an arm, 
 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonder- 
 ful, 
 
 That caught him by the hilt, and brand- 
 ished him 
 
 Three times, and drew him under in the 
 mere." 
 
 And answer made King Arthur, breath- 
 ing hard : 330 
 3 northern morn. Aurora Borealis.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 187 
 
 "My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I 
 
 were gone. 
 Make broad thy shoulders to receive my 
 
 weight, 
 And bear me to the margin ;* yet I fear 
 My wound hath taken cold, and I shall 
 
 die." 
 
 So saying, from the pavement he half 
 
 rose, 
 Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm, 
 And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes 
 As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere 
 Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears, 
 And would have spoken, but he found 
 
 not words ; 340 
 
 Then took with care, and kneeling on one 
 
 knee, 
 O'er both his shoulders drew the langfuid 
 
 hands. 
 And rising bore him thro' the place of 
 
 tombs. 
 
 But, as he walked, King Arthur panted 
 
 hard, 
 Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed 
 When all the house is mute. So sighed 
 
 the King, 
 Muttering and murmuring at his ear, 
 
 "Quick, quick ! 
 1 fear it is too late, and I shall die." 
 But the other swiftly strode from ridge 
 
 to ridge. 
 Clothed with his breath, and looking, as 
 
 he walked, 350 
 
 Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
 He heard the deep behind him, and a 
 
 cry 
 Before. His own thought drove him like 
 
 a goad. 
 Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves 
 And barren chasms, and all to left and 
 
 Tight 
 The bare black cliff clanged round him, 
 
 as he based 
 His feet on juts of slippery crag that 
 
 rang 
 Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed 
 
 heels — 
 And on a sudden, lo! the level lake. 
 And the long glories of the winter moon. 
 
 Then saw they how there hove a dusky 
 barge, 361 
 
 Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to 
 stern, 
 
 I margin. Shore. 
 
 Beneath them; and descending they were 
 
 ware 
 That all the decks were dense with stately 
 
 forms, 
 Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream — 
 
 by these 
 Three Queens with crowns of gold: and 
 
 from them rose 
 A cry that shivered to the tingling stars. 
 And, as it were one voice, an agony 
 Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills 
 All night in a waste land, where no one 
 
 comes, 370 
 
 Or hath come, since the making of the 
 
 world. 
 
 Then murmured Arthur, "Place me in 
 
 the barge." 
 So to the barge they came. There those 
 
 three Queens 
 Put forth their hands, and took the King, 
 
 and wept. 
 But she, that rose the tallest of them all 
 And fairest, laid his head upon her lap. 
 And loosed the shattered casque, and 
 
 chafed his hands. 
 And called him by his name, complaining 
 
 loud. 
 And dropping bitter tears against a brow 
 Striped with dark blood : for all his face 
 
 was white 380 
 
 And colorless, and like the withered 
 
 moon 
 Smote b> the fresh beam of the springing 
 
 east; 
 And all his greaves and cuisses^ dashed 
 
 with drops 
 Of onset; and the light and lustrous 
 
 curls — 
 I'hat made his forehead like a rising sun 
 High from the dais - throne — were 
 
 parched with dust; 
 Or, clotted into points and hanging loose. 
 Mixed with the knightly growth that 
 
 fringed his lips. 
 So like a shattered column lay the King; 
 Not like that Arthur who, with lance in 
 
 rest, 390 
 
 From spur to plume a star of tournament, 
 Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and 
 
 chargea 
 Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 
 
 Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedi- 
 vere: 
 "Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I 
 go? 
 3 luisses. Thigh-armor.
 
 188 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Where shall I hide my forehead and my 
 
 eyes? 
 For now I see the true old times are 
 
 dead, 
 When every morning brought a noble 
 
 chance, 
 And every chance brought out a noble 
 
 knight. 
 Such times have been not since the light 
 
 that led 400 
 
 The holy Elders^ with the gift of myrrh. 
 But now the whole Round Table is dis- 
 solved 
 Which was an image of the mighty world, 
 And I, the last, go forth companionless. 
 And the days darken round me, and the 
 
 years, 
 Among new men, strange faces, other 
 
 minds." 
 
 And slowly answered Arthur from the 
 
 barge : 
 "The old order changeth, yielding place 
 
 to new, 
 And God fulfils himself in many ways, 
 Lest one good custom should corrupt the 
 
 world. 410 
 
 Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? 
 I have lived my life, and that which I 
 
 have done 
 May He within himself make pure! but 
 
 thou, 
 If thou shouldst never see my face again. 
 Pray for my soul. More things are 
 
 wrought by prayer 
 Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, 
 
 let thy voice 
 Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
 For what are men better than sheep or 
 
 goats 
 That nourish a blind life within the brain. 
 If, knowing God, they lift not hands of 
 
 prayer 420 
 
 Both for themselves and those who call 
 
 them friend? 
 For so the whole round earth is every 
 
 way 
 Bound by gold chains about the feet of 
 
 God. 
 But now farewell. I am going a long 
 
 way 
 With these thou seest — if indeed I go 
 (For all my mind is clouded with a 
 
 doubt) — 
 To the island-valley of Avilion ; 
 Where falls not hail, or rain, or any 
 
 snow, 
 
 I Eldrrs. Wise men (of the Nativity). 
 
 Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies 
 
 Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard 
 lawns 430 
 
 And bowery hollows crowned with sum- 
 mer sea, 
 
 Where I will heal me of my grievous 
 wound." 
 
 So said he, and the barge with oar and 
 sail 
 
 Moved from the brink, like some full- 
 breasted swan 
 
 That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 
 
 Ruflfl'es her pure cold plume, and takes 
 the flood 
 
 With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir 
 Bedivere 
 
 Revolving many memories, till the hull 
 
 Looked one black dot against the verge 
 of dawn. 
 
 And on the mere the wailing died away. 
 
 But when that moan had passed for 
 
 evermore, 441 
 
 The stillness of the dead world's winter 
 
 dawn 
 Amazed him, and he groaned, "The King 
 
 is gone." 
 And therewithal came on him the weird 
 
 rhyme, 
 "From the great deep to the great deep 
 
 he goes."2 
 
 Whereat he slowly turned and slowly 
 
 clomb 
 The last hard footstep of that iron crag; 
 Thence marked the black hull moving 
 
 yet, and cried, 
 "He passes to be King among the dead, 
 And after healing of his grievous wound 
 He comes again; but — if he come no 
 
 more — 451 
 
 O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black 
 
 boat. 
 Who shrieked and wailed, the three 
 
 whereat we gazed 
 On that high day, when, clothed with liv- 
 ing light. 
 They stood before his throne in silence, 
 
 friends 
 Of Arthur, who should help him at his 
 
 need ?" 
 
 Then from the dawn it seemed there 
 came, but faint 
 As from beyond the limit of the world, 
 
 2 A riddle uttered by Merlin the magician, re- 
 garding Arthur's birth.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 189 
 
 Like the last echo born of a great cry, 
 Sounds, as if some fair city were one 
 voice 460 
 
 Around a king returning from his wars. 
 
 Thereat once more he moved about, 
 
 and clomb 
 Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and 
 
 saw, 
 Straining his eyes beneath an arch of 
 
 hand, 
 Or thought he saw, the speck that bare 
 
 the King, 
 Down that long water opening on the 
 
 deep 
 Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and 
 
 From less to less and vanish into light. 
 And the new sun rose bringing the new 
 year. 
 
 (1842, 1870) 
 
 HERVE RIEL 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [Cape La Hogue, St. Malo, and the Ranee 
 River He on the northern coast of France. Here 
 the British and Dutch allies defeated the fleet 
 of Louis XIV, but a Breton sailor of Croisic, 
 Herve Riel (pronounced Re-el'), piloted a good 
 number of the fleeing vessels to safety in the 
 roadstead at St. Malo.] 
 
 On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen 
 hundred ninety-two, 
 Did the English fight the French, — woe 
 to France ! 
 
 And, the thirty-first of May, helter- 
 skelter through the blue, 
 
 Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a 
 shoal of sharks pursue. 
 Came crowding ship on ship to Saint 
 Malo on the Ranee, 
 
 With the English fleet in view. 
 
 'Twas the squadron that escaped, with 
 
 the victor in full chase; 
 First and foremost of the drove, in his 
 
 great ship, Damfreville ; 
 Close on him fled, great and small, 
 Twenty-two good ships in all ; 10 
 
 And they signalled to the place 
 "Help the winners of a race ! 
 Get us guidance, give us harbor, take 
 
 us quick — or, quicker still. 
 Here's the English can and will !" 
 
 Then the pilots of the place put out brisk 
 and leaped on board ; 
 "Why what hope or chance have ships 
 like these to pass?" laughed they: 
 "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all 
 
 the passage scarred and scored, 
 Shall the Formidable here with her 
 twelve and eighty guns 
 Think to make the river-mouth by the 
 single narrow way. 
 Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a 
 craft of twenty tons, 20 
 
 And with flow^ at full beside? 
 Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. 
 
 Reach the mooring? Rather say, 
 While rock stands or water runs. 
 Not a ship will leave the bay!" 
 
 Then was called a council straight. 
 
 Brief and bitter the debate : 
 
 "Here's the English at our heels; would 
 
 you have them take in tow 
 All that's left us of the fleet, linked to- 
 gether stern and bow. 
 For a prize to Plymouth Sound? 30 
 
 Better run the ships aground! 
 
 (Ended Damfreville his speech). 
 "Not a minute more to wait ! 
 Let the Captains all and each 
 Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the 
 vessels on the beach ! 
 France must undergo her fate. 
 
 "Give the word I" But no such word 
 
 Was ever spoke or heard : 
 
 For up stood, for out stepped, for in 
 
 struck amid all these 
 — A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate — 
 
 first, second, third? 40 
 
 No such man of mark, and meet 
 With his betters to compete! 
 But a simple Breton sailor pressed^ by 
 
 Tourville for the fleet, 
 A poor coasting-pilot he, Herve Riel the 
 
 Croisickese. 
 
 And "What mockery or malice have we 
 
 here?" cried Herve Riel: 
 "Are you mad. you Malouins? Are you 
 
 cowards, fools, or rogues? 
 Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who 
 
 took the soundings, tell 
 On my fingers every bank, every shallow, 
 
 every swell, 
 'Twixt the offing here and Greve where 
 
 the river disembogues ?3 
 
 I flow. The incoming tide. 
 
 3 pressed. Drafted. 
 
 3 disembogues. Empties.
 
 190 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Are you bought by English gold? Is it 
 
 love the lying's for? 50 
 
 Morn and eve, night and day, 
 Have I piloted your bay, 
 Entered free and anchored fast at the 
 
 foot of Solidor. 
 Burn the fleet and ruin France? That 
 
 were worse than fifty Hogues! 
 Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, 
 
 believe me there's a way! 
 Only let me lead the line, 
 Have the biggest ship to steer, 
 Get this Formidable clear, 
 Make the others follow mine. 
 And I lead them, most and least, by 
 
 a passage I know well, 60 
 
 Right to Solidor past Greve, 
 And there lay them safe and sound : 
 And if one ship misbehave, 
 — Keel so much as grate the ground. 
 Why I've nothing but my life, — here's 
 
 my head!" cries Herve RieL 
 
 Not a minute more to wait. 
 "Steer us in, then, small and great! 
 Take the helm, lead the line, save the 
 
 squadron !" cried its chief. 
 Captains, give the sailor place! 
 
 He is Admiral, in brief. 70 
 
 Still the north-wind, by God's grace! 
 See the noble fellow's face 
 As the big ship, with a bound, 
 Clears the entry like a hound. 
 Keeps the passage as its inch of way 
 
 were the wide sea's profound! 
 See, safe through shoal and rock, 
 How they follow in a flock. 
 Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel 
 
 that grates the ground, 
 Not a spar that comes to grief! 
 The peril, see, is past, 80 
 
 All are harbored to the last, 
 And just as Herve Kiel hollas 
 
 "Anchor!" — sure as fate. 
 Up the English come — too late! 
 
 So, the storm subsides to calm: 
 They see the green trees wave 
 On the heights o'erlooking Greve. 
 
 Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. 
 
 "Just our rapture to enhance, 
 Let the English rake the bay. 
 
 Gnash their teeth and glare askance 90 
 As they cannonade away! 
 
 'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding 
 
 on the Ranee!" 
 How hope succeeds despair on each Cap- 
 tain's countenance: 
 Out burst all with one accord, 
 
 "This is Paradise for Hell ! 
 Let France, let France's King 
 Thank the man that did the thing!" 
 What a shout, and all one word, 
 
 "Herve Riel ![' 
 As he stepped in front once more, 100 
 
 Not a symptom of surprise 
 
 In the frank blue Breton eyes, 
 Just the same man as before. 
 
 Then said Damfreville, "My friend, 
 I must speak out at the end, 
 
 Though I find the speaking hard. 
 Praise is deeper than the lips: 
 You have saved the King his ships. 
 
 You must name your own reward. 
 'Faith, our sun was near eclipse! no 
 Demand whate'er you will, 
 France remains your debtor still. 
 Ask to heart's content and have! or my 
 name's not Damfreville." 
 
 Then a beam of fun outbroke 
 On the bearded mouth that spoke, 
 As the honest heart laughed through 
 Those frank eyes of Breton blue: 
 "Since I needs must say my say. 
 
 Since on board the duty's done, 
 
 And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, 
 what is it but a run? — 120 
 
 Since 'tis ask and have, I may — 
 
 Since the others go ashore — 
 Come! A good whole holiday! 
 
 Leave to go and see my wife, whom I 
 call the Belle Aurore!" 
 That he asked and that he got, — nothing 
 more. 
 
 Name and deed alike are lost: 
 
 Not a pillar nor a post 
 In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it 
 befell; 
 
 Not a head in white and black 
 
 On a single fishing-smack, 130 
 
 In memory of the man but for whom 
 had gone to wrack 
 All that France saved from the fight 
 whence England bore the bell.^ 
 
 I rampired. Fortified. 
 
 a bore the bell. Came oS leader (victor).
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 191 
 
 Go to Paris: rank on rank 
 
 Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
 On the Louvre, face and flank l^ 
 You shall look long enough ere you 
 come to Herve Riel. 
 So, for better and for worse, 
 Herve Riel, accept my verse, 
 In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once 
 
 more 
 Save the squadron, honor France, love 
 thy wife, the Belle Aurore! 140 
 
 (1871) 
 
 THE REVENGE 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [In August, 1S91, a fleet of English warships 
 lay at Flores, one of the islands of the Azores, 
 to intercept Spanish treasure-galleons coming 
 from the West Indies. The fifty-three vessels 
 of the poem were sent from Spain to meet and 
 escort the treasure-ships. The ballad is supposed 
 to be spoken by one of the crew of Grenville's 
 ship, the Revenge,] 
 
 At Flores in the Azores^ Sir Richard 
 
 Grenville lay, 
 And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, 
 
 came flying from far away; 
 "Spanish ships of war at sea! we have 
 
 sighted fifty -three!" 
 Then sware Lord Thomas Howard : 
 
 " 'Fore God I am no coward ; 
 But I cannot meet them here, for my 
 
 ships are out of gear, 
 And the half my men are sick. I must 
 
 fly, but follow quick. 
 We are six ships of the line;^ can we 
 
 fight with fifty-three?" 
 
 Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: "I 
 know you are no coward; 
 
 You fly them for a moment to fight with 
 them again. 
 
 But I've ninety men and more that are ly- 
 ing sick ashore. 10 
 
 I should count myself the coward if I left 
 them, my Lord Howard, 
 
 To these Inquisition dogs and the devil- 
 doms of Spain." 
 
 So Lord Howard passed away with five 
 
 ships of war that day. 
 Till he melted like a cloud in the silent 
 
 summer heaven; 
 
 _ I The Louvre Palace is adorned with statues of 
 distinguished Frenchmen. 
 
 2 Atores. Here pronounced "Azo'-res," riming 
 with "Flores." 3 ships of the line. Battleships. 
 
 But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick 
 
 men from the land 
 Very carefully and slow. 
 Men of Bideford in Devon, 
 And we laid them on the ballast down 
 
 below : 
 For we brought them all aboard. 
 And they blessed him in their pain, that 
 
 they were not left to Spain, 20 
 
 To the thumb-screw and the stake, for 
 
 the glory of the Lord. 
 
 He had only a hundred seamen to work 
 
 the ship and to fight 
 And he sailed away from Flores till the 
 
 Spaniard came in sight. 
 With his huge sea-castles heaving upon 
 
 the weather bow. 
 "Shall we fight or shall we fly? 
 Good Sir Richard, tell us now, 
 For to fight is but to die! 
 There'll be little of us left by the time 
 
 this sun be set." 
 And Sir Richard said again: "We be all 
 
 good English men. 
 Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the 
 
 children of the devil, 30 
 
 For I never turned my back upon Don* 
 
 or devil yet." 
 
 Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and 
 
 we roared a hurrah, and so 
 The little Revenge ran on sheer into the 
 
 heart of the foe. 
 With her hundred fighters on deck, and 
 
 her ninety sick below; 
 For half of their fleet to the right and 
 
 half to the left were seen, 
 And the little Revenge ran on thro' the 
 
 long sea-lane between. 
 
 Thousands of their soldiers looked down 
 
 from their decks and laughed. 
 Thousands of their seamen made mock 
 
 at the mad little craft 
 Running on and on, till delayed 
 By their mountain-like San Philip that, 
 
 of fifteen hundred tons, 40 
 
 And up-shadowing high above us with 
 
 her yawning tiers of guns. 
 Took the breath from our sails, and we 
 
 stayed. 
 
 And while now the great San Philip 
 
 hung above us like a cloud 
 Whence the thunderbolt will fall 
 Long and loud, 
 4 Don. Spaniard.
 
 192 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Four galleons drew away 
 
 From the Spanish fleet that day, 
 
 And two upon the larboard and two upon 
 
 the starboard lay, 
 And the battle-thunder broke from them 
 
 all. 
 
 But anon the great San Philip, she be- 
 thought herself and went, 50 
 
 Having that within her womb that had 
 left her ill content; 
 
 And the rest they came aboard us, and 
 they fought us hand to hand, 
 
 For a dozen times they came with their 
 pikes and musqueteers. 
 
 And a dozen times we shook 'em oflF as 
 a dog that shakes his ears 
 
 When he leaps from the water to the 
 land. 
 
 And the sun went down, and the stars 
 came out far over the summer sea. 
 
 But never a moment ceased the fight of 
 the one and the fifty-three. 
 
 Ship after ship, the whole night long, 
 their high-built galleons came, 
 
 Ship after ship, the whole night long, 
 with her battle-thunder and flame : 
 
 Ship after ship, the whole night long, 
 drew back with her dead and her 
 shame. 60 
 
 For some were sunk and many were shat- 
 tered, and so could fight us no more — 
 
 God of battles, was ever a battle like this 
 in the world before? 
 
 For he said, "Fight on ! fight on !" 
 Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; 
 And it chanced that, when half of the 
 
 short summer night was gone. 
 With a grisly wound to be dressed he 
 
 had left the deck. 
 But a bullet struck him that was dressing 
 
 it suddenly dead. 
 And himself he was wounded again in 
 
 the side and the head, 
 And he said, "Fight on ! fight on !" 
 
 And the night went down, and the sun 
 smiled out far over the summer sea, 
 
 And the Spanish fleet with broken sides 
 lay round us all in a ring; 71 
 
 But they dared not touch us again, for 
 they feared that we still could sting, 
 
 So they watched what the end would be. 
 
 And we had not fought them in vain, 
 
 But in perilous plight were we. 
 
 Seeing forty of our poor hundred were 
 
 slain, 
 And half of the rest of us maimed for 
 
 life 
 In the crash of the cannonades and the 
 
 desperate strife: 
 And the sick men down in the hold were 
 
 most of them stark and cold, 
 And the pikes were all broken or bent, 
 
 and the powder was all of it spent; 
 And the masts and the rigging were lying 
 
 over the side; 81 
 
 But Sir Richard cried in his English 
 
 pride : 
 "We have fought such a fight for a day 
 
 and a night 
 As may never be fought again ! 
 We have won great glory, my men ! 
 And a day less or more 
 At sea or ashore, 
 We die — does it matter when? 
 Sink me the ship, Master Gunner — sink 
 
 her, split her in twain ! 
 Fall into the hands of God, not into the 
 
 hands of Spain !" 90 
 
 And the gunner said, "Ay, ay," but the 
 
 sea-men made reply : 
 "We have children, we have wives. 
 And the Lord hath spared our lives. 
 We will make the Spaniard promise, if 
 
 we yield, to let us go ; 
 We shall live to fight again and to strike 
 
 another blow." 
 And the lion there lay dying, and they 
 
 yielded to the foe. 
 
 And the stately Spanish men to their 
 
 flagship bore him then, 
 Where they laid him by the mast, old 
 
 Sir Richard caught at last. 
 And they praised him to his face with 
 
 their courtly foreign grace; 
 But he rose upon their decks, and he 
 
 cried : 100 
 
 "I have fought for Queen and Faith like 
 
 a valiant man and true; 
 I have only done my duty as a man is 
 
 bound to do. 
 With a joyful spirit I, Sir Richard Gren- 
 
 ville, die I" 
 And he fell upon their decks, and he 
 
 died.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 193 
 
 And they stared at the dead that had 
 
 been so valiant and true, 
 And had holden the power and glory of 
 
 Spain so cheap 
 That he dared her with one little ship 
 
 and his English few; 
 Was he devil or man? He was devil for 
 
 aught they knew, 
 But they sank his body with honor down 
 
 into the deep. 
 And they manned the Revenge with a 
 
 swarthier alien crew, no 
 
 And away she sailed with her loss, and 
 
 longed for her own ; 
 When a wind from the lands they had 
 
 ruined awoke itom sleep, 
 And the water began to heave and the 
 
 weather to moan, 
 And ori ever that evening ended a great 
 
 gale blew, 
 And a wave like the wave that is raised 
 
 by an earthquake grew, 
 Till it smote on their hulls and their 
 
 sails and their masts and their flags. 
 And the whole sea plunged and fell on 
 
 the shot-shattered navy of Spain, 
 And the little Revenge herself went down 
 
 by the island crags 
 To be lost evermore in the main. 
 
 (1878) ( 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH 
 FLEET 
 
 October, 1746 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 [The poem relates to the war between England 
 and France, 1744-48. The American colonists 
 having captured Louisburg, one of the important 
 Canadian fortresses, the French fitted out a fleet 
 to retake it. The speaker in the poem is Thomas 
 Prince, minister of the Old South Church in 
 Boston.] 
 
 A fleet with flags arrayed 
 
 Sailed from the port of Brest, 
 And the Admiral's ship displayed 
 
 The signal: "Steer southwest." 
 For this Admiral D'Anville- 
 
 Had sworn by cross and crown 
 To ravage with fire and steel 
 
 Our helpless Boston town. 
 
 I or. Ere. 
 
 a D'AnvilU. Pronounce "Don-veel." 
 
 There were rumors in the street, 
 
 In the houses there was fear lo 
 
 Of the coming of the fleet, 
 
 And the danger hovering near. 
 And while from mouth to mouth 
 
 Spread the tidings of dismaj-, 
 I stood in the Old South, 
 
 Saying humbly: "Let us pray! 
 
 "O Lord! we would not advise; 
 
 But if in thy Providence 
 A tempest should arise 
 
 To drive the French fleet hence, 20 
 And scatter it far and wide, 
 
 Or sink it in the sea. 
 We should be satisfied, 
 
 And thine the glory be." 
 
 This was the prayer I made, 
 
 For my soul was all on flame; 
 And even as I prayed 
 
 The ahswering tempest came; 
 It came with a mighty power. 
 
 Shaking the windows and walls, 30 
 And tolling the bell in the tower 
 
 As it tolls at funerals. 
 
 The lightning suddenly 
 
 Unsheathed its flaming sword, 
 And I cried: "Stand still, and see 
 
 The salvation of the Lo'-d!" 
 The heavens were black with cloud. 
 
 The sea was white with hail. 
 And ever more fierce and loud 
 
 Blew the October gale. 40 
 
 The fleet it overtook. 
 
 And the broad sails in the van 
 Like the tents of Cushan shook. 
 
 Or the curtains of Midian.^ 
 Down on the reeling decks 
 
 Crashed the o'erwhelming seas; 
 Ah, never were there wrecks 
 
 So pitiful as these! 
 
 Like a potter's vessel broke 
 
 The great ships of the line;* 50 
 
 They were carried away as a smoke. 
 
 Or sank like lead in the brine. 
 O Lord! before thy path 
 
 They vanished and ceased to be. 
 When thou didst walk in wrath 
 
 With thine horses through the sea! 
 
 (1878) 
 
 3 Cushan . . . Midian. Desert tribes of Old 
 Testament times. 
 
 4 Ships of ike line. Warships.
 
 194 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 PHEIDIPPIDES 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [This poem tells the story of a Greek tradition of one of the greatest of Athenian runners. When, 
 in 490 B.C., Darius of Persia sent a great host against Athens, Pheidippides was despatched to 
 Sparta to ask for aid. Owing to Spartan jealousy he was unsuccessful, but brought back a promise 
 of aid from the god Pan, whom the Athenians had not been in the habit of worshipping. There 
 followed the battle of Marathon, when the Persians were driven into the sea. The poem opens with 
 Pheidippides's salutation of the gods of his country, immediately on his return from Sparta.] 
 
 "First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! 
 Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honor to all ! 
 Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise 
 — Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the aegis and spear !>• 
 Also, ye of the bow and the buskin,^ praised be your peer. 
 Now, henceforth and forever, — O latest to whom I upraise 
 Hand and heart and voice! For Athens, leave pasture and flockl 
 Present to help, potent to save, Pan — patron I call! 
 
 "Archons^ of Athens, topped by the tettix,* see, I return ! 
 
 See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no spectre that speaks! ^6 
 
 Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you, 
 
 'Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid! 
 
 Persia has come, we are here, where is She?' Your command I obeyed, 
 
 Ran and raced: like stubble, some field which a fire runs through, 
 
 Was the space between city and city: two days, two nights did I burn 
 
 Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks. 
 
 "Into their midst I broke: breath served but for 'Persia has come! 
 
 Persia bids Athens profifer slaves'-tribute, water and earth; 
 
 Razedto the ground is Eretria — but Athens, shall Athens sink, 
 
 Drop into dust and die — the flower of Hellas utterly die, 20 
 
 Die, with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the stander-by? 
 
 Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o'er destruction's brink? 
 
 How, — when? No care for my limbs! — there's lightning in all and some — 
 
 Fresh and fit your message to bear, once lips give it birth!* 
 
 "O my Athens — Sparta love thee? Did Sparta respond? 
 
 Every face of her leered in a furrow of envy, mistrust. 
 
 Malice, — each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate! 
 
 Gravely they turned to take counsel, to cast for excuses. I stood 
 
 Quivering, — the limbs of me fretting as fire frets, an inch from dry wood: 
 
 'Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate? 30 
 
 Thunder, thou Zeus ! Athene, are Spartans a quarry^ beyond 
 
 Swing of thy spear? Phoebus and Artemis, clang them "Ye must!" 
 
 "No bolt^ launched from Olympus ! Lo, their answer at last ! 
 
 'Has Persia come, — -does Athens ask aid, — may Sparta befriend? 
 
 Nowise precipitate judgment — too weighty the issue at stake! 
 
 Count we no time lost time which lags through respect to the gods! 
 
 Ponder that precept of old, "No warfare, whatever the odds 
 
 In your favor, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to take 
 
 Full-circle her state in the sky!" Already she rounds to it fast: 
 
 Athens must wait, patient as we — who judgment suspend.' 40 
 
 X Her of the agis and spear. The goddess Pallas Athene, patroness of Athens. 
 
 3 Ye of the bow and the buskin. Phoebus Apollo and Artemis (of. line 32). What follows (lines S-8) 
 is explained by the story of Pheidippides's meeting with the god Pan, lines 70-80. 
 
 3 Archons. The chief Athenian officials. 4 tettix. A metal ornament, in the shape of a cicada. 
 5 quarry. Hunter's game. 6 holt. Zeus's thunderbolt.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 195 
 
 "Athens, — except for that sparkle, — thy name, I had mouldered to ash! 
 That sent a blaze through my blood; off, off and away was I back, 
 — Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile! 
 Yet 'O gods of my land!' I cried, as each hillock and plain. 
 Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again, 
 'Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you erewhile? 
 Vain was the filleted victim,^ the fulsome libation! Too rash 
 Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack!' 2 
 
 " 'Oak and olive and bay, — I bid you cease to enwreathe 
 
 Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian's foot, 50 
 
 You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave! 
 
 Rather I hail thee, Parnes,^ — trust to thy wild waste tract ! 
 
 Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked 
 
 My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to cave 
 
 No deity deigns to drape with verdure? at least I can breathe. 
 
 Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute!' 
 
 "Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; 
 Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar 
 Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way. 
 
 Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across: 60 
 
 'Where I could enter, there I depart by! Night in the fosse?* 
 Athens to aid? Though the dive were through Erebos,^ thus I obey- 
 Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No bridge 
 Better!' — when — ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that are? 
 
 "There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he — majestical Pan! 
 
 Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof: 
 
 All the great god was good in the eyes grave-kindly — the curl 
 
 Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe. 
 
 As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw. 
 
 'Halt, Pheidippides!' — halt I did, my brain of a whirl: 70 
 
 'Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?' he gracious began: 
 
 'How is it, — Athens, only in Hellas.^ holds me aloof? 
 
 " 'Athens, she only, rears me no fane,''^ makes me no feast ! 
 
 Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old? 
 
 Ay, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan, trust me! 
 
 Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith 
 
 In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, "The Goat-God saith: 
 
 When Persia — so much as strews not the soil — is cast in the sea. 
 
 Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least. 
 
 Goat-thigh to greaved^-thigh, made one cause with the free and the bold!" 80 
 
 "'Say Pan saith: "Let this, foreshadowing the place, be the pledge!'" 
 
 (Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear 
 
 —Fennel — I grasped it a-tremble with dew — whatever it bode) 
 
 'While, as for thee' . . . But enough! He was gone. If I ran hitherto— 
 
 Be sure that, the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew. 
 
 Parnes to Athens — earth no more, the air was my road: 
 
 Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's edge! 
 
 Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon^ rare!" 
 
 I filleted victim. The ribbon-decked sacrifice. 
 
 a service so slack. That is, if you have not protected Athens. 
 
 3 Parnes. Mountains near Sparta. 4 fosse. Hollow. 
 
 5 Erebos. The region of darkness under the earth. 
 
 6 only in Hellas. Alone of Greek cities. 
 
 7 fane. Temple. 8 greaved. Armored. 9 guerdon. Reward.
 
 196 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Then spoke Miltiades. "And thee, best runner of Greece, 
 
 Whose limbs did duty indeed, — what gift is promised thyself? 90 
 
 Tell it us straightway, — Athens the mother demands of her son!" 
 
 Rosily blushed the youth: he paused: but, lifting at length 
 
 His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of his strength 
 
 Into the utterance — "Pan spoke thus: 'For what thou hast done 
 
 Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee release 
 
 }'"rom the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf!' ^ 
 
 "I am bold to believe. Pan means reward the most to my mind! 
 
 Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may grow, — 
 
 Pound — Pan helping us — Persia to dust, and under the deep 
 
 Whelm her away forever; and then — no Athens to save — loo 
 
 Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave, — 
 
 Hie to my house and home: and, when my children shall creep 
 
 Close to my knees, — recount how the god was awful yet kind. 
 
 Promised their sire reward to the full — rewarding him — so!" 
 
 Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day: 
 
 So, when Persia was dust, all cried "To Akropolis! 
 
 Run, Pheidippides, one race more ! the meed^ is thy due ! 
 
 'Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout!" He flung down his shield, 
 
 Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the fennel-field 
 
 And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through. no 
 
 Till in he broke : "Rejoice, we conquer !" Like wine through clay, 
 
 Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died — the bliss! 
 
 So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute 
 
 Is still "Rejoice!" — his word which brought rejoicing indeed. 
 
 So is Pheidippides happy forever, — the noble strong man 
 
 Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god loved so well; 
 
 He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to tell 
 
 Such tidings, yet never decline,^ but gloriously as he began, 
 
 So to end gloriously — once to shout, thereafter be mute: 
 
 "Athens is saved!" — Pheidippides dies in the shout, for his meed. 120 
 
 (1879) 
 
 I ptlf. Goods. 2 meed. Reward. 3 decline. Weaken. 
 
 THE CHARGE QF THE HEAVY For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred 
 
 BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA „ , were riding by 
 
 When the pomts of the Russian lances 
 
 n^tr^u^^ OP tQp^ arose in the sky; 
 
 uctooer 2S, l»54 And he called "Left wheel into line!" 
 
 .^_,„_.^ TTTMMvcrvTVT and they wheeled and obeyed. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON ^j^^^ j^^ ,^^j^^j ^^ ^^e host that had 
 
 rir *i, t.- . • 1 I, • t *u- ♦!. halted he knew not why, 
 
 [tor the historical basis of this poem, see the a j t- ^ j 1. ir _j 1 i,_ u»j» 
 
 note on "The Charge of the Light brigade." And he tumed half round, and he bade 
 
 page 119 above.] his trumpeter sound 
 
 To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as 
 
 The charge of the gallant three hundred, he waved his blade 
 
 the Heavy Brgade ! To the gallant three hundred whose glory 
 
 Down the hill, down the hill, thousands will never die — 10 
 
 of Russians, "Follow," and up the hill, up the hill, up 
 
 Thousands of horsemen, drew to the val- the hill, 
 
 ley — and stayed; Followed the Heavy Brigade.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 197 
 
 The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and 
 
 the might of the fight! 
 Thousands of horsemen had gathered 
 
 there on the height. 
 With a wing pushed out to the left and 
 
 a wing to the right. 
 And who shall escape if they close? But 
 
 he dashed up alone 
 Through the great gray slope of men, 
 Swayed his sabre, and held his own 
 Like an Englishman there and then ; 
 All in a moment followed with force 20 
 Three that were next in their fiery 
 
 course, 
 Wedged themselves in between horse and 
 
 horse, 
 Fought for their lives in the narrow gap 
 
 they had made — 
 Four amid thousands ! and up the hill, up 
 
 the hill, 
 Galloped the gallant three hundred, the 
 
 Heavy Brigade. 
 
 Struck with the sword-hand and slew, 
 Down with the bridle-hand drew 
 The foe from the saddle and threw 
 Underfoot there in the fray — 
 Ranged like a storm or stood like a rock 
 In the wave of a stormy day; 
 Till suddenly shock upon shock 
 Staggered the mass from without. 
 Drove it in wild disarray, 60 
 
 For our men galloped up with a cheer 
 
 and a shout, 
 And the foemen surged, and wavered, and 
 
 reeled 
 Up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, out 
 
 of the field, 
 And over the brow and away. 
 
 Glory to each and to all, and the charge 
 
 that they made! 
 Glory to all the three hundred, and all 
 
 the Brigade! 
 
 (1881) 
 
 Fell like a cannonshot. 
 
 Burst like a thunderbolt, 
 
 Crashed like a hurricane. 
 
 Broke through the mass from below, 
 
 Drove through the midst of the foe, 30 
 
 Plunged up and down, to and fro, 
 
 Rode flashing blow upon blow. 
 
 Brave Inniskillens and Greys, 
 
 Whirling their sabres in circles of light! 
 
 And some of us, all in amaze. 
 
 Who were held for a while from the 
 
 fight. 
 And were only standing at gaze. 
 When the dark-muffled Russian crowd 
 Folded its wings from the left and the 
 
 right. 
 And Tolled them around like a cloud, — 
 O mad for the charge and the battle were 
 
 we, 41 
 
 When our own good redcoats sank from 
 
 sight. 
 Like drops of blood in a dark-gray sea. 
 And we turned to each other, whispering, 
 
 all dismayed, 
 "Lost are the gallant three hundred of 
 
 Scarlett's Brigade !" 
 
 "Lost one and all" were the words 
 Muttered in our dismay ; 
 But they rode like victors and lords 
 Through the forest of lances and swords 
 In the heart of the Russian hordes, 50 
 They rode, or they stood at bay — 
 
 THE WHITE SHIP 
 
 Henry I of England — 2Sth November, 
 1 120 
 
 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 
 
 [Henry I had taken his only son to Normandy, 
 that the Prince might be acknowledged his suc- 
 cessor to the Dukedom. On the return voyage 
 the vessel in which the Prince was sailing struck 
 a rock at the mouth of the harbor and sank. 
 Rossetti represents the story as being told in the 
 manner of an old ballad, years after the occur- 
 rence, by the sole survivor of the shipwreck; thus 
 he uses a kind of ballad refrain. Twenty-three 
 stanzas are omitted after line 151.] 
 
 By none but me can the tale be told. 
 The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. 
 
 (Lands are swayed by a king on a 
 throne.) 
 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea. 
 Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 
 
 (The sea hath no king but God alone.) 
 
 King Henry held it as life's whole gain 
 That after his death his son should reign. 
 
 'Twas so in my youth I heard men say, 
 And my old age calls it back to-day. 10 
 
 King Henry of England's realm was he, 
 And Henry Duke of Normandy.
 
 198 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The times had changed when on cither 
 
 coast 
 "Clerkly Harry" was all his boast. 
 
 Of ruthless strokes full many a one 
 
 He had struck to crown himself and his 
 
 son; 
 And his elder brother's eyes were gone. 
 
 And when to the chase his court would 
 
 crowd, 
 The poor flung ploughshares on his road, 
 And shrieked : "Our cry is from King to 
 
 God !" 20 
 
 But all the chiefs of the English land 
 Had knelt and kissed the Prince's hand. 
 
 And next with his son he sailed to 
 
 France 
 To claim the Norman allegiance: 
 
 And every baron in Normandy 
 Had taken the oath of fealty. 
 
 'Twas sworn and sealed, and the day 
 
 had come 
 When the King and the Prince might 
 
 journey home : 
 
 For Christmas cheer is to home hearts 
 dear, 29 
 
 And Christmas now was drawing near. 
 
 Stout Fitz-Stephen came to the king, — 
 A pilot famous in seafaring; 
 
 And he held to the King, in all men's 
 
 sight, 
 A mark of gold for his tribute's right. 
 
 "Liege lord ! my father guided the ship 
 From whose boat your father's foot did 
 
 slip 
 When he caught the English soil in his 
 
 grip. 
 
 "And cried : 'By this clasp I claim com- 
 mand 
 O'er every rood of English land." 
 
 "He was borne to the realm you rule o'er 
 now 40 
 
 In that ship with the archer carved at her 
 prow: 
 
 "And thither I'll bear, an it be my due. 
 Your father's son and his grandson too. 
 
 "The famed White Ship is mine in the 
 
 bay; 
 From Harfleur's harbor she sails to-day, 
 
 "With masts fair-pennoned as Norman 
 
 spears, 
 And with fifty well-tried mariners." 
 
 Quoth the King: "My ships are chosen 
 
 each one. 
 But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son. 
 
 "My son and daughter and fellowship 50 
 Shall cross the water in the White Ship." 
 
 The king set sail with the eve's south 
 
 wind. 
 And soon he left that coast behind. 
 
 The Prince and all his, a princely show, 
 Remained in the good White Ship to go. 
 
 With noble knights and with ladies fair. 
 With courtiers and sailors gathered there, 
 Three hundred living souls we were; 
 
 And I Berold was the meanest hind^ 
 In all that train to the Prince assigned. 
 
 The Prince was a lawless, shameless 
 youth ; 61 
 
 From his father's loins he sprang without 
 ruth ;2 
 
 Eighteen years till then he had seen, 
 And the devil's dues in him were eighteen. 
 
 And now he cried : "Bring wine from 
 
 below ; 
 Let the sailors revel ere yet they row : 
 
 "Our speed shall o'ertake my father's 
 flight 
 
 Though we sail from the harbor at mid- 
 night." 
 
 The rowers made good cheer without 
 
 check ; 
 The lords and ladies obeyed his beck; 70 
 The night was light, and they danced on 
 
 the deck. 
 
 1 hind, servant. 
 
 2 ruth. Pity.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 199 
 
 But at midnight's stroke they cleared the 
 bay, 
 
 And the White Ship furrowed the water- 
 way. 
 
 The sails were set, and the oars kept tune 
 To the double flight of the ship and the 
 moon. 
 
 Swifter and swifter the White Ship sped, 
 Till she flew as the spirit flies from the 
 dead: 
 
 As white as a lily glimmered she. 
 Like a ship's fair ghost upon the sea. 
 
 And the Prince cried, "Friends, 'tis the 
 
 hour to sing! 80 
 
 Is a songbird's course so swift on the 
 wing?" 
 
 And under the winter stars' still throng. 
 From brown throats, white throats, merry 
 
 and strong. 
 The knights and the ladies raised a song. 
 
 A song, — nay, a shriek that rent the sky. 
 That leaped o'er the deep! — the grievous 
 
 cry 
 Of three hundred living that now must 
 
 die,— 
 
 An instant shriek that sprang to the 
 
 shock 
 As the ship's keel felt the sunken rock. 
 
 'Tis said that afar — a shrill strange 
 sigh — 90 
 
 The King's ships heard it and knew not 
 why. 
 
 Pale Fitz-Stephen stood by the helm 
 'Mid all those folk that the waves must 
 whelm. 
 
 A great king's heir for the waves to 
 
 whelm, 
 And the helpless pilot pale at the helm ! 
 
 The ship was eager and sucked athirst. 
 By the stealthy stab of the sharp reef 
 pierced : 
 
 And like the moili round a sinking cup, 
 The waters against her crowded up. 
 X moil. Rush of water. 
 
 A moment the pilot's senses spin, — 
 The next he snatched the Prince 'mid the 
 
 din, loi 
 
 Cut the boat loose, and the youth leaped 
 
 in. 
 
 A few friends leaped with him, standing 
 
 near. 
 "Row ! the sea's smooth and the night 
 
 is clear !" 
 
 "What ! none to be saved but these and 
 
 I?" 
 "Row, row as you'd live! All here must 
 
 die!" 
 
 Out of the churn of the choking ship. 
 Which the gulf grapples and the waves 
 
 strip. 
 They struck with the strained oars' flash 
 
 and dip. 
 
 'Twas then o'er the splitting bulwarks' 
 brim no 
 
 The Prince's sister screamed to him. 
 
 He gazed aloft, still rowing apace. 
 And through the whirled surf he knew 
 her face. 
 
 To the toppling decks clave one and all 
 As a fly cleaves to a chamber-wall. 
 
 I Berold was clinging anear; 
 
 I prayed for myself and quaked with 
 
 fear. 
 But I saw his eyes as he looked at her. 
 
 He knew her face and he heard her cry. 
 
 And he said, "Put back! she must not 
 
 die !" 120 
 
 And back with the current's force they 
 
 reel. 
 Like a leaf that's drawn to a water-wheel. 
 
 'Neath the ship's travail^ they scarce 
 
 might float. 
 But he rose and stood in the rocking 
 
 boat. 
 
 Low the poor ship leaned on the tide : 
 O'er the naked keel as she best might 
 
 slide, 
 The sister toiled to the brother's side. 
 
 2 travail. Labor, tossing.
 
 200 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 He reached an oar to her from below, 
 And stiffened his arms to clutch her so. 
 
 But now from the ship some spied the 
 boat, 130 
 
 And "Saved!" was the cry from many a 
 throat. 
 
 And down to the boat they leaped and 
 
 fell : 
 It turned as a bucket turns in a well, 
 And nothing was there but the surge and 
 
 swell. 
 
 The Prince that was and the King to 
 
 come. 
 There in an instant gone to his doom, 
 
 Despite of all England's bended knee 
 And maugre^ the Norman fealty! 
 
 He was a Prince of lust and pride; 
 He showed no grace till the hour he 
 died. 140 
 
 When he should be king, he oft would 
 
 vow, 
 He'd yoke the peasant to his own plough. 
 O'er him the ships score their furrows 
 
 now. 
 
 God only knows where his soul did wake, 
 But I saw him die for his sister's sake. 
 
 By none but me can the tale be told. 
 The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. 
 
 {Lands are swayed by a king on a 
 throne.) 
 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea. 
 Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 
 
 (The sea hath no king but God alone.) 
 
 Three hundred souls were all lost but 
 one, 152 
 
 And I drifted over the sea alone. 
 
 At last the morning rose on the sea. 
 Like an angel's wing that beat towards 
 me. 
 
 Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin 
 
 coat; 
 Half dead I hung, and might nothing 
 
 note, 
 Till I woke sun-warned in a fisher-boat. 
 
 I maugre. In spite of. 
 
 The sun was high o'er the eastern brim, 
 As I praised God and gave thanks to Him. 
 
 That day I told my tale to a priest, 161 
 Who charged me, till the shrift^ were 
 
 released, 
 That I should keep it in mine own breast. 
 
 And with the priest I thence did fare 
 To King Henry's court at Winchester. 
 
 We spoke with the King's high chamber- 
 lain. 
 
 And he wept and mourned again and 
 again, 
 
 As if his own son had been slain; 
 
 And round us ever there crowded fast 
 Great men with faces all aghast; 170 
 
 And who so bold that might tell the 
 
 thing 
 Which now they knew to their lord the 
 
 King? 
 Much woe I learnt in their communing. 
 
 The King had watched with a heart sore 
 
 stirred 
 For two whole days, and this was the 
 
 third ; 
 
 And still to all his court would he say, 
 "What keeps my son so long away?" 
 
 And they said: "The ports lie far and 
 
 wide 
 That skirt the swell of the English tide; 
 
 "And England's cliffs are not more white 
 
 Than her women are, and scarce so light 
 
 Her skies as their eyes are blue and 
 
 bright ; 182 
 
 "And in some port that he reached from 
 
 France 
 The Prince has lingered for his pleas- 
 
 aunce." 
 
 But once the King asked : "What distant 
 
 cry 
 Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and 
 
 sky ?" 
 
 And one said : "With suchlike shouts, 
 
 pardie ! 
 Do the fishers fling their nets at sea." 
 
 2 shrift. Confession.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 201 
 
 And one : "Who knows not the shrieking 
 
 quest 
 When the sea-mew misses its young from 
 
 the nest?" 190 
 
 'Twas thus till now they had soothed 
 
 his dread, 
 Albeit they knew not what they said; 
 
 But who should speak to-day of the 
 
 thing 
 That all knew there except the King? 
 
 Then pondering much they found a way, 
 And met round the King's high seat that 
 day; 
 
 And the King sat, with a heart sore 
 
 stirred, 
 And seldom he spoke and seldom heard. 
 
 'Twas then through the hall the King was 
 
 ware 
 Of- a little boy with golden hair, 2CX) 
 
 As bright as the golden poppy is, 
 That the beach breeds for the surf to 
 kiss; 
 
 Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in spring. 
 And his garb black like the raven's wing. 
 
 Nothing heard but his foot through the 
 
 hall, 
 For now the lords were silent all. 
 
 And the King wondered, and said, 
 
 "Alack! 
 Who sends me a fair boy dressed in 
 
 black? 
 
 "Why, sweet heart, do you pace through 
 the hall, 209 
 
 As though my court were a funeral?" 
 
 Then lowly knelt the child at the dais, 
 And looked up weeping in the King's 
 face. 
 
 "O wherefore black, O King, ye may say, 
 For white is the hue of death to-day. 
 
 "Your son and all his fellowship 
 
 Lie low in the sea with the White Ship." 
 
 King Henry fell as a man struck dead ; 
 And speechless still he stared from his 
 
 bed, 
 When to him next day my rede I read.^ 
 
 I my rede I read. I told my tale. 
 
 There's many an hour must needs beguile 
 A king's high heart that he should smile, — 
 
 Full many a lordly hour, full fain^ 222 
 Of his realm's rule and pride of his 
 
 reign ; 
 But this king never smiled again. 
 
 By none but me can the tale be told. 
 The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. 
 
 (Lands that are swayed by a king on 
 a throne.) 
 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, 
 Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 
 
 {The sea hath no king but God alone.) 
 
 (1881) 
 
 THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISCARIOT 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN 
 
 [Medieval legends told of supernatural diffi- 
 culties in the way of finding burial for the body 
 of Judas. The poet develops this theme, in the 
 manner of an old ballad, adding a modern in- 
 terpretation of the theme of Christ's all-pardon- 
 ing love.] 
 
 'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Lay in the Field of Blood; 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Beside the body stood. 
 
 Black was the earth by night. 
 
 And black was the sky; 
 Black, black were the broken clouds. 
 
 Though the red moon went by. 
 
 'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot 
 Strangled and dead lay there; 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Looked on it in despair. 
 
 10 
 
 The breath of the world came and went 
 
 Like a sick man's in rest; 
 Drop by drop on the world's eyes 
 
 The dews fell cool and blest. 
 
 Then the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Did make a gentle moan — 
 "I will bury underneath the ground 
 
 My flesh and blood and bone. 20 
 
 "I will bury deep beneath the soil, 
 
 Lest mortals look thereon. 
 And when the wolf and raven come 
 
 The body will be gone! 
 
 a fain. Glad.
 
 202 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "The stones of the field are sharp as 
 steel, 
 
 And hard and bold, God wot; 
 And I must bear my body hence 
 
 Until I find a spot." 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 So grim, and gaunt, and gray, 30 
 
 Raised the body of Judas Iscariot, 
 And carried it away. 
 
 And as he bare it from the field 
 
 Its touch was cold as ice. 
 And the ivory teeth within the jaw 
 
 Rattled aloud, like dice. 
 
 As the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Carried its load with pain, 
 The Eye of Heaven, like a lantern's eye. 
 
 Opened and shut again. 40 
 
 Half he walked, and half he seemed 
 
 Lifted on the cold wind; 
 He did not turn, for chilly hands 
 
 Were pushing from behind. 
 
 The first place that he came unto 
 
 It was the open wold,^ 
 And underneath were prickly whins,' 
 
 And a wind that blew so cold. 
 
 The next place that he came unto 
 It was a stagnant pool. 
 
 And when he threw the body in 
 It floated light as wool. 
 
 50 
 
 He drew the body on his back, 
 
 And it was dripping chill, 
 And the next place that he came unto 
 
 Was a Cross upon a hill. 
 
 A Cross upon a windy hill. 
 And a Cross on either side. 
 
 Three skeletons that swing thereon. 
 Who had been crucified. 60 
 
 And on the middle cross-bar sat 
 
 A white Dove slumbering; 
 Dim it sat in the dim light, 
 
 With its head beneath its wing. 
 
 And underneath the middle Cross 
 A grave yawned wide and vast, 
 
 But the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Shivered, and glided past. 
 
 1 wold. Down, open rolling country, 
 a whins. Furze or gorse. 
 
 The fourth place that he came unto 
 It was the Brig^ of Dread, 70 
 
 And the great torrents rushing down 
 Were deep, and swift, and red. 
 
 He dared not fling the body in 
 
 For fear of faces dim. 
 And arms were waved in the wild water 
 
 To thrust it back to him. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Turned from the Brig of Dread, 
 
 And the dreadful foam of the wild 
 water 
 Had splashed the body red. 80 
 
 For days and nights he wandered on 
 
 Upon an open plain. 
 And the days went by like blinding 
 mist. 
 
 And the nights like rushing rain. 
 
 For days and nights he wandered on. 
 All through the Wood of Woe; 
 
 And the nights went by like moaning 
 wind. 
 And the days like drifting snow. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Came with a weary face — 
 
 Alone, alone, and all alone. 
 Alone in a lonely place! 
 
 90 
 
 He wandered east, he wandered west, 
 And heard no human sound; 
 
 For months and years, in grief and 
 tears. 
 He wandered round and round. 
 
 For months and years, in grief and 
 tears. 
 
 He walked the silent night; 
 Then the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Perceived a far-off light. lOO 
 
 A far-ofif light across the waste. 
 
 As dim as dim might be. 
 That came and went like a lighthouse 
 gleam 
 
 On a black night at sea. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Crawled to the distant gleam; 
 
 And the rain came down, and the rain 
 was blown 
 Against him with a scream. 
 
 3 Brig. Bridge.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 203 
 
 For days and nights he wandered on, 
 Pushed on by hands behind; no 
 
 And the days went by like black, black 
 rain, 
 And the nights like rushing wind. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, 
 Strange, and sad, and tall, 
 
 Stood all alone at dead of night 
 Before a lighted hall. 
 
 And the wold was white with snow 
 And his foot-marks black and damp, 
 
 And the ghost of the silver moon arose. 
 Holding her yellow lamp. 120 
 
 And the icicles were on the eaves. 
 And the walls were deep with white. 
 
 And the shadows of the guests within 
 Passed on the window light. 
 
 The shadows of the wedding guests 
 Did strangely come and go, 
 
 And the body of Judas Iscariot 
 Lay stretched along the snow. 
 
 The body of Judas Iscariot 
 Lay stretched along the snow; 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Ran swiftly to and fro. 
 
 130 
 
 To and fro, and up and down. 
 
 He ran so swiftly there. 
 As round and round the frozen Pole 
 
 Glideth the lean white bear. 
 
 'Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table- 
 head, 
 And the lights burned bright and 
 clear, — 
 "Oh, who is that," the Bridegroom 
 said, 
 "Whose weary feet I hear?" 140 
 
 'Twas one looked from the lighted hall, 
 And answered soft and slow, 
 
 "It is a wolf runs up and down 
 With a black track in the snow." 
 
 The Bridegroom in his robe of white 
 
 Sat at the table-head — 
 "O, who is that who moans without?" 
 
 The blessed Bridegroom said. 
 
 'Twas one looked from the lighted hall. 
 And answered fierce and low, 150 
 
 " 'Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Gliding to and fro." 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Did hush itself and stand. 
 And saw the Bridegroom at the door 
 
 With a light in his hand. 
 
 The Bridegroom stood in the open 
 door. 
 
 And he was clad in white. 
 And far within the Lord's Supper 
 
 Was spread so long and bright. 160 
 
 The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and 
 looked. 
 And his face was bright to see — 
 "What dost thou here at the Lord's 
 Supper, 
 With thy body's sins?" said he. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Stood black, and sad, and bare, — 
 
 "I have wandered many nights and 
 days; 
 There is no light elsewhere." 
 
 'Twas the wedding guests cried out 
 within, 
 And their eyes were fierce and 
 bright, — 170 
 
 "Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Away into the night!" 
 
 The Bridegroom stood in the open door. 
 And he waved hands still and slow. 
 
 And the third time that he waved his 
 hands 
 The air was thick with snow. 
 
 And of every flake of falling snow, 
 Before it touched the ground. 
 
 There came a dove, and a thousand 
 doves 
 Made sweet sound. 180 
 
 'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Floated away full fleet. 
 And the wings of the doves that bare 
 it oflf 
 
 Were like its winding-sheet. 
 
 'Twas the Bridegroom stood at the 
 open door, 
 
 And beckoned, smiling sweet; 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Stole in, and fell at his feet. 
 
 "The Holy Supper is spread within, 
 And the many candles shine, igo 
 
 And I have waited long for thee 
 Before I poured the wine!"
 
 2()4 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The supper wine is poured at last, 
 The lights burn bright and fair; 190 
 
 Iscariot washes the Bridegroom's feet, 
 And dries them with his hair. 
 
 •(1882) 
 
 THE SLAYING OF URGAN 
 
 (From Tristram of Lyonesse) 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
 [This is a passage from "The Last Pilgrimage," 
 one of the nine parts of the story of Tristram 
 in Swinburne's version. Tristram has been sum- 
 moned to rid Triamour, a Welsh king, of the 
 giant Urgan, who is devastating the land and 
 slaying the people.] 
 
 But Tristram by dense hills and deepen- 
 ing vales 
 Rode through the wild glad wastes of 
 
 glorious Wales, 
 High-hearted with desire of happy fight, 
 And strong in soul Vvith merrier sense of 
 
 might 
 Than since the fair first years that hailed 
 
 him knight; 
 For all his will was toward the war, so 
 
 long 
 Had love repressed and wrought his glory 
 
 wrong. 
 So far the triumph and so fair the praise 
 Seemed now that kindled all his April 
 
 days. 
 And here in bright blown autumn, while 
 
 his life 10 
 
 Was summer's yet for strength toward 
 
 love or strife, 
 Blithe waxed his hope toward battle, and 
 
 high desire 
 To pluck once more (as out of circling 
 
 fire) 
 Fame, the broad flower whose breath 
 
 makes death more sweet 
 Than roses crushed by love's receding 
 
 feet. 
 
 But all the lovely lanti wherein he went 
 
 The blast of ruin and ravenous war had 
 rent; 
 
 And black with fire the fields where 
 homesteads were, 
 
 And foul with festering dead the high 
 soft air, 
 
 And loud with wail of women many a 
 stream 20 
 
 Whose own live song was like love's deep- 
 ening dream, 
 
 Spake all against the spoiler; wherefore 
 
 still 
 Wrath waxed^ with pity, quickening all 
 
 his will. 
 In Tristram's heart for every league he 
 
 rode, 
 Through the aching land so broad a curse 
 
 bestrode 
 With so supreme a shadow ; till one dawn. 
 Above the green bloom of a gleaming 
 
 lawn, 
 High on the strait^ steep windy bridge 
 
 that spanned 
 A glen's deep mouth, he saw that shadow 
 
 stand 
 Visible, sword on high and mace in hand, 
 Vast as the mid bulk of a roof-tree's 
 
 beam. 31 
 
 So, sheer above the wild wolf-haunted 
 
 stream. 
 Dire as the face disfeatured^ of a dream. 
 Rose Urgan ; and his eyes were night and 
 
 flame; 
 But like the fiery dawn were his that 
 
 came 
 Against him, lit with more sublime desire 
 Than lifts toward heaven the leaping 
 
 heart of fire. 
 And strong in vantage of his perilous 
 
 place. 
 The huge high presence, red as earth's 
 
 first race, 
 Reared like a reed the might up of his 
 
 mace, 40 
 
 And smote. But lightly Tristram swerved, 
 
 and drove 
 Right in on him, whose void stroke only 
 
 clove 
 Air, and fell wide, thundering athwart; 
 
 and he 
 Sent forth a stormier cry than wind or 
 
 sea 
 When midnight takes the tempest for her 
 
 lord. 
 And all the glen's throat seemed as hell's 
 
 that roared ; 
 But high like heaven's light over hell 
 
 shone Tristram's sword, 
 Falling; and bright as storm shows God's 
 
 bare brand* 
 Flashed as it shore sheer oflF the huge 
 
 right hand, 
 Whose strength was as the shadow of 
 
 death on all that land. 50 
 
 X waxed. Grew. 
 
 3 strait. Narrow. 
 
 3 disfeatured. Distorted. 
 
 4 brand. Sword.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 205 
 
 And like the trunk of some grim tree 
 
 sawn through 
 Reeled Urgan, as his left hand grasped 
 
 and drew 
 A steel by sorcerers tempered ; and anew 
 Raged the red wind of fluctuant^ fight, 
 
 till all 
 The cliffs were thrilled as by the clangor- 
 ous call 
 Of storm's blown trumpets from the core 
 
 of night, 
 Charging; and even as with the storm- 
 wind's might 
 On Tristram's helm that sword crashed; 
 
 and the knight 
 Fell, and his arms clashed, and a wild 
 
 cry brake 
 From those far off that heard it, for 
 
 his sake 60 
 
 Soul-stricken ; and that bulk of mon- 
 strous birth 
 Sent forth again a cry more dire, for 
 
 mirth. 
 But ere the sunbright arms were soiled 
 
 of earth, 
 They flashed again, re-risen; and swift 
 
 and loud 
 Rang the strokes out as from a circling 
 
 cloud, 
 So dense the dust wrought over them its 
 
 drifted shroud. 
 Strong strokes, within the mist their 
 
 battle made, 
 Each hailed on other through the shift- 
 ing shade 
 That clung about them hurtling as the 
 
 swift fight swayed; 
 And each between the jointed corslet 
 
 saw 70 
 
 Break forth his foe's bright blood at 
 
 each grim flaw 
 Steel made in hammered iron ; till again 
 The fiend put forth his might more strong 
 
 for pain. 
 And cleft the great knight's glittering 
 
 shield in twain. 
 Laughing, for very wrath and thirst to 
 
 kill, 
 A beast's broad laugh of blind and wolfish 
 
 will, 
 And smote again, ere Tristram's lips drew 
 
 breath, 
 Panting, and swept as by the sense of 
 
 death, 
 I fluctuant. Varying. 
 
 That surely should have touched and 
 sealed them fast, 
 
 Save that the sheer stroke shrilled aside, 
 and passed 80 
 
 Frustrate.2 But answering Tristram 
 smote anew, 
 
 And thrust the brute breast as with light- 
 ning through 
 
 Clean with one cleaving stroke of perfect 
 might ; 
 
 And violently the vast bulk leaped up- 
 right, 
 
 And plunged over the bridge, and fell; 
 and all 
 
 The cliffs reverberate from his monstrous 
 fall 
 
 Rang; and the land by Tristram's grace 
 was free. 
 
 So with high laud and honor thence went 
 he. 
 
 (1882) 
 
 OPPORTUNITY 
 EDWARD ROWLAND SILL 
 
 This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: 
 There spread a cloud of dust along a 
 
 plain ; 
 And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged 
 A furious battle, and men yelled, and 
 
 swords 
 Shocked upon swords and shields. A 
 
 prince's banner 
 Wavered, then staggered backward, 
 
 hemmed by foes. 
 A craven hung along the battle's edge, 
 And thought, "Had I a sword of keener 
 
 steel — 
 That blue blade that the king's son bears 
 
 — but this 
 Blunt thing—!" he snapped and flung it 
 
 from his hand, 10 
 
 And lowering crept away and left the 
 
 field. 
 Then came the king's son, wounded, sore 
 
 bestead, 
 And weaponless, and saw the broken 
 
 sword, 
 Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, 
 And ran and snatched it, and with battle- 
 shout 
 Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, 
 And saved a great cause that heroic day. 
 
 (1887) 
 
 2 Frustrate. Of no effect.
 
 206 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE HIGH TIDE AT 
 GETTYSBURG* 
 
 WILL HENRY THOMPSON 
 
 [The Battle of Gettysburg, July 1-3, 1863, 
 definitely turned the fortunes of the Civil War 
 in favor of the Union. The most spectacular and 
 decisive incident was Pickett's charge, on July 3, 
 the failure of which caused the Confederate 
 General Lee to retire _ from Pennsylvania. Of 
 the other officers mentioned in the poem. Petti- 
 grew, Kemper, Garnett, and Armistead were 
 brigade commanders under Pickett, while Double- 
 day was a division commander on the Union 
 side.] 
 
 A cloud possessed the hollow field, 
 The gathering battle's smoky shield : 
 Athwart the gloom the lightning flashed, 
 And through the cloud some horsemen 
 
 dashed, 
 And from the heights the thunder pealed. 
 
 Then at the brief command of Lee 
 Moved out that matchless infantry, 
 With Pickett leading grandly down, 
 To rush against the roaring crown 
 Of those dread heights of destiny. lo 
 
 Far heard above the angry guns 
 A cry across the tumult runs — 
 The voice that rang through Shiloh's 
 
 woods 
 And Chickamauga's solitudes. 
 The fierce South cheering on her sons! 
 
 Ah, how the withering tempest blew 
 
 Against the front of Pettigrew ! 
 
 A Kamsin wind i that scorched and 
 
 singed 
 Like that infernal flame that fringed 
 The British squares at Waterloo! 20 
 
 A thousand fell where Kemper led ; 
 A thousand died where Garnett bled ; 
 In blinding flame and strangling smoke, 
 The remnant through the batteries broke, 
 And crossed the works with Armistead. 
 
 "Once more in Glory's van with me !" 
 Virginia cried to Tennessee; 
 "We two together, come what may, 
 Shall stand upon these works to-day !" 
 (The reddest day in history.) 30 
 
 * Reprinted by special permission of the 
 author. 
 
 I Kamsin wind. A wind that comes to Egypt 
 from the Sahara Desert. 
 
 Brave Tennessee ! In reckless way 
 Virginia heard her comrade say, 
 "Close round this rent and riddled rag!" 
 What time she set her battle-flag 
 Amid the guns of Doubleday. 
 
 But who shall break the guards that wait 
 Before the awful face of Fate? 
 The tattered standards of the South 
 Were shriveled at the cannon's mouth, 
 And all her hopes were desolate. 40 
 
 In vain the Tennesseean set 
 His breast against the bayonet. 
 In vain Virginia charged and raged, 
 A tigress in her wrath uncaged. 
 Till all the hill was red and wet. 
 
 Above the bayonets mixed and crossed, 
 Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost 
 Receding through the battle-cloud, 
 And heard across the tempest loud. 
 The death-cry of a nation lost. 50 
 
 The brave went down; without disgrace 
 They leaped to Ruin's red embrace : 
 They only heard Fame's thunders wake, 
 And saw the dazzling sunburst break 
 In smiles on Glory's bloody face. 
 
 They fell who lifted up a hand 
 
 And bade the sun in heaven to stand : 
 
 They smote and fell who set the bars 
 
 Against the progress of the stars. 
 
 And stayed the march of Motherland. 60 
 
 They stood who saw the future come 
 On through the fight's delirium : 
 They smote and stood who held the hope 
 Of nations on that slippery slope 
 Amid the cheers of Christendom. 
 
 God lives! He forged the iron will 
 That clutched and held that trembling 
 
 hill. 
 God lives and reigns : He built and lent 
 The heights for Freedom's battlement 
 Where floats her flag in triumph still. 70 
 
 Fold up the banners ! Smelt the guns ! 
 Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs. 
 A mighty mother turns in tears 
 The pages of her battle years, 
 Lamenting all her fallen sons. 
 
 (1888)
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 207 
 
 A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 [This tale concerns the country along the northern border of India, near the passes communi- 
 cating with Afghanistan; the inhabitants are lawless, daring, and characterized by bitter feuds and 
 strange vows, as Kipling depicts them. Native troops under British officers patrol the plains, and 
 the commander of a regiment or risala of these men is called the Ressaldar.] 
 
 Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Borderside, 
 
 And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's pride: 
 
 He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day, 
 
 And turned the calkins^ upon her feet, and ridden her far away. 
 
 Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides : 
 
 "Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?" 
 
 Then up and spoke Mohammed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar, 
 
 "If ye know the track of the morning mist, ye know where his pickets are. 
 
 At dusk he harries the Abazai — at dawn he is into Bonair — 
 
 But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare; lo 
 
 So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly, 
 
 By the favor of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai. 
 
 But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then. 
 
 For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown with Kamal's men. 
 
 There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between, 
 
 And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen." 
 
 The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he. 
 
 With the mouth of a bell and the heart of hell and the head of a gallows-tree. 
 
 The Colonel's son to the Fort has won,^ they bid him stay to eat — 
 
 Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat. 20 
 
 He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly, 
 
 Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai, — 
 
 Till he was aware of his father's mare, with Kamal upon her back; 
 
 And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack. 
 
 He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide. 
 
 "Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. "Show now if ye can ride." 
 
 It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go. 
 
 The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe. 
 
 The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above. 
 
 But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars as a lady plays with a glove. 30 
 
 There was rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between. 
 
 And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick, though never a man was seen. 
 
 They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn. 
 
 The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn. 
 
 The dun he fell at a watercourse — in a woful heap fell he, 
 
 And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free. 
 
 He has knocked the pistol out of his hand — small room was there to strive — 
 
 " 'Twas only by favor of mine," quoth he, "ye rode so long alive. 
 
 There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree, 
 
 But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee. 40 
 
 If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low, 
 
 The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row; 
 
 If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high. 
 
 The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly." 
 
 Lightly answered the Colonel's son : — "Do good to bird and beast, 
 
 I calkins. Spurs on horse-shoes to prevent slipping. 
 3 won. Got.
 
 208 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast. 
 
 If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away, 
 
 Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay. 
 
 They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain. 
 
 The thatch of the byres^ will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain. 50 
 
 But if thou thinkest the price be fair, and thy brethren wait to sup, 
 
 The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, — howl, dog, and call them up! 
 
 And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack. 
 
 Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back 1" 
 
 Kamal has gripped him by the hand, and set him upon his feet. 
 
 "No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when wolf and gray wolf meet. 
 
 May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath. 
 
 What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?" 
 
 Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "I hold by the blood of my clan; 
 
 Take up the mare for my father's gift, — by God, she has carried a man!" 60 
 
 The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled her nose in his breast; 
 
 "We be two strong men," said Kama! then, "but she loveth the younger best. 
 
 So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded rein, 
 
 My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain." 
 
 The Colonel's son a pistol drew, and held it muzzle-end: 
 
 "Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he; "will ye take the mate from a friend?" 
 
 "A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for the risk of a limb. 
 
 Thy father has sent his son to me, — I'll send my son to him." 
 
 With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest, — 
 
 He trod the ling^ like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest. 70 
 
 "Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a troop of the Guides, 
 
 And thou must ride at his left side as shield to shoulder rides. 
 
 Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed, 
 
 Thy life is his — thy fate it is to guard him with thy head. 
 
 And thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes are thine, 
 
 And thou must harry^ thy father's hold for the peace of the Border-line, 
 
 And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power — 
 
 Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur." 
 
 They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault, 
 
 They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt; 80 
 
 They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod, 
 
 On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God. 
 
 The Colonel's son he rides the mare, and Kamal's boy the dun. 
 
 And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one. 
 
 And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear — 
 
 There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer. 
 
 "Ha' done ! ha' done !" said the Colonel's son. "Put up the steel at your sides ! 
 
 Last night ye had* struck at a Border thief — to-night 'tis a man of the Guides!" 
 
 ■Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet 
 Till earth and sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat. 90 
 
 But there is neither east nor west, border, nor breed, nor birth, 
 
 When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the 
 earth. 
 
 (1889) 
 
 I byres. Stables. a ling. Heather. 3 harry. Attack. 4 had. Would have.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 209 
 
 THE BALLAD OF MOLL MAGEE 
 
 WILLIAM B. YEATS 
 
 Come round me, little childer; 
 There, don't fling stones at me 
 Because I mutter as I go; 
 But pity Moll Magee. 
 
 My man was a poor fisher 
 With shore lines in the say ; 
 My work was saltin' herrings 
 The whole of the long day. 
 
 And sometimes from the saltin' shed, 
 I scarce could drag my feet lo 
 
 Under the blessed moonlight, 
 Along the pebbly street. 
 
 I'd always been but weakly, 
 And my baby was just born ; 
 A neighbor minded her by day, 
 I minded her till morn. 
 
 I lay upon my baby; 
 
 Ye little childer dear, 
 
 I looked on my cold baby 
 
 When the morn grew frosty and clear. 
 
 A weary woman sleeps so hard ! 21 
 
 My man grew red and pale, 
 And gave me money, and bade me go 
 To my own place Kinsale. 
 
 He drove me out and shut the door, 
 And gave his curse to me; 
 I went away in silence. 
 No neighbor could I see. 
 
 The windows and the doors were shut, 
 One star shone faint and green ; 30 
 
 The little straws were turnin' round 
 Across the bare boreen.i 
 
 I went away in silence ; 
 Beyond old Martin's byre^ 
 I saw a kindly neighbor 
 Blowin' her mornin' fire. 
 
 She drew from me my story — 
 
 My money's all used up, 
 
 And still, with pityin', scornin' eye, 
 
 She gives me bite and sup. 40 
 
 She says my man will surely come 
 And fetch me home agin; 
 But always, as I'm movin' round, 
 Without doors or within, 
 
 I boreen. Lane. 
 3 byre. Cow-shed. 
 
 Pilin' the wood or pilin' the turf. 
 Or goin' to the well, 
 I'm thinkin' of my baby 
 And keenin'3 to mysel'. 
 
 And sometimes I am sure she knows 
 When, openin' wide His door, 50 
 
 God lights the stars, His candles, 
 And looks upon the poor. 
 
 So now. ye little childer, 
 Ye won't fling stones at me ; 
 But gather with your shinin' looks 
 And pity Moll Magee. 
 
 (1889) 
 
 THE BALLAD OF FATHER 
 GILLIGAN 
 
 WILLIAM B. YEATS 
 
 The old priest Peter Gilligan 
 
 Was weary night and day; 
 
 For half his flock were in their beds. 
 
 Or under green sods lay. 
 
 Once, while he nodded on a chair, 
 At the moth-hour of eve. 
 Another poor man sent for him, 
 And he began to grieve. 
 
 "I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace, 
 For people die and die ;" 10 
 
 And after cried he, "God forgive! 
 My body spake, not I !" 
 
 He knelt, and leaning on the chair 
 He prayed and fell asleep ; 
 And the moth-hour went from the fields. 
 And stars began to peep. 
 
 They slowly into millions grew, 
 
 And leaves shook in the wind ; 
 
 And God covered the world with shade, 
 
 And whispered to mankind. 20 
 
 Upon the time of sparrow chirp, 
 When the moths came once more, 
 The old priest Peter Gilligan 
 Stood upright on the floor. 
 3 keenin'. Lamenting.
 
 210 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Mavrone ! mavrone ! the man has died, 
 While I slept on the chair." 
 He roused his horse out of its sleep, 
 And rode with little care. 
 
 He rode now as he never rode, 
 By rocky lane and fen; 30 
 
 The sick man's wife opened the door: 
 "Father! you come again!" 
 
 "And is the poor man dead?" he cried. 
 "He died an hour ago." 
 The old priest Peter Gilligan 
 In grief swayed to and fro. 
 
 "When you were gone, he turned and 
 
 died 
 As merry as a bird." 
 The old priest Peter Gilligan 
 He knelt him at that word. 40 
 
 "He who hath made the night of stars 
 For souls who tire and bleed 
 Sent one of His great angels down 
 To help me in my need. 
 
 "He who is wrapped in purple robes, 
 With planets in His care, 
 Had pity on the least of things 
 Asleep upon a chair." 
 
 (1892) 
 
 ELFIN SKATES 
 
 EUGENE LEE-HAMILTON 
 
 [This and the following poem-^ach made of 
 two sonnets — are from a collection called Son- 
 nets of the Wingless Hours, written when the 
 poet was confined to his chair through a long 
 period of helpless illness.] 
 
 He clambered up my couch, and eyed me 
 
 long. 
 "Show me thy skates," said I, "for once, 
 
 alas ! ID 
 
 I too could skate. What pixie mayst thou 
 
 be?" 
 "I am the king" he answered, "of the 
 
 throng 
 Called Winter Elves. We live in roots, 
 
 and pass 
 The summer months asleep. Frost sets 
 
 us free. 
 
 II 
 "We find by moonlight little pools of ice, 
 Just one yard wide," the imp of winter 
 
 said; 
 "And skate all night, while mortals are 
 
 in bed, 
 In tiny circles of our elf device; 
 And when it snows we harness forest 
 
 mice 
 To wee bark sleighs, with lightest fibrous 
 
 thread, 20 
 
 And scour the woods; or play all night 
 
 instead 
 With snowballs large as peas, well patted 
 
 thrice. 
 
 "But is it true, as I have heard them say. 
 That thou canst share in winter games 
 
 no more. 
 But liest motionless, year in, year out? 
 That must be hard. To-day I cannot stay, 
 But I'll return each year, when all is hoar, 
 And tell thee when the skaters are about." 
 
 (1894) 
 
 THE DEATH OF PUCK 
 EUGENE LEE-HAMILTON 
 
 They wheeled me up the snow-cleared 
 
 gardenway. 
 And left me where the dazzling heaps 
 
 were thrown; 
 And, as I mused on winter sports once 
 
 known. 
 Up came a tiny man to where I lay. 
 He was six inches high; his beard was 
 
 grey 
 As silver frost; his coat and cap were 
 
 brown, 
 Of mouse's fur; while two wee skates 
 
 hung down 
 From his wee belt, and gleamed in win- 
 ter's ray. 
 
 I fear that Puck is dead, — it is so long 
 Since men last saw him ; dead with all the 
 
 rest 
 Of that sweet elfin crew that made their 
 
 nest 
 In hollow nuts, where hazels sing their 
 
 song; 
 Dead and for ever, like the antique 
 
 throng 
 The elves replaced: the Dryad that you 
 
 guessed 
 Behind the leaves ; the Naiad weed-be- 
 
 dressed; 
 The leaf-eared Faun that loved to lead 
 
 you wrong.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 211 
 
 Tell me, thou hopping Robin, hast thou 
 met 
 
 A little man, no bigger than thyself, lo 
 
 Whom they call Puck, where woodland 
 bells are wet? 
 
 Tell me, thou Wood-Mouse, hast thou 
 seen an elf 
 
 Whom they call Puck, and is he seated 
 yet. 
 
 Capped with a snail-shell, on his mush- 
 room shelf ? 
 
 The Robin gave three hops, and chirped, 
 
 and said : 
 "Yes, I knew Puck, and loved him; 
 
 though I trow 
 He mimicked oft my whistle, chuckling 
 
 low; 
 Yes, I knew Cousin Puck ; but he is dead. 
 We found him lying on his mushroom 
 
 bed— 
 The Wren and I — half covered up with 
 
 snow, 20 
 
 As we were hopping where the berries 
 
 grow. 
 We think he died of cold. Ay, Puck is 
 
 fled." 
 
 And then the Wood-Mouse said: "We 
 
 made the Mole 
 Dig him a little grave beneath the moss, 
 And four big Dormice placed him in the 
 
 hole. 
 The Squirrel made with sticks a little 
 
 cross; — 
 Puck was a Christian elf, and had a 
 
 soul ; — 
 And all we velvet- jackets mourn his loss." 
 
 (1894) 
 
 THE LAST CHANTEY* 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 "And there was no more sea." IRevelatian 21:1.] 
 
 Thus said the Lord in the Vault above 
 
 the Cherubim, 
 Calling to the angels and the souls in 
 their degree : 
 "Lo! Earth has passed away 
 On the smoke of Judgment Day. 
 That Our word may be established shall 
 We gather up the sea?" 
 
 * From The Seven Seas. Copyright, 1896, by 
 Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly 
 
 mariners : 
 "Plague upon the hurricane that made us 
 furl and flee ! 
 But the war is done between us. 
 In the deep the Lord hath seen us — 
 Our bones we'll leave the barracout',^ 
 and God may sink the sea !" 10 
 
 Then said the soul of Judas that betrayed 
 
 Him: 
 "Lord, hast Thou forgotten Thy covenant 
 with me? 
 How once a year I go 
 To cool me on the floe. 
 And Ye take my day of mercy if Ye take 
 away the sea!" 
 
 Then said the soul of the Angel of the 
 
 Off-shore Wind: 
 (He that bits the thunder when the bull- 
 mouthed breakers flee) : 
 "I have watch and ward to keep 
 O'er Thy wonders on the deep. 
 And Ye take mine honor from me if Ye 
 take away the sea!" 20 
 
 Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly 
 
 mariners : 
 "Nay, but we were angry, and a hasty 
 folk are we ! 
 If we worked the ship together 
 Till she foundered in foul weather, 
 Are we babes that we should clamor for a 
 vengeance on the sea?" 
 
 Then said the souls of the slaves that 
 
 men threw overboard : 
 "Kenneled in the picaroon^ a weary band 
 were we ; 
 But Thy arm was strong to save. 
 And it touched us on the wave. 
 And we drowsed the long tides idle till 
 Thy Trumpets tore the sea." 30 
 
 Then cried the soul of the stout Apostle 
 
 Paul to God : 
 "Once we frapped^ a ship, and she la- 
 bored woundily.* 
 There were fourteen score of these. 
 And they blessed Thee on their knees, 
 When they learned Thy Grace and Glory 
 under Malta by the sea." 
 
 1 barracout', Barracouta, for barracuda, a 
 large fish. 
 
 2 picaroon. Pirate-ship. 
 
 3 frapped. Lashed, girded (sec Acts 27:17). 
 
 4 woundily. Excessively.
 
 212 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly 
 
 mariners, 
 Plucking at their harps, and they plucked 
 unhandily: 
 "Our thumbs are rough and tarred, 
 And the tune is something hard — 
 May we lift a Deepsea Chantey^ such as 
 seamen use at sea?" 40 
 
 Then said the souls of the gentlemen-ad- 
 venturers — 
 Fettered wrist to bar all for red iniquity: 
 "Ho, we revel in our chains 
 O'er the sorrow that was Spain's; 
 Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we 
 were masters of the sea!" 
 
 Up spake the soul of a gray Gothavn 
 
 *speckshioner2 — 
 (He that led the flinching^ in the fleets 
 of fair Dundee) : 
 "Ho, the ringer and right whale. 
 And the fish we struck for sale. 
 Will Ye whelm them all for wantonness 
 that wallow in the sea?" 50 
 
 Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly 
 
 mariners, 
 Crying: "Under Heaven, here is neither 
 lead nor lea ! 
 Must we sing for evermore 
 On the windless, glassy floor? 
 Take back your golden fiddles and we'll 
 beat to open sea!" 
 
 Then stooped the Lord, and He called the 
 
 good sea up to Him, 
 And 'stablished his borders unto all eter- 
 nity, 
 That such as have no pleasure 
 For to praise the Lord by measure,* 
 They may enter into galleons and serve 
 Him on the sea. 60 
 
 Sun, wind, and cloud shall fail not from 
 
 the face of it, 
 Stinging, ringing spindrift, nor the ful- 
 mars flying free ; 
 And the ships shall go abroad 
 To the glory of the Lord 
 Who heard the silly^ sailor-folk and gave 
 them back their sea ! 
 
 (1895) 
 
 I Deepsea Chantey. Pronounced " Dipsy 
 Shanty"; a chantey is a sailor's song. 
 
 a 'speckshioner. Chief harpooner of a whaler. 
 
 3 flinching. Cutting of whale-blubber. 
 
 4 by measure. In song. 
 
 5 fulmar. Petrel. 
 
 6 silly. Poor. 
 
 CRAVEN 
 
 (MOBILE BAY, 1864) 
 HENRY NEWBOLT 
 
 Over the turret, shut in his iron-clad 
 tower. 
 Craven was conning his ship through 
 smoke and flame ; 
 Gun to gun he had battered the fort for 
 an hour, 
 Now was the time for a charge to end 
 the game. 
 
 There lay the narrowing channel, smooth 
 and grim, 
 A hundred deaths beneath it, and never 
 a sign; 
 There lay the enemy's ships, and sink or 
 swim 
 The flag was flying, and he was head of 
 the line. 
 
 The fleet behind was jamming; the moni- 
 tor hung 
 Beating the stream; the roar for a 
 moment hushed, 10 
 
 Craven spoke to the pilot; slow she 
 swung ; 
 Again he spoke, and right for the foe 
 she rushed. 
 
 Into the narrowing channel, between the 
 shore 
 And the sunk torpedoes lying in treach- 
 erous rank; 
 She turned but a yard too short ; a muffled 
 roar, 
 A mountainous wave, and she rolled, 
 righted, and sank. 
 
 Over the manhole, up in the iron-clad 
 tower. 
 Pilot and Captain met as they turned 
 to fly: 
 The hundredth part of a moment seemed 
 an hour, 
 For one could pass to be saved, and one 
 must die. 20 
 
 They stood like men in a dream : Craven 
 spoke, 
 Spoke as he lived and fought, with a 
 Captain's pride, 
 "After you, Pilot." The pilot woke, 
 Down the ladder he went, and Craven 
 died.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 213 
 
 All men praise the deed and the manner, 
 but we — 
 We set it apart from the pride that 
 stoops to the proud, 
 The strength that is supple to serve the 
 strong and free, 
 The grace of the empty hands and 
 promises loud : 
 
 Sidney^ thirsting, a humbler need to slake, 
 Nelson waiting his turn for the sur- 
 geon's hand, 30 
 Lucas crushed with chains for a com- 
 rade's sake, 
 Outram2 coveting right before com- 
 mand: 
 
 These were paladins, these were Craven's 
 peers, 
 These with him shall be crowned in 
 story and song, 
 Crowned with the glitter of steel and the 
 glimmer of tears. 
 Princes of courtesy, merciful, proud, 
 and strong. 
 
 (1898) 
 
 GILLESPIE 
 
 HENRY NEWBOLT 
 
 [This ballad relates an incident of July 10, 
 1806, when General Robert Gillespie, a British 
 officer, saved the fort at Vellore during a native 
 mutiny.] 
 
 Riding at dawn, riding alone, 
 Gillespie left the town behind ; 
 
 Before he turned by the westward road 
 A horseman crossed him, staggering 
 blind. 
 
 "The Devil's abroad in false Vellore, 
 The Devil that stabs by night," he said, 
 
 "Women and children, rank and file, 
 Dying and dead, dying and dead." 
 
 Without a word, without a groan, 
 
 Sudden and swift Gillespie turned; 10 
 
 The blood roared in his ears like fire. 
 Like fire the road beneath him burned. 
 
 1 At the battle of Zutphen, 1586, Sir Philip 
 Sidney, himself sorely wounded, gave the water 
 provided for him to a dying foot- soldier, saying. 
 "Thy necessity is greater than mine." 
 
 2 James Outram, British General, who voluntar- 
 ily yielded to Havelock, a junior officer, the honor 
 of commanding the expedition for the relief of Luck- 
 now, in 1857. 
 
 He thundered back to Arcot gate. 
 
 He thundered up through Arcot town; 
 
 Before he thought a second thought 
 In the barrack yard he lighted down. 
 
 "Trumpeter, sound for the Light Dra- 
 goons, 
 
 Sound to saddle and spur," he said; 
 "He that is ready may ride with me. 
 
 And he that can may ride ahead." 20 
 
 Fierce and fain, fierce and fain. 
 Behind him went the troopers grim ; 
 
 They rode as ride the Light Dragoons, 
 But never a man could ride with him. 
 
 Their rowels ripped their horses' sides. 
 Their hearts were red with a deeper 
 goad, 
 
 But ever alone before them all 
 Gillespie rode, Gillespie rode. 
 
 Alone he came to false Vellore, 
 The walls were lined, the gates were 
 barred; 3° 
 
 Alone he walked where the bullets bit. 
 And called above to the Sergeant's 
 Guard. 
 
 "Sergeant, Sergeant, over the gate, 
 
 Where are your officers all?" he said; 
 
 Heavily came the Sergeant's voice, 
 "There are two living and forty dead." 
 
 "A rope, a rope," Gillespie cried : 
 They bound their belts to serve his 
 need; 
 
 There was not a rebel behind the wall 39 
 But laid his barrel and drew his bead. 
 
 There was not a rebel among them all _ 
 But pulled his trigger and cursed his 
 aim. 
 
 For lightly swung and rightly swung 
 Over the gate Gillespie came. 
 
 He dressed the line, he led the charge,^ 
 They swept the wall like a stream in 
 spate. 
 
 And roaring over the roar they heard 
 The galloper guns that burst the gate. 
 
 Fierce and fain, fierce and fain. 
 The troopers rode the reeking flight : 50 
 
 The very stones remember still 
 The end of them that stab by night
 
 214 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 They've kept the tale a hundred years, 
 They'll keep the tale a hundred more; 
 
 Riding at dawn, riding alone, 
 Gillespie came to false Vellore. 
 
 (1898) 
 
 FORTY SINGING SEAMEN* 
 
 ALFRED NOYES 
 
 [The poet combines the materials of a sailors' 
 "chantey" with the Greek legend of Polyphemus 
 and the medieval legend of Prester John. Poly- 
 phemus was a one-eyed giant, or Cyclops, whom 
 Ulysses blinded. Prester John was a mysterious 
 personage, both priest and king, ruling over a 
 wonderful empire in the far East.] 
 
 Across the seas of Wonderland to Moga- 
 dore we plodded, 
 Forty singing seamen in an old black 
 barque, 
 And we landed in the twilight where a 
 Polyphemus nodded 
 With his battered moon-eye winking 
 red and yellow through the dark. 
 For his eye was growing mellow, 
 Rich and ripe and red and yellow, 
 As was time since old Ulysses made him 
 
 bellow in the dark ! 
 Chorus. — Since Ulysses bunged his eye 
 up with a pine-torch in the dark ! 
 
 Were they mountains in the gloaming or 
 
 the giant's ugly shoulders 
 
 Just beneath the rolling eyeball, with its 
 
 bleared and vinous glow, 10 
 
 Red and yellow o'er the purple of the 
 
 pines among the boulders 
 And the shaggy horror brooding on the 
 sullen slopes below, 
 
 IVere they pines among the boul- 
 ders 
 Or the hair upon his shoulders? 
 We were only simple seamen, so of course 
 
 we didn't know. 
 Cho. — We were simple singing seamen, 
 so of course we couldn't know. 
 
 But we crossed a plain of poppies, and we 
 came upon a fountain 
 Not of water, but of jewels, like a spray 
 of leaping fire; 
 
 * Reprinted by permission of the author and 
 Frederick A. Stokes Company, publishers. 
 
 And behind it, in an emerald glade, be- 
 neath a golden mountain. 
 There stood a crystal palace, for a sailor 
 to admire ; 20 
 
 For a troop of ghosts came round 
 
 us, 
 Which with leaves of bay they 
 crowned us. 
 Then with grog they well-nigh drowned 
 
 us, to the depth of our desire ! 
 Cho. — And 'twas very friendly of them, 
 as a sailor can admire! 
 
 There was music all about us, — we were 
 growing quite forgetful 
 We were only singing seamen from the 
 dirt of London-town, 
 Though the nectar that we swallowed 
 seemed to vanish half regretful 
 As if we wasn't good enough to take 
 such vittles down, — 
 When we saw a sudden figure. 
 Tall and black as any nigger, .30 
 Like the devil — only bigger — drawing near 
 
 us with a frown! 
 Cho. — Like the devil — but much bigger — 
 and he wore a golden crown! 
 
 And "What's all this?" he growls at us! 
 With dignity we chaunted, 
 "Forty singing seamen, sir, as won't be 
 put upon !" 
 "What? Englishmen?" he cries. "Well, 
 if ye don't mind being haunted, 
 Faith, you're welcome to my palace; 
 I'm the famous Prester John ! 
 Will ye walk into my palace? 
 I don't bear 'ee any malice ! 
 One and all ye shall be welcome in the 
 halls of Prester John." 
 Cho. — So we walked into the palace and 
 the halls of Prester John ! 40 
 
 Now the door was one great diamond 
 and the hall a hollow ruby — 
 Big as Beachy Head, my lads, nay big- 
 ger by a half! 
 And I sees the mate wi' mouth agape, 
 a-staring like a booby. 
 And the skipper close behind him, with 
 his tongue out like a calf! 
 Now the way to take it rightly 
 Was to walk along politely 
 Just as if you didn't notice — so I 
 couldn't help but laugh ! 
 Cho. — For they both forgot their man- 
 ners and the crew was bound to laugh !
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 215 
 
 But he took us through his palace and, 
 my lads, as I'm a sinner, 
 We walked into an opal like a sunset- 
 colored cloud — 50 
 "My dining-room," he says, and, quick as 
 light we saw a dinner 
 Spread before us by the fingers of a 
 hidden fairy crowd; 
 And the skipper, swaying gently 
 After dinner, murmurs faintly, 
 "I looks to-wards you, Prester John, 
 you've done us very proud !" 
 Cho. — And we drank his health with hon- 
 ors, for he done us very proud! 
 
 Then he walks us to his garden where 
 we sees a feathered demon 
 Very splendid and important on a sort 
 of spicy tree ! 
 "That's the phoenix," whispers Prester, 
 "which all eddicated seamen 
 Knows the only one existent, and he's 
 waiting for to flee ! 60 
 
 When his hundred years expire 
 Then he'll set hisself afire 
 And another from his ashes rise most 
 beautiful to see!" 
 Cho. — With wings of rose and emerald 
 most beautiful to see! 
 
 Then he says, "In yonder forest there's 
 a little silver river, 
 And whosoever drinks of it, his youth 
 shall never die ! 
 The centuries go by, but Prester John 
 endures for ever 
 With his music in the mountains and 
 his magic on the sky ! 
 
 While your hearts are growing 
 
 colder, 
 
 While your world is growing older. 
 
 There's a magic in the distance, where 
 
 the sea-line meets the sky." 71 
 
 Cho. — It shall call to singing seamen till 
 
 the fount o' song is dry ! 
 
 So we thought we'd up and seek it, but 
 that forest fair defied us, — 
 First a crimson leopard laughs at us 
 most horrible to see. 
 Then a sea-green lion came and sniffed 
 and licked his chops and eyed us, 
 While a red and yellow unicorn was 
 dancing round a tree! 
 We was trying to look thinner, 
 Which was hard, because our din- 
 ner 
 
 Must ha' made us very tempting to a 
 cat o' high degree ! 
 Cho. — Must ha' made us very tempting to 
 the whole menarjeree! 80 
 
 So we scuttled from that forest and 
 across the poppy-meadows 
 Where the awful shaggy horror brood- 
 ed o'er us in the dark ! 
 And we pushes out from shore again, 
 a-jumping at our shadows. 
 And pulls away most joyful to the old 
 black barque ! 
 And home again we plodded. 
 While the Polyphemus nodded 
 With his battered moon-eye winking red 
 
 and yellow through the dark. 
 Cho. — Oh, the moon above the moun- 
 tains, red and yellow through the 
 dark! 
 
 Across the seas of Wonderland to Lon- 
 don-town we blundered, 
 Forty singing seamen as was puzzled 
 for to know 90 
 
 If the visions that we saw was caused by 
 — here again we pondered — 
 A tipple in a vision forty thousand 
 years ago. 
 Could the grog we dreamt we 
 
 swallowed 
 Make us dream of all that fol- 
 lowed? 
 We were only simple seamen, so of 
 course we didn't know ! 
 Cho. — We were simple singing seamen, 
 so of course we could not know ! 
 
 (1906) 
 
 THE LISTENERS 
 
 WALTER DE LA MARE 
 
 "Is there anybody there?" said the Trav- 
 eller, 
 Knocking on the moonlit door; 
 And his horse in the silence champed the 
 grasses 
 Of the forest's ferny floor: 
 And a bird flew up out of the turret 
 
 Above the Traveller's head : 
 And he smote upon the door a second 
 time; 
 "Is there anybody there?" he said.
 
 216 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But no one descended to the Traveller; 
 
 No head from the leaf-fringed sill lo 
 Leaned over and looked into his gray eyes, 
 
 Where he stood perplexed and still. 
 But only a host of phantom listeners 
 
 That dwelt in the lone house then 
 Stood listening in the quiet of the moon- 
 light 
 
 To that voice from the world of men: 
 Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on 
 the dark stair, 
 
 That goes down to the empty hall. 
 Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken 
 
 By the lonely Traveller's call. 20 
 
 And he felt in his heart their strangeness, 
 
 Their stillness answering his cry. 
 While his horse moved, cropping the dark 
 turf, 
 
 'Neath the starred and leafy sky; 
 For he suddenly smote on the door, even 
 
 Louder, and lifted his head : — 
 "Tell them I came, and no one answered. 
 
 That I kept my word," he said. 
 Never the least stir made the listeners, 
 
 Though every word he spake 30 
 
 Fell echoing through the shadowiness of 
 the still house 
 
 From the one man left awake: 
 Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup. 
 
 And the sound of iron on stone. 
 And how the silence surged softly back- 
 ward. 
 
 When the plunging hoofs were gone. 
 
 (1911) 
 
 THE DAUBER ROUNDS CAPE 
 HORN* 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 [From a long narrative poem, called Dauber, 
 relating the adventures of an English boy who 
 shipped as a_ seaman because he wished to be an 
 artist — especially a painter of the sea.] 
 
 So the night passed, but then no morning 
 
 broke — 
 Only a something showed that night was 
 
 dead. 
 A sea-bird, cackling like a devil, spoke. 
 And the fog drew away and hung like 
 
 lead. 
 Like mighty cliffs it shaped, sullen and 
 
 red; 
 
 * Copyright by the Macmillan Company. Re- 
 printed from "f)auher" by special permission of 
 the publishers and the author. ,,4^ 
 
 Like glowering gods at watch it did ap- 
 pear, 
 
 And sometimes drew away, and then drew 
 near. 
 
 Like islands, and like chasms, and like 
 hell, 
 
 But always mighty and red, gloomy and 
 ruddy. 
 
 Shutting the visible sea in like a well ; 
 
 Slow heaving in vast ripples, blank and 
 muddy, 11 
 
 Where the sun should have risen it 
 streaked bloody. 
 
 The day was still-born ; all the sea-fowl 
 scattering 
 
 Splashed the still water, mewing, hover- 
 ing, clattering. 
 
 Then Polar snow came down little and 
 
 light. 
 Till all the sky was hidden by the small, 
 Most multitudinous drift of dirty white 
 Tumbling and wavering down and cover- 
 ing all — 
 Covering the sky, the sea, the clipper tall, 
 Furring the ropes with white, casing the 
 mast, 20 
 
 Coming on no known air, but blowing 
 past. 
 
 And all the air seemed full of gradual 
 moan, 
 
 As though in those cloud-chasms the 
 horns were blowing 
 
 The mort^ for gods cast out and over- 
 thrown, 
 
 Or for the eyeless sun plucked out and 
 going. 
 
 Slow the low gradual moan came in the 
 snowing; 
 
 The Dauber felt the prelude had begun. 
 
 The snowstorm fluttered by; he saw the 
 sun 
 
 Show and pass by, gleam from one tow- 
 ering prison 
 
 Into another, vaster and more grim, 30 
 
 Which in dull crags of darkness had 
 arisen 
 
 To muffle-to a final door on him, 
 
 The gods upon the dull crags lowered 
 dim, 
 
 The pigeons chattered, quarreling in the 
 track. 
 
 In the southwest the dimness dulled to 
 black. 
 
 I mnrl. Flourish of horns sounded at the death 
 of hunted game.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 217 
 
 Then came the cry of "Call all hands on 
 
 deck !" 
 The Dauber knew its meaning; it was 
 
 come: 
 Cape Horn, that tramples beauty into 
 
 wreck, 
 And crumples steel, and smites the strong 
 
 man dumb. 
 Down clattered flying kites and staysails : 
 
 some 40 
 
 Sang out in quick, high calls : the fair- 
 
 leads^ skirled, 
 And from the southwest came the end 
 
 of the world ! 
 
 "Is it cold on deck?" said Dauber. "Is it 
 
 cold? 
 We're sheeted up, I tell you, inches thick ! 
 The fo'c'sle's like a wedding-cake, I'm told. 
 Now tumble out, my sons; on deck, here, 
 
 quick ! 
 Rouse out, away, and come and climb the 
 
 stick. 
 I'm going to call the half-deck. Bosun ! 
 
 Hey! 
 Both topsails coming in. Heave out ! 
 
 Away !" 
 
 He went ; the Dauber tumbled • from his 
 bunk, 50 
 
 Clutching the side. He heard the wind 
 go past, 
 
 Making the great ship wallow as if drunk. 
 
 There was a shocking tumult up the mast. 
 
 "This is the end," he muttered, "come at 
 last. 
 
 I've got to go aloft, facing this cold. 
 
 I can't. I can't. I'll never keep my hold. 
 
 "I cannot face the topsail yard again. 
 I never guessed what misery it would be." 
 The cramps and hot-ache made him sick 
 
 with pain. 
 The ship stopped suddenly from a devilish 
 
 sea, 60 
 
 Then, with a triumph of wash, a rush of 
 
 glee. 
 The door burst in, and in the water rolled, 
 Filling the lower bunks, black, creaming, 
 
 cold. 
 
 The lamp sucked out. "Wash !" went the 
 
 water back. 
 Then in again, flooding; the Bosun swore. 
 "You useless thing ! You Dauber ! You 
 
 lee slack ! 
 
 r fairleads. Rings through which the rigging 
 runs. 
 
 Get out, you heekapoota ! Shut the door ! 
 You coo-ilyaira, what are you waiting 
 
 for? 
 Out of my way, you thing — you useless 
 
 thing!" 
 He slammed the door indignant, clanging 
 
 the ring. 70 
 
 And then he lit the lamp, drowned to the 
 waist; 
 
 "Here's a fine house ! Get at the scup- 
 per-holes" — 
 
 He bent against it as the water raced — 
 
 "And pull them out to leeward when she 
 rolls. 
 
 They say some kinds of landsmen don't 
 have souls. 
 
 I well believe. A Port Mahon baboon 
 
 Would make more soul than you got with 
 a spoon." 
 
 Down in the icy water Dauber groped 
 To find the plug; the racing water sluiced 
 Over his head and shoulders as she sloped. 
 Without, judged by the sound, all hell 
 
 was loosed. 81 
 
 He felt cold Death about him tightly 
 
 noosed; 
 That Death was better than the misery 
 
 there 
 Iced on the quaking foothold high in air. 
 
 And then the thought came: "I'm a fail- 
 ure. All 
 
 My life has been a failure. They were 
 right. 
 
 It will not matter if I go and fall; 
 
 I should be free then from this hell's de- 
 light. 
 
 I'll never paint. Best let it end to-night. 
 
 I'll slip over the side. I've tried and 
 failed." 90 
 
 So in the ice-cold in the night he quailed. 
 
 Death would be better, death, than this 
 
 long hell 
 Of mockery and surrender and dismay — 
 This long defeat of doing nothing well, 
 Playing the part too high for him to play. 
 "O Death ! who hides the sorry thing 
 
 away, 
 Take me ; I've failed. I cannot play these 
 
 cards." 
 There came a thundering from the topsail 
 
 yards.
 
 218 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And then he bit his lips, clenching his 
 mind, 
 
 And staggered out to master, beating back 
 
 The coward frozen self of him that 
 whined. loi 
 
 Come what cards might, he meant to play 
 the pack. 
 
 "Ai!" screamed the wind; the topsail 
 sheet went clack; 
 
 Ice filled the air with spikes; the gray- 
 backs burst. 
 
 "Here's Dauber," said the Mate, "on deck 
 the first. 
 
 "Why, holy sailor. Dauber, you're a man ! 
 I took you for a soldier. Up now, come !" 
 Up on the yards already they began 
 That battle with a gale which strikes men 
 
 dumb. 
 The leaping topsail thundered like a drum. 
 The frozen snow beat in the face like 
 
 shots. ^ III 
 
 The wind spun whipping wave-crests into 
 
 clots. 
 
 So up upon the topsail yard again, 
 In the great tempest's fiercest hour, began 
 Probation to the Dauber's soul, of pain 
 Which crowds a century's torment in a 
 
 span. 
 For the next month the ocean taught this 
 
 man, 
 And he, in that month's torment, while 
 
 she wested. 
 Was never warm nor dry, nor full nor 
 
 rested. 
 
 But still it blew, or, if it lulled, it rose 120 
 Within the hour and blew again; and still 
 The water as it burst aboard her froze. 
 The wind blew off an ice-field, raw and 
 
 chill. 
 Daunting man's body, tampering with his 
 
 will; 
 But after thirty days a ghostly sun 
 Gave sickly promise that the storms were 
 
 done. 
 
 A great gray sea was running up the sky, 
 
 Desolate birds flew past; their mewings 
 came 
 
 As that lone water's spiritual cry. 
 
 Its forlorn voice, its essence, its soul's 
 name. 130 
 
 The ship limped in the water as if lame; 
 
 Then in the forenoon watch to a great 
 shout 
 
 More sail was made, the reefs were shak- 
 en out. 
 
 A slant came from the south; the singers 
 
 stood 
 Clapped to the halliards, hauling to a tune. 
 Old as the sea, a fillip to the blood. 
 The upper topsail rose like a balloon. 
 "So long, Cape Stiff. In Valparaiso 
 
 soon," 
 Said one to other, as the ship lay over, 
 Making her course again — again a rover. 
 
 Slowly the sea went down as the wind fell. 
 Clear rang the songs, "Hurrah! Cape 
 
 Horn is bet l"^ 142 
 
 The combless seas were lumping into 
 
 swell ; 
 The leaking fo'c'sles were no longer wet. 
 More sail was made; the watch on deck 
 
 was set 
 To cleaning up the ruin broken bare 
 Below, aloft, about her, everywhere. 
 
 The Dauber, scrubbing out the round- 
 house, found 
 
 Old pantiles pulped among the mouldy 
 gear. 
 
 Washed underneath the bunks and long 
 since drowned 150 
 
 During the agony of the Cape Horn year. 
 
 He sang in scrubbing, for he had done 
 with fear — 
 
 Fronted the worst and looked it in the 
 face; 
 
 He had got manhood at the testing-place. 
 
 (1912) 
 
 THE STAR* 
 
 SARA TEASDALE 
 
 A white star born in the evening glow 
 Looked to the round green world below, 
 And saw a pool in a wooded place 
 That held like a jewel her mirrored face. 
 She said to the pool : "Oh, wondrous deep, 
 I love you, I give you my light to keep. 
 Oh, more profound than the moving sea 
 That never has shown myself to me! 
 Oh, fathomless as the sky is far. 
 Hold forever your tremulous star!" 10 
 
 But out of the woods as night grew cool 
 A brown pig came to the little pool; 
 
 • Reprinted from a volume called "Rivers to 
 the Sea," published by the Macmillan Company, 
 and reprinted by special permission. 
 
 I bet. Beaten.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 219 
 
 It grunted and splashed and waded in, 
 And the deepest place but reached its chin. 
 The water gurgled with tender glee 
 And the mud churned up in it turbidly. 
 
 The star grew pale and hid her face 
 In a bit of a floating cloud like lace. 
 
 (1915) 
 
 THE FINDING OF JAMIE* 
 
 JOHN G. NEIHARDT 
 
 [This is the last section of a modern epic 
 called The Song of Hugh Glass, dealing with 
 men concerned in the hunting and trapping ad- 
 ventures of the American fur-trade in the North- 
 west. The incidents of the poem occurred in 
 1823-25. Jamie^ young and golden-haired, was 
 the devoted fnend of the old hunter, Hugh 
 Glass, who had once saved his life in a fight with 
 the Ree Indians. Hugh, alone on the range near 
 the Grand River, had been attacked by a bear 
 and wounded almost to death; Jamie, finding 
 him, watched alone with the unconscious man 
 through the night, and then for three more 
 nights in company with friends. Recovery seem- 
 ing hopeless, Jamie's companion, Jules, dug a 
 grave for Hugh, but still he did not die. Finally, 
 when there was danger of an attack by Indians, 
 Jamie was persuaded to leave his friend and 
 rejoin, with Jules, the main body of the men; 
 they took with them Hugh's gun, flint, and knife. 
 At length, coming to himself, and finding that 
 he had been deserted and robbed, the wounded 
 man crawled across the plain to the Missouri 
 River, where he built a raft and drifted down 
 to Kiowa. Convinced that Jamie had been a 
 traitor to him, he set out to find him, at first 
 with only vengeance in his heart. It should be 
 noticed that the poet seeks to present not only 
 the epic story of the hunters in the primitive era 
 of the Northwest, but also what may be called 
 the epic march of nature, of the seasons, on the 
 great plains.] 
 
 The country of the Crows 
 Through which the Big Horn and the 
 
 Rosebud run,^ 
 Sees over mountain-peaks the setting sun ; 
 And southward from the Yellowstone 
 
 flung wide, 
 It broadens ever to the morning side 
 And has the Powder on its vague fron- 
 tier. 
 About the subtle changing of the year, 
 Ere even favored valleys felt the stir 
 Of Spring, and yet expectancy of her 
 
 * From "The Song of Hugh Glass," copyright 
 by the Macmillan Company, 1915. Reprinted 
 by special permission. 
 
 I Big Horn . . . Rosebud. These rivers (and 
 the Powder) are in — what is now — southeastern 
 Montana. 
 
 Was like a pleasant rumor all repeat 10 
 Yet none may prove, the sound of horses' 
 
 feet 
 Went eastward through the silence of that 
 
 land. 
 For then it was there rode a little band 
 Of trappers out of Henry's Post,^ to bear 
 Dispatches down to Atkinson, and there 
 To furnish out a keelboat for the Horn. 
 And four went lightly, but the fifth 
 
 seemed worn 
 As with a heavy heart; for that was he 
 Who should have died but did not. 
 
 Silently 
 He heard the careless parley of his men. 
 And thought of how the Spring should 
 
 come again, 21 
 
 That garish strumpet with her world-old 
 
 lure, 
 To waken hope where nothing may en- 
 dure, 
 To quicken love where loving is betrayed. 
 Yet now and then some dream of Jamie 
 
 made 
 Slow music in him for a little while; 
 And they who rode beside him saw a smile 
 Glimmer upon that ruined face of gray, 
 As on a winter fog the groping day 
 Pours glory through a momentary rift. 30 
 Yet never did the gloom that bound him 
 
 lift; 
 He seemed as one who feeds upon his 
 
 heart, 
 And finds, despite the bitter and the 
 
 smart, 
 A little sweetness and is glad for that. 
 
 Now up the Powder, striking for the 
 Platte'' 
 
 Across the bleak divide the horsemen 
 went; 
 
 Attained that river where its course is 
 bent 
 
 From north to east : and spurring on 
 apace 
 
 Along the wintry valley, reached the place 
 
 Where from the west flows in the Lara- 
 mie. 40 
 
 Thence, fearing to encounter with the 
 Ree, 
 
 They headed eastward through the bar- 
 ren land, 
 
 To where, fleet-footed down a track of 
 sand, 
 
 2 Henry's Post. At the junction of the Yellow- 
 stone and Big Horn rivers. 
 
 3 the Platte. In eastern Wyoming.
 
 220 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The Niobrara^ races for the morn — 
 
 A gaunt-loined runner. Here at length 
 
 was born 
 Upon the southern slopes the baby Spring, 
 A timid, fretful, ill-begotten thing, 
 A-suckle at the Winter's withered paps : 
 Not such as when announced by thunder- 
 claps 
 And ringed with swords of lightning, she 
 
 would ride, 50 
 
 The haughty victrix and the mystic bride, 
 Clad splendidly as never Sheba's Queen, 
 Before her marching multitudes of green 
 In many-bannered triumph ! Grudging, 
 
 slow, 
 Amid the fraying fringes of the snow 
 The bunch-grass sprouted; and the air 
 
 was chill. 
 Along the northern slopes 'twas winter 
 
 still. 
 And no root dreamed what Triumph over 
 
 Death 
 Was nurtured now in some bleak Naza- 
 reth 
 Beyond the crest to sunward. On they 
 
 spurred 60 
 
 Through vacancies that waited for the 
 
 bird, 
 And everywhere the Odic^ Presence dwelt. 
 The Southwest blew, the snow began to 
 
 melt; 
 And when they reached the valley of the 
 
 Snake, 
 The Niobrara's ice began to break, 
 And all night long and all day long it 
 
 made 
 A sound as of a random cannonade 
 With rifles snarling down a skirmish line. 
 
 The geese went over. Every tree and 
 
 vine 
 Was dotted thick with leaf-buds when 
 
 they saw 70 
 
 The little river of Keyapaha 
 Grown mighty for the moment. Then 
 
 they came, 
 One evening when all thickets were 
 
 aflame 
 With pale green witch-fires, and the wind- 
 flowers blew. 
 To where the headlong Niobrara threw 
 His speed against the swoln Missouri's 
 
 flank 
 And hurled him roaring to the further 
 
 bank — 
 
 I the Niobrara. In northwestern Nebraska. 
 a Odic. Mysteriously magnetic (from a sup- 
 posed vital force called od). 
 
 A giant staggered by a pigmy's sling. 
 Thence, plunging ever deeper into Spring, 
 Across the greening prairie east by south 
 They rode, and, just above the Platte's 
 wide mouth, 81 
 
 Came, weary with the trail, to Atkinson. ^ 
 There all the vernal wonder-work was 
 
 done: 
 No care-free heart might find aught lack- 
 ing there. . . . 
 
 Might not the sad forget, 
 The happy here have nothing more to 
 
 seek? 
 Lo, yonder, by that pleasant little creek. 
 How one might loll upon the grass and 
 
 fish. 
 And build the temple of one's wildest wish 
 'Twixt nibbles ! Surely there was quite 
 enough 90 
 
 Of wizard-timber and of wonder-stuff 
 To rear it nobly to the blue-domed roof ! 
 
 Yet there was one whose spirit stood aloof 
 From all this joyousness — a gray old man, 
 No nearer now than when the quest began 
 To what he sought on that long winter 
 
 trail. 
 Aye, Jamie had been there; but when the 
 
 tale 
 That roving trappers brought from Ki- 
 owa* 
 Was told to him, he seemed as one who 
 
 saw 
 A ghost, and could but stare on it, they 
 said: 100 
 
 Until one day he mounted horse and fled 
 Into the North, a devil-ridden man. 
 "I've got to go and find him if I can," 
 Was all he said for days before he left. 
 
 And what of Hugh? So long of love be- 
 reft. 
 So long sustained and driven by his hate, 
 A touch of ruth now made him desolate. 
 No longer eager to avenge the wrong. 
 With not enough of pity to be strong 
 And just enough of love to choke and 
 sting, no 
 
 A gray old hulk amid the surge of Spring 
 He floundered on a lee-shore of the heart. 
 But when the boat was ready for the start 
 Up the long watery stairway to the Horn, 
 Hugh joined the party. And the year 
 was shorn 
 
 3 Atkinson. Near the present Fort Calhoun, 
 Nebraska. 
 
 4 Kiowa. On the Missouri River, about three 
 miles above the mouth of the White, in what is now 
 southern South Dakota.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 221 
 
 Of blooming girlhood as they forged 
 amain 
 
 Into the North; the late green-mantled 
 plain 
 
 Grew sallow ; and the ruthless golden 
 shower 
 
 Of Summer wrought in lust upon the 
 flower 
 
 That withered in the endless martyrdom 
 
 To seed. The scarlet quickened on the 
 plum 121 
 
 About the Heart's mouth^ when they came 
 thereto ; 
 
 Among the Mandans^ grapes were turn- 
 ing blue, 
 
 And they were purple at the Yellowstone. 
 
 A frosted scrub-oak, standing out alone 
 
 Upon a barren bluff top, gazing far 
 
 Above the crossing at the Powder's bar,' 
 
 Was spattered with the blood of Summer 
 slain. 
 
 So it was Autumn in the world again, 
 
 And all those months of toil had yielded 
 naught 130 
 
 To Hugh. (How often is the seeker 
 sought 
 
 By what he seeks — a blind, heart-break- 
 ing game !) 
 
 For always had the answer been the same 
 
 From roving trapper and at trading-post : 
 
 Aye, one who seemed to stare upon a 
 ghost 
 
 And followed willy-nilly where it led. 
 
 Had gone that way in search of Hugh, 
 they said — 
 
 A haggard, blue-eyed, yellow-headed chap. 
 
 And often had the old man thought, "May- 
 hap 
 
 He'll be at Henry's Post and we shall 
 meet ; 140 
 
 And to forgive and to forget were sweet : 
 
 'Tis for its nurse that Vengeance whets 
 the tooth! 
 
 And oh the golden time of Jamie's youth, 
 
 That it should darken for a graybeard's 
 whim !" 
 
 So Hugh had brooded, till there came on 
 him 
 
 The pity of a slow rain after drouth. 
 
 But at the crossing of the Rosebud's 
 mouth 
 
 1 the Heart's mouth. In North Dakota (now the 
 site of Bismarck). 
 
 2 Mandans. Villages of the Mandan Indians, 
 on the Missouri River, near the mouth of the Knife. 
 
 3 Powder's bar. Again in Montana. 
 
 A shadow fell upon his growing dream. 
 A band of Henry's traders, bound down 
 
 stream. 
 Who paused to traffic in the latest word — 
 Down-river news for matters seen and 
 
 heard 151 
 
 In higher waters — had not met the lad. 
 Nor yet encountered anyone who had. 
 Alas, the journey back to yesterwhiles ! 
 How tangled are trails ! The stubborn 
 
 miles. 
 How wearily they stretch ! And if one 
 
 win 
 The long way back in search of what has 
 
 been, 
 Shall he find aught that is not strange 
 
 and new? 
 Thus wrought the melancholy news in 
 
 Hugh, 
 As he turned back with those who brought 
 
 the news; 160 
 
 For more and more he dreaded now to 
 
 lose 
 What doubtful seeking rendered doubly 
 
 dear. 
 And in the time when keen winds stripped 
 
 the year 
 He came with those to where the Poplar* 
 
 joins 
 The greater river. There Assiniboines, 
 Rich from the summer's hunting, had 
 
 come down 
 And flung along the flat their ragged 
 
 town. 
 That traders might bring goods and win- 
 ter there. 
 
 So leave the heartsick graybeard. Other- 
 where 
 The final curtain rises on the play. 170 
 'Tis dead of winter now. For day on day 
 The blizzard wind has thundered, sweep- 
 ing wide 
 From Mississippi to the Great Divide 
 Out of the North beyond Saskatchewan. 
 Brief evening glimmers like an inverse 
 
 dawn 
 After a long white night. The tempest 
 
 dies ; 
 The snow-haze lifts. Now let the curtain 
 
 rise 
 Upon Milk River valley, and reveal 
 The stars like broken glass on frosted 
 steel 
 
 4 the Poplar. That is, the junction of the 
 Poplar and the Missouri; Hugh returns with the 
 trappers to (what is now) northeastern Montana.
 
 222 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Above the Piegan lodges, huddled deep 
 
 In snowdrifts, like a freezing flock of 
 sheep. i8i 
 
 A crystal weight, the dread cold crushes 
 down, 
 
 And no one moves about the little town. 
 
 That seems to grovel as a thing that fears. 
 
 But see ! a lodge-flap swings ; a squaw ap- 
 pears. 
 
 Hunched with the sudden cold. Her foot- 
 steps creak 
 
 Shrill in the hush. She stares upon the 
 bleak. 
 
 White skyline for a moment, then goes in. 
 
 We follow her, push back the flap of skin. 
 
 Enter the lodge, inhale the smoke-tanged 
 air 190 
 
 And blink upon the little faggot-flare 
 
 That blossoms in the centre of the room. 
 
 Unsteady shadows haunt the outer gloom 
 
 Wherein the walls are guessed at. Up- 
 ward, far, 
 
 The smoke-vent now and then reveals a 
 star 
 
 As in a well. The ancient squaw, a-stoop. 
 
 Her face light-stricken, stirs a pot of 
 soup 
 
 That simmers with a pleasant smell and 
 sound. 
 
 A gnarled old man, cross-legged upon the 
 ground, 
 
 Sits brooding near. He feeds the flame 
 with sticks; 200 
 
 It brightens. Lo, a leaden crucifix 
 
 Upon the wall ! These heathen eyes, 
 though dim. 
 
 Have seen the white man's God and cling 
 to Him, 
 
 Lest on the sunset trail slow feet should 
 err. 
 
 But look again. From yonder bed of fur 
 
 Beside the wall a white man strives to rise. 
 
 He lifts his head, with yearning sightless 
 eyes 
 
 Gropes for the light. A mass of golden 
 hair 
 
 Falls round the face that sickness and de- 
 spair 
 
 Somehow make old, albeit he is young. 
 
 His weak voice, stumbling to the mongrel 
 tongue 211 
 
 Of traders, flings a question to the squaw : 
 
 "You saw no Black Robe?^ Tell me what 
 you saw I" 
 
 And she, brief-spoken as her race, re- 
 plies: 
 
 "Heaped snow — sharp stars — a kiote on 
 the rise." 
 X Black Robe. Priest. 
 
 The blind youth huddles moaning in the 
 
 furs. 
 The firewood spits and pops, the boiled 
 
 pot purrs 
 And sputters. On this little isle of sound 
 The sea of winter silence presses round — 
 One feels it like a menace. Now the 
 
 crone 220 
 
 Dips out a cup of soup, and, having blown 
 Upon it, takes it to the sick man there 
 And bids him eat. With wild, unseeing 
 
 stare 
 He turns upon her: "Why are they so 
 
 long? 
 I cannot eat! I've done a mighty wrong; 
 It chokes me ! Oh, no, no, I must not die 
 Until the Black Robe comes !" His feeble 
 
 cry 
 Sinks to a whisper. "Tell me, did they 
 
 go— 
 Your kinsmen?" "They went south be- 
 fore the snow." 
 "And will they tell the Black Robe?" 
 
 "They will tell." 230 
 
 The crackling of the faggots for a spell 
 Seems very loud. Again the sick man 
 
 moans 
 And, struggling with the weakness in his 
 
 bones. 
 Would gain his feet, but cannot. "Go 
 
 again. 
 And tell me that you see the bulks of men 
 Dim in the distance there." The squaw 
 
 obeys ; 
 Returns anon to crouch beside the blaze. 
 Numb-fingered and a-shudder from the 
 
 night. 
 The vacant eyes that hunger for the light 
 Are turned upon her : "Tell me what you 
 
 saw ! 240 
 
 Or maybe snowshoes sounded up the 
 
 draw.2 
 Quick, tell me what you saw and heard 
 
 out there !" 
 "Heaped snow — sharp stars — big stillness 
 
 everywhere." 
 
 One clutching at thin ice with numbing 
 
 grip 
 
 Cries while he hopes ; but when his fin- 
 gers slip, 
 
 He takes the final plunge without a sound. 
 
 So sinks the youth now, hopeless. All 
 around 
 
 The winter silence presses in ; the walls 
 
 Grow vague and vanish in the gloom that 
 crawls 
 2 draw. Ravine or canyon.
 
 NARRATIVE POEMS 
 
 223 
 
 Close to the falling fire. The Piegans 
 
 sleep. 250 
 
 Night hovers midway down the morning 
 
 steep. 
 The sick man drowses. Nervously he 
 
 starts 
 And listens; hears no sound except his 
 
 heart's 
 And that weird murmur brooding stillness 
 
 makes. 
 But stealthily upon the quiet breaks — 
 Vague as the coursing of the hearer's 
 
 blood — 
 A muffled, rhythmic beating, thud on thud. 
 That, growing nearer, deepens to a crunch. 
 So, hungry for the distance, snowshoes 
 
 munch 
 The crusted leagues of Winter, stride by 
 
 stride. 260 
 
 A camp-dog barks ; the hollow world out- 
 side 
 Brims with the running howl of many 
 
 curs. 
 Now wide-awake, half risen in the furs. 
 The youth can hear low voices and the 
 
 creak 
 Of snowshoes near the lodge. His thin, 
 
 wild shriek 
 Startles the old folk from their slumber- 
 
 ings: 
 "He comes ! The Black Robe." Now the 
 
 door-flap swings, 
 And briefly one who splutters Piegan bars 
 The way, then enters. Now the patch of 
 
 stars 
 Is darkened with a greater bulk that 
 
 bends 270 
 
 Beneath the lintel. "Peace be with you, 
 
 friends ! 
 And peace with him herein who suffers 
 
 pain!" 
 So speaks the second comer of the twain — 
 A white man by his voice. And he who 
 
 lies 
 Beside the wall, with empty, groping eyes 
 Turned to the speaker : "There can be no 
 
 peace 
 For me, good Father, till this gnawing 
 
 cease — 
 The gnawing of a great wrong I have 
 
 done." 
 
 The big man leans above the youth: "My 
 
 son—" 
 (Grown husky with the word, the deep 
 
 voice breaks, 280 
 
 And for a little spell the whole man shakes 
 
 As with the clinging cold) "have faith 
 
 and hope ! 
 'Tis often nearest dawn when most we 
 
 grope. 
 Does not the Good Book say, Who seek 
 
 shall find?" 
 
 "But, Father, I am broken now and blind. 
 
 And I have sought, and I have lost the 
 way." 
 
 To which the stranger: "What would 
 Jesus say? 
 
 Hark! In the silence of the heart 'tis 
 said — 
 
 By their own weakness are the feeble 
 sped ; 289 
 
 The humblest feet are surest for the goal ; 
 
 The blind shall see the City of the Soul; 
 
 Lay down your burden at His feet to- 
 night." 
 
 Now while the fire, replenished, bathes in 
 
 light 
 The young face scrawled with suffering 
 
 and care. 
 Flinging ironic glories on the hair 
 And glinting on dull eyes that once 
 
 flashed blue. 
 The sick one tells the story of old Hugh 
 To him whose face, averted from the 
 
 glow, 
 Still lurks in gloom. The winds of battle 
 
 blow 
 Once more along the steep. Again one 
 
 sees 300 
 
 The rescue from the fury of the Rees, 
 The graybeard's fondness for the gay lad ; 
 
 then 
 The westward march with Major Henry's 
 
 men 
 With all that happened there upon the 
 
 Grand. 
 
 "And so we hit the trail of Henry's 
 
 band," 
 The youth continues; "for we feared to 
 
 die : 
 And dread of shame was ready with the 
 
 lie 
 We carried to our comrades. Hugh was 
 
 dead 
 And buried there beside the Grand, we 
 
 said. 
 Could any doubt that what we said was 
 
 true? 310 
 
 They even praised our courage! But I 
 
 knew!
 
 224 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The nights were hell because I heard his 
 cries, 
 
 And saw the crows a-pecking at his eyes, 
 
 The kiotes tearing at him. O my God ! 
 
 I tried and tried to think him under sod; 
 
 But every time I slept it was the same. 
 
 And then one night — I lay awake — he 
 came! 
 
 I saw he came — I know I hadn't slept ! 
 
 Amid a light like rainy dawn, he crept 
 
 Out of the dark upon his hands and 
 knees. 320 
 
 The wound he got that day among the 
 Rees 
 
 Was like red fire. A snarl of bloody hair 
 
 Hung round the eyes that had a pleading 
 stare, 
 
 And down the ruined face and gory beard 
 
 Big tear-drops rolled. He went as he ap- 
 peared. 
 
 Trailing a fog of light that died away. 
 
 And I grew old before I saw the day. 
 
 Father, I had paid too much for breath ! 
 The Devil traffics in the fear of death. 
 And may God pity anyone who buys 330 
 What I have bought with treachery and 
 
 lies — 
 This rat-like gnawing in my breast! — I 
 knew 
 
 1 couldn't rest until I buried Hugh; 
 And so I told the Major I would go 
 To Atkinson with letters, ere the snow 
 Had choked the trails. Jules wouldn't 
 
 come along; 
 He didn't seem to realize the wrong; 
 He called me foolish, couldn't understand. 
 I rode alone — not south, but to the Grand. 
 Daylong my horse beat thunder from the 
 
 sod, 340 
 
 Accusing me; and all my prayers to God 
 Seemed flung in vain at bolted gates of 
 
 brass. 
 And in the night the wind among the grass 
 Hissed endlessly the story of my shame. 
 I do not know how long I rode : I came 
 Upon the Grand at last, and found the 
 
 place, 
 And it was empty ! Not a sign or trace 
 Was left to show what end had come to 
 
 Hugh. 
 And oh that grave! It gaped upon the 
 
 blue, 
 A death-wound pleading dumbly for the 
 
 slain ! 350 
 
 I filled it up, and fled across the plain. 
 And somehow came to Atkinson at last. 
 And there I heard the living Hugh had 
 
 passed 
 
 Along the river northward in the fall ! 
 
 Father, he had found the strength to 
 
 crawl 
 That long, heart-breaking distance back to 
 
 life, 
 Though Jules had taken blanket, steel and 
 
 knife. 
 And I, his trusted comrade, had his gun ! 
 They said I'd better stay at Atkinson, 
 Because old Hugh was surely hunting me, 
 White-hot to kill. I did not want to flee. 
 Or hide from him. I even wished to die, 
 If so this aching cancer of a lie 363 
 
 Might be torn out forever. So I went. 
 As eager as the homesick homeward bent, 
 In search of him and peace. But I was 
 
 cursed. 
 For even when this stolen rifle burst 
 And spewed upon me this eternal night, 
 
 1 might not die as any other might ; 
 
 But God so willed that friendly Piegans 
 came, 370 
 
 To spare me yet a little unto shame. 
 O Father, is there any hope for me?" 
 
 "Great hope indeed, my son !" so huskily 
 The other answers. "I recall a case 
 Like yours — no matter what the time and 
 
 place — 
 'Twas somewhat like the story that you tell ; 
 Each seeking and each sought, and both 
 
 in hell; 
 But, in the tale I mind, they met at last." 
 
 The youth sits up, white-faced and breath- 
 ing fast : 
 
 "They met, you say? What happened? 
 Quick! Oh, quick!" 380 
 
 "The old man found the dear lad blind 
 and sick. 
 
 And both forgave — 'twas easy to forgive — 
 
 For oh we have so short a time to live" — 
 
 Whereat the youth: "Who's here? The 
 
 Black Robe's gone ! 
 Whose voice is this?" 
 
 The gray of winter dawn. 
 Now creeping round the door-flap, lights 
 
 the place 
 And shows thin fingers groping for a face 
 Deep-scarred and hoary with the frost of 
 
 years, 
 Whereover runs a new springtide of tears. 
 "O Jamie, Jamie, Jamie — I am Hugh ! 
 There was no Black Robe yonder — Will I 
 
 do?" 391 
 
 (1915)
 
 PART TWO 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 HEART-EXCHANGE 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 
 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have 
 
 his, 
 
 By just exchange one for another given : 
 
 I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. 
 
 There never was a better bargain driven : 
 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have 
 
 his. 
 
 His heart in me keeps him and me in one. 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses 
 
 guides : 
 He loves my heart, for once it was his 
 
 own, 
 I cherish his because in me it bides : 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have 
 
 his. 
 
 (1589) 
 
 WHO IS SYLVIA 
 
 (From Two Gentlemen of Verona) 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Who is Sylvia? what is she? 
 
 That all our swains commend her? 
 Holy, fair, and wise is she; 
 
 The heaven such grace did lend her, 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind as she is fair? 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness. 
 Love doth to her eyes repair 
 
 To help him of his blindness, 
 And, being helped, inhabits there. lO 
 
 Then to Sylvia let us sing, 
 
 That Sylvia is excelling: 
 She excels each mortal thing 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling: 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 (1598) 
 
 O SWEET CONTENT 
 
 THOMAS DEKKER 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden 
 slumbers? 
 
 O sweet content! 
 Art thou rich, yet is thy mind per- 
 plexed? 
 
 O punishment! 
 Dost thou laugh to see how fools are 
 
 vexed 
 To add to golden numbers, golden num- 
 bers? 
 O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet 
 content! 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
 Honest labor bears a lovely face; 
 Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny 
 
 nonny 
 
 10 
 
 227 
 
 Canst drink the waters of the crisped 
 spring? 
 
 O sweet content! 
 Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in 
 thine own tears? 
 O punishment! 
 Then he that patiently want's burden 
 
 bears 
 No burden bears, but is a king, a king! 
 O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet 
 content! 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
 Honest labor bears a lovely face; 
 Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny 
 nonny! 20 
 
 (1599) 
 
 BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER 
 WIND 
 
 (From As You Like It) 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind. 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen 
 Because thou art not seen. 
 
 Although thy breath be rude.
 
 228 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the 
 
 green holly: 
 Most friendship is feigning, most lov- 
 ing mere folly: 
 
 Then heigh ho, the holly! 
 
 This life is most jolly! lo 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 Thou dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot: 
 Though thou the waters warp,i 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remembered not. 
 Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the 
 
 green holly: 
 Most friendship is feigning, most lov- 
 ing mere folly: 
 
 Then heigh ho, the holly! 
 
 This life is most jolly! 20 
 
 (1599) 
 
 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE 
 
 (From As You Like It) 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 And turn2 his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat- 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth ambition shun 
 And loves to live i' the sun, 10 
 
 Seeking the food he eats 
 And pleased with what he gets — 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 (1599) 
 
 O MISTRESS MINE 
 
 (From Twelfth Night) 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 O Mistress mine, where are you roam- 
 ing? 
 
 O stay and hear! your true-love's com- 
 ing, 
 
 1 warp. ChanRe (by freezing). 
 
 2 turn. Shape, fit. 
 
 That can sing both high and low; 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting. 
 Journeys end in lovers meeting — 
 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 What is love? 'tis not hereafter; 
 Present mirth hath present laughter; 
 
 What's to come is still unsure: 
 In delay there lies no plenty, — 10 
 
 Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, 
 
 Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
 
 (1601) 
 
 HARK, HARK! THE LARK 
 
 (From Cymbeline) 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate 
 sings, 
 And Phcebus 'gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 
 On chaliced flowers that lies; 
 And winking mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes: 
 With everything that pretty bin. 
 My lady sweet, arise: 
 Arise, arise! 
 
 (1609) 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 [Shakespeare's sonnets were not arranged or 
 published by himself. In the only collection we 
 have of them, those here given are numbered 
 29, 30, 73, 74, 106, 116. It is not known to 
 what frieiid or friends they were addressed.] 
 
 When, in disgrace with Fortune and 
 
 men's eyes, 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state. 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my boot- 
 less cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my 
 
 fate. 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in 
 
 hope, 
 Featured like him, like him with friends 
 
 possessed. 
 Desiring this man's art and that man's 
 
 scope. 
 With what I most enjoy contented 
 
 least; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost 
 
 despising, — 
 Haply I think on thee: and then my 
 
 state, ID 
 
 Like to the lark at break of day arising
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 229 
 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at 
 
 heaven's gate: 
 For thy sweet love remembered such 
 
 wealth brings 
 That then I scorn to change my state 
 
 with kings. 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent 
 thought 
 
 I summon up remembrance of things 
 past, 
 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I 
 sought, 
 
 And with old woes new wail my dear 
 time's waste :i 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unused to 
 flow, 
 
 For precious friends hid in death's date- 
 less night. 
 
 And weep afresh love's long since can- 
 celled woe, 
 
 And moan the expense^ of many a 
 vanished sight: 
 
 Then can I grieve at grievances fore- 
 gone. 
 
 And heavily from woe to woe telP 
 o'er 10 
 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned* 
 moan, 
 
 Which I new pay as if not paid before: 
 
 But if the while I think on thee, dear 
 
 friend, I 
 
 All losses are restored and sorrows 
 
 end. 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me 
 
 behold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do 
 
 hang 
 Upon those boughs which shake against 
 
 the cold. 
 Bare ruined choirs,^ where late the 
 
 sweet birds sang. 
 In me thou see'st the twilight of such 
 
 day 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west. 
 Which by and by black night doth take 
 
 away, 
 Death's second self, that seals up all 
 
 in rest. 
 
 1 Newly mourn the loss of precious time long 
 filled with sorrows. 
 
 2 expense. Loss. 
 
 3 tell. Count. 
 
 4 fore-bemoaned. Already uttered. 
 
 5 choirs. The portions of cathedrals where 
 service was sung. 
 
 In me thou see'st the glowing of such 
 fire 9 
 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie. 
 
 As the death-bed whereon it inust ex- 
 pire. 
 
 Consumed with that which it was 
 nourished by.^ 
 This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy 
 
 love more strong, 
 To love that well which thou must 
 leave ere long. 
 
 But be contented: when that felF arrest 
 Without all bail shall carry me away, 
 My life hath in this line some interest,' 
 Which for memorial still with thee 
 
 shall stay. 
 When thou reviewest this, thou dost 
 
 review 
 The very part was^ consecrate to thee: 
 The earth can have but earth, which is 
 
 his due; 
 My spirit is thine, the better part of me: 
 So then thou hast but lost the dregs 
 
 of life, 
 The prey of worms, my body, being 
 
 dead; lO 
 
 The coward conquest of a wretch's^o 
 
 knife. 
 Too base of thee to be remembered. 
 The worth of that is that which it 
 
 contains. 
 And that is this,^^ and this with thee 
 
 remains. 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, ^^ 
 And beauty making beautiful old rime, 
 In praise of ladies dead and lovely 
 
 knights; 
 Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's 
 
 best. 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have ex- 
 pressed 
 Even such a beauty as you master^^ now. 
 bo all their praises are but prophecies^* 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
 And, for they looked but with divining 
 eyes, ii 
 
 6 Choked by the ashes of that which once fed 
 the flame. 
 
 7 fell. Fatal. 
 
 8 interest. Right (to remembrance). 
 
 9 part ivas. Part which was. 
 
 10 wretch. Perhaps Death with his scythe. 
 
 11 that is this. My spirit is my writings. 
 
 12 wights. Men and women. 
 
 13 master. Possess. 
 
 T 4 Because what they saw was only a dim vision 
 of the future.
 
 230 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 They had not skill enough your worth 
 to sing: 
 
 For we, which now behold these pres- 
 ent days, 
 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack 
 tongues to praise. 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true 
 
 minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove: 
 O no! it is an ever-fixed marki 
 That looks on tempests and is never 
 
 shaken; 
 It is the star to every wandering bark. 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his 
 
 height^ be taken. 
 Love's not Time's fool,^ though rosy 
 
 lips and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass 
 
 come; lo 
 
 Love alters not with his brief hours 
 
 and weeks, 
 But bears it out even to the edge of 
 
 doom: 
 If this be error, and upon me proved, 
 I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 (1609) 
 
 CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 
 
 How happy is he born and taught 
 That serveth not another's will; 
 Whose armor is his honest thought 
 And simple truth his utmost skill ! 
 
 Whose passions not his masters are. 
 Whose soul is still* prepared for death, 
 Untied unto the world by care 
 Of public fame, or private breath;' 
 
 Who envies none that chance doth raise 
 Nor vice; who never understood 10 
 
 How deepest wounds are given by praise; 
 Nor rules of state^ but rules of good : 
 
 Who hath his life from rumors freed. 
 Whose conscience is his strong retreat; 
 Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
 Nor ruin make oppressors great; 
 
 I mark. Sea-mark. 
 
 3 height. Altitude, calculated by navigators. 
 3 fool. Dupe. 4 slill. Always. 
 
 5 breath. Gossip. 6 state. Politics. 
 
 Who God doth late and early pray 
 More of His grace than gifts to lend; 
 And entertains the harmless day 
 With a religious book or friend; 20 
 
 — This man is freed from servile bands 
 Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
 Lord of himself, though not of lands; 
 And having nothing, yet hath all. 
 
 (1614) 
 
 IT IS NOT GROWING LIKE A 
 TREE 
 
 BEN JONSON 
 
 [This is a strophe taken from an ode written 
 in memory of Sir Henry Morison.] 
 
 It is not growing like a tree 
 In bulk, doth make man better be ; 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred 
 
 year. 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : 
 A lily of a day 
 Is fairer far in May, 
 Although it fall and die that night — 
 It was the plant and flower of Light. 
 In small proportions we just beauties see, 
 And in short measures life may perfect be. 
 
 (i6l6) 
 
 TO CELIA 
 BEN JONSON 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes. 
 
 And I will pledge with mine; 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup 
 
 And I'll not look for wine. 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine; 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honoring thee 10 
 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It could not withered be; 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe. 
 
 And sent'st it back to me ; 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself but thee! 
 
 (1616)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 231 
 
 SONNET 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON 
 
 i 
 
 Since there's no help, come let us kiss and 
 
 part, — 
 Nay I have done, you get no more of me ! 
 And I am glad, yea, glad with all my 
 
 heart, 
 That thus so cleanly I myself can free; 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our yov*rs. 
 And when we meet at any time again, 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 That we one jot of former love retain. 
 
 Now at the last gasp of Love's latest 
 
 breath. 
 When his pulse failing, Passion speechless 
 
 lies, 10 
 
 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of 
 
 death. 
 And Innocence is closing up his eyes: 
 — Now if thou would'st, when all have 
 
 given him over. 
 From death to life thou might'st him 
 
 yet recover! 
 
 (1619) 
 
 THE CRIER 
 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON 
 
 Good folk, for gold or hire. 
 
 But help me to a crier; 
 
 For my poor heart is run astray 
 
 After two eyes that passed this way. 
 
 O yes, O yes, O yes, 
 
 If there be any man 
 
 In town or country can 
 
 Bring me my heart again, 
 
 I'll please him for his pain. 
 And by these marks I will you show 10 
 That only I this heart do owe :i 
 
 It is a wounded heart, 
 
 Wherein yet sticks the dart; 
 Every piece sore hurt throughout it; 
 "Faith" and "Troth" writ round about it. 
 It was a tame heart and a dear. 
 
 And never used to roam ; 
 But having got this haunt,^ I fear 
 
 'Twill hardly stay at home. 
 For God's sake, walking by the way, 20 
 
 If you my heart do see, 
 Either impound it for a stray 
 
 Or send it back to me. 
 
 (1619) 
 
 I owe. Own. 
 
 3 hauni. Habit. 
 
 VIRTUE 
 
 GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 
 The bridal of the earth and sky! 
 The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; 
 For thou must die. 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave. 
 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his cye.i 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 And thou must die. 
 
 Sweet spring, full of sweet days and 
 Toses, 
 A box where sweets compacted lie, 10 
 My music shows ye have your closes,^ 
 And all must die. 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul, ^ 
 
 Like seasoned timber, never gives; 
 But, though the whole world turn to coal,^ 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 (1633) 
 
 LOVE 
 
 GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 [This poem expresses the experience of a 
 penitent Christian, whose soul is conceived of 
 as a guest in the house of Divine Love. The 
 second and third stanzas arc a dialogue between 
 guest and Host.] 
 
 Love bade me welcome; yet my soul 
 drew back, 
 
 Guilty of dust and sin. 
 But quick-eyed Love, observing me 
 grow slack 
 From my first entrance in. 
 Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning 
 If I lack'd anything. 
 
 "A guest," I answered, "worthy to be 
 here:" 
 Love said, "You shall be he." 
 "I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my 
 dear, 
 
 I cannot look on Thee!" 10 
 
 Love took my hand and smiling did 
 reply, 
 "Who made the eyes but I?" 
 
 1 Because blinded by the very brilliancy of its 
 
 color. 
 
 2 closes. The poet plays on the technical use of 
 the term — the end of a musical phrase. 
 
 3 coal. Burning fuel (not the modem coal).
 
 232 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Truth, Lord; but I have marred them: 
 let my shame 
 
 Go where it doth deserve." 
 
 "And know you not," says Love, "who 
 
 bore the blame?" 
 
 "My dear, then I will serve." 
 
 "You must sit down," says Love, "and 
 
 taste my meat." 
 
 So I did sit and eat. 
 
 (1633) 
 
 THE PULLEY 
 GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 When God at first made Man, 
 Having a glass of Blessings standing 
 by, 
 "Let us," said he, "pour on him all 
 we can: 
 Let the world's riches, which dispersed 
 lie. 
 Contract into a span." 
 
 So Strength first made a way; 
 Then Beauty flowed; then Wisdom, 
 Honor, Pleasure. 
 When almost all was out, God made 
 a stay, 
 Perceiving that, alone of all his treas- 
 ure, 
 Rest in the bottom lay. 10 
 
 "For if I should," said he, 
 "Bestow this jewel also on my creature, 
 He would adore my gifts instead of 
 me, 
 And rest in Nature, not the God of Na- 
 ture; 
 So both should losers be. 
 
 "Yet let him keep the rest, 
 But keep them with repining restless- 
 ness; 
 Let him be rich and weary, that at 
 least. 
 If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 
 May toss him to my breast." 20 
 
 (1633) 
 
 L'ALLEGRO 
 
 JOHN MILTON 
 
 [The title means "The Cheerful Man," as 
 opposed to the subject of the companion poem, 
 "II Penseroso," "The Sober (Reflective) Man." 
 From line 11 to the end the theme may be said 
 to be Mirth, personified in Euphrosyne.] 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy, 
 
 Of Cerberus^ and blackest midnight 
 
 born 
 In Stygian cave forlorn, 
 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and 
 
 sights unholy! 
 Find out some uncouth cell 
 Where brooding Darkness spreads 
 his jealous wings 
 And the night raven sings; 
 
 There, under ebon shades and low- 
 browed rocks 
 As ragged as thy locks, 9 
 
 In dark Cimmerian desert^ ever dwell. 
 But come, thou goddess fair and free, 
 In heaven yclept^ Euphrosyne, 
 And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
 Whom lovely Venus, at a birth 
 With two sister Graces more, 
 To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore: 
 Or whether (as some sager* sing) 
 The frolic wind that breathes the 
 
 spring. 
 Zephyr, with Aurora^ playing 
 As he met her once a-Maying, 20 
 
 There, on beds of violets blve, 
 And fresh-blown roses washed in dew. 
 Filled her with thee, a -daughter fair, 
 So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 
 Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 
 Jest and youthful Jollity, 
 Quips and cranks*^ and wanton wiles, 
 Nods and becks'^ and wreathed smiles, 
 Such as hang on Hebe's^ cheek. 
 And love to live in dimple sleek; 30 
 Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
 And Laughter holding both his sides. 
 Come, and trip it as ye go, 
 On the light fantastic toe; 
 
 1 Cerberus. The monster-guard of the gates of 
 the Stygian under- v/orld (Hades). 
 
 2 Cimmerian desert. Near Hades, supposed to 
 be always hidden in mist. 
 
 3 yclept. Called. 
 
 4 sager. More wisely. 
 
 5 Zephyr with Aurora. The West Wind with the 
 Dawn. 
 
 6 Quips and Cranks. Fanciful, witty sayings. 
 
 7 Becks. Salutations (with hand or head). 
 
 8 Hebe. Goddess of youth. j
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 233 
 
 And in thy right hand lead with thee 
 The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty; 
 And if I give thee honor due, 
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 
 To live with her and live with thee. 
 In unreproved pleasures free; 40 
 
 To hear the lark begin his flight, 
 And, singing, startle the dull night, 
 From his watch-tower in the skies, 
 Till the dappled dawn doth rise; 
 Then to come, in spite of sorrow. 
 And at my window bid good-morrow. 
 Through the sweet-brier or the vine. 
 Or the twisted eglantine, ^ 
 While the cock, with lively din. 
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 50 
 And to the stack, or the barn-door. 
 Stoutly struts his dames before; 
 Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, 
 From the side of some hoar hill. 
 Through the high wood echoing shrill. 
 Sometime walking, not unseen, 
 By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green. 
 Right against the eastern gate 
 Where the great sun begins his state 60 
 Robed in flames and amber light. 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight.^ 
 While the ploughman, near at hand, 
 Whistles o'er the furrowed land. 
 And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 
 And the mower whets his scythe. 
 And every shepherd tells his tale^ 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
 Straight mine eye hath caught new 
 pleasures 
 Whilst the landscape round it meas- 
 ures: 70 
 Russet lawns, and fallows* gray, 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray; 
 Mountains on whose barren breast 
 The laboring clouds do often rest; 
 Meadows trim, with daisies pied,^ 
 Shallow brooks and rivers wide; 
 Towers and battlements it sees 
 Bosomed high in tufted trees. 
 Where perhaps some beauty lies, 
 The cynosure'' of neighboring eyes. 80 
 Hard by a cottage chimney smokes 
 From betwixt two aged oaks. 
 Where Corydon and Thyrsis^ met 
 Are at their savory dinner set 
 
 1 eglantine. Honeysuckle. 
 
 2 dight. Decked, 
 
 3 Ulls his tale. Counts his full number (of 
 sheep). 
 
 4 fallows. Untilled places. 
 
 5 pied. Spotted. 
 
 6 cynosure. Center of regard. 
 
 7 Corydon and Thyrsis. Typical names of pas- 
 toral characters; so also Phyllis and Thestylis. 
 
 Of herbs and other country messes. 
 
 Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses; 
 
 And then in haste her bower she leaves, 
 
 With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; 
 
 Or, if the earlier season lead. 
 
 To the tanned haycock in the mead. 90 
 
 Sometimes, with secure delight. 
 
 The upland hamlets will invite, 
 
 When the merry bells ring round, 
 
 And the jocund rebecks^ sound 
 
 To many a youth and many a maid 
 
 Dancing in the chequered shade. 
 
 And young and old come forth to play 
 
 On a sunshine holiday. 
 
 Till the livelong daylight fail: 
 
 Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 100 
 
 With stories told of many a feat: 
 
 How fairy Mab the junkets eat; 
 
 She^ was pinched and pulled, she said; 
 
 And he, by friar's lantern^o led. 
 
 Tells how the drudging goblini^ sweat 
 
 To earn his cream-bowl duly set. 
 
 When, in one night, ere glimpse of 
 
 morn. 
 His shadowy flail hath threshed the 
 
 corn 
 That ten day-laborers could not end; 
 Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 
 And, stretched out all the chimney's 
 
 length, III 
 
 Basks at the fire his hairy strength. 
 And, crop-full, out of doors he flings. 
 Ere the first cock his matin rings. 
 Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. 
 By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 
 
 Towered cities please us then, 
 And the busy hum of men. 
 Where throngs of knights and barons 
 
 bold. 
 In weedsi2 of peace high triumphs 
 
 hold 120 
 
 W^ith store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
 Rain influence, ^^ and judge the prize 
 Of wit or arms, while both contend 
 To win her grace whom all commend. 
 There let Hymen^* oft appear 
 In saflfron robe, with taper clear. 
 And pomp, and feast, and revelry. 
 With mask^s and antique pageantry; 
 
 8 rebecks. Fiddles. 
 
 9 She. The girl who tells the fairy stories; the 
 following "he" is another narrator. 
 
 10 friar's lantern. The will-o'-the-wisp light. 
 
 11 goblin. Robin Goodfellow, who it was said 
 would work for any who would set for him a bowl 
 of cream. 
 
 12 weeds. Garments. 
 
 13 influence. Like that supposed to proceed 
 from the stars. 14 Hymen. God of marriage. 
 
 I s mask. A musical pageant-play.
 
 234 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Such sights as youthful poets dream 
 On summer eves by haunted stream. 130 
 Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
 If Jonson's learned sock^ be on, 
 Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 
 Warble his native wood-notes wild; 
 And ever, against eating cares, 
 Lap me in soft Lydian airs^ 
 Married to immortal verse. 
 Such as the meeting soul may pierce 
 In notes with many a winding bout^ 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 
 With wanton heed and giddy cunning,* 
 The melting voice through mazes run- 
 ning, 142 
 Untwisting all the chains that tie 
 The hidden soul of harmony; 
 That Orpheus' self may heave^ his 
 
 head 
 From golden slumber on a bed 
 Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 
 Such strains as would have won the ear 
 Of Pluto to have quite set free 
 His half-regained Eurydice.^ 150 
 
 These delights if thou canst give, 
 Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 
 
 (1634) 
 
 IL PENSEROSO 
 
 JOHN MILTON 
 
 [The subject of this poem is the pleasures of 
 Melancholy, in contrast with those of Mirth. 
 By Melancholy, however, we must understand a 
 milder, less darkened mood than that which the 
 word now expresses; Pensiveness would be rather 
 closer to the Miltonic notion. In like manner, 
 the word "sad" in Milton's time (as in lines 43 
 and 103) meant only serious.^ 
 
 Hence, vain deluding Joys, 
 The brood of Folly without father 
 bred! 
 How little you bested,f 
 Or fill the fixed mind with all your 
 toys! 
 
 1 sock. The Greek shoe which was symbol of 
 comedy. 
 
 2 Lydian airs. A form of Greek music, soft 
 and effeminate. 
 
 3 bout. Turn. 
 
 4 The music is light and free, but produced by 
 care (heed) and skill. 
 
 5 heave. Raise. 
 
 6 Orpheus had won his way into Hades to 
 rescue his wife Eurydice, through the power of his 
 music, but lost her on the way out. 
 
 7 bested. Benefit. 
 
 Dwell in some idle brain, 
 
 And fancies fond^ with gaudy shapes 
 possess, 
 As thick and numberless 
 
 As the gay motes that people the sun- 
 beams, 
 Or likest hovering dreams. 
 
 The fickle pensioners^ of Morpheus' 
 train. lo 
 
 But hail, thou Goddess sage and holy, 
 Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
 Whose saintly visage is too bright 
 To hit the sense of human sight; 
 And therefore to our weaker view 
 O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ; 
 Black, but such as in esteem 
 Prince Memnon's^® sister might beseem. 
 Or that starred Ethiop queen^^ that strove 
 To set her beauty's praise above 20 
 
 The sea-nymphs, and their powers of- 
 fended. 
 Yet thou art higher far descended : 
 Thee bright-haired Vesta,^^ iQ^g of yore. 
 To solitary Saturn^^ bore; 
 His daughter she (in Saturn's reign 
 Such mixture was not held a stain) 
 Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
 He met her, and in secret shades 
 Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 
 Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 30 
 
 Come, pensive nun, devout and pure. 
 Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
 All in a robe of darkest grain^* 
 Flowing with majestic train. 
 And sable stolei^ of cypress-lawn^^ 
 Over thy decent^^ shoulders drawn. 
 Come, but keep thy wonted state. 
 With even step, and musing gait, 
 And looks commercing with the skies, 
 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 40 
 There, held in holy passion still. 
 Forget thyself to marble, till, 
 With a sad leaden downward cast. 
 Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 
 And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, 
 Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
 And hears the Muses, in a ring. 
 Aye round about Jove's altar sing. 
 And add to these retired Leisure, 49 
 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; 
 
 8 fond. Foolish. 
 
 9 pensioners. Followers. Morpheus was god of 
 dreams. 
 
 10 Memnon. An ancient king of Ethiopia. 
 
 11 Ethiop queen. Cassiopeia. 
 
 12 Vesta. Goddess of the hearth. 
 
 13 Saturn. A god who reigned in Mt. laa, 
 Crete, but was dispossessed by his son Jove. 
 
 14 grain. Dye. IS stole. Scarf. 
 
 16 cypress-lawn. A thin crape. 
 
 17 decent. Modest.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 235 
 
 But, first and chiefest, with thee bring 
 Him that yon^ soars on golden wing, 
 Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 
 The Cherub Contemplation ;2 
 And the mute Silence hist^ along, 
 'Less Philomel* will deign a song 
 In her sweetest, saddest plight. 
 Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 
 While Cynthia^ checks her dragon yoke 
 Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 60 
 
 Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of 
 
 folly, 
 Most musical, most melancholy ! 
 Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among 
 I woo, to hear thy even-song; 
 And, missing thee, I walk unseen 
 On the dry smooth-shaven green, 
 To behold the wandering moon, 
 Riding near her highest noon,^ 
 Like one that had been led astray 
 Through the heaven's wide pathless way. 
 And oft, as if her head she bowed, 71 
 Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
 Oft on a plat of rising ground, 
 I hear the far-off curfew sound 
 Over some wide-watered shore, 
 Swinging slow with sullen roar; 
 Or, if the air will not permit. 
 Some still removed place will fit. 
 Where glowing embers through the room 
 Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, 80 
 Far from all resort of mirth. 
 Save the cricket on the hearth. 
 Or the bellman's drowsy charm 
 To bless the doors from nightly harmj 
 
 Or let my lamp, at midnight hour. 
 Be seen in some high lonely tower 
 Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,' 
 With thrice great Hermes,^ or un- 
 
 sphereio 
 The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
 What worlds or what vast regions hold 
 The immortal mind that hath forsook 91 
 Her mansion in this fleshly nook. 
 And of^i those demons that are found 
 In fire, air, flood, or underground, 
 
 X yon. Yonder. 
 
 3 Contemplation. Pronounce " Contempla-she- 
 on." 
 
 3 hist. Lead 8oftly. 
 
 4 Philomel. The nightingale. 
 
 5 Cynthia. The moon, .conceived as drivinR a 
 team of dragons. 
 
 6 noon. Zenith. 
 
 7 The bellman, or night watchman, often ended 
 his call of the hours with a benediction. 
 
 8 Bear. The constellation of the Great Dip- 
 per, which remains in the sky all night. 
 
 9 thrice great Hermes. Hermes Trismegistus, a 
 mythical writer of books on magic arts. 
 
 10 unsphere. Draw from his celestial sphere. 
 
 11 of. To tell of. 
 
 Whose power hath a true consent^^ 
 With planet or with element. 
 Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy, 
 In sceptred pall, come sweeping by, 
 Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,!^ 
 Or the tale of Troy divine, 100 
 
 Or what (though rare) of later age 
 Ennobled hath the buskined^* stage. 
 
 But, O sad virgin, that thy power 
 Might raise Musaeus^^ from his bower; 
 Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
 Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
 Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,^^ 
 And made Hell grant what Love did seek; 
 Or call up him that left half-told" 
 The story of Cambuscan bold, no 
 
 Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
 And who had Canace to wife. 
 That owned the virtuous^^ ring and glass. 
 And of the wondrous horse of brass 
 On which the Tartar king did ride; 
 And if aught else great bards beside 
 In sage and solemn tunes have sung, 
 Of tourneys, and of trophies hung, 
 Of forests, and enchantments drear. 
 Where more is meant than meets the 
 
 ear.i9 120 
 
 Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale 
 
 career. 
 Till civil-suited^o Morn appear. 
 Not tricked and frounced^i as she was 
 
 wont 
 With the Attic boy22 to hunt, 
 But kerchieft in a comely cloud. 
 While rocking winds are piping loud. 
 Or ushered with a shower still, 
 When the gust hath blown his fill. 
 Ending on the rustling leaves, 
 With minute-drops from off the eaves. 
 And, when the sun begins to fling 131 
 His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring 
 To arched walks of twilight groves, 
 And shadows brown, that Sylvan^s loves. 
 Of pine, or monumental oak. 
 Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 
 
 12 consent. Agreement. 
 
 13 Stories told in tragedies by iEschylus and 
 Sophocles. 
 
 14 buskined. Tragic (the buskin being the sym- 
 bol of tragedy as the sock was of comedy), 
 
 15 MusiBus. A Greek poet. 
 
 16 See note on L'Allesro, line 150. 
 
 17 The reference is to Chaucer's unfinished 
 "Squire's Tale." 
 
 18 virtuous. Powerful (magically). 
 
 19 This may refer to Spenser's Faerie Queene. 
 
 20 civil-suited. Plainly dressed (like a civilian). 
 
 21 frounced. Curled. 
 
 22 Atlic boy. Cephalus.Ioved by Aurora, goddess 
 of morning. 
 
 33 Sylvan. A forest god.
 
 236 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Was never heard the nymphs to daunt 
 
 Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 
 
 There in close covert by some brook, 
 
 Where no profaner eye may look, 140 
 
 Hide me from day's garish eye, 
 
 While the bee, with honeyed thigh, 
 
 That at her flowery work doth sing, 
 
 And the waters murmuring. 
 
 With such consort as they keep, 
 
 Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep ; 
 
 And let some strange mysterious dream 
 
 Wave at his wings, in airy stream^ 
 
 Of lively portraiture displayed. 
 
 Softly on my eyelids laid. 150 
 
 And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 
 
 Above, about, or underneath. 
 
 Sent by some spirit to mortals good. 
 
 Or th' unseen genius of the wood. 
 
 But let my due feet never fail 
 To walk the studious cloister's pale,^ 
 And love the high embowed^ roof, 
 With antique pillars massy proof,* 
 And storied windows richly dight,'' 
 Casting a dim religious light. 160 
 
 There let the pealing organ blow 
 To the full-voiced choir below. 
 In service high and anthems clear, 
 As may with sweetness, through mine 
 
 ear, 
 Dissolve me into ecstasies, 
 And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 
 And may at last my weary age 
 Find out the peaceful hermitage. 
 The hairy gown and mossy cell, 
 Where I may sit and rightly spell^ 170 
 Of every star that Heaven doth show, 
 And every herb that sips the dew. 
 Till old experience do attain 
 To something like prophetic strain. 
 These pleasures. Melancholy, give. 
 And I with thee will choose to live. 
 
 (1634) 
 
 DEATH 
 
 JOHN DONNE 
 
 Death, be not proud, though some have 
 called thee 
 
 Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 
 
 For those whom thou think'st thou dost 
 overthrow 
 
 Die not, poor Death : nor yet canst thou 
 kill me. 
 
 From rest and sleep, which but thy pic- 
 ture be, 
 
 I Come softly before my eyes, trembling in a 
 stream of visions at the movement of Sleep's wings, 
 a pale. Precincts. 3 embowed. Vaulted. 
 
 4 massy proof. Massively strong. 
 
 5 dighl. Decked. 6 spell. Study. 
 
 Much pleasure, then from thee much 
 
 more must flow ; 
 And soonest our best men with thee do 
 
 go- 
 Rest of their bones, and souls' delivery ! 
 Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and 
 
 desperate men. 
 And dost with poison, war, and sickness 
 
 dwell ; 10 
 
 And poppy or charms can make us sleep 
 
 as well, 
 And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st 
 
 thou then? 
 One short sleep past, we wake eternally. 
 And Death shall be no more. Death, 
 
 thou shalt die! 
 
 (1635) 
 
 LYCIDAS 
 
 JOHN MILTON 
 
 [This is a formal elegy in the conventional 
 pastoral form, supposed to be sung by a shepherd 
 in honor of a dead companion (notice that the 
 singer is described in the concluding lines, 186- 
 193), but really uttering the thoughts of Milton 
 concerning his friend, Edward King, \yho was 
 drowned while crossing the Irish Sea in 1637. 
 The framework of the poem, then, is in the classi- 
 cal tradition: the laurels, myrtles, and ivy of 
 the opening lines are symbols of the poetic art; 
 there is a formal address to the Muses (line 15), 
 there are references to the pastoral poet Theocri- 
 tus of Sicily, who had sung of Arethusa and 
 Alpbeus (lines 85, 132-33), and to Virgil, who 
 had celebrated the river Mincius (86); the art 
 of poetry is symbolized as that of shepherds (65), 
 and the life of ease as one of sporting with 
 shepherdesses (67-69). On the other hand, Mil- 
 ton blends with this classical material allusions 
 to English places, persons, and conditions. The 
 island of Mona and the River Dee (54-55) stand 
 for the coast of Wales, near which King was 
 drowned; the "hill" ana "flock" of 23-24 stand 
 for Cambridge University, where the poet and 
 his friend were students together, and Camus 
 (103) is the River Cam at Cambridge; Damoetas 
 (36) is supposed to represent some Cambridge 
 friend or tutor. Still more striking is the Mil- 
 tonic blending of Christian with classical the- 
 ology; thus in lines 81-84 he sets forth his per- 
 sonal faith in the divine Judge of his work as 
 poet, and in 172-181 describes the Christian 
 heaven, with the "nuptial song" of the Marriage 
 of the Lamb. The fact that King was to enter 
 the Church also gave him opportunity to intro- 
 duce the long passage on the state of the times 
 (114-131), and, in his own words, to foretell 
 "the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their 
 height," under the symbol of false shepherds 
 whose poetry (123-4) is as bad as their doctrines 
 (125-7). The wolf of 128 is supposed to be the 
 Roman Catholic Church, and the two-handed 
 weapon of 130 the new Reformation of Milton's 
 time (perhaps called two-handed because of the 
 two Houses of Parliament).] 
 
 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once 
 
 more. 
 Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 237 
 
 I come to pluck your berries harsh and 
 
 crude, 
 And with forced fingers rude 
 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing 
 
 year. 
 Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 
 Compels me to disturb your season due; 
 For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
 Young Lycidas, and hath not left his 
 
 peer. 
 Who would not sing for Lycidas? he 
 
 knew! 10 
 
 Himself to sing, and build the lofty 
 
 rhyme. 
 He must not float upon his watery bier 
 Unwept, and welter^ to the parching 
 
 wind, 
 Without the meed of some melodious 
 
 tear. 
 Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well 
 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth 
 
 spring; 
 Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the 
 
 string. 
 Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : 
 So may some gentle Muse 
 With lucky words favor my destined 
 
 urn, 20 
 
 And as he passes turn, 
 And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 
 For we were nursed upon the self-same 
 
 hill, 
 Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, 
 
 and rill; 
 Together both, ere the high lawns^ ap- 
 peared 
 Under the opening eyelids of the morn, 
 We drove a-field, and both together heard 
 What time the gray-fly* winds her sultry 
 
 horn, 
 Battenings our flocks with the fresh dews 
 
 of night, 
 Oft till the star that rose at evening, 
 
 bright, 30 
 
 Toward heaven's descent had sloped his 
 
 westering wheel. 
 Meanwhile the rural ditties were not 
 
 mute, 
 Tempered to the oaten flute ; 
 Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with 
 
 cloven heel 
 From the glad sound would not be absent 
 
 long; 
 And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 
 
 I knew. Knew how. 2 welter. Be tossed. 
 
 3 lawns. Pastures. 
 
 4 gray-fly. Trumpet-fly, heard especially at 
 cummer noon. S battening. Feeding. 
 
 But O the heavy change, now thou art 
 gone. 
 
 Now thou art gone, and never must re- 
 turn! 
 
 Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and 
 desert caves, 
 
 With wild thyme and the gadding vine 
 o'ergrown, 40 
 
 And all their echoes, mourn. 
 
 The willows and the hazel copses green 
 
 Shall now no more be seen, 
 
 Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft 
 lays. 
 
 As killing as the canker to the rose, 
 
 Or taint-worm to the weanling^ herds 
 that graze, 
 
 Or frost to flowers, that their gay ward- 
 robe wear. 
 
 When first the white-thorn blows; 
 
 Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
 
 Where were ye. Nymphs, when the 
 
 remorseless deep 50 
 
 Closed o'er the head of your loved Ly- 
 cidas? 
 
 For neither were ye playing on the steep 
 
 Where your old bards, the famous Druids, 
 lie, 
 
 Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high. 
 
 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard 
 stream. 
 
 Ay me, I fondly dream ! 
 
 Had ye been there — for what could that 
 have done? 
 
 What could the Muse^ herself that Or- 
 pheus bore, 
 
 The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, 
 
 Whom universal nature did lament, 60 
 
 When by the rout that made the hideous 
 roar 
 
 His gory visage dowji the stream was sent, 
 
 Down the Swift Hebrus to the Lesbian 
 shore? 
 Alas ! what boots it with uncessant care 
 
 To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's 
 trade. 
 
 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? 
 
 Were it not better done, as others use, 
 
 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. 
 
 Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? 
 
 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit 
 doth raise 70 
 
 (That last infirmity of noble mind) 
 
 To scorn delights and live laborious days; 
 
 But the fair guerdon^ when we hope to 
 find, 
 
 6 weanling. Newly weaned. 
 
 7 Calliope was mother of Orpheus. He was 
 slain by the infuriated Thracian Bacchantes, and his 
 head thrown into the River Hebrus. 
 
 8 guerdon. Reward.
 
 238 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And think to burst out into sudden blaz^ 
 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred 
 
 shears,! 
 And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the 
 
 praise," 
 Phoebus^ replied, and touched my trem- 
 bling ears : 
 "Fame is no plant that grows on mortal 
 
 soil. 
 Nor in the glistering foil^ 
 Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor 
 
 lies ; 80 
 
 But lives and spreads aloft by those pure 
 
 eyes 
 And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; 
 As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 
 Of so much fame in heaven expect thy 
 
 meed." 
 
 fountain Arethuse, and thou honored 
 flood. 
 
 Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with 
 vocal reeds. 
 
 That strain I heard was of a higher 
 mood : 
 
 But now my oat* proceeds, 
 
 And listens to the herald^ of the sea. 
 
 That came in Neptune's plea« 90 
 
 He asked the waves, and asked the felon 
 winds, 
 
 What hard mishap hath doomed this 
 gentle swain? 
 
 And questioned every gust of rugged 
 wings 
 
 That blows from off each beaked prom- 
 ontory : 
 
 They knew not of his story; 
 
 And sage Hippotades'^ their answer 
 brings, 
 
 That not a blast was from his dungeon 
 strayed ; 
 
 The air was calm, and on the level brine 
 
 Sleek Panope* with all her sisters 
 played. 
 
 It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 
 
 Built in the eclipse, and rigged with 
 curses dark, 
 
 That sunk so low that sacred head of 
 thine. 
 Next Camus, reverend sire, went foot- 
 ing slow, 
 
 His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,* 
 
 1 Atropos, the third of the Fates. 
 
 2 Phabus. Apollo, god of poets. 
 
 3 foil. Gold-leaf. 
 
 4 oat. Flute (cf. line 33). S herald. Triton. 
 o To inc]uire in Neptune's name. 
 
 7 Hippotades. /Eolus, god of winds. 
 
 8 Panope. A sea-ny mph. 9 sedge. Of reeds. 
 
 Inwrought with figures dim, and on the 
 
 edge 
 Like to that sanguine flower^o inscribed 
 
 with woe. 
 "Ah ! who hath reft," quoth he, "my 
 
 dearest pledge ?"!i 
 Last came, and last did go. 
 The piIot!2 of the Galilean lake; 109 
 
 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). 
 He shook his mitred^^ locks, and stern 
 
 bespake : 
 "How well could I have spared for thee, 
 
 young swain. 
 Enow of such as for their bellies' sake 
 Creep and intrude and climb into the fold ! 
 Of other care they little reckoning make 
 Than how to scramble at the shearers' 
 
 feast. 
 And shove away the worthy bidden guest. 
 Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves 
 
 know how to hold 
 A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else 
 
 the least 120 
 
 That to the faithful herdman's art be- 
 longs ! 
 What recksi* it them? What need they? 
 
 They are sped;i5 
 And when they list, their lean and flashy 
 
 songs 
 Grate on their scranneU^ pipes of 
 
 wretched straw; 
 The hungry sheep look up, and are not 
 
 fed, 
 But swoln with wind and the rank mist 
 
 they draw. 
 Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; 
 Besides what the grim wolf with privy 
 
 paw 
 Daily devours apace, and nothing said. 
 But that two-handed engine^^ at the door 
 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no 
 
 more." 131 
 
 Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is 
 
 past 
 That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian 
 
 Muse, 
 And call the vales, and bid them hither 
 
 cast 
 
 10 The hyacinth, whose petals were said by the 
 Greeks to be lettered "Ai, ai" (alasl), in memory 
 of the youth from whose blood it had sprung. 
 
 11 pledge. Child. 
 
 12 St. Peter, reputed to carry the keys of heaven 
 (see Matthew ib-.K)). 
 
 13 mitred. Wearing a bishop's hcad-dress. 
 
 14 recks it. Does it concern. 
 
 15 are sped. Prosper. 
 
 16 scrannel. Harsh. 
 
 17 engine. Instrument.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 239 
 
 Their bells and flowrets of a thousand 
 
 hues. 
 Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers 
 
 use^ 
 Of shades and wanton winds and gushing 
 
 brooks, 
 On whose fresh lap the swart star^ 
 
 sparely^ looks, 
 Throw hither all your quaint enamelled 
 
 eyes, 
 That on the green turf suck the honeyed 
 
 showers, 140 
 
 And purple all the ground with vernal 
 
 flowers. 
 Bring the rathe* primrose that forsaken 
 
 dies, 
 The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 
 The white pink, and the pansy freaked 
 
 with jet, 
 The glowing violet, 
 The musk-rose, and the well-attired 
 
 woodbine. 
 With cowslips wan that hang the pensive 
 
 head. 
 And every flower that sad embroidery 
 
 wears ; 
 Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 
 And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, 
 To strew the laureate hearse^ where 
 
 Lycid lies. 151 
 
 For so to interpose a little ease. 
 Let our frail thoughts dally with false 
 
 surmise, 
 Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sound- 
 ing seas 
 Wash far away, where'er thy bones are 
 
 hurled ; 
 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
 Where thou perhaps under the whelming 
 
 tide 
 Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous^ 
 
 world; 
 Or whether thou, to our moist vows'' 
 
 denied, 
 Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus^ old, 
 Where the great vision of the guarded 
 
 mount 161 
 
 I use. Are found. 
 
 a swart star. Dog-star, symbolic of heat. 
 
 3 sparely. Sparingly. 
 
 4 rathe. Early. 
 
 5 laureate hearse. Laureled tomb. 
 
 6 monstrous. Full of monsters. 
 
 7 moist vows. Tearful prayers. 
 
 8 Fable of Bellerus. Fabled Bellerus, a name 
 made from Bellerium, the Latin name for the point 
 of Cornwall called Land's End. Here is the mount 
 (line 161) called St. Michael, said to be guarded by 
 the archangel. 
 
 Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's 
 
 hold.9 
 Look homeward. Angel, now, and melt 
 
 with ruth ; 
 And O ye dolphins, waft the hapless 
 
 youth.io 
 Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep 
 
 no more, 
 For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. 
 Sunk though he be beneath the watery 
 
 floor; 
 So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed. 
 And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 
 And tricks^i his beams, and with new- 
 spangled ore 170 
 Flames in the forehead of the morning 
 
 sky : 
 So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, 
 Through the dear might of Him that 
 
 walked the waves. 
 Where, other groves and other streams 
 
 along. 
 With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 
 And hears the unexpressive^^ nuptial 
 
 song, 
 In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and 
 
 love. 
 There entertain him all the saints above, 
 In solemn troops and sweet societies, 
 That sing, and singing in their glory 
 
 move, 180 
 
 And wipe the tears for ever from his 
 
 eyes. 
 Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no 
 
 more; 
 Henceforth thou art the Genius^^ of the 
 
 shore. 
 In thy large recompense, and shalt be 
 
 good 
 To all that wander in that perilous flood. 
 
 Thus sang the uncouth^* swain to the 
 oaks and rills. 
 
 While the still morn went out with san- 
 dals gray ; 
 
 He touched the tender stops of various 
 quills. 
 
 With eager thought warbling his Doric^' 
 lay: 
 
 And now the sun had stretched out all 
 the hills, 190 
 
 9 hold. Castle. Namancos and Bayona were in 
 Spain. 
 
 10 Dolphins had carried Arion to shore when he 
 was thrown overboard. 
 
 11 tricks. Arranges (like decorations). 
 IS unexpressive. Inexpressible. 
 
 13 Genius. Good spirit. 
 
 14 uncouth. Unknown. 
 
 15 Doric. Pastoral.
 
 240 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And now was dropped into the western 
 
 bay. 
 At last he rose, and twitched his mantle 
 
 blue: 
 To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures 
 
 new. 
 
 (1638) 
 
 SONG 
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 
 
 Prithee, why so pale? 
 Will, when looking well can't move her, 
 
 Looking ill prevail? 
 
 Prithee, why so pale? 
 
 Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 
 
 Prithee, why so mute? 
 Will, when speaking well can't win her. 
 
 Saying nothing do't? 
 
 Prithee, why so mute? 10 
 
 Quit, quit for shame! This will not 
 move; 
 
 This cannot take her. 
 If of herself she will not love, 
 
 Nothing can make her: 
 
 The devil take her I 
 
 (1638) 
 
 ON HIS BEING ARRIVED TO THE 
 AGE OF TWENTY-THREE 
 
 JOHN MILTON 
 
 How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of 
 youth. 
 
 Stolen on his wing my three and twenti- 
 eth year! 
 
 My hasting days fly on with full career. 
 
 But my late spring no bud or blossom 
 shew'th. 
 
 Perhaps my semblance^ might deceive the 
 truth. 
 
 That I to manhood am arrived so near; 
 
 And inward ripeness doth much less ap- 
 pear, 
 
 That some more timely-happy spirits en- 
 du'th.2 8 
 
 1 semblance. Youthful appearance. 
 
 2 endu'th, Eadoweth. 
 
 Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, 
 It shall be still in strictest measure even^ 
 To that same lot, however mean or high. 
 Toward which Time leads me, and the 
 
 will of Heaven : 
 All is, if I have grace to see it co, 
 As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye. 
 
 (1645) 
 
 THE HOLY NATIVITY 
 
 A Hymn Sung as by the Shepherds 
 
 RICHARD CRASHAW 
 
 [The poem as it stands here is only a portion 
 of a much longer composition. In part it was 
 written to represent a dialogue between two of 
 the shepherds: "Tityrus" utters stanzas 1 and 4, 
 "Thyrsis" stanzas 2 and 5, while both sing the 
 third.] 
 
 Gloomy night embraced the place 
 
 Where the noble Infant lay. 
 The Babe looked up and showed his face ; 
 
 In spite of darkness, it was day. 
 It was thy day, Sweet! and did rise. 
 Not from the East, but from thine eyes. 
 
 Winter chid aloud, and sent 
 
 The angry North to wage his wars. 
 The North forgot his fierce intent. 
 
 And left perfumes instead of scars. lo 
 By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers. 
 Where he meant frost, he scattered 
 flowers. 
 
 We saw thee in thy balmy nest, 
 Young dawn of our eternal day! 
 
 We saw thine eyes break from their 
 East, 
 And chase the trembling shades away. 
 
 We saw thee, and we blessed the sight; 
 
 We saw thee by thine own sweet light. 
 
 Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do 
 To entertain this starry Stranger? 20 
 
 Is this the best thou canst bestow, — 
 A cold and not too cleanly manger? 
 
 Contend, the powers of heaven and earth, 
 
 To fit a bed for this huge birth. 
 3 be . , . even. Correspond.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 241 
 
 Proud world, said I, cease your contest, 
 And let the mighty Babe alone. 
 
 The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest.^ 
 Love's architecture is his own. 
 
 The Babe whose birth embraves this 
 morn 
 
 Made his own bed ere He was born. 30 
 
 (1646) 
 
 CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING 
 
 ROBERT HERRICK 
 
 Get up, get up for shame! the blooming 
 
 morn 
 Upon her wings presents the god un- 
 shorn.2 
 See how Aurora throws her fair 
 Fresh-quilted colors through the air; 
 Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 
 Thj dew bespangling herb and tree. 
 Each flower has wept and bowed toward 
 
 the east 
 Above an hour since : yet you not dressed ; 
 Nay ! not so much as out of bed? 
 When all the birds have matins said 10 
 And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin, 
 Nay, profanation, to keep in, 
 Whenas a thousand virgins on this day 
 Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in 
 May.3 
 
 Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen 
 To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh 
 and green, 
 And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
 For jewels for your gown or hair: 
 Fear not; the leaves will strew 
 Gems in abundance upon you : 20 
 
 Besides, the childhood of the day has 
 
 kept. 
 Against you come, some orient pearls un- 
 wept; 
 Come and receive them while the light 
 Hangs on the dew-locks of the night : 
 And Titan* on the eastern hill 
 Retires himself, or else stands still 
 Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be 
 
 brief in praying: 
 Few beads^ are best when once we go 
 a-Maying. 
 
 I The phoenix was a mythical bird said to live 
 for centuries; at length it would build a nest, set 
 fire to it, and find a new birth after being consumed 
 in the flames. 
 
 3 god unshorn. The sun with all his beams. 
 
 3 May. May-blossoms (especially hawthorn). 
 
 4 Titan. The sun-god. 
 
 5 beads. Prayers. 
 
 Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, 
 
 mark 
 How each field turns a street, each street 
 a park 30 
 
 Made green and trimmed with trees; 
 
 see how 
 Devotion gives each house a bough 
 Or branch : each porch, each door ere 
 
 this 
 An ark, a tabernacle is. 
 Made up of white-thorn, neatly inter- 
 wove; 
 As if here were those cooler shades of 
 love. 
 Can such delights be in the street 
 And open fields and we not see't? 
 Come, we'll abroad ; and let's obey 
 The proclamation made for May 40 
 
 And sin no more, as we have done, by 
 
 staying ; 
 But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying. 
 
 There's not a budding boy or girl this 
 
 day 
 But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 
 A deal of youth, ere thTs, is come 
 Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 
 Some have despatched their cakes and 
 
 cream 
 Before that we have left to dream : 
 And some have wept, and wooed, and 
 
 plighted troth. 
 And chose their priest, ere we can cast 
 off sloth : 50 
 
 Many a green-gown^ has been given; 
 Many a kiss, both odd and even : 
 Many a glance, too, has been sent 
 From out the eye, love's firmament; 
 Many a jest told of the keys betraying 
 This night, and locks picked, yet we're 
 not a-Maying. 
 
 Come, let us go while we are in our 
 
 prime; 
 And take the harmless folly of the time ! 
 We shall grow old apace, and die 
 Before we know our liberty. 60 
 
 Our life is short, and our days run 
 As fast away as does the sun; 
 And, as a vapor or a drop of rain, 
 Once lost, can ne'er be found again. 
 So when or you or I are made 
 A fable, song, or fleeting shade, 
 All love, all liking, all delight 
 Lies drowned with us in endless night. 
 6 green-gown. Tumble on the grass.
 
 242 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Then while time serves, and we are but 
 
 decaying, 
 Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-May- 
 
 ing. 70 
 
 (1648) 
 
 A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR 
 HIS HOUSE 
 
 ROBERT HERRICK 
 
 Lord, thou hast given me a cell 
 
 Wherein to dwell, 
 A little house, whose humble roof 
 
 Is weatherproof. 
 Under the spars^ of which I lie 
 
 Both soft and dry; 
 Where thou, my chamber for to ward, 
 
 Hast set a guard 
 Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep 
 
 Me while I sleep. 10 
 
 Low is my porch, as is my fate, 
 
 Both void of state; 
 And yet the threshold of my door 
 
 Is worn by th' poor. 
 Who thither come and freely get 
 
 Good words or meat. 
 Like as my parlor, so my hall 
 
 And kitchen's small; 
 A little buttery, and therein 
 
 A little bin, 20 
 
 Which keeps my little loaf of bread 
 
 Unchipped, unflead;^ 
 Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar 
 
 Make me a fire. 
 Close by whose living coal I sit, 
 
 And glow like it. 
 Lord, I confess too, when I dine, 
 
 The pulse is thine. 
 And all those other bits that be 
 
 There placed by thee; 3° 
 
 The worts,s the purslane, and the mess 
 
 Of watercress. 
 Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; 
 
 And my content 
 Makes those, and my beloved beet. 
 
 To be more sweet. 
 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering 
 hearth 
 
 With guiltless mirth, 
 And giv'st me wassail* bowls to drink. 
 
 Spiced to the brink. 40 
 
 Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand 
 
 That soils my land, 
 
 I spars. Beams. 
 
 a unflead. Unflayed (by mice). 
 
 3 worts. Roots. 
 
 4 wassail. Festal. 
 
 And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, 
 
 Twice ten for one; 
 Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay 
 
 Her egg each day; 
 Besides my healthful ewes to bear 
 
 Me twins each year; 
 The while the conduits of my kine 
 
 Run cream, for wine. So 
 
 All these, and better, thou dost send 
 
 Me, to this end. 
 That I should render, for my part, 
 
 A thankful heart. 
 Which, fired with incense, I resign, 
 
 As wholly thine; 
 But the acceptance — that must be. 
 
 My Christ, by Thee. 
 
 (1648) 
 
 ON JULIA'S CLOTHES 
 
 ROBERT HERRICK 
 
 Whenas in silks my Julia goes 
 
 Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows 
 
 That liquefaction of her clothes. 
 
 Next, when I cast mine eyes and see 
 That brave vibration each way free; 
 O how that glittering taketh me ! 
 
 (1648) 
 
 TO DAFFODILS 
 ROBERT HERRICK 
 
 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 You haste away so soon: 
 As yet the early-rising Sun 
 
 Has not attained his noon. 
 Stay, stay, 
 
 Until the hasting day 
 Has run 
 
 But to the evensong; 
 And, having prayed together, we 
 
 Will go with you along. 10 
 
 We have short time to stay, as you, 
 
 We have as short a spring ; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay 
 
 As you, or anything. 
 We die. 
 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 Away 
 
 Like to the Summer's rain ; 
 Or as the pearls of morning's dew 
 
 Ne'er to be found again. 20 
 
 (1648)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 243 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 Sung to the King in the Presence at 
 Whitehall 
 
 ROBERT HERRICK 
 
 What sweeter music can we bring 
 Than a carol, for to sing 
 The birth of this our heavenly King? 
 Awake the voice ! Awake the string ! 
 Heart, ear, and eye, and every thing, 
 Awake! the while the active finger 
 Runs division^ with the singer. 
 
 Dark and dull night, fly hence away, 
 
 And give the honor to this day 
 
 That ^aes December turned to May. lo 
 
 If we may ask the reason, say 
 
 The why and wherefore all things here 
 
 Seem like the spring-time of the year? 
 
 Why does the chilling winter's morn 
 Smile like a field beset with corn, 
 Or smell like to a mead new-shorn, 
 Thus on the sudden? 
 
 Come and see 
 The cause why things thus fragrant be. 
 'Tis He is born, whose quickening birth 
 Gives life and lustre, public mirth, 20 
 To heaven and the under earth. 
 
 We see Him come, and know Him ours. 
 Who, with his sunshine and his showers. 
 Turns all the patient ground to flowers. 
 
 The Darling of the world is come, 
 And fit it is we find a room 
 To welcome Him. 
 
 The nobler part 
 Of all the house here is the heart, 
 Which we will give Him, and bequeath 
 This holly and this ivy wreath, 30 
 
 To do Him honor, who's our King, 
 And Lord of all this reveling. 
 
 (1648) 
 
 1 division. A rapid imusjcal passage sung (us.i- 
 ally) to a single syllable. 
 
 TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE 
 WARS 
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind, 
 
 That from the nunnery 
 Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 
 
 To war and arms I fly. 
 
 True, a new mistress now I chase, 
 
 The first foe in the field; 
 And with a stronger faith embrace 
 
 A sword, a horse, a shield. 
 
 Yet this inconstancy is such 
 
 As you too shall adore; 10 
 
 I could not love thee, Dear, so much, 
 
 Loved I not Honor more. 
 
 (1649) 
 
 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON 
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 (Lovelace was twice a prisoner as the result of 
 his devotion to King Charles I.] 
 
 When Love with unconfined wings 
 
 Hovers within my gates. 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 
 To whisper at the grates; 
 When I lie tangled in her hair 
 
 And fettered to her eye, 
 The gods that wanton in the air 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allayingi Thames, lO 
 
 Our careless heads with roses bound, 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames; 
 When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
 
 When healths and draughts go free — 
 Fishes that tipple in the deep 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When (like committed^ linnets) I 
 
 With shriller throat shall sing 
 The sweetness, mercy, majesty 
 
 And glories of my King; 20 
 
 When I shall voice aloud how good 
 
 He is, how great should be, 
 Enlarged' winds, that curl the flood, 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 1 allaying. Diluting. 
 
 2 committed. Imprisoned. 
 
 3 Enlarged, Free.
 
 244 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 
 Nor iron bars a cage; 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 
 That for an hermitage; 
 If I have freedom in my love 
 
 And in my soul am free, 30 
 
 Angels alone, that soar above. 
 
 Enjoy such liberty. 
 
 (1649) 
 
 SONG 
 
 JAMES SHIRLEY 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial things; 
 There is no armor against fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
 Sceptre and crown 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill : 
 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
 
 They tame but one another still : 12 
 
 Early or late 
 
 They stoop to fate, 
 
 And must give up their murmuring breath 
 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow ; 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
 Upon Death's purple altar now 
 
 See where the victor-victim bleeds : 
 
 Your heads must come 21 
 
 To the cold tomb ; 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 
 
 (i6S9) 
 
 ON HIS BLINDNESS 
 
 JOHN MILTON 
 
 When I consider how my light is spent 
 Ere half my days, in this dark world and 
 
 wide. 
 And that one talent which is death to hide 
 Lodged with me useless, though my soul 
 
 more bent 
 To serve therewith my Maker, and 
 
 present 
 
 My true account, lest He returning 
 chide, — 
 
 "Doth God exact day-labor, light de- 
 nied?" 
 
 I fondly^ ask. But Patience, to prevent 
 
 That murmur, soon replies : "God doth 
 not need 
 
 Either man's work or His own gifts : who 
 best 10 
 
 Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best : 
 His state 
 
 Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed, 
 
 And post^ o'er land and ocean without 
 rest : — 
 
 They also serve who only stand and wait." 
 
 (1673) 
 
 SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN 
 
 [St. Cecilia was the patron saint of music, par- 
 ticularly organ music, and a musical society in 
 London used to celebrate her feast day, Novem- 
 ber 22, with a choral concert. Dryden >yrote 
 this and the following ode for these celebrations; 
 that for 1687 was set to music by_ the Italian 
 composer Draghi. The poet bases his conception 
 on an old philosophic theory that the atoms of 
 the universe were first set in order by means of 
 musical harmony, and continued to form "the 
 music of the spheres." At the close he unites 
 with this idea the Christian theme of the Dayof 
 Tudgment, imagining that the sound of the divirie 
 Trumpet will be the concluding note of this 
 music of creation. The notion that an angel 
 appeared to Cecilia at her music was a part of 
 the legend of that saint.] 
 
 From harmony, from heavenly harmony 
 This universal frame began : 
 When Nature underneath a heap 
 
 Of jarring atoms lay, 
 And could not heave her head. 
 
 The tuneful voice was heard from high, 
 "Arise, ye more than dead !" 
 
 Then cold and hot and moist and dry^ 
 
 In order to their stations leap. 
 
 And Music's power obey. 10 
 
 From harmony, from heavenly harmony 
 This universal frame began: 
 From harmony to harmony 
 
 Through all the compass of the notes it 
 ran, 
 
 The diapason* closing full in Man. 
 
 1 fondly. Foolishly. 
 
 2 post. Hasten. 
 
 3 The four kinds of natural substances, according 
 to ancient science. 
 
 4 diapason. The compass of an instrument.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 245 
 
 What passion cannot Music raise and 
 quell ! 
 When Jubali struck the chorded shell 
 His listening brethren stood around, 
 And, wondering, on their faces fell 
 To worship that celestial sound. 20 
 
 Less than a god they thought there could 
 not dwell 
 Within the hollow of that shell 
 That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
 What passion cannot Music raise and 
 quell ! 
 
 The trumpet's loud clangor 
 
 Excites us to arms, 
 With shrill notes of anger 
 
 And mortal alarms. 
 The double double double beat 
 
 Of the thundering drum 30 
 
 Cries "Hark ! the foes come ; 
 Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!" 
 
 The soft complaining flute 
 In dying notes discovers 
 The woes of hopeless lovers, 
 
 Whose dirge is whispered by the war- 
 bling lute. 
 
 Sharp violins proclaim 
 Their jealous pangs and desperation, 
 Fury, frantic indignation, 
 Depth of pains, and height of passion 
 
 For the fair disdainful dame. 
 
 But Oh ! what art can teach. 
 What human voice can reach. 
 
 The sacred organ's praise? 
 Notes inspiring holy love, 
 Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
 
 To mend the choirs above. 
 
 Orpheus could lead the savage race, 
 And trees uprooted left their place 
 
 Sequacious^ of the lyre 50 
 
 But bright Cecilia raised the wonder 
 
 higher : 
 When to her Organ vocal breath was 
 given, 
 An angel heard, and straight appeared, 
 Mistaking earth for heaven. 
 
 As from the power of sacred lays 
 The spheres began to move. 
 
 And sung the great Creator's praise 
 To all the blest above ; 
 
 I Jubal. See Genesis iv, 21: "The father of all 
 such as handle the harp or the organ." 
 a sequacious of. Following. 
 
 So when the last and dreadful hour 
 This crumbling pageant shall devour, 60 
 The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
 The dead shall live, the living die, 
 And Music shall untune the sky. 
 
 (1693) 
 
 ALEXANDER'S FEAST 
 
 OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN 
 
 [The St. Cecilia's Day ode for 1697. Dryden 
 found among the _ ancient stories of Alexander 
 the Great a mention of Timotheus, a musician 
 who had_ deeply stirred the king when playing 
 before him. _ He develops this legend in strophes 
 2-6, imagining the succession of Timotheus's 
 themes and their effect on the royal fistener; in 
 the last stanza the invention of the organ by St. 
 Cecilia is regarded as a still greater triumph, in 
 view of the legend already referred to in the 
 Ode for 1687 (line 53).] 
 
 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 
 By Philip's warlike son : 
 Aloft in awful state 
 The godlike hero sate 
 On his imperial throne; 
 His valiant peers were placed around. 
 Their brows with roses and with myrtles 
 bound 
 (So should desert in arms be crowned) ; 
 The lovely Thais by his side 
 Sate like a blooming Eastern bride 10 
 In flower of youth and beauty's pride : — 
 Happy, happy, happy pair! 
 None but the brave. 
 None but the brave, 
 None but the brave deserves the fair! 
 
 Timotheus, placed on high 
 Amid the tuneful choir. 
 With flying fingers touched the lyre : 
 The trembling notes ascend the sky 
 And heavenly joys inspire 20 
 
 The song began from^ Jove, 
 Who left his blissful seats above — 
 Such is the power of mighty love! 
 A dragon's fiery form belied* the god ; 
 Sublime^ on radiant spires^ he rode 
 When he to fair Olympia pressed. 
 And while he sought her snowy breast; 
 
 3 began from. First treated of. 
 
 4 belied. Disguised. 
 
 5 Sublime. High. 
 
 6 spires. Coils.
 
 246 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Then round her slender waist he curled, 
 And stamped an image of himself, a sov- 
 ereign of the world. 
 — The listening crowd admire the lofty 
 sound ; 30 
 
 "A present deity !" they shout around : 
 "A present deity !" the vaulted roofs re- 
 bound : 
 With ravished ears 
 The monarch hears, 
 Assumes the god,^ 
 Affects to nod 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
 in 
 The praise of Bacchus then the sweet 
 musician sung, 
 Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: 
 The jolly god in triumph comes ; 40 
 
 Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ! 
 Flushed with a purple grace 
 He shows his honest face : 
 Now gives the hautboys^ breath; he 
 
 comes, he comes ! 
 Bacchus, ever fair and young. 
 Drinking joys did first ordain; 
 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure. 
 Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: 
 Rich the treasure, 
 Sweet the pleasure, 50 
 
 Sweet is pleasure after pain. 
 
 IV 
 
 Soothed with the sound, the king grew 
 vain; 
 Fought all his battles o'er again, 
 And thrice he routed all his foes, and 
 
 thrice he slew the slain ! _ 
 The master saw the madness rise. 
 His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 
 And, while he heaven and earth defied, 
 Changed his hand and checked his pride. 
 He chose a mournful Muse 
 Soft pity to infuse: 60 
 
 He sung Darius^ great and good, 
 
 By too severe a fate 
 Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 
 Fallen from his high estate, 
 And weltering in his blood; 
 Deserted at his utmost need 
 By those his former bounty fed; 
 On the bare earth exposed he lies 
 With not a friend to close his eyes. 
 
 1 That is, assumes for the moment the character 
 of Jove, whose nod shook heaven and earth. 
 
 2 hautboys. Oboes. 
 
 3 Darius. The Persian king whom Alexander 
 had overthrown. 
 
 — With downcast looks the joyless victor 
 sate, 70 
 
 Revolving in his altered soul 
 The various turns of chance below; 
 And now and then a sigh he stole, 
 And tears began to flow. 
 
 The mighty master smiled, to see 
 That love was in the next degree; 
 'Twas but a kindred sound to move, 
 For pity melts the mind to love. 
 Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,* 
 Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 80 
 War, he sung, is toil and trouble. 
 Honor but an empty bubble; 
 Never ending, still beginning, 
 Fighting still, and still destroying; 
 If the world be worth thy winning. 
 Think, O think it worth enjoying: 
 Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 
 Take the good the gods provide thee! 
 — The many rend the skies with loud 
 
 applause ; 
 So Love was crowned, but Music won 
 
 the cause. 90 
 
 The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
 Gazed on the fair 
 Who caused his care, 
 And sighed and looked, sighed and 
 
 looked. 
 Sighed and looked, and sighed again: 
 At length, with love and wine at once 
 
 oppressed, 
 The vanquished victor sunk upon her 
 
 breast. 
 
 VI 
 
 Now strike the golden lyre again: 
 A louder yet, and yet a louder strain! 
 Break his hands of sleep asunder, 100 
 And rouse him like a rattling peal of 
 thunder. 
 Hark, hark ! the horrid sound 
 Has raised up his head : 
 As awaked from the dead, 
 And amazed, he stares around. 
 "Revenge, revenge !" Timotheus cries, 
 "See the Furies arise! 
 See the snakes that they rear 
 How they hiss in their hair, 
 And the sparkles that flash from their 
 eyes! no 
 
 Behold a ghastly band, 
 Each a torch in his hand! 
 
 4 Lydian measures, A soft and effeminate type 
 of Greek music.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 247 
 
 Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle 
 were slain, 
 And unburied remain 
 Inglorious on the plain : 
 Give the vengeance due 
 To the valiant crew ! 
 Behold how they toss their torches on 
 
 high. 
 How they point to the Persian abodes, 
 And glittering temples of their hostile 
 gods !" 120 
 
 —The princes applaud with a furious joy : 
 And the King seized a flambeau with zeal 
 to destroy; 
 Thais led the way, 
 To light him to his prey. 
 And, like another Helen, fired another 
 Troy! 
 
 VII 
 
 Thus, long ago, 
 Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
 While organs yet were mute, 
 Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
 
 And sounding lyre 130 
 
 Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle 
 
 soft desire 
 At last divine Cecilia came, 
 Inventress of the vocal frame ;i 
 The sweet enthusiast from her sacred 
 
 store 
 Enlarged the former narrow bounds. 
 And added length to solemn sounds,^ 
 With Nature's mother-wit, and arts un- 
 known before. 
 — Let old Timotheus yield the prize 
 
 Or both divide the crown ; 
 He raised a mortal to the skies; 140 
 
 She drew an angel down! 
 
 (1697) 
 
 THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON 
 HIGH 
 
 JOSEPH ADDISON 
 
 The spacious firmament on high. 
 
 With all the blue ethereal sky. 
 
 And spangled heavens, a shining frame. 
 
 Their great Original proclaim. 
 
 Th' unwearied Sun from day to day 
 
 Does his Creator's power display; 
 
 And publishes to every land 
 
 The work of an Almighty hand. 
 
 1 vocal frame. Organ. 
 
 2 It is characteristic of the organ to prolong 
 •ounds beyond the power of any other instrument. 
 
 Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
 
 The Moon takes up the wondrous tale ; 10 
 
 And nightly to the listening Earth 
 
 Repeats the story of her birth : 
 
 Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 
 
 And all the planets in their turn, 
 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll. 
 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
 
 What though in solemn silence all 
 Move round the dark terrestrial ball; 
 What though nor real voice nor sound 
 Amidst their radiant orbs be found? 20 
 In Reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice; 
 Forever singing as they shine, 
 "The hand that made us is divine." 
 
 (1712) 
 
 RULE BRITANNIA 
 
 JAMES THOMSON 
 
 When Britain first at Heaven's com- 
 mand 
 Arose from out the azure main,' 
 This was the charter of her land, 
 And guardian angels sung the strain : 
 Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the 
 waves ! 
 Britons never shall be slaves. 
 
 The nations not so blest as thee 
 Must in their turn to tyrants fall, 
 
 Whilst thou shalt flourish great and 
 free 
 The dread and envy of them all. 10 
 
 Still more majestic shalt thou rise. 
 More dreadful from each foreign 
 stroke ; 
 
 As the loud blast that tears the skies 
 Serves but to root thy native oak. 
 
 Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ; 
 
 All their attempts to bend thee down 
 Will but arouse thy generous flame. 
 
 And work their woe and thy renown. 
 
 To thee belongs the rural reign ; 19 
 
 Thy cities shall with commerce shine; 
 
 All thine shall be the subject main, 
 And every shore it circles, thine? 
 
 3 main. Sea.
 
 248 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The Muses, still^ with Freedom found, 
 
 Shall to thy happy coast repair; 
 Blest Isle, with matchless beauty 
 crowned, 
 And manly hearts to guard the 
 fair : — 
 Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the 
 waves ! 
 Britons never shall be slaves I 
 
 (1740) 
 
 ODE 
 
 WRITTEN IN 1746 
 
 WILLIAM COLLINS 
 
 [In memory of British soldiers who fell in the 
 War of the Austrian Succession, 1745-46.] 
 
 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
 By all their country's wishes blest ! 
 When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
 Returns to deck their hallowed mould. 
 She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
 
 By fairy hands their knell is rung. 
 By forms unseen their dirge is sung: 
 There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 9 
 To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 
 And Freedom shall awhile repair 
 To dwell, a weeping hermit, there ! 
 
 (1746) 
 
 ODE TO EVENING 
 WILLIAM COLLINS 
 
 If aught of oaten stop2 or pastoral song 
 May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy 
 modest ear. 
 Like thy own solemn springs, 
 Thy springs, and dying gales; 
 
 O Nymph reserved, while now the bright- 
 haired sun 
 Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy 
 skirts, 
 With brede' ethereal wove, 
 O'erhang his wavy bed; 
 
 Now air is hushed, save where the weak- 
 eyed bat 
 With short shrill shriek flits by on leath- 
 ern wing, 10 
 Or where the beetle winds 
 His small but sullen horn, 
 
 I still. Always. 
 
 3 oaUn stop. Shepherd's pipe. 
 
 3 brede. Embroidery. 
 
 As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path. 
 Against the pilgrim borne in heedless 
 hum, — 
 Now teach me, maid composed. 
 To breathe some softened strain. 
 
 Whose numbers, stealing through thy 
 
 darkening vale. 
 May not unseemly with its stillness suit; 
 
 As, musing slow, I hail 
 
 Thy genial loved return! 20 
 
 For when thy folding-star* arising shows 
 His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 
 The fragrant Hours, and elves 
 Who slept in flowers the day, 
 
 And many a nymph who wreathes her 
 
 brows with sedge 
 And sheds the freshening dew, and, love- 
 lier still. 
 The pensive Pleasures sweet, 
 Prepare thy shadowy car. 
 
 Then lead, calm votaress, where some 
 
 sheety lake 
 Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hal- 
 lowed pile 30 
 Or upland follows gray 
 Reflect its last cool gleam. 
 
 But when chill blustering winds, or driv- 
 ing rain, 
 
 Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut 
 That, from the mountain's side, 
 Views wilds, and swelling floods, 
 
 And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered 
 
 spires. 
 And hears their simple bell, and marks 
 o'er all 
 Thy dewy fingers draw 
 The gradual dusky veil. 40 
 
 While Spring shall pour his showers, as 
 
 oft he wont, 
 And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest 
 Eve; 
 While Summer loves to sport 
 Beneath thy lingering light; 
 
 While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with 
 
 leaves; 
 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous 
 air. 
 Affrights thy shrinking train 
 And rudely rends thy robes; 
 
 4 folding-star. The star that marked the time 
 for taking. in the flocks.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 249 
 
 So long, regardful of thy quiet rule 
 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose- 
 lipped Health, 50 
 Thy gentlest influence own, 
 And hymn thy favorite name! 
 
 (1746) 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall 
 burn, 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening 
 care : 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to 
 share. 
 
 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY 
 CHURCHYARD 
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 fThe churchyard was that of Stoke Pops, 
 where the poet himself was eventually buried. 
 His indolent and meditative habits are described 
 in lines 101-107; for his "melancholy" (line 120) 
 compare the note on Milton's // Penseroso.1 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
 The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the 
 lea, 
 The ploughman homeward plods his 
 weary way. 
 And leaves the world to darkness and 
 to me. 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on 
 the sight. 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning 
 flight. 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant 
 folds: 
 
 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
 The moping owl does to the moon com- 
 plain ID 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret 
 bower. 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign. 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew- 
 tree's shade, 
 Where heaves the turf in many a moul- 
 dering heap. 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet 
 sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing 
 Morn, 
 The swallow twittering from the straw- 
 built shed, 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing 
 horn. 
 No more shall rouse them from their 
 lowly bed. 20 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe* 
 has broke; 
 How jocund did they drive their team 
 afield ! 
 How bowed the woods beneath their 
 sturdy stroke! 
 
 Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 
 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
 
 Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful 
 
 smile 31 
 
 The short and simple annals of the 
 
 poor. 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er 
 gave. 
 Await alike th' inevitable hour -.2 — 
 The paths of glory lead but to the 
 grave. 
 
 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the 
 fault, 
 If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies 
 raise, 
 Where through the long-drawn aisle and 
 fretted vault 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of 
 praise. AP 
 
 Can storied urn» or animated bust 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting 
 breath ? 
 Can Honor's voice provoke* the silent 
 dust. 
 Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of 
 death? 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial 
 fire; 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have 
 swayed. 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 
 
 1 lUbe. Sod. 
 
 a Await . . . hour. The inevitable hour awaits. 
 
 3 storied urn. Decorated burial urn. 
 
 4 provoke. Arouse.
 
 250 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But Knowledge to their eyes her ample 
 
 page, 
 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er 
 
 unroll ; 50 
 
 Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
 
 And froze the genial^ current of the 
 
 soul. 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 The dark unfathomed caves of ocean 
 bear; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush un- 
 seen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert 
 air. 
 
 Some village Hampden,^ that with daunt- 
 less breast 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 
 Some mute inglorious Milton, here may 
 rest. 
 Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's 
 blood. 60 
 
 Th' applause of listening senates to com- 
 mand, 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 And read their history in a nation's 
 eyes, 
 
 Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed 
 alone 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes 
 confined ; 
 Forbade to wade through slaughter to a 
 throne. 
 And shut the gates of mercy on man- 
 kind; 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious truth 
 to hide, 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous 
 shame, 70 
 
 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
 With incense kindled at the Muse's 
 flame.2 
 
 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble 
 strife 
 Their sober wishes never learned to 
 stray; 
 Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
 They kept the noiseless tenor* of their 
 way. 
 
 I genial. Lively, warm. 
 
 a Hampden. A Puritan leader who resisted 
 Charles I. 
 
 3 Write flattering verses for proud patrons. 
 
 4 tenor. Course. 
 
 Yet ev'n these bones from insult to pro- 
 tect 
 Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
 With uncouth rhymes and shapeless 
 sculpture decked, 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
 
 Their name, their years, spelt by th' un- 
 lettered Muse,' 81 
 
 The place of fame and elegy supply : 
 And many a holy text around she strews. 
 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die.^ 
 
 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey. 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er re- 
 signed, 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful 
 day, 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look 
 behind? 
 
 On some fond breast the parting soul 
 relies, 
 Some pious drops the closing eye re- 
 quires ; 90 
 Ee'n from the tomb the voice of Nature 
 cries, 
 Ee'n in our ashes live their wonted 
 fires. 
 
 For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored 
 dead. 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale re- 
 late. 
 If chance, '^ by lonely Contemplation led. 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy 
 fate,— 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
 "Oft have we seen him at the peep of 
 dawn. 
 
 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 
 
 "There at the foot of yonder nodding 
 beech loi 
 
 That wreathes its old fantastic roots so 
 high, 
 His listless length at noon-tide would he 
 stretch. 
 And pore upon the brook that babbles 
 by. 
 
 5 unlettered Muse. Village poets. 
 
 6 to die. How to die (piously). 
 
 7 chance. Perchance.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 251 
 
 "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in 
 scorn, 
 Muttering his wayward fancies, he 
 would rove; 
 Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one for- 
 lorn, 
 Or crazed with care, or crossed in hope- 
 less love. 
 
 "One morn I missed him on the customed 
 hill. 
 Along the heath, and near his favorite 
 tree; no 
 
 Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was 
 he; 
 
 "The next, with dirges due, in sad array 
 Slow through the church-way path we 
 saw him borne, — 
 Approach and read ( for thou canst read) 
 the lay 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged 
 thorn." 
 
 THE EPITAPH 
 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth 
 A youth to Fortune and to Fame un- 
 known ; 
 Fair Science frowned not on his humble 
 birth.i 
 And Melancholy marked him for her 
 own. 120 
 
 Large was his bounty, and his soul sin- 
 cere; 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely 
 send: 
 He gave to Misery all he had, a tear; 
 He gained from Heaven ('twas all he 
 wished) a friend. 
 
 No farther seek his merits to disclose. 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread 
 abode 
 (There they alike in trembling hope re- 
 pose), 
 The bosom of his Father and his God. 
 
 (1751) 
 
 I His humble birth did not prevent his love of 
 learning. 
 
 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 
 
 [In this poem Goldsmith pictured the experi- 
 ences of his childhood, Auburn being generally 
 identified with Lissoy, his early Irish home, and 
 the village parson with his father or uncle. The 
 neighborhood in question had suffered in recent 
 years from a tyrannical landlord (line 37), who 
 had evicted many tenants, and Goldsmith re- 
 garded this as typical of the encroachments of 
 the land-holding class, and, in general, of the 
 growth of commerce and luxury at the expense 
 of rural life and an equitable distribution of 
 goods.] 
 
 Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the 
 
 plain; 
 Where health and plenty cheered the la- 
 boring swain. 
 Where smiling spring its earliest visit 
 
 paid, 
 And parting summer's lingering blooms 
 
 delayed : 
 Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
 Seats of my youth, when every sport 
 
 could please. 
 How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
 Where humble happiness endeared each 
 
 scene ! 
 How often have I paused on every charm. 
 The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 10 
 The never-failing brook, the busy mill. 
 The decent church that topped the neigh- 
 boring hill. 
 The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath 
 
 the shade 
 For talking age and whispering lovers 
 
 made! 
 How often have I blessed the coming day, 
 When toil remitting lent its turn to play. 
 And all the village train, from labor free. 
 Led up their sports beneath the spread- 
 ing tree. 
 While many a pastime circled in the 
 
 shade. 
 The young contending as the old sur- 
 veyed ; 20 
 And many a gambol frolicked o'er the 
 
 ground. 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength 
 
 went round. 
 And still, as each repeated pleasure tired. 
 Succeeding sports the mirthful band in- 
 spired; 
 The dancing pair that simply sought re- 
 nown 
 By holding out to tire each other down;
 
 252 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The swain mistrustless of his smutted 
 face, 
 
 While secret laughter tittered round the 
 place ; 
 
 The bashful virgin's side-long looks of 
 love, 
 
 The matron's glance that would those 
 looks reprove : 30 
 
 These were thy charms, sweet village! 
 sports like these. 
 
 With sweet succession, taught even toil 
 to please : 
 
 These round thy bowers their cheerful 
 influence shed: 
 
 These were thy charms — but all these 
 charms are fled. 
 Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the 
 lawn, 
 
 Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms 
 withdrawn. 
 
 Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is 
 seen, 
 
 And desolation saddens all thy green : 
 
 One only master grasps the whole do- 
 main, 39 
 
 And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 
 
 No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
 
 But, choked with sedges, works its weedy 
 way; 
 
 Along thy glades, a solitary guest. 
 
 The hollow-sounding bittern guards its 
 nest ; 
 
 Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 
 
 And tires their echoes with unvaried 
 cries ; 
 
 Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
 
 And the long grass o'ertops the mould- 
 ering wall ; 
 
 And trembling, shrinking from the spoil- 
 er's hand, 49 
 
 Far, far away thy children leave the land. 
 Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a 
 prey, 
 
 Where wealth accumulates, and men de- 
 cay: 
 
 Princes and lords may flourish, or may 
 fade; 
 
 A breath can make them, as a breath has 
 made : 
 
 But a bold peasantry, their country's 
 pride. 
 
 When once destroyed, can never be sup- 
 plied. 
 A time there was, ere England's griefs 
 began, 
 
 When every rood of ground maintained 
 its man; 
 
 For him light labor spread her wholesome 
 store. 
 
 Just gave what life required, but gave no 
 more : 60 
 
 His best companions, innocence and 
 health ; 
 
 And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 
 But times are altered; trade's unfeeling 
 train 
 
 Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; 
 
 Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets 
 rose. 
 
 Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp re- 
 pose. 
 
 And every want to opulence allied. 
 
 And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
 
 Those gentle hours that plenty bade to 
 bloom, 
 
 Those calm desires that asked but little 
 room, 70 
 
 Those healthful sports that graced the 
 peaceful scene, 
 
 Lived in each look, and brightened all the 
 green ; 
 
 These, far departing, seek a kinder shore. 
 
 And rural mirth and manners are no 
 more. 
 Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful 
 hour, 
 
 Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's 
 power. 
 
 Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
 
 Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined 
 grounds, 
 
 And, many a year elapsed, return to 
 view 
 
 Where once the cottage stood, the haw- 
 thorn grew, 80 
 
 Remembrance wakes, with all her busy 
 train. 
 
 Swells at my breast, and turns the past 
 to pain. 
 In all my wanderings round this world 
 of care. 
 
 In all my griefs — and God has given my 
 share — 
 
 I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown. 
 
 Amidst these humble bowers to lay me 
 down ; 
 
 To husband out life's taper at the close, 
 
 And keep the flame from wasting by re- 
 pose : 
 
 I still had hopes, for pride attends us 
 still. 
 
 Amidst the swains to show my book- 
 learned skill, 90 
 
 Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
 
 And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 253 
 
 And, as a hare whom hounds and horns 
 
 pursue 
 Pants to the place from whence at first 
 
 she flew, 
 I still had hopes, my long vexations past. 
 Here to return — and die at home at last. 
 
 blest retirement, friend to life's de- 
 cline, 
 
 Retreats from care, that never must be 
 
 mine, 
 How happy he who crowns in shades like 
 
 these 
 A youth of labor with an age of ease; loo 
 Who quits a world where strong tempta- 
 tions try, 
 And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to 
 
 fly! 
 For him no wretches, born to work and 
 
 weep, 
 Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous 
 
 deep; 
 No surly porter stands in guilty state, 
 To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; 
 But on he moves to meet his latter end. 
 Angels around befriending Virtue's 
 
 friend; 
 Bends to the grave with unperceived de- 
 cay, 
 While resignation gently slopes the way; 
 And, all his prospects brightening to the 
 
 last. III 
 
 His heaven commences ere the world be 
 
 past! 
 Sweet was the sound, when oft at eve- 
 ning's close 
 Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 
 There, as I passed with careless steps 
 
 and slow. 
 The mingling notes came softened from 
 
 below ; 
 The swain responsive as the milk-maid 
 
 sung, 
 The sober herd that lowed to meet their 
 
 young, 
 The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
 The playful children just let loose from 
 
 school, 120 
 
 The watch-dog's voice that bayed the 
 
 whispering wind. 
 And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant 
 
 mind^ ; — 
 These all in sweet confusion sought the 
 
 shade, 
 And filled each pause the nightingale had 
 
 made. 
 
 1 vacant mind. Half-witted or idiotic children 
 were familiar sights in villages of Goldsmith's time, 
 and were not viewed as repulsive. 
 
 But now the sounds of population fail. 
 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. 
 No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way 
 
 tread. 
 For all the bloomy flush of life is fled. 
 All but yon widowed, solitary thing. 
 That feebly bends beside the plashy 
 
 spring : 130 
 
 She, wretched matron, forced in age, for 
 
 bread, 
 To strip the brook with mantling cresses 
 
 spread. 
 To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn. 
 To seek her nightly shed, and weep till 
 
 morn; 
 She only left of all the harmless train. 
 The sad historian of the pensive plain. 
 Near yonder copse, where once the 
 
 garden smiled, 
 And still where many a garden-flower 
 
 grows wild, — 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the place 
 
 disclose, 
 The village preacher's modest mansion 
 
 rose. 140 
 
 A man he was to all the country dear, 
 And passing rich with forty pounds a 
 
 year; 
 Remote from towns he ran his godly 
 
 race, 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to 
 
 change, his place; 
 Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for 
 
 power. 
 By doctrines fashioned to the varying 
 
 hour; 
 Far other aims his heart had learned to 
 
 prize. 
 More skilled to raise the wretched than 
 
 to rise. 
 His house was known to all the vagrant 
 
 train ; 
 
 He chid their wanderings but relieved 
 
 their pain ; 150 
 
 The long-remembered beggar was his 
 
 guest. 
 Whose beard descending swept his aged 
 
 breast ; 
 The ruined spendthrift, now no longer 
 
 proud, 
 Claimed kindred there, and had his claims 
 
 allowed ; 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 
 Sat by his fire, and talked the night 
 
 away,
 
 254 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow 
 
 done, 
 Shouldered his crutch, and showed how 
 
 fields were won. 
 Pleased with his guests, the good man 
 
 learned to glow, 
 And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
 Careless their merits or their faults to 
 
 scan, i6i 
 
 His pity gave ere charity began. 
 Thus to relieve the wretched was his 
 
 pride, 
 And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's 
 
 side ; 
 But in his duty prompt at every call, 
 He watched and wept, he prayed and felt 
 
 for all ; 
 And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
 To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the 
 
 skies. 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull de- 
 lay, 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the 
 
 way. 170 
 
 Beside the bed where parting life was 
 
 laid. 
 And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dis- 
 mayed, 
 The reverend champion stood. At his 
 
 control 
 Despair and anguish fled the struggling 
 
 soul ; 
 Comfort came down the trembling wretch 
 
 to raise. 
 And his last faltering accents whispered 
 
 praise. 
 At church, with meek and unaffected 
 
 grace. 
 His looks adorned the venerable place; 
 Truth from his lips prevailed with double 
 
 sway. 
 And fools who came to scoff remained to 
 
 pray. 180 
 
 The service past, around the pious man. 
 With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; 
 Even children followed with endearing 
 
 wile. 
 And plucked his gown to share the good 
 
 man's smile. 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth ex- 
 pressed. 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their 
 
 cares distressed : 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs 
 
 were given, 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in 
 
 heaven ; 
 
 As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves 
 
 the storm, 190 
 
 Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds 
 
 are spread. 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
 Beside yon straggling fence that skirts 
 
 the way. 
 With blossomed furze unprofitably gay. 
 There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to 
 
 rule. 
 The village master taught his little school. 
 A man severe he was, and stern to view; 
 I knew him well, and every truant knew; 
 Well had the boding tremblers learned to 
 
 trace 
 The day's disasters in his morning face; 
 Full well they laughed with counterfeited 
 
 glee 201 
 
 At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 
 Full well the busy whisper circling round 
 Conveyed the dismal tidings when he 
 
 frowned. 
 Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 
 The love he bore to learning was in fault. 
 The village all declared how much he 
 
 knew : 
 *Twas certain he ceuld write, and cipher 
 
 too; 
 Lands he could measure, terms and tides 
 
 presage. 
 And even the story ran that he could 
 
 gauge ;i 210 
 
 In arguing, too, the parson owned his 
 
 skill. 
 For, even tho* vanquished, he could argue 
 
 still ; 
 While words of learned length and thun- 
 dering sound 
 Amazed the gazing rustics ranged 
 
 around; 
 And still they gazed, and still the wonder 
 
 grew 
 That one small head could carry all he 
 
 knew. 
 But past is all his fame. The very spot 
 Where many a time he triumphed is for- 
 got. 
 Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on 
 
 high. 
 Where once the sign-post caught the pass- 
 ing eye, 220 
 Low lies that house where nut-brown 
 
 draughts inspired. 
 Where graybeard mirth and smiling toi! 
 
 retired, 
 
 J gause. Judge the capacity of casks, etc.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 255 
 
 Where village statesmen talked with looks To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
 
 profound, One native charm, than all the gloss of 
 
 And news much older than their ale went art. 
 
 round. Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its 
 
 Imagination fondly stoops to trace play, 
 
 The parlor splendors of that festive The soul adopts, and owns their first- 
 place: born sway; 
 
 The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
 
 floor, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 
 
 The varnished clock that ticked behind But the long pomp, the midnight mas- 
 the door: querade. 
 
 The chest, contrived a double debt to With all the freaks of wanton wealth 
 pay, arrayed — 260 
 
 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; In these, ere triflers half their wish ob- 
 
 The pictures placed for ornament and tain, 
 
 use, 231 The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; 
 
 The twelve good rules,! the royal game And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts 
 of goose ;* decoy. 
 
 The hearth, except when winter chilled The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. 
 the day, Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who 
 
 With aspen boughs and flowers and fen- 
 
 nel gay; 
 While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for 
 
 show. 
 Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a 
 
 row. 
 
 survey 
 The rich man's joy increase, the poor's 
 
 decay, 
 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits 
 
 stand 
 Between a splendid and a happy land. 
 
 Vain transitory splendors! could not all Proud swells the tide with loads of 
 Reprieve the tottering mansion from its freighted ore. 
 
 And shouting Folly hails them from the 
 shore ; 270 
 
 Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish 
 abound. 
 
 fall? 
 
 Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more im- 
 part 
 
 An hour's importance to the poor man's 
 
 heart. 240 And rich men flock from all the world 
 
 Thither no more the peasant shall re- around. 
 
 pair 
 To sweet oblivion of his daily care; 
 
 Yet count our gains ! This wealth is but 
 a name. 
 
 No more the farmer's news, the barber's That leaves our useful products still the 
 tale, 
 
 No more the woodman's ballad shall pre- 
 vail; 
 
 No more the smith his dusky brow shall Takes up a space that many poor sup- 
 
 same. 
 Not so the loss. The man of wealth and 
 pride 
 
 clear. 
 Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to 
 hear; 
 
 plied; 
 Space for his lake, his park's extended 
 bounds. 
 
 The host himself no longer shall be found Space for his horses, equipage, and 
 Careful to see the mantling bliss go hounds: 
 
 The robe that wraps his limbs in silken 
 
 sloth 
 Has robbed the neighboring fields of half 
 
 their growth; 280 
 
 His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
 Indignant spurns the cottage from the 
 
 green : 
 
 round ; 
 
 Nor the coy maid, half willing to be 
 pressed, 
 
 Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 
 Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud dis- 
 dain, 251 
 
 These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
 
 1 rults. Rule3 for conduct in public houses, Around the world each needful product 
 
 attributed to Charles I. flieS 
 
 2 goose. A game played with counters and dice, „ n '.i 1 • i 11 »• 
 not unlike "parcheesi." For all the luxuries the world supphes;
 
 256 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 While thus the land, adorned for pleasure 
 all. 
 
 In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 
 As some fair female, unadorned and 
 plain. 
 
 Secure to please while youth confirms 
 her reign, 
 
 Slights every borrowed charm that dress 
 supplies. 
 
 Nor shares with art the triumph of her 
 eyes ; 290 
 
 But when those charms are past, for 
 charms are frail. 
 
 When time advances, and when lovers 
 fail, 
 
 She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
 
 In all the glaring impotence of dress, — 
 
 Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed : 
 
 In nature's simplest charms at first ar- 
 rayed, 
 
 But verging to decline, its splendors rise, 
 
 Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; 
 
 While, scourged by famine from the smil- 
 ing land, 
 
 The mournful peasant leads his humble 
 band, 300 
 
 And while he sinks, without one arm to 
 save, 
 
 The country blooms — a garden and a 
 grave. 
 Where then, ah ! where, shall poverty 
 reside. 
 
 To 'scape the pressure of contiguous 
 pride? 
 
 If to some common's fenceless limits 
 strayed. 
 
 He drives his flock to pick the scanty 
 blade, 
 
 Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth 
 divide. 
 
 And even the bare-worn common is de- 
 nied. 
 If to the city sped — what waits him 
 there ? 
 
 To see profusion that he must not share; 
 
 To see ten thousand baneful arts com- 
 bined 311 
 
 To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; 
 
 To see those joys the sons of pleasure 
 know 
 
 Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
 
 Here while the courtier glitters in bro- 
 cade. 
 
 There the pale artist plies his sickly trade; 
 
 Here while the proud their long-drawn 
 pomps display, 
 
 There the black gibbet glooms beside the 
 way. 
 
 The dome where Pleasure holds her mid- 
 night reign 
 Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous 
 
 train : 320 
 
 Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing 
 
 square, 
 The rattling chariots clash, the torches 
 
 glare. 
 Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er 
 
 annoy ! 
 Sure these denote one universal joy I 
 Are these thy serious thoughts? — Ah, turn 
 
 thine eyes 
 Where the poor houseless shivering fe- 
 male lies. 
 She once, perhaps, in village plenty 
 
 bless'd. 
 Has wept at tales of innocence distressed; 
 Her modest looks the cottage might 
 
 adorn, 
 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the 
 
 thorn : 330 
 
 Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue 
 
 fled. 
 Near her betrayer's door she lays her 
 
 head. 
 And, pinched with cold, and shrinking 
 
 from the shower. 
 With heavy heart deplores that luckless 
 
 hour. 
 When idly first, ambitious of the town, 
 She left her wheel and robes of country 
 
 brown. 
 Do thine, sweet Auburn, — ^thine, the 
 
 loveliest train, — 
 Do thy fair tribes participate her pain 
 Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger 
 
 led. 
 At proud men's doors they ask a little 
 
 bread ! 340 
 
 Ah, no I To distant climes, a dreary 
 
 scene, 
 Where half the convex world intrudes 
 
 between. 
 Through torrid tracts with fainting steps 
 
 they go, 
 Where wild Altama^ murmurs to their 
 
 woe. 
 Far diff^erent there from all that charmed 
 
 before 
 The various terrors of that horrid shore; 
 Those blazing suns that dart a downward 
 
 ray. 
 And fiercely shed intolerable day; 
 
 I Altama. The Altamaha River, in Georgia, 
 vaguely used for American settlements; but Gold- 
 smith confuses them with those of more tropical 
 regions.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 257 
 
 Those matted woods, where birds forget 
 
 to sing, 
 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; 
 Those poisonous fields with rank luxuri- 
 ance crowned, 351 
 Where the dark scorpion gathers death 
 
 around; 
 Where at each step the stranger fears 
 
 to wake 
 The rattling terrors of the vengeful 
 
 snake ; 
 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless 
 
 prey, 
 And savage men more murderous still 
 
 than they; 
 While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies. 
 Mingling the ravaged landscape with the 
 
 skies. 
 Far different these from every former 
 
 scene, 
 The cooling brook, the grassy vested 
 
 green, 360 
 
 The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
 That only sheltered thefts of harmless 
 
 love. 
 Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed 
 
 that parting day, 
 That called them from their native walks 
 
 away; 
 When the poor exiles, every pleasure 
 
 past. 
 Hung round the bowers, and fondly 
 
 looked their last, 
 And took a long farewell, and wished in 
 
 vain 
 For seats like these beyond the western 
 
 main. 
 And shuddering still to face the distant 
 
 deep. 
 Returned and wept, and still returned to 
 
 weep. 370 
 
 The good old sire the first prepared to go 
 To new-found worlds, and wept for 
 
 others' woe ; 
 But for himself, in conscious virtue 
 
 brave. 
 He only wished for worlds beyond the 
 
 grave. 
 His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 
 The fond companion of his helpless 
 
 years, 
 Silent went next, neglectful of her 
 
 charms, 
 And left a lover's for a father's arms. 
 With louder plaints the mother spoke her 
 
 woes, 
 And blessed the cot where every pleasure 
 
 rose, 380 
 
 And kissed her thoughtless babes with 
 
 many a tear 
 And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly 
 
 dear, 
 Whilst her fond husband strove to lend 
 
 relief 
 In all the silent manliness of grief. 
 O luxury ! thou cursed by Heaven's 
 
 decree, 
 How ill exchanged are things like these 
 
 for thee I 
 How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
 Diffuse their pleasure only to destroy! 
 Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness 
 
 grown, 
 Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 
 At every draught more large and large 
 
 they grow, 391 
 
 A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe; 
 Till, sapped their strength, and every part 
 
 unsound, 
 Down, down, they sink, and spread a ruin 
 
 round. 
 Even now the devastation is begun, 
 And half the business of destruction 
 
 done; 
 Even now, methinks, as pondering here I 
 
 stand, 
 I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
 Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads 
 
 the sail. 
 That idly waiting flaps with every gale. 
 Downward they move, a melancholy 
 
 band, 401 
 
 Pass from the shore, and darken all the 
 
 strand. 
 Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, 
 And kind connubial Tenderness, are 
 
 there ; 
 And Piety with wishes placed above. 
 And steady Loyalty, and faithful love. 
 And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest 
 
 maid, 
 Still^ first to fly where sensual joys in- 
 vade; 
 Unfit in these degenerate times of shame 
 To catch the heart, or strike for honest 
 
 fame ; 410 
 
 Dear charming nymph, neglected and de- 
 cried. 
 My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; 
 Thou source of all my bliss, and all my 
 
 woe. 
 That found'st me poor at first, and 
 
 keep'st me so; 
 
 I Still. Always.
 
 258 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Thou guide by which the nobler arts ex- 
 cel, 
 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee 
 
 well! 
 Farewell, and oh! where'er thy voice be 
 
 tried, 
 On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,^ 
 Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, 
 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 
 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time. 
 Redress the rigors of the inclement clime; 
 Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive 
 
 strain ; 423 
 
 Teach erring man to spurn the rage of 
 
 gain; 
 Teach him that states of native strength 
 
 possessed, 
 Tho' very poor, may still be very blest; 
 That trade's proud empire hastes to swift 
 
 decay. 
 As ocean sweeps the labored mole^ away; 
 While self-dependent power can time 
 
 defy, 
 As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 
 
 (1770) 
 
 THE JACKDAW 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 (From a Latin poem by Vincent Bourne) 
 
 There is a bird, who, by his coat, 
 And by the hoarseness of his note, 
 
 Might be supposed a crow; 
 A great frequenter of the church, 
 Where bishop-like he finds a perch. 
 
 And dormitory too. 
 
 Above the steeple shines a plate. 
 That turns and turns to indicate 
 
 From what point blows the weather; 
 Look up — your brains begin to swim, 10 
 'Tis in the clouds — that pleases him; 
 
 He chooses it the rather. 
 
 Fond of the speculative height, 
 Thither he wings his airy flight, 
 
 And thence securely sees 
 The bustle and the raree-show^ 
 That occupy mankind below. 
 
 Secure and at his ease. 
 
 You think, no doubt, he sits and muses 
 On future broken bones and bruises, 
 
 1 In Sweden or Ecuador. 
 
 2 moU. Embankment. 
 
 3 raree-show. Peep-show. 
 
 If he should chance to fall. 21 
 
 No; not a single thought like that 
 Employs his philosophic pate, 
 
 Or troubles it at all. 
 
 He sees that this great roundabout. 
 The world, with all its motley rout, 
 
 Church, army, physic, law. 
 Its customs, and its businesses. 
 Are no concern at all of his. 
 
 And says — what says he? — "Caw." 
 
 Thrice happy bird! I too have seen 31 
 Much of the vanities of men; 
 
 And, sick of having seen 'em. 
 Would cheerfully these limbs resign 
 For such a pair of wings as thine. 
 
 And such a head between 'em. 
 
 (1782) 
 
 TO A LOUSE 
 
 On Seeing One on a Lady's Bonnet at 
 Church 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferliepi 
 Your impudence protects you sairly;^ 
 I canna say but ye strunt^ rarely, 
 
 Owre gauze and lace; 
 Tho', faith ! I fear ye dine but sparely 
 
 On sic a place. 
 
 Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
 Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
 How daur ye set your fit upon her — 
 
 Sae fine a lady? 10 
 
 Gae somewhere else, and seek your 
 dinner 
 
 On some poor body. 
 
 Swith!* in some beggar's hauffet squat- 
 tie ;5 
 There ye may creep, and sprawl, and 
 
 sprattle,o 
 Wi* ither kindred jumping cattle. 
 
 In shoals and nations; 
 Whaur horn nor bane'^ ne'er daur un- 
 settle 
 
 Your thick plantations. 
 
 1 crowlin ferlie. Crawling wonder. 
 
 2 sairly. Greatly. 
 
 3 strunl. Strut. 
 
 4 Su'ith! Quick! 
 
 5 hauffet squallle. Head sprawl. 
 
 6 spratUe. Struggle. 
 
 7 bane. Bone (comb).
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 259 
 
 Now baud you there, ye're out o' sight, 
 Below the fatt'rels,^ snug and tight; 20 
 Na, faith ye yet! ye'U no be right 
 
 Till ye've got on it — 
 The vera tapmost, tow'rin height 
 
 O' Miss's bonnet. 
 
 My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose 
 
 out. 
 As plump an' gray as ony grozet,2 
 
 for some rank, mercurial rozet,^ 
 
 Or fell, red smeddum,* 
 I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, 
 
 Wad dress your droddum.^ 30 
 
 1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
 You on an auld wife's flainen toy;^ 
 Or aiblens^ some bit duddie* boy, 
 
 On's wyliecoat ;^ 
 But Miss's fine Lunardi !io fye! 
 How daur ye do't? 
 
 O Jenny, dinna toss your head. 
 An' set your beauties a' abread! 
 Ye little ken what cursed speed 
 
 The blastie's makin! 40 
 
 Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread, 
 
 Are notice takin! 
 
 O wad some Power the giftie gie us 
 To see oursels as ithers see us! 
 It wad frae mony a blunder free us 
 
 An' foolish notion: 
 What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e^^ 
 us 
 An' ev'n devotion! 
 
 (1786) 
 
 TO A MOUSE 
 
 On Turning her up in her Nest with the 
 Plough, November, 1785 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 Wee, sleekit,i2 cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 
 O, what a panic's in thy breastie! 
 Thou need na start awa sae hasty 
 
 Wi' bickering brattle I^^ 
 I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee 
 
 Wi' murd'rin pattle !^* 
 
 I falt'rels. Ribbon ends. 3 grotet. Gooseberry. 
 3 rotet. Resin. 4 smeddum. Powder. 
 
 5 droddutn. Back. 
 
 6 flainen toy. Flannel cap. 7 aiblens. Perhaps. 
 8 duddie. Ragged. 9 wyliecoat. Vest. 
 10 Lunardi. Balloon-bonnet, ii Ua'e. Leave. 
 13 sUekit. Sleek. 
 
 13 bickering brattle. Hurrying scamper. 
 
 14 pattle. Ploughstafif. 
 
 I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
 Has broken nature's social union, 
 An' justifies that ill opinion 
 
 Which makes thee startle lo 
 
 At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 
 
 An' fellow-mortal! 
 
 I doubt na, whyles,^^ but thou may 
 
 thieve; 
 What then? poor beastie, thou maun 
 
 live! 
 A daimen icker in a thrave^^ 
 
 'S a sma' request; 
 
 I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,^^ 
 
 An' never miss't! 
 
 Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! 
 
 Its silly wa's^^ the win's are strewin ! 20 
 
 An' naething, now, to big^^ a new ane, 
 
 O' foggage^o green! 
 An* bleak December's winds ensuin, 
 
 Baith snell2i an' keen ! 
 
 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 
 An' weary winter comin fast. 
 An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 
 
 Thou thought to dwell, 
 Till crash ! the cruel coulter^s passed 
 
 Out thro' thy cell. 30 
 
 That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
 Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! 
 Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trou- 
 ble, 
 
 But23 house or hald,^* 
 To thole^s the winter's sleety dribble 
 
 An' cranreuch26 cauld! 
 
 But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane^T 
 In proving foresight may be vain; 
 The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men 
 Gang aft a-gley,28 40 
 
 An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, 
 For promis'd joy. 
 
 Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me; 
 The present only toucheth thee: 
 But ochi I backward cast my e'e 
 
 On prospects drear! 
 An' forward, tho' I canna see, 
 
 I guess an' fear! 
 
 (1786) 
 
 15 whyles. At times. 
 
 16 An occasional ear of com out of a set of 
 twenty-four sheaves. 
 
 17 lave. Remainder. l8 silly wa's. Poor walls. 
 19 big. Build. 30 foggage. Herbage. 
 
 21 snell. Sharp. 2a coulter. Plough. 
 
 23 Bui. Without. 24 hold. Shelter. 
 
 2S thole. Endure. 36 cranreuch. Hoar-frost. 
 
 27 thy lane. Alone. 28 a-gley. Awry.
 
 260 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 SCOTS WHA HAE 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 [An imagined address by Robert Bruce to his 
 troops before the battle of Bannockburn, 1314. 
 It was set to a tune which tradition said had 
 been used as a march by the Scottish army at the 
 time.] 
 
 Scots, wha haei wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 Or to victory! 
 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour; 
 See the front o' battle lour;^ 
 See approach proud Edward's power — 
 Chains and slavery! 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave? lo 
 
 Wha sae base as be a slave? 
 Let him turn and flee ! 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
 Let him follow me! 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains! 
 By your sons in servile chains! 
 We will draw our dearest veins, 
 
 But they shall be free! 20 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low! 
 Tyrants fall in every foe! 
 Liberty's in every blow! — 
 Let us do or die! 
 
 (1794) 
 
 THE TIGER 
 
 WILLIAM BLAKE 
 
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
 In the forests of the night. 
 What immortal hand or eye 
 Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 
 
 In what distant deeps or skies 
 Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
 On what wings dare he aspire? 
 What the hand dare seize the fire? 
 
 And what shoulder, and what art. 
 Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 10 
 And when thy heart began to beat, 
 What dread hand? and what dread 
 feet? 
 
 I uiha hat. Who have. 
 
 What the hammer? What the chain? 
 In what furnace was thy brain? 
 What the anvil? What dread grasp 
 Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 
 
 When the stars threw down their 
 
 spears. 
 And watered heaven with their tears, 
 Did He smile His work to see? 
 Did He who made the lamb make 
 
 thee? 
 
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright 21 
 
 In the forests of the night. 
 What immortal hand or eye 
 Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 
 
 (1794) 
 
 A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty, 
 
 That! hings his head, an' a' that? 
 The coward slave, we pass him by. 
 
 We dare be poor for a' that! 
 For a' that, an' a' that. 
 
 Our toils obscure, an' a' that; 
 The rank is but the guinea's stamp; 
 
 The man's the gowd^ for a' that. 
 
 What though on hamely fare we dine. 
 
 Wear hoddin grey,^ an' a' that; 10 
 Gie fools their silks, and knaves their 
 wine, 
 
 A man's a man for a* that. 
 For a' that, an' a' that, 
 
 Their tinsel show, an' a' that; 
 The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 
 
 Is king o' men for a' that. 
 
 Ye see yon birkie,* ca'd a lord, 
 
 Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; 
 Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
 
 He's but a cuif^ for a' that. 
 For a' that, an' a' that, 
 
 His riband, star, an' a' that, 
 The man o' independent mind, 
 
 He looks and laughs at a' that. 
 
 1 That. Any who. 
 
 2 gowd. Gold. 
 
 3 hoddin grey. Coarse undyed woollen. 
 
 4 birkie. Fellow. 
 
 5 cuif. Fool. 
 
 20
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 261 
 
 A prince can mak a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke, an' a' that; 
 But an honest man's aboon his might, 
 
 Guid faith, he mauna fa'^ that! 
 For a' that, an' a' that. 
 
 Their dignities, an' a' that, 30 
 
 The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, 
 
 Are higher rank than a' that. 
 
 If this belief from heaven be sent, 
 If such be Nature's holy plan, 
 Have I not reason to lament 
 What man has made of man? 
 
 (1798) 
 
 Then let us pray that come it may 
 
 (As come it will for a' that). 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 
 May bear the gree,^ an' a' that. 
 For a' that, an' a' that, 
 
 It's comin yet for a' that. 
 That man to man, the warld o'er, 
 
 Shall brithers be for a' that. 40 
 
 (1795) 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY 
 SPRING 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes. 
 
 While in a grove I sate reclined. 
 
 In that sweet mood when pleasant 
 
 thoughts 
 Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 
 
 To her fair works did Nature link 
 The human soul that through me ran; 
 And much it grieved my heart to think 
 What man has made of man. 
 
 Through primrose tufts, in that green 
 
 bower. 
 The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; 10 
 And 'tis my faith that every flower 
 Enjoys the air it breathes. 
 
 The birds around me hopped and 
 
 played, 
 Their thoughts I cannot measure: — 
 But the least motion which they made 
 It seemed a thrill of pleasure. 
 
 The budding twigs spread out their fan, 
 
 To catch the breezy air; 
 
 And I must think, do all I can. 
 
 That there was pleasure there. 20 
 
 THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 
 
 CHARLES LAMB 
 
 I have had playmates, I have had com- 
 panions. 
 
 In my days of childhood, in my joyful 
 school-days — 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I have been laughing, I have been ca- 
 rousing, 
 
 Drinking late, sitting late, with my 
 bosom cronies — 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I loved a love once, fairest among wo- 
 men; 
 
 Closed are her doors on me, I must not 
 see her — 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I have a friend, a kinder friend has no 
 man; 10 
 
 Like an ingrate, I left my friend 
 abruptly; 
 
 Left him, to muse on the old familiar 
 faces. 
 
 Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of 
 
 my childhood. 
 Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to 
 
 traverse. 
 Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 
 
 Friend of my bosom, thou more than a 
 
 brother. 
 Why wert not thou born in my father's 
 
 dwelling? 
 So might we talk of the old familiar ■ 
 
 faces — 
 
 How some they have died, and some 
 
 they have left me. 
 And some are taken from me; all are 
 
 departed; 20 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I mauna fa'. Cannot accomplish. 2 gree. Prize. (1 798)
 
 262 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 HIGHLAND MARY 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 [The subject of the poem is Mary Campbell, a 
 sailor's daughter, to whom Burns was attached 
 for a time and who died suddenly on her way to 
 a meeting with him.] 
 
 Ye banks, and braes, and streams 
 around 
 
 The castle o' Montgomery, 
 Green be your woods, and fair your 
 flowers, 
 
 Your waters never drumlie!^- 
 There Summer first unfald^ her robes, 
 
 And there the langest tarry; 
 For there I took the last fareweel 
 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 How sweetly bloomed the gay green 
 birk,3 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom, lo 
 As underneath their fragrant shade 
 
 I clasped her to my bosomi 
 The golden hours on angel wings 
 
 Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
 For dear to me as light and life 
 
 Was my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace, 
 
 Our parting was fu' tender; 
 And, pledging aft to meet again. 
 
 We tore oursels asunder; 20 
 
 But O, fell death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipped my flower sae early! 
 Now green's the sod, and cauld's the 
 clay. 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary! 
 
 O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
 
 I aft hae kissed sae fondly! 
 And closed for aye the sparkling glance 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly! 
 And mould'ring now in silent dust 
 
 That heart that lo'ed me dearly! 30 
 But still within my bosom's core 
 
 Shall live my Highland Mary. 
 
 (1799) 
 
 THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN 
 SUN AND SHOWER 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and show- 
 
 _ er. 
 
 Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower 
 
 I drumlie. Muddy. 3 unfald. Unfold. 
 
 3 birk. Birch. 
 
 On earth was never sown; 
 This Child I to myself will take; 
 She shall be mine, and I will make 
 A Lady of my own. 
 
 "Myself will to my darling be 
 Both law and impulse: and with me 
 The Girl, in rock and plain, 
 In earth and heaven, in glade and bow- 
 er, 10 
 Shall feel an overseeing power 
 To kindle or restrain. 
 
 "She shall be sportive as the fawn 
 That wild with glee across the lawn 
 Or up the mountain springs; 
 And hers shall be the breathing balm. 
 And hers the silence and the calm 
 Of mute insensate things. 
 
 "The floating clouds their state shall 
 
 lend 
 To her; for her the willow bend; 20 
 Nor shall she fail to see 
 Even in the motions of the storm 
 Grace that shall mould the Maiden's 
 
 form 
 By silent sympathy. 
 
 "The stars of midnight shall be dear 
 To her; and she shall lean her ear 
 In many a secret place 
 Where rivulets dance their wayward 
 
 round. 
 And beauty born of murmuring sound 
 Shall pass into her face. 30 
 
 "And vital feelings of delight 
 
 Shall rear her form to stately height, 
 
 Her virgin bosom swell; 
 
 Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
 
 While she and I together live 
 
 Here in this happy dell." 
 
 Thus Nature spake. — The work was 
 
 done — 
 How soon my Lucy's race was run! 
 She died, and left to me 
 This heath, this calm, and quiet scene; 
 The memory of what has been, 41 
 
 And never more will be. 
 
 (1800)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 263 
 
 SHE DWELT AMONG THE 
 TRODDEN WAYS 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 UN- 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden vays 
 Beside the springs of Dove,^ 
 
 A Maid whom there were none to praise 
 And very few to love: 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 
 Half hidden from the eye! 
 — Fair as a star when only one 
 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could know 
 When Lucy ceased to be; lo 
 
 But she is in her grave, and, oh, 
 The difference to me! 
 
 (1800) 
 
 MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I 
 BEHOLD 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 
 
 A rainbow in the sky: 
 So was it when my life began; 
 So is it now I am a man; 
 So be it when I shall grow old, 
 
 Or let me die! 
 The Child is father of the Man; 
 And I could wish my days to be 
 Bound each to each by natural piety.2 
 
 (1807) 
 
 THE SOLITARY REAPER 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 Behold her, single in the field. 
 Yon solitary Highland lass! 
 Reaping and singing by herself; 
 Stop here, or gently pass! 
 Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
 And sings a melancholy strain; 
 O listen! for the vale profound 
 Is overflowing with the sound. 
 
 No nightingale did ever chant 
 More welcome notes to weary bands 10 
 Of travellers in some shady haunt, 
 Among Arabian sands; 
 
 X Dove. A river. 2 piety. Filial reverence. 
 
 A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 
 In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 
 Breaking the silence of the seas 
 Among the farthest Hebrides. 
 
 Will no one tell me what she sings? — 
 Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
 For old, unhappy, far-off things, 
 And battles long ago: 20 
 
 Or is it some more humble lay, 
 Familiar matter of to-day? 
 Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. 
 That has been, and may be again? 
 
 Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
 As if her song could have no ending; 
 I saw her singing at her work. 
 And o'er the sickle bending; — 
 I listened, motionless and still; 
 And, as I mounted up the hill, 30 
 
 The music in my heart I bore, 
 Long after it was heard no more. 
 
 (1807) 
 
 SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF 
 DELIGHT 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 [This is a sketch of the character of the poet's 
 wife.] 
 
 She was a phantom of delight 
 
 When first she gleamed upon my sight; 
 
 A lovely apparition, sent 
 
 To be a moment's ornament; 
 
 Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; 
 
 Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; 
 
 But all things else about her drawn 
 
 From May-time and the cheerful dawn; 
 
 A dancing shape, an image gay. 
 
 To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 10 
 
 I saw her upon nearer view, 
 A spirit, yet a woman too! 
 Her household motions light and free, 
 And steps of virgin liberty ; 
 A countenance in which did meet 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet; 
 A creature not too bright or good 
 For human nature's daily food; 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles. 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and 
 smiles. 20
 
 264 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And now I see with eye serene 
 The very pulse of the machine ;i 
 A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 A traveller between life and death; 
 The reason firm, the temperate will. 
 Endurance, foresight, strength and 
 
 skill; 
 A perfect woman, nobly planned. 
 To warn, to comfort, and command; 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright 
 With something of angelic light. 30 
 
 (1807) 
 
 I WANDERED LONELY AS A 
 CLOUD 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 I wandered lonely as a cloud 
 
 That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
 
 When all at once I saw a crowd, 
 
 A host, of golden daffodils; 
 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees. 
 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the Milky Way, 
 They stretched in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of a bay: lO 
 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced; but 
 
 they 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: 
 A poet could not but be gay. 
 In such a jocund company; 
 I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
 What wealth the show to me had 
 
 brought: 
 
 For oft, when on my couch I lie 
 
 In vacant or in pensive mood, 20 
 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 
 Which is the bliss of solitude; 
 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
 (1807) 
 
 ODE TO DUTY 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! 
 O Duty! if that name thou love 
 Who art a light to guide, a rod 
 
 , I machine. Organism. 
 
 To check the erring, and reprove; 
 Thou, who art victory and law 
 When empty terrors overawe: 
 From vain temptations dost set free: 
 And calm'st the weary strife of frail 
 humanity! 
 
 There are who ask not if thine eye 
 Be on them; who, in love and truth, 10 
 Where no misgiving is, rely 
 Upon the genial^ sense of youth : 
 Glad hearts! without reproach or blot 
 Who do thy work and know it not: 
 Oh! if through confidence misplaced 
 They fail, thy saving arms dread Pow- 
 er! around them cast. 
 
 Serene will be our days and bright. 
 And happy will our nature be, 
 When love is an unerring light. 
 And joy its own security. 20 
 
 And they a blissful course may hold 
 Even now, who, not unwisely bold, 
 Live in the spirit of this creed; 
 Yet seek thy firm support, according 
 to their need. 
 
 I, loving freedom, and untried, 
 No sport of every random gust, 
 Yet being to myself a guide. 
 Too blindly have reposed my trust: 
 And oft, when in my heart was heard 
 Thy timely mandate, I deferred 30 
 
 The task, in smoother walks to stray; 
 But thee I now would serve more strict- 
 ly, if I may. 
 
 Through no disturbance of my soul. 
 Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
 I supplicate for thy control; 
 But in the quietness of thought: 
 Me this unchartered freedom tires; 
 I feel the weight of chance-desires: 
 My hopes no more must change their 
 
 name, 
 I long for a repose that ever is the 
 
 same. 40 
 
 Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear 
 The Godhead's most benignant grace; 
 Nor know we anything so fair 
 As is the smile upon thy face: 
 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds 
 And fragrance in thy footing treads; 
 Thou dost preserve the stars from 
 
 wrong; 
 And the most ancient heavens, through 
 
 Thee, are fresh and strong. 
 
 2 genial. Natural.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 265 
 
 To humbler functions, awful Power! 
 I call thee: I myself commend 50 
 
 Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
 Oh, let my weakness have an end! 
 Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
 The spirit of self-sacrifice; 
 The confidence of reason give; 
 And in the light of truth thy bondman 
 let me live I 
 
 (1807) 
 
 TO A SKY-LARK 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 Up with me! up with me into the 
 clouds! 
 For thy song, Lark, is strong; 
 Up with me, up with me into the 
 clouds! 
 
 Singing, singing, 
 With clouds and sky about thee ring- 
 ing. 
 Lift me, guide me, till I find 
 That spot which seems so to thy mind! 
 
 I have walked through wildernesses 
 
 dreary 
 And to-day my heart is weary; 
 Had I now the wings of a Faery, lo 
 Up to thee would I fly. 
 There is madness about thee, and joy 
 
 divine 
 In that song of thine; 
 Lift me, guide me, high and high 
 To thy banqueting-place in the sky. 
 
 Joyous as morning 
 Thou art laughing and scorning; 
 Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy 
 
 rest. 
 And, though little troubled with sloth. 
 Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth 20 
 To be such a traveller as L 
 Happy, happy Liver, 
 With a soul as strong as a mountain 
 
 river 
 Pouring out praise to the Almighty 
 
 Giver, 
 Joy and jollity be with us both! 
 
 Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, 
 Through prickly moors or dusty ways 
 
 must wind; 
 But hearing thee, or others of thy kind. 
 
 As full of gladness and as free of heav- 
 en, 
 I, with my fate contented, will plod on. 
 And hope for higher raptures, when 
 life's day is done. 31 
 
 (1807) 
 
 ODE 
 
 INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM REC- 
 OLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 [This poem was based on the writer's own 
 experience of a childhood remarkably sensitive 
 to spiritual "intimations." "I used to brood," 
 he said, "over the stories of Enoch and Elijah, 
 and almost to persuade m'yself that, whatever 
 might become of others, I should be translated, 
 in something of the same way, to heaven. With 
 a feeling congenial to this I was often unable 
 to think of external things as having external 
 existence. . . . Many times when going to 
 school have I grasped at a wall or tree to recall 
 myself from this abyss of idealism to the real- 
 ity" (compare lines 142-146). As to the idea 
 of a pre-existent state of the soul, suggested in 
 lines 59-66, Wordsworth said that he did not 
 wish to be understood to propose it as a definite 
 belief, but only to make use "as a poet" of the 
 widespread instinctive notion of such a possi- 
 bility.] 
 
 There was a time when meadow, grove, 
 
 and stream, 
 The earth, and every common sight, 
 To me did seem 
 
 Apparelled in celestial light. 
 The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
 It is not now as it hath been of yore; — 
 
 Turn wheresoe'er I may. 
 By night or day. 
 The things which I have seen I now 
 
 can see no more. 
 
 The rainbow comes and goes, 10 
 And lovely is the rose, 
 The moon doth with delight 
 Look round her when the heavens are 
 bare; 
 
 Waters on a starry night 
 Are beautiful and fair; 
 The sunshine is a glorious birth; 
 But yet I know, where'er I go. 
 That there hath passed away a glory 
 from the earth.
 
 266 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Now, while the birds thus sing a joy- 
 ous song, 
 And while the young lambs bound 20 
 As to the tabor's sound, 
 To me alone there came a thought of 
 
 grief; 
 A timely utterance gave that thought 
 relief, 
 And I again am strong: 
 The cataracts blow their trumpets from 
 
 the steep; 
 No more shall grief of mine the season 
 
 wrong; 
 I hear the echoes through the moun- 
 tains throng, 
 The winds come to me from the fields 
 of sleep, 
 
 And all the earth is gay; 
 
 Land and sea 30 
 
 Give themselves up to jollity. 
 
 And with the heart of May 
 Doth every beast keep holiday; — 
 Thou child of joy, 
 Shout round me, let me hear thy 
 shouts, thou happy shepherd-boy! 
 
 Our birth is but a sleep and a forget- 
 ting: 
 The soul that rises with us, our life's 
 star, 60 
 
 Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
 
 And Cometh from afar: 
 Not in entire forgetfulness, 
 And not in utter nakedness. 
 But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
 
 From God, who is our home: 
 Heaven lies about us in our infancy! 
 Shades of the prison-house begin to 
 close 
 Upon the growing boy, 
 But he beholds the light, and whence 
 it flows, 70 
 
 He sees it in his joy; 
 The youth, who daily farther from the 
 east 
 Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 
 And by the vision splendid 
 Is on his way attended; 
 At length the man perceives it die 
 
 away. 
 And fade into the light of common day. 
 
 IV 
 
 Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the 
 call 
 Ye to each other make; I see 
 The heavens laugh with you in your 
 jubilee; 
 My heart is at your festival, 40 
 
 My head hath its coronal, ^ 
 The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel 
 it all. 
 Oh evil day, if I were sullen 
 While Earth herself is adorning. 
 
 This sweet May-morning, 
 And the children are culling 
 
 On every side. 
 In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
 Fresh flowers; while the sun shines 
 warm, 
 And the babe leaps up on his mother's 
 arm : — 50 
 
 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 
 — But there's a tree, of many, one, 
 A single field which I have looked upon. 
 Both of them speak of something that 
 is gone: 
 The pansy at my feet 
 Doth the same tale repeat: 
 Whither is fled the visionary gleam? 
 Where is it now, the glory and the 
 dream? 
 
 I coronal. Wreath. 
 
 VI 
 
 Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her 
 
 own; 
 Yearnings she hath in her own natural 
 
 kind, 
 And, even with something of a moth- 
 er's mind, 80 
 And no unworthy aim. 
 The homely nurse doth all she can 
 To make her foster-child, her inmate 
 man, 
 Forget the glories he hath known, 
 And that imperial palace whence he 
 came. 
 
 Behold the child among his new-born 
 
 blisses, 
 A six years' darling of a pigmy size! 
 See, where 'mid work of his own hand 
 
 he lies. 
 Fretted by sallies of his mother's 
 
 kisses, 
 With light upon him from his father's 
 
 eyes! 
 
 90 
 
 See, at his feet, some little plan or 
 chart. 
 
 Some fragment from his dream of hu- 
 man life, 
 
 .Shaped by himself with newly-learned 
 art;
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 267 
 
 A wedding or a festival, 
 A mourning or a funeral; 
 
 And this hath now his heart, 
 And unto this he frames his song: 
 Then will he fit his tongue 
 To dialogues of business, love, or strife; 
 But it will not be long lOO 
 
 Ere this be thrown aside, 
 And with new joy and pride 
 The little actor cons another part; 
 Filling from time to time his "humor- 
 ous stage"! 
 With all the persons, down to palsied 
 
 Age, . 
 
 That Life brmgs with her m her equi- 
 page; 
 As if his whole vocation 
 Were endless imitation. 
 
 Thou, 2 whose exterior semblance doth 
 
 belie 
 Thy soul's immensity; no 
 
 Thou best philosopher, who yet dost 
 
 keep 
 Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, 
 That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal 
 
 deep. 
 Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — 
 Mighty prophet! seer blest! 
 On whom those truths do rest 
 Which we are toiling all our lives to 
 
 find. 
 In darkness lost, the darkness of the 
 
 grave; 
 Thou, over whom thy immortality 
 Broods like the day, a master o'er a 
 
 slave, 120 
 
 A presence which is not to be put by; 
 Thou little child, yet glorious in the 
 
 might 
 Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's 
 
 height, 
 Why with such earnest pains dost thou 
 
 provoke 
 The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
 Thus blindly with thy blessedness at 
 
 strife ?3 
 Full soon thy soul shall have her earth- 
 ly freight, 
 And custom lie upon thee with a 
 
 weight, 
 Heavy as frost, and deep almost as 
 
 life! 
 
 1 humorous stage. Stage for character comedy 
 — a reference to the old term, "comedy of hu- 
 mours." 
 
 2 Thou. The child. 
 
 3 A reference to the childish habits described in 
 lines 91-108. 
 
 O joy I that in our embers 130 
 
 Is something that doth live, 
 That nature yet remembers 
 What was so fugitive! 
 The thought of our past years in me 
 
 doth breed 
 Perpetual benediction; not indeed 
 For that which is most worthy to be 
 
 blest- 
 Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
 Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, 
 With new-fledged hope still fluttering 
 in his breast : — 
 Not for these I raise 140 
 
 The song of thanks and praise; 
 But for those obstinate questionings 
 Of sense and outward things,* 
 Fallings from us, vanishings; 
 Blank misgivings of a creature 
 Moving about in worlds not realized. 
 High instincts before which our mortal 
 
 nature 
 Did tremble like a guilty thing sur- 
 prised: 
 
 But for those first affections. 
 Those shadowy recollections, 150 
 Which, be they what they may. 
 Are yet the fountain-light of all our day. 
 Are yet a master-light of all our seeing. 
 Uphold us, cherish, and have power 
 to make 
 Our noisy years seem moments in the 
 
 being 
 Of the eternal Silence: truths that 
 wake. 
 To perish never; 
 Which neither listlessness, nor mad 
 endeavor, 
 Nor man nor boy, 
 Nor all that is at enmity with joy, l6o 
 Can utterly abolish or destroy! 
 
 Hence in a season of calm weather, 
 Though inland far we be. 
 Our souls have sight of that immortal 
 sea 
 Which brought us hither. 
 Can in a moment travel thither, 
 And see the children sport upon the 
 
 shore, 
 And hear the mighty waters rolling 
 evermore. 
 
 4 Of the reality of what is perceived by the 
 
 senses.
 
 268 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joy- 
 ous song! 
 And let the young lambs bound 170 
 As to the tabor's sound! 
 We in thought will join your throng, 
 Ye that pipe and ye that play. 
 Ye that through your hearts to-day 
 Feel the gladness of the May! 
 What though the radiance which was 
 
 once so bright 
 Be now forever taken from my sight, 
 Though nothing can bring back the 
 hour 
 Of splendor in the grass, of glory in 
 the flower; 
 We will grieve not, rather find 180 
 Strength in what remains behind; 
 In the primal sympathy 
 Which having been must ever be; 
 In the soothing thoughts that spring 
 Out of human suffering; 
 In the faith that looks through death, 
 In years that bring the philosophic 
 mind. 
 
 xr 
 And O, ye fountains, meadows, hills, 
 
 and groves, 
 Forebode not any severing of our loves! 
 Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your 
 might; _ 190 
 
 I only have relinquished one delight 
 To live beneath your more habitual 
 
 sway. 
 I love the brooks which down their 
 
 channels fret. 
 Even more than when I tripped lightly 
 
 as they; 
 The innocent brightness of a new-born 
 day 
 
 Is lovely yet; 
 The clouds that gather round the set- 
 ting sun 
 Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
 That hath kept watch o'er man's mor- 
 tality; 
 Another race hath been, and other 
 palmsi are won. 200 
 
 Thanks to the human heart by which 
 
 we live. 
 Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and 
 
 fears. 
 To me the meanest flower that blows 
 
 can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for 
 tears. 
 
 (1807) 
 
 z palms. Prices. , 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, 
 SEPTEMBER 3, l8o2 
 
 Earth has not anything to show more 
 fair; 
 
 Dull would he be of soul who could 
 pass by 
 
 A sight so touching in its majesty: 
 
 This city now doth, like a garment, 
 wear 
 
 The beauty of the morning; silent, bare. 
 
 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and 
 temples lie 
 
 Open unto the fields, and to the sky; 
 
 All bright and glittering in the smoke- 
 less air. 
 
 Never did sun more beautifully steep 
 
 In his first splendor, valley, rock, or 
 hill; 10 
 
 Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! 
 
 The river glideth at his own sweet will: 
 
 Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; 
 
 And all that mighty heart is lying stilll 
 
 LONDON, 1802 
 
 [Written after the poet's return from a visit 
 to France. "I could not but be struck," he said, 
 "with the vanity and parade of our own country, 
 especially in great towns and cities, as contrasted 
 with the quiet, and I may say the desolation, 
 that the Revolution had produced in France."] 
 
 Milton! thou should'st be living at this 
 
 hour: 
 England hath need of thee; she is a fen 
 Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and 
 
 pen, 
 Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and 
 
 bower, 
 Have forfeited their ancient English 
 
 dower 
 Of inward happiness. We are selfish 
 
 men; 
 Oh! raise us up, return to us again; 
 And give us manners, virtue, freedom, 
 
 power. 
 Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt 
 
 apart: 
 Thou hadst a voice whose sound was 
 
 like the sea: lo 
 
 Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, 
 
 free, 
 So didst thou travel on life's common 
 
 way. 
 In cheerful godliness; and yet thy 
 
 heart 
 The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 269 
 
 WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, l802 
 
 O friend! I know not which way I 
 
 must look 
 For comfort, being as I am, oppressed, 
 To think that now our life is only 
 
 dressed 
 For show; mean handy-work of crafts- 
 man, cook, 
 Or groom! — We must run glittering 
 
 like a brook 
 In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: 
 The wealthiest man among us is the 
 
 best: 
 No grandeur now in nature or in book 
 Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense. 
 This is idolatry; and these we adore: lo 
 Plain living and high thinking are no 
 
 more: 
 The homely beauty of the good old 
 
 cause 
 Is gone, — our peace, our fearful inno- 
 cence, 
 And pure religion breathing household 
 laws. 
 
 IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF 
 
 It is not to be thought of that the flood 
 Of British freedom, which, to the open 
 
 sea 
 Of the world's praise, from dark 
 
 antiquity 
 Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, 
 
 unwithstood," 
 Roused though it be full often to a 
 
 mood 
 Which spurns the check of salutary 
 
 bands, — 
 That this most famous stream in bogs 
 
 and sands 
 Should perish, and to evil and to good 
 Be lost forever. In our halls is hung 
 Armory of the invincible knights of 
 
 old; 10 
 
 We must be free or die, who speak 
 
 the tongue 
 That Shakespeare spake, the faith and 
 
 morals hold 
 Which Milton held. — In everything we 
 
 are sprung 
 Of Earth's first blood, have titles 
 
 manifold. 
 
 THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US 
 
 The world is too much with us; late 
 
 and soon. 
 Getting and spending, we lay waste 
 
 our powers: 
 Little we see in Nature that is ours; 
 
 We have given our hearts away, a 
 
 sordid boon! 
 The sea that bares her bosom to the 
 
 moon; 
 The winds that will be howling at all 
 
 hours, 
 And are up-gathered now like sleeping 
 
 flowers; 
 For this, for everything, we are out 
 
 of tune; 
 It moves us not. — Great God! I'd 
 
 rather be 
 A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; lo 
 So might I, standing on this pleasant 
 
 lea. 
 Have glimpses that would make me 
 
 less forlorn; 
 Have sight of Proteus rising from the 
 
 sea; 
 Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed 
 
 horn. 
 
 (1807) 
 
 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 
 
 A Naval Ode 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL 
 
 Ye mariners of England 
 
 That guard our native seas! 
 
 Whose flag has braved, a thousand 
 
 years, 
 The battle and the breeze! 
 Your glorious standard launch again 
 To match another foe! 
 And sweep through the deep 
 While the stormy winds do blow; 
 While the battle rages loud and long, 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 10 
 
 The spirits of your fathers 
 
 Shall start from every wave! — 
 
 For the deck it was their field of fame, 
 
 And Ocean was their grave: 
 
 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,^ 
 
 Your manly hearts shall glow, 
 
 As ye sweep through the deep. 
 
 While the stormy winds do blow! 
 
 While the battle rages loud and long. 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 20 
 
 ^ I Admiral Robert Blake died at sea in 1657, and 
 Nelson (at Trafalgar) in 1805.
 
 270 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH ^ACE 
 
 Britannia needs no bulwarks, 
 
 No towers along the steep; 
 
 Her march is o'er the mountain waves, 
 
 Her home is on the deep; 
 
 With thunders from her native oak, 
 
 She quells the floods below, — 
 
 As they roar on the shore, 
 
 When the stormy winds do blow; 
 
 When the battle rages loud and long, 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 30 
 
 The meteor flag of England 
 
 Shall yet terrific burn, 
 
 Till danger's troubled night depart, 
 
 And the star of peace return. 
 
 Then, then, ye ocean warriors! 
 
 Our song and feast shall flow 
 
 To the fame of your name 
 
 When the storm has ceased to blow; 
 
 When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
 
 And the storm has ceased to blow. 40 
 
 (1809) 
 
 SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY 
 
 LORD BYRON 
 
 [Written in honor of Lady Horton, whom 
 Byron had seen in a mourning gown decorated 
 with spangles.] 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night 
 Of cloudless climes and starry skies; 
 
 And all that's best of dark and bright 
 Meet in her aspect and her eyes: 
 
 Thus mellowed to that tender light 
 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 One shade the more, one ray the less. 
 Had half impaired the nameless grace 
 
 Which waves in every raven tress, 
 Or softly lightens o'er her face; 10 
 
 Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
 How pure, how dear, their dwelling- 
 place. 
 
 And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, 
 So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. 
 
 The smiles that win, the tints that glow. 
 But tell of days in goodness spent, 
 
 A mind at peace with all below, 
 A heart whose love is innocentl 
 
 (1815) 
 
 KUBLA KHAN 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 
 
 [Written in 1797. According to the poet's 
 account, he had taken an anodyne to relieve 
 pain, and was reading in the old volume called 
 Purchas' Pilgrimage how "the Khan Kubla com- 
 manded a palace to be built," when he fell asleep. 
 He dreamed, and on awaking recollected the 
 dream with intense clearness, beginning to write 
 the poem as an account of it. He was presently 
 interrupted by a business call, and on returning 
 to his manuscript could remember nothing fur- 
 ther, so left the poem unfinished. Kubla Khan 
 was an Asiatic prince of the 13th century, who 
 founded the Mongol dynasty in China.] 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
 A stately pleasure-dome decree: 
 Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
 Through caverns measureless to man 
 
 Down to a sunless sea. 
 So twice five miles of fertile ground 
 With walls and towers were girdled 
 
 round: 
 And here were gardens bright with 
 
 sinuous rills. 
 Where blossomed many an incense- 
 bearing tree; 
 And here were forests ancient as the 
 hills, 10 
 
 Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 
 
 But oh! that deep romantic chasm 
 which slanted 
 
 Down the green hill athwart a cedarn 
 cover! 
 
 A savage place! as holy and enchanted 
 
 As e'er beneath a waning moon was 
 haunted 
 
 By woman wailing for her demon- 
 lover! 
 
 And from this chasm, with ceaseless 
 turmoil seething, 
 
 As if this earth in fast thick pants were 
 breathing, 
 
 A mighty fountain momently was 
 forced: 
 
 Amid whose swift half-intermitted 
 burst 20 
 
 Huge fragments vaulted like rebound- 
 ing hail, 
 
 Or chaflfy grain beneath the thresher's 
 flail: 
 
 And 'mid these dancing rocks at once 
 and ever 
 
 It flung up momently the sacred river. 
 
 Five miles meandering with a mazy 
 motion
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 271 
 
 Through wood and dale the sacred 
 
 river ran, 
 Then reached the caverns measureless 
 
 to man, 
 And sank in the tumult to a lifeless 
 
 ocean: 
 And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from 
 
 far 
 Ancestral voices prophesying war! 30 
 
 The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
 Floated midway on the waves; 
 Where was heard the mingled 
 
 measure 
 From the fountain and the caves. 
 It was a miracle of rare device, 
 A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of 
 ice! 
 
 A damsel with a dulcimer 
 
 In a vision once I saw: 
 
 It was an Abyssinian maid, 
 
 And on her dulcimer she played, 40 
 
 Singing of Mount Abora. 
 
 Could I revive within me 
 
 Her symphony and song. 
 
 To such a deep delight 'twould win 
 me, 
 That with music loud and long, 
 I would build that dome in air. 
 That sunny dome! those caves of ice! 
 And all who heard should see them 
 
 there, 
 And all should cry, Beware! Beware! 
 His flashing eyes, his floating hair! 
 Weave a circle round him thrice. 
 And close your eyes with holy dread, 
 For he on honey-dew hath fed, 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise. 
 
 (1816) 
 
 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO 
 CHAPMAN'S HOMER 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 [Keats had not had the advantage of a classi- 
 cal education; in this sonnet he records one of 
 the episodes of intellectual awakening which he 
 owed to_ friends who introduced him to the 
 classics in translation.] 
 
 Much have I travel'd in the realms of 
 
 gold. 
 And many goodly states and kingdoms 
 
 seen; 
 Round many western islands have I 
 
 been 
 
 Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
 Oft of one wide expanse had I been 
 
 told 
 That deep-browed Homer ruled as his 
 
 demesne; 
 Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
 Till I heard Chapman speak out loud 
 
 and bold: 
 Then felt I like some watcher of the 
 
 skies 9 
 
 When a new planet swims into his 
 
 ken; 
 Or like stout Cortez when with eagle 
 
 eyes 
 He stared at the Pacific — and all his 
 
 men 
 Looked at each other with a wild sur- 
 mise — 
 Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 
 
 (1816) 
 
 ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND 
 CRICKET 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 [This and the following sonnet were written by 
 Keats and Hunt in friendly competition.] 
 
 The poetry of earth is never dead: 
 
 When all the birds are faint with the 
 hot sun 
 
 And hide in cooling trees, a voice will 
 run 
 
 From hedge to hedge about the new- 
 mown mead; 
 
 That is the Grasshopper's — he takes 
 the lead 
 
 In summer luxury, — he has never done 
 
 With his delights; for when tired out 
 with fun 
 
 He rests at ease beneath some pleasant 
 weed. 
 
 The poetry of earth is ceasing never; 
 
 On a lone winter evening, when the 
 frost 10 
 
 Has wrought a silence, from the stove 
 there shrills 
 
 The Cricket's song, in warmth increas- 
 ing ever, 
 
 And seems to one in drowsiness half 
 lost, 
 
 The Grasshopper's among some grassy 
 hills. 
 
 (1817)
 
 272 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE 
 CRICKET 
 
 LEIGH HUNT 
 
 Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, 
 Catching your heart up at the feel of 
 
 June, 
 Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy 
 
 noon, 
 When even the bees lag at the summon- 
 ing brass; 
 And you, warm little housekeeper, who 
 
 class 
 With those who think the candles come 
 
 too soon, 
 Loving the fire, and with your tricksome 
 
 tune 
 Nick the glad silent moments as they 
 
 pass : 8 
 
 O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, 
 One to the fields, the other to the hearth. 
 Both have your sunshine; both, though 
 
 small, are strong 
 At your clear hearts; and both seem 
 
 given to earth 
 To ring in thoughtful ears this natural 
 
 song — 
 Indoors and out, summer and winter, 
 
 Mirth. 
 
 (1817) 
 
 THANATOPSIS 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
 
 [The title means "Vision of Death." In his 
 collected poems Bryant adds the words: "Writ- 
 ten in the poet's eighteenth year."] 
 
 To him who in the love of Nature holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she 
 
 speaks 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
 Into his darker musings, with a mild 
 And healing sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When 
 
 thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 10 
 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow 
 
 house. 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at 
 
 heart; — 
 Go forth, under the open .sky, and list 
 To Nature's teachings, while from all 
 
 around — 
 
 Earth and her waters, and the depths of 
 
 air — 
 Comes a still voice — 
 
 Yet a few days, and thee 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
 In all his course; nor yet in the cold 
 
 ground. 
 Where thy pale form was laid, with many 
 
 tears, 20 
 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
 Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, 
 
 shall claim 
 Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 
 And, lost each human trace, surrender- 
 ing up 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
 To mix forever with the elements. 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock 
 And to the sluggish clod, which the rude 
 
 swain 
 Turns with his share, and treads upon. 
 
 The oak 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce 
 
 thy mould. 30 
 
 Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou 
 
 wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie 
 
 down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world — with, 
 
 kings. 
 The powerful of the earth — the wise, the 
 
 good. 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the 
 
 vales 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
 The venerable woods — rivers that move 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 That make the meadows green; and, 
 poured round all, 42 
 
 Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. 
 The planets, all the infinite host of hea- 
 ven. 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that 
 
 tread 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 That slumber in its bosom. — Take the 
 wings so 
 
 Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilder- 
 ness,^ 
 I Barcan wilderness. In eastern Africa.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 273 
 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no 
 
 sound, 
 Save his own dashings — yet the dead are 
 
 there : 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 The flight of years began, have laid them 
 
 down 
 In their last sleep — the dead reign there 
 
 alone. 
 So shalt thou rest, and what if thou with- 
 draw 
 In silence from the living, and no friend 
 Take note of thy departure? All that 
 
 breathe 60 
 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will 
 
 laugh 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood 
 
 of care 
 Plod on, and each one as before will 
 
 chase 
 His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall 
 
 leave 
 Their mirth and their employments, and 
 
 shall come 
 And make their bed with thee. As the 
 
 long train 
 Of ages glides away, the sons of men, 
 The youth in life's fresh spring, and he 
 
 who goes 
 In the full strength of years, matron and 
 
 maid, 
 The speechless babe, and the gray-headed 
 
 man — 70 
 
 Shall one by one be gathered to thy side. 
 By those who in their turn shall follow 
 
 them. 
 
 So live, that when thy summons comes 
 
 to join 
 The innumerable caravan, which moves 
 To that mysterious realm, where each 
 
 shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at 
 
 night. 
 Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained 
 
 and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy 
 
 grave 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his 
 
 couch 80 
 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant 
 
 dreams. 
 
 TO A WATERFOWL 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
 
 Whither, midst falling dew. 
 While glow the heavens with the last 
 
 steps of day, 
 Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou 
 pursue 
 Thy solitary way? 
 
 Vainly the fowler's eye 
 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee 
 
 wrong. 
 As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 
 
 Thy figure floats along. 
 
 Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 10 
 Or where the rocking billows rise and 
 sink 
 
 On the chafed ocean-side? 
 
 There is a Power whose care 
 Teaches thy way along that pathless 
 
 coast — 
 The desert and illimitable air — 
 
 Lone wandering, but not lost. 
 
 All day thy wings have fanned, 
 At that far height, the cold, thin atmos- 
 phere. 
 Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 
 
 Though the dark night is near. 20 
 
 And soon that toil shall end; 
 Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and 
 
 rest. 
 And scream among thy fellows; reeds 
 shall bend. 
 Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 
 
 Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
 Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my 
 
 heart 
 Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast 
 given. 
 And shall not soon depart : 
 
 He who, from zone to zone, 
 Guides through the boundless sky thy cer- 
 tain flight, 30 
 In the long way that I must tread alone, 
 
 Will lead my steps aright. 
 
 (1817) 
 
 (1818)
 
 274 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 PROUD MAISIE 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 [An imitation of an old ballad-song; sung by 
 the mad woman, Madge Wildfire, in The Heart 
 of Midlothian.} 
 
 Proud Maisie is in the wood, 
 
 Walking so early; 
 Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 
 
 Singing so rarely. 
 
 "Tell me, thou bonny bird. 
 
 When shall I marry me?" 
 "When six braw^ gentlemen 
 
 Kirkward shall carry ye." 
 
 "Who makes the bridal bed, 
 
 Birdie, say truly?" 10 
 
 "The gray-headed sexton 
 
 That delves the grave duly. 
 
 "The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
 
 Shall light thee steady. 
 The owl from the steeple sing, 
 
 'Welcome, proud lady.' " 
 
 (i8i8) 
 
 OZYMANDIAS 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 I met a traveller from an antique land 
 
 Who said : Two vast and trunkless legs of 
 stone 
 
 Stand in the desert. Near them, on the 
 sand. 
 
 Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose 
 frown. 
 
 And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold com- 
 mand. 
 
 Tell that its sculptor well those passions 
 read 
 
 Which yet survive, stamped on these life- 
 less things, 
 
 The hand that mocked them and the heart 
 that fed: 8 
 
 And on the pedestal these words appear : 
 
 "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : 
 
 Look on my works, ye Mighty, and de- 
 spair !" 
 
 Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
 
 Of that colossal wreck, boundless and 
 bare 
 
 The lone and level sands stretch far away. 
 
 (i8i8) 
 J braw. Brave. 
 
 THE AMERICAN FLAG 
 
 JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 
 
 When Freedom from her mountain height 
 
 Unfurled her standard to the air, 
 She tore the azure robe of night, 
 
 And set the stars of glory there. 
 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
 The milky baldric of the skies, 
 And striped its pure celestial white 
 With streakings of the morning light; 
 Then from his mansion in the sun 
 She called her eagle bearer down, 10 
 And gave into his mighty hand 
 The symbol of her chosen land. 
 
 Majestic monarch of the cloud, 
 
 Who rear'st aloft thy regal form. 
 To hear the tempest trumpings loud 
 And see the lightning lances driven. 
 
 When strive the warriors of the storm, 
 And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — 
 Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 
 
 To guard the banner of the free, 20 
 To hover in the sulphur smoke. 
 To ward away the battle-stroke. 
 And bid its blendings shine afar. 
 Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 
 
 The harbingers of victory! 
 
 Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly. 
 The sign of hope and triumph high, 
 When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, 
 And the long line comes gleaming on. 
 Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 30 
 Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 
 Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
 To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
 And, as his springing steps advance. 
 Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
 And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
 Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud. 
 And gory sabres rise and fall 
 Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
 
 Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 41 
 And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
 
 Each gallant arm that strikes below 
 That lovely messenger of death. 
 
 Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
 Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; 
 When death, careering on the gale. 
 Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
 And frighted waves rush wildly back 50 
 Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
 Each dying wanderer of the sea 
 Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
 And smile to see thy splendors fly 
 In triumph o'er his closing eye.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 275 
 
 Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 
 
 By angel hands to valor given; 
 Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
 
 And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
 Forever float that standard sheet ! 60 
 
 Where breathes the foe but falls before 
 us, 
 With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 
 
 And Freedom's banner streaming o'er 
 
 (1819) 
 
 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness 
 pains 
 My sense, as though of hemlock I had 
 drunk. 
 Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 
 One minute past, and Lethe-wards^ had 
 sunk : 
 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 
 But being too happy in thine happi- 
 ness, — 
 That thou, light-winged Dryad^ of 
 the trees. 
 
 In some melodious plot 
 Of beechen green, and shadows number- 
 less, 
 Singest of summer in full-throated 
 ease. lO 
 
 O, for a draught of vintage! that hath 
 been 
 Cooled a long age in the deep-delved 
 earth. 
 Tasting of Flora and the country green. 
 Dance, and Provencal song,^ and sun- 
 burnt mirth ! 
 O for a beaker full of the warm South, 
 Full of the true, the blushful Hippo- 
 crene,* 
 With beaded bubbles winking at the 
 brim, 
 
 And purple-stained mouth; 
 That I might drink, and leave the world 
 unseen. 
 And with thee fade away into the 
 forest dim : 20 
 
 1 Lethe-wards. Lethe was the river of forget- 
 fulness of which the dead drank on reaching the 
 under-world. 
 
 2 Dryad. Forest spirit. 
 
 3 Provencal song. Songs of southern France. 
 
 4 Hippocrene. A fountain of the Muses. 
 
 Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 
 What thou among the leaves hast never 
 known, 
 The weariness, the fever, and the fret 
 Here, where men sit and hear each 
 other groan; 
 Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray 
 hairs, 
 Where youth grows pale, and spectre- 
 thin, and dies ; 
 Where but to think is to be full of 
 sorrow 
 And leaden-eyed despairs; 
 Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous 
 eyes. 
 Or new Love pine at them beyond 
 to-morrow. 30 
 
 Away! away! for I will fly to thee. 
 Not charioted by Bacchus and his 
 pards,^ 
 But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 
 Though the dull brain perplexes and 
 retards : 
 Already with thee! tender is the night. 
 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her 
 throne. 
 Clustered around by all her starry 
 Fays; 
 
 But here there is no light, 
 Save what from heaven is with the 
 breezes blown 
 Through verdurous glooms and wind- 
 ing mossy ways. 4o 
 
 I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, 
 Nor what soft incense hangs upon the 
 boughs. 
 But, in embalmed^ darkness, guess each 
 sweet 
 Wherewith the seasonable month en- 
 dows 
 The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree 
 wild; 
 White hawthorn, and the pastoral eg- 
 lantine ; 
 Fast fading violets covered up in 
 leaves ; 
 
 And mid-May's eldest child. 
 The coming musk-rose, fully of dewy 
 wine. 
 The murmurous haunt of flies on sum- 
 mer eves. SO 
 
 1 pards. Leopards. 
 
 2 embalmed. Balmy.
 
 276 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Darklingi I listen; and, ior^ many a time 
 I have been half in love with easeful 
 Death, 
 Called him soft names in many a mused 
 rhyme, 
 To take into the air my quiet breath; 
 Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 
 To cease upon the midnight with no 
 pain, 
 While thou art pouring forth thy soul 
 abroad 
 
 In such an ecstasy I 
 Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears 
 in vain — 
 To thy high requiem become a sod. 60 
 
 Thou wast not born for death, immortal 
 Bird! 
 No hungry generations tread thee down ; 
 The voice I hear this passing night was 
 heard 
 In ancient days by emperor and clown : 
 Perhaps the self-same song that found a 
 path 
 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, 
 sick for home. 
 She stood in tears amid the alien 
 corn ;3 
 The same that oft-times hath 
 Charmed magic casements, opening on the 
 foam 
 Of perilous seas, in faery lands fof- 
 lorn. 70 
 
 Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 
 To toll me back from thee to my sole 
 self! 
 Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
 As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
 Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades 
 Past the near meadows, over the still 
 stream, 
 Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried 
 deep 
 In the next valley glades : 
 Was it 3 vision, or a waking dream? 
 Fled is that music : — Do I wake or 
 sleep ? 80 
 
 (1820) 
 
 1 Darkling. In the dark. 
 
 2 for. Because. 
 
 3 alien corn. Foreigners' grain. See Book of 
 Ruth, chapter 2. 
 
 ODE ON A GRECIAN URN 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 [The subject of this poem is probably not a 
 single definite urn, though Keats may have had 
 particularly in mind an ancient vase which is 
 still preserved at Holland House, London.] 
 
 Thou still unravished bride of quietness, 
 Thou foster-child of silence and slow 
 time, 
 Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 
 A flowery tale more sweetly than our 
 rhyme : 
 What leaf-fringed legend haunts about 
 thy shape 
 Of deities or mortals, or of both, 
 In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? 
 What men or gods are these? What 
 maidens loth? 
 What mad pursuit? What struggle to 
 escape? 
 
 What pipes and timbrels? What wild 
 ecstasy? 10 
 
 Heard melodies are sweet, but those un- 
 heard 
 Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, 
 play on; 
 Not to the sensual^ ear, but, more en- 
 deared. 
 Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: 
 Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst 
 not leave 
 Thy song, nor ever can those trees be 
 bare ; 
 
 Bold Lover, never, never canst thou 
 kiss. 
 Though winning near the goal — yet, do 
 not grieve; 
 She cannot fade, though thou hast not 
 thy bliss, 
 
 For ever wilt thou love, and she be 
 fair ! 20 
 
 Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot 
 shed 
 Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring 
 adieu ; 
 And, happy melodist, unwearied. 
 
 For ever piping songs for ever new ; 
 More happy love ! more happy, happy 
 love ! 
 For ever warm and still to be enjoyed. 
 For ever panting, and for ever young; 
 
 I sensual. Physical.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 277 
 
 All breathing human passion far above, 
 That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and 
 cloyed, 
 
 A burning forehead, and a parching 
 tongue. 30 
 
 Who are these coming to the sacrifice? 
 To what green altar, O mysterious 
 priest, 
 Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the 
 skies. 
 And all her silken flanks with garlands 
 dressed? 
 What little town by river or sea shore, 
 Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel. 
 Is emptied of this folk, this pious 
 morn? 
 And, little town, thy streets for evermore 
 Will silent be; and not a soul to tell 
 Why thou art desolate, can e'er re- 
 turn. 40 
 
 O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede^ 
 Of marble men and maidens over- 
 wrought. 
 With forest branches and the trodden 
 weed; 
 Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of 
 thought2 
 As doth eternity : Cold Pastoral ! 
 When old age shall this generation 
 waste, 
 
 Thou shalt remain, in midst of other 
 woe 
 Than ours, a friend to man, to whom 
 thou say'st, 
 "Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is 
 
 all 
 Ye know on earth, and all ye need to 
 know." 50 
 
 (1820) 
 
 TO AUTUMN 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. 
 Close bosom-friend of the maturing 
 sun; 
 Conspiring with him how to load and 
 bless 
 With fruit the vines that round the 
 thatch-eaves run; 
 
 r brede. Embroidery. 
 
 a Entice us from our discontent. 
 
 To bend with apples the mossed cottage- 
 trees. 
 And fill all fruit with ripeness to the 
 core; 
 To swell the gourd, and plump the 
 hazel shells 
 With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more. 
 And stilf more, later flowers for the 
 
 bees. 
 Until they think warm days will never 
 cease, 10 
 
 For Summer has o'er-brimmed their 
 clammy cells. 
 
 Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy 
 store ? 
 Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may 
 find 
 Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
 Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing 
 wind; 
 Or on a half -reaped furrow sound asleep. 
 Drowsed with the fume of poppies, 
 while thy hook 
 Spares the next swath and all its 
 twined flowers : 
 And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost 
 keep 19 
 
 Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
 Or by a cider-press, with patient look, 
 Thou watchest the last oozings hours 
 by hours. 
 
 Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, 
 where are they? 
 Think not of them, thou hast thy music 
 too, — 
 While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying 
 day, 
 And touch the stubble-plains with rosy 
 hue; 
 Then in a wailful choir the small gnats 
 mourn 
 Among the river sallows,^ borne aloft 
 Or sinking as the light wind lives or 
 dies; 
 And full-grown lambs loud bleat from 
 hilly bourn ;2 30 
 
 Hedge-crickets sing; and now with 
 
 treble soft 
 The red-breast whistles from a garden- 
 croft ;3 
 And gathering swallows twitter in the 
 skies. 
 
 (1820) 
 
 1 sallows. Willows. 
 
 2 bourn. Boundary (of a pasture). 
 
 3 croft. Plot.
 
 278 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 ODE TO THE WEST WIND 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 [Shelley's own note on this poem is as fol- 
 lows: "Conceived and chiefly written in a wood 
 that skirts the Arno, near Florence, and on a 
 day when the tempestuous wind, whose tempera- 
 ture is at once mild and animating, was col- 
 lecting the vapors which pour down the autumnal 
 rains. . . . The phenomenon alluded to at the 
 end of the third stanza is well known to natu- 
 ralists. The vegetation at the bottom of the sea, 
 of rivers, and of lakes sympathizes with that of 
 the land in the change of seasons, and is con- 
 sequently influenced by the winds which an- 
 nounce it." The latter part of the poem ex- 
 presses Shelley's interpretation of his own 
 personality (see especially line 56), at a time 
 when his radical views had made him a sus- 
 pected exile, but when he still expected the ulti- 
 mate triumph of the doctrines of freedom for 
 which he had always contended. The metre is 
 the Italian "terza rima"; , notice that the first 
 and third lines of each tercet rime with the 
 middle line of the preceding.] 
 
 Angels of rain and lightning; there are 
 
 spread 
 On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
 Like the bright hair uplifted from the 
 
 head 20 
 
 Of some fierce Maenad,^ even from the 
 
 dim verge 
 Of the horizon to the zenith's height, 
 The locks of the approaching storm. 
 Thou dirge 
 
 Of the dying year, to which this closing 
 
 night 
 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 
 Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
 
 Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere 
 Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst : 
 Oh hear ! 
 
 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Au- 
 tumn's being. 
 
 Thou, from whose unseen presence the 
 leaves dead 
 
 Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter 
 fleeing, 
 
 Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic 
 
 red, 
 Pestilence-stricken multitudes : O thou, 
 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
 
 The winged seeds, where they lie cold and 
 
 low, 
 Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
 Thine azure sister of the Spring shall 
 
 blow 
 
 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and 
 fill 10 
 
 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in 
 air) 
 
 With living hues and odors plain and hill; 
 
 Wild Spirit, which art moving every- 
 where ; 
 Destroyer and preserver ; hear, Oh hear ! 
 
 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep 
 
 sky's commotion, 
 Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves 
 
 are shed. 
 Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven 
 
 and Ocean, 
 
 Thou who didst waken from his summer 
 
 dreams 
 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 30 
 Lulled by the coiP of his crystalline 
 
 streams, 
 
 Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,^ 
 
 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
 
 Quivering within the wave's intenser day. 
 
 All overgrown with azure moss, and flow- 
 ers 
 
 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! 
 Thou 
 
 For whose path the Atlantic's level pow- 
 ers 
 
 Cleave themselves into chasms, while far 
 
 below 
 The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which 
 
 wear 
 The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 40 
 
 Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with 
 
 fear, 
 And tremble and despoil themselves: Oh 
 
 hear! 
 
 IV 
 
 If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 
 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; 
 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and 
 share 
 
 I Mmnad. A frenzied Bacchic dancer. 
 3 coil. Murmur. 
 
 3 Baict's hay. Near Naples; in the vicinity are 
 many ancient ruins.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 279 
 
 The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
 Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even 
 I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
 
 The comrade of thy wanderings over 
 
 heaven. 
 As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
 Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er 
 
 have striven 51 
 
 As thus with thee in prayer in my sore 
 
 need. 
 Oh lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! 
 I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! 
 
 A heavy weight of hours has chained and 
 
 bowed 
 One too like thee : tameless, and swift, and 
 
 proud. 
 
 V 
 
 Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : 
 What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
 
 Will take from both a deep, autumnal 
 
 tone, 60 
 
 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit 
 fierce, 
 
 My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! 
 
 Drive my dead thoughts over the uni- 
 verse 
 
 Like withered leaves to quicken a new 
 birth ! 
 
 And, by the incantation of this verse, 
 
 Scatter, as from an unextinguished 
 hearth 
 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among man- 
 kind ! 
 
 Be through my lips to unawakened earth 
 
 The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, 70 
 If Winter comes, can Spring be far be- 
 hind? 
 
 (1820) 
 
 THE CLOUD 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 I bring fresh showers for the thirsting 
 flowers, 
 
 From the seas and the streams ; 
 I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 
 
 In their noonday dreams. 
 
 From my wings are shaken the dews that 
 waken 
 
 The sweet buds every one, 
 When rocked to rest on their mother's 
 breast. 
 
 As she dances about the sun. 
 I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 
 
 And whiten the green plains under, 10 
 And then again I dissolve it in rain, 
 
 And laugh as I pass in thunder. 
 
 I sift the snow on the mountains below, 
 
 And their great pines groan aghast ; 
 And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 
 
 While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
 Sublime on the towers of my skyey bow- 
 ers, 
 
 Lightning my pilot sits; 
 In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 
 
 It struggles and howls at fits ; 20 
 
 Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 
 
 This pilot is guiding me, 
 Lured by the love of the genii that move 
 
 In the depths of the purple sea; 
 Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills. 
 
 Over the lakes and the plains, 
 Wherever he dream, under mountain or 
 stream. 
 
 The Spirit he loves remains; 
 And I all the while bask in heaven's blue 
 smile. 
 
 Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 30 
 
 The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor 
 eyes. 
 
 And his burning plumes outspread. 
 Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,^ 
 
 When the morning star shines dead, 
 As on the jag of a mountain crag. 
 
 Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
 An eagle alit one moment may sit 
 
 In the light of its golden wings. 
 And when sunset may breathe, from the 
 lit sea beneath. 
 
 Its ardors of rest and of love, 40 
 
 And the crimson pall of eve may fall 
 
 From the depth of heaven above. 
 With wings folded I rest, on mine airy 
 nest. 
 
 As still as a brooding dove. 
 
 That orbed maiden with white fire laden. 
 Whom mortals call the moon. 
 
 Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like 
 floor, 
 By the midnight breezes strewn; 
 I rack. Cloud-mass.
 
 280 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 
 
 Which only the angels hear, 50 
 
 May have broken the woof of my tent's 
 
 thin roof, 
 
 The stars peep behind her and peer; 
 
 And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 
 
 Like a swarm of golden bees, 
 When I widen the rent in my wind-built 
 tent. 
 Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas. 
 Like strips of the sky fallen through me 
 on high, 
 Are each paved with the moon and 
 these. 
 
 I bind the sun's throne with a burning 
 zone. 
 And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; 
 The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel 
 and swim, 61 
 
 When the whirlwinds my banner un- 
 furl. 
 From cape to cape, with a bridge-like 
 shape. 
 Over a torrent sea. 
 Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, — 
 
 The mountains its columns be. 
 The triumphal arch through which I 
 march 
 With hurricane, fire, and snow. 
 When the powers of the air are chained 
 to my chair, 
 Is the million-colored bow ; 70 
 
 The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove. 
 While the moist earth was laughing 
 below. 
 
 I am the daughter of earth and water. 
 
 And the nursling of the sky; 
 I pass through the pores of the ocean 
 and shores; 
 I change, but I cannot die. 
 For after the rain when with never a 
 stain 
 The pavilion of heaven is bare, 
 And the winds and sunbeams with their 
 convex gleams 
 Build up the blue dome of air, 80 
 
 I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,^ 
 
 And out of the caverns of rain. 
 Like a child from the womb, like a ghost 
 from the tomb, 
 I arise and unbuild it again. 
 
 (1820) 
 
 I cenotaph. 
 
 Empty tomb. 
 
 TO A SKYLARK 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe spirit! 
 Bird thou never wert — 
 That from heaven, or near it, 
 Pourest thy full heart 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 
 
 Higher still and higher 
 
 From the earth thou springest 
 Like a cloud of fire ; 
 The blue deep thou wingest. 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring 
 ever singest. 10 
 
 In the golden lightning 
 
 Of the sunken sun. 
 O'er which clouds are bright'ning, 
 Thou dost float and run; 
 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just 
 begun. 
 
 The pale purple even 
 
 Melts around thy flight; 
 Like a star of heaven 
 In the broad daylight 
 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill 
 delight, 20 
 
 Keen as are the arrows 
 Of that silver sphere 
 Whose intense lamp narrows^ 
 In the white dawn clear. 
 Until we hardly see, we feel that it is 
 there. 
 
 All the earth and air 
 
 With thy voice is loud, 
 As, when night is bare. 
 From one lonely cloud 
 The moon rains out her beams, and heav- 
 en is overflow'd. 30 
 
 What thou art we know not; 
 
 What is most like thee? 
 From rainbow clouds there flow not 
 Drops so bright to see. 
 As from thy presence showers a rain of 
 melody : — 
 
 Like a poet hidden 
 
 In the light of thought, 
 Singing hymns unbidden, 
 Till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it 
 heeded not : 40 
 
 a The waning morning moon.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 281 
 
 Like a high-born maiden 
 
 In a palace tower, 
 Soothing her love-laden 
 Soul in secret hour 
 With music sweet as love, which over- 
 flows her bower: 
 
 Like a glow-worm golden 
 
 In a dell of dew, 
 Scattering unbeholden^ 
 Its aerial hue 
 Among the flowers and grass which screen 
 it from the view. 50 
 
 Like a rose embower'd 
 
 In its own green leaves, 
 By warm winds deflowered, 
 Till the scent it gives 
 Makes faint with too much sweet these 
 heavy-winged thieves : 
 
 Sound of vernal showers 
 
 On the twinkling grass, 
 Rain-awakened flowers, 
 All that ever was 
 Joyous, and clear, and fresh — thy music 
 doth surpass. 60 
 
 Teach us, sprite or bird. 
 
 What sweet thoughts are thine : 
 I have never heard 
 Praise of love or wine 
 That panted forth a flood of rapture so 
 divine. 
 
 Chorus Hymeneal,2 
 
 Or triumphal chant. 
 Matched with thine would be all 
 But an empty vaunt — 
 A thing wherein we feel there is some 
 hidden want. 70 
 
 What objects are the fountains 
 
 Of thy happy strain? 
 What fields, or waves, or mountains? 
 What shapes of sky or plain? 
 What love of thine own kind? what ig- 
 norance of pain? 
 
 With thy clear keen joyance 
 
 Languor cannot be : 
 Shadow of annoyance 
 Never came near thee : 
 Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad 
 satiety. 80 
 
 I unbeholden. Gratuitously, 
 a Hymeneal. Wedding. 
 
 Waking or asleep, 
 
 Thou of death must deem 
 Things more true and deep 
 Than we mortals dream. 
 Or how could thy notes flow in such a 
 crystal stream? 
 
 We look before and after,^ 
 
 And pine for what is not : 
 Our sincerest laughter 
 W'th some pain is fraught; 
 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of 
 saddest thought. 90 
 
 Yet, if we could scorn 
 
 Hate, and pride, and fear; 
 If we were things born 
 Not to shed a tear, 
 I know not how thy joy we ever should 
 come near. 
 
 Better than all measures 
 
 Of delightful sound, 
 Better than all treasures 
 That in books are found. 
 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of 
 the ground ! 100 
 
 Teach me half the gladness 
 
 That thy brain must know, 
 Such harmonious madness 
 From my lips would flow. 
 The world should listen then, as I am 
 listening now. 
 
 (1820) 
 
 A DIRGE 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 Rough wind, that moanest loud 
 
 Grief too sad for song; 
 Wild wind, when sullen cloud 
 
 Knells all the night long; 
 Sad storm, whose tears are vain. 
 Bare woods, whose branches strain. 
 Deep caves and dreary main, 
 Wail, for the world's wrong! 
 
 (1824) 
 
 3 before and after. Forward and backward.
 
 282 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 A FOREST HYMN 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
 
 The groves were God's first temples. 
 
 Ere man learned 
 To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,'- 
 And spread the roof above them — ere he 
 
 framed 
 The lofty vault,^ to gather and roll back 
 The sound of anthems; in the darkling 
 
 wood, 
 Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, 
 And offered to the Mightiest solemn 
 
 thanks 
 And supplication. For his simple heart 
 Might not resist the sacred influences 
 Which, from the stilly twilight of the 
 
 place, 10 
 
 And from the gray old trunks that high 
 
 in heaven 
 Mingled their mossy boughs, and from 
 
 the sound 
 Of the invisible breath that swayed at 
 
 once 
 All their green tops, stole over him, and 
 
 bowed 
 His spirit with the thought of boundless 
 
 power 
 And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
 Should we, in the world's riper years, 
 
 neglect 
 God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
 Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
 That our frail hands have raised? Let 
 
 me, at least, 20 
 
 Here, in the shadow of this aged wood. 
 Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find 
 Acceptance in his ear. 
 
 Father, thy hand 
 Hath reared these venerable columns. 
 
 Thou 
 Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou 
 
 didst look down 
 Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose 
 All these fair ranks of trees. They, in 
 
 thy sun. 
 Budded, and shook their green leaves in 
 
 thy breeze. 
 And shot toward heaven. The century- 
 living crow. 
 Whose birth was in their tops, grew old 
 
 and died 30 
 
 Among their branches, till, at last, they 
 
 stood, 
 
 I architrave. The timber that rests on the 
 column. 
 
 a vault. Vaulted ceiling. 
 
 As now they stand, massy, and tall, and 
 
 dark, 
 Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 
 Communion with his Maker. These dim 
 
 vaults. 
 These winding aisles, of human pomp or 
 
 pride 
 Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
 The boast of our vain race to change the 
 
 form 
 Of thy fair works. But Thou art here — 
 
 Thou fiU'st 
 The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 
 That run along the summit of these trees 
 In music ; Thou art in the cooler breath 
 That from the inmost darkness of the 
 
 place 42 
 
 Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, 
 
 the ground, 
 The fresh moist ground, are all instinct^ 
 
 with Thee. 
 Here is continual worship ; — Nature, here. 
 In the tranquillity that Thou dost love. 
 Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around. 
 From perch to perch, the solitary bird 
 Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst 
 
 its herbs. 
 Wells softly forth and wandering steeps 
 
 the roots 50 
 
 Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 
 Of all the good it does. Thou hast not 
 
 left 
 Thyself without a witness, in the shades, 
 Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, 
 
 and grace 
 Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty 
 
 oak — 
 By whose immovable stem I stand and 
 
 seem 
 Almost annihilated — not a prince. 
 In all that proud old world beyond the 
 
 deep. 
 E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 
 Wears the green coronal of leaves with 
 
 which 60 
 
 Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his 
 
 root 
 Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 
 Of the broad sun. That delicate forest 
 
 flower. 
 With scented breath and look so like a 
 
 smile. 
 Seems, as it issues from the shapeless 
 
 mould, 
 An emanation of the indwelling Life, 
 A visible token of the upholding Love, 
 That are the soul of this great universe. 
 3 instinct. Saturated.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 283 
 
 My heart is awed within me when I 
 
 think 
 Of the great miracle that still goes on, 70 
 In silence, round me — the perpetual work 
 Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
 Forever. Written on thy works I read 
 The lesson of thy own eternity. 
 Lol all grow old and die — but see again, 
 How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
 Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful 
 
 youth 
 In all its beautiful forms. These lofty 
 
 trees 
 Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
 Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not 
 
 lost 80 
 
 One of earth's charms : upon her bosom 
 
 yet, 
 After the flight of untold centuries, 
 The freshness of her far beginning lies 
 And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle 
 
 hate 
 Of his arch-enemy Death — ^yea, seats him- 
 self 
 Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre, 
 And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
 Makes his own nourishment. For he 
 
 came forth 
 From thine own bosom, and shall have no 
 
 end. 
 
 There have been holy men who hid 
 
 themselves 90 
 
 Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
 Their lives to thought and prayer, till 
 
 they outlived 
 The generation born with them, nor 
 
 seemed 
 Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
 Around them ; — and there have been holy 
 
 men 
 Who deemed it were not well to pass life 
 
 thus. 
 But let me often to these solitudes 
 Retire, and in thy presence reassure 
 My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, 
 The passions, at thy plainer footsteps 
 
 shrink 100 
 
 And tremble and are still. O God ! when 
 
 Thou 
 Dost scare the world with tempests, set 
 
 on fire 
 The heavens with falling thunderbolts, 
 
 or fill 
 With all the waters of the firmament 
 The swift dark whirlwind that uproots 
 
 the woods 
 
 And drowns the villages; when, at thy 
 
 call, 
 Uprises the great deep and throws himself 
 Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
 Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight 
 Of these tremendous tokens of thy 
 
 power, no 
 
 His pride, and lays his strifes and follies 
 
 by? 
 Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
 Spare me and mine, nor let us need the 
 
 wrath 
 Of the mad unchained elements to teach 
 Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, 
 In these calm shades, thy milder majesty. 
 And to the beautiful order of thy works 
 Learn to conform the order of our lives. 
 
 (1825) 
 
 A HEALTH 
 
 EDWARD COATE PINKNEY 
 
 I fill this cup to one made up 
 
 Of loveliness alone, — 
 A woman, of her gentle sex 
 
 The seeming paragon ; 
 To whom the better elements 
 
 And kindly stars have given 
 A form so fair, that, like the air, 
 
 'Tis less of earth than heaven. 
 
 Her every tone is music's own, 
 
 Like those of morning birds; 10 
 
 And something more than melody 
 
 Dwells ever in her words; 
 The coinage of her heart are they. 
 
 And from her lips each flows 
 As one may see the burdened bee 
 
 Forth issue from the rose. 
 
 Aflfections are as thoughts to her, 
 
 The measures of her hours; 
 Her feelings have the fragrancy. 
 
 The freshness of young flowers ; 20 
 
 And lovely passions, changing oft. 
 
 So fill her, she appears 
 The image of themselves by turns, — 
 
 The idol of past years ! 
 
 Of her bright face one glance will trace 
 
 A picture on the brain; 
 And of her voice in echoing hearts 
 
 A sound must long remain; 
 But memory, such as mine of her. 
 
 So very much endears, 30 
 
 When death is nigh, my latest sigh 
 
 Will not be life's, but hers.
 
 284 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 I fill this cup to one made up 
 
 Of loveliness alone, — 
 A woman, of her gentle se:: 
 
 The seeming paragon. 
 Her health ! and would on earth there 
 stood 
 
 Some more of such a frame, 
 That life might be all poetry, 
 
 And weariness a name. 40 
 
 (1825) 
 
 THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM 
 FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND 
 
 FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS 
 
 The breaking waves dashed high 
 On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
 
 And the woods against a stormy sky 
 Their giant branches tossed; 
 
 And the heavy night hung dark 
 
 The hills and waters o'er. 
 When a band of exiles moored their bark 
 
 On the wild New England shore. 
 
 Not as the conqueror comes, 
 
 They, the true-hearted, came; 10 
 
 Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 
 
 And the trumpet that sings of fame; 
 
 Not as the flying come, 
 
 In silence and in fear; 
 They shook the depth of the desert gloom 
 
 With their hymns of lofty cheer. 
 
 Amidst the storm they sang. 
 And the stars heard, and the sea; 
 
 And the sounding aisles of the dim woods 
 rang 
 To the anthem of the free! 20 
 
 The ocean eagle soared 
 
 From his nest by the white wave's 
 foam; 
 And the rocking pines of the forest 
 roared — 
 This was their welcome home! 
 
 There were men with hoary hair 
 
 Amidst that pilgrim band ; — 
 Why had they come to wither there. 
 
 Away from their childhood's land? 
 
 There was woman's fearless eye. 
 Lit by her deep love's truth ; 30 
 
 There was manhood's brow serenely high. 
 And the fiery heart of youth. 
 
 What sought they thus afar? — 
 
 Bright jewels of the mine? 
 The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — 
 
 They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 
 
 Ay, call it holy ground. 
 
 The soil where first they trod ; 
 They have left unstained what there they 
 found — 
 
 Freedom to worship God. 40 
 
 (1826) 
 
 THE SON OF GOD GOES FORTH 
 TO WAR 
 
 REGINALD HEBER 
 
 The Son of God goes forth to war, 
 
 A kingly crown to gain ; 
 His blood-red banner streams afar: 
 
 Who follows in His train? 
 
 Who best can drink His cup of woe. 
 
 Triumphant over pain. 
 Who patient bears His cross below. 
 
 He follows in His train. 
 
 The martyr first, whose eagle eye 
 Could pierce beyond the grave, 
 
 Who saw his Master in the sky. 
 And called on Him to save : 
 
 10 
 
 Like Him, with pardon on his tongue, 
 
 In midst of mortal pain. 
 He prayed for them that did the wrong: 
 
 Who follows in His train? 
 
 A glorious band, the chosen few 
 
 On whom the Spirit came, 
 Twelve valiant saints, their hope they 
 knew. 
 
 And mocked the cross and flame; 20 
 
 They climbed the steep ascent of heaven 
 Through peril, toil, and pain : 
 
 O God, to us may grace be given 
 To follow in their train ! 
 
 (1827)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 285 
 
 OLD IRONSIDES 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 [When he was a law student at Cambridge, 
 Holmes's indignation was aroused by a news- 
 paper paragraph announcing that it was pro- 
 posed to destroy the historic U. S. frigate Con- 
 stitution, now old and valueless. He dashed off 
 these verses, and the interest which they aroused 
 prolonged the life of the warship.] 
 
 Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! 
 
 Long has it waved on high, 
 And many an eve has danced to see 
 
 That banner in the sky; 
 Beneath it rung the battle shout. 
 
 And burst the cannon's roar; — 
 The meteor of the ocean air 
 
 Shall sweep the clouds no more. 
 
 Her deck, once red with heroes' blood. 
 
 Where knelt the vanquished foe, lo 
 When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 
 
 And waves were white below, 
 No more shall feel the victor's tread, 
 
 Or know the conquered knee ; 
 The harpies of the shore shall pluck 
 
 The eagle of the sea! 
 
 Oh, better that her shattered hulk 
 
 Should sink beneath the wave! 
 Her thunders shook the mighty deep. 
 
 And there should be her grave; 20 
 
 Nail to the mast her holy flag, 
 
 Set every threadbare sail, 
 And give her to the god of storms, 
 
 The lightning and the gale ! 
 
 (1830) 
 
 THE LAST LEAF 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 I saw him once before, 
 As he passed by the door, 
 
 And again 
 The pavement stones resound, 
 As he totters o'er the ground 
 
 With his cane. 
 
 They say that in his prime, 
 Ere the pruning-knife of Time 
 
 Cut him down. 
 Not a better man was found 
 By the crier on his round 
 
 Through the town. 
 
 But now he walks the streets, 
 And he looks at all he meets 
 
 Sad and wan. 
 And he shakes his feeble head, 
 That it seems as if he said, 
 
 "They are gone." 
 
 The mossy marbles rest 
 
 On the lips that he has pressed 20 
 
 In their bloom, 
 And the names he loved to hear 
 Have been carved for many a year 
 
 On the tomb. 
 
 My grandmamma has said — 
 Poor old lady, she is dead 
 
 Long ago — 
 That he had a Roman nose, 
 And his cheek was like a rose 
 
 In the snow. 30 
 
 But now his nose is thin. 
 And it rests upon his chin 
 
 Like a staff. 
 And a crook is in his back, 
 And a melancholy crack 
 
 In his laugh. 
 
 I know it is a sin 
 For me to sit and grin 
 
 At him here ; 
 But the old three-cornered hat, 40 
 
 And the breeches, and all that. 
 
 Are so queer ! 
 
 And if I should live to be 
 The last leaf upon the tree 
 
 In the spring, 
 Let them smile, as I do now. 
 At the old, forsaken bough 
 
 Where I cling. 
 
 (1831) 
 
 FOREFATHERS' HYMN 
 
 LEONARD BACON 
 
 O God, beneath Thy guiding hand 
 Our exiled fathers crossed the sea; 
 And when they trod the wintry strand. 
 With prayer and psalm they worshipped 
 Thee. 
 
 Thou heard'st, well pleased, the song, the 
 
 prayer : 
 Thy blessing came ; and still its power 
 Shall onward through the ages bear 
 The memory of that holy hour.
 
 286 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Laws, freedom, truth, and faith in God 
 Came with those exiles o'er the waves ; lo 
 And where their pilgrim feet have trod 
 The God they trusted guards their graves. 
 
 And here Thy Name, O God of love, 
 Their children's children shall adore. 
 Till these eternal hills remove. 
 And spring adorns the earth no more. 
 
 (1833) 
 
 CONCORD HYMN 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 
 Sung at the completion of the Battle Monument, 
 April 19, 1837 
 
 [This monument was erected by the riverside 
 at Concord, Massachusetts, as a memorial of 
 the Battle of Lexington and Concord, April 
 19, 1775.] 
 
 By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
 Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
 
 Here once the embattled farmers stood. 
 And fired the shot heard round the 
 world. 
 
 The foe long since in silence slept ; 
 
 Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; 
 And Time the ruined bridge has swept 
 
 Down the dark stream which seaward 
 creeps. 
 
 On this green bank, by this soft stream, 
 We set to-day a votive stone, 10 
 
 That memory may their deed redeem. 
 When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 
 
 Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
 To die, and leave their children free, 
 
 Bid Time and Nature gently spare 
 The shaft we raise to them and thee. 
 
 (1837) 
 
 A PSALM OF LIFE 
 
 What the Heart of the Young Man Said 
 to the Psalmist 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 [The opening lines allude to the 90th Psalm, 
 especially verse 5; line 7 to Genesis 3:19.] 
 
 Tell me not, in mournful numbers. 
 Life is but an empty dream ! — 
 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
 10 
 
 Life is real! Life is earnest! 
 
 And the grave is not its goal; 
 "Dust thou art, to dust rcturnest," 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
 
 Is our destined end or way; 
 But to act, that each to-morrow 
 
 Find us farther than to-day. 
 
 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
 
 Still, like mufiled drums, are beating 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle, 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
 Act, — act in the living Present ! 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us 
 We can make our lives sublime, 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 Footprints on the sands of time; 
 
 Footprints, that perhaps another. 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing. 
 With a heart for any fate; 
 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labor and to wait. 
 
 (1838) 
 
 THE HUMBLE-BEE 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 
 Burly, dozing humble-bee, 
 Where thou art is clime for me. 
 Let them sail for Porto Rique, 
 Far-oflF heats through seas to seek; 
 I will follow thee alone. 
 Thou animated torrid-zone! 
 Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer. 
 Let me chase thy waving lines; 
 Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 
 Singing over shrubs and vines. 
 
 Insect lover of the sun, 
 Joy of thy dominion 1 
 
 20 
 
 30 
 
 10
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 287 
 
 Sailor of the atmosphere; 
 Swimmer through the waves of air; 
 Voyager of light and noon; 
 Epicurean^ of June ; 
 Wait, I prithee, till I come 
 Within earshot of thy hum, — 
 All without is martyrdom. 
 
 When the south wind, in May days, 20 
 
 With a net of shining haze 
 
 Silvers the horizon wall, 
 
 And with softness touching all, 
 
 Tints the human countenance 
 
 With a color of romance. 
 
 And infusing subtle heats, 
 
 Turns the sod to violets, 
 
 Thou, in sunny solitudes. 
 
 Rover of the underwoods, 
 
 The green silence dost displace 30 
 
 With thy mellow, breezy bass. 
 
 Hot midsummer's petted crone, 
 Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 
 Tells of countless sunny hours. 
 Long days, and solid banks of flowers; 
 Of gulfs of sweetness without bound 
 In Indian wildernesses found ; 
 Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure. 
 Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 
 
 Aught unsavory or unclean 40 
 
 Hath my insect never seen ; 
 
 But violets and bilberry bells, 
 
 Maple-sap and daffodils, 
 
 Grass with green flag half-mast high, 
 
 Succory to match the sky, 
 
 Columbine with horn of honey. 
 
 Scented fern, and agrimony. 
 
 Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue, 
 
 And brier-roses, dwelt among; 
 
 All beside was unknown waste, 50 
 
 All was picture as he passed. 
 
 Wiser far than human seer. 
 Yellow-breeched philosopher! 
 Seeing only what is fair, 
 Sipping only what is sweet. 
 Thou dost mock at fate and care. 
 Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. 
 When the fierce northwestern blast 
 Cools sea and land so far and fast, 
 Thou already slumberest deep; 60 
 
 Woe and want thou canst outsleep; 
 Want and woe, which torture us, 
 Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 
 
 (1839) 
 
 I Epicurean. Follower of the philosophy ot 
 pleasure-seeking. 
 
 THE RHODORA 
 
 On Being Asked, Whence is the Flower f 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 
 In May, when sea-winds pierced our soli- 
 tudes, 
 I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
 Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp 
 
 nook. 
 To please the desert and the sluggish 
 
 brook. 
 The purple petals, fallen in the pool. 
 Made the black water with their beauty 
 
 gay; 
 Here might the red-bird come his plumes 
 
 to cool, 
 And court the flower that cheapens his 
 
 array. 
 Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why 
 This charm is wasted on the earth and 
 
 sky, 10 
 
 Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made 
 
 for seeing. 
 Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: 
 Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! 
 I never thought to ask, I never knew : 
 But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 
 The self -same Power that brought me 
 
 there brought you. 
 
 (1839) 
 
 THE SNOW-STORM 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 
 Announced by all the trumpets of the sky. 
 Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the 
 
 fields, 
 Seems nowhere to alight : the whited air 
 Hides hills and woods, the river, and the 
 
 heaven. 
 And veils the farm-house at the garden's 
 
 end. 
 The sled and traveller stopped, the cou- 
 rier's feet 
 Delayed, all friends shut out, the house- 
 mates sit 
 Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
 In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 
 
 Come see the north wind's masonry. lO 
 Out of an unseen quarry evermore 
 Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
 Curves his white bastions with projected 
 roof
 
 288 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Round every windward stake, or tree, or 
 
 door. 
 Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild 
 
 work 
 So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he 
 For number or proportion. Mockingly, 
 On coop or kennel he hangs Parian^^ 
 
 wreaths ; 
 A swan-like form invests the hidden 
 
 thorn ; 
 Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to 
 
 wall, 20 
 
 Maugre^ the farmer's sighs ; and at the 
 
 gate 
 A tapering turret overtops the work. 
 And when his hours are numbered, and 
 
 the world 
 Is all his own, retiring, as he were not. 
 Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished 
 
 Art 
 To mimic in slow structures, stone by 
 
 stone. 
 Built in an age, the mad wind's night- 
 work. 
 The frolic architecture of the snow. 
 
 (1841) 
 
 MAIDENHOOD 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 Maiden ! with the meek brown eyes, 
 In whose orbs a shadow lies 
 Like the dusk in evening skies! 
 
 Thou whose locks outshine the sun. 
 Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
 As the braided streamlets run ! 
 
 Standing, with reluctant feet. 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 
 
 Gazing, with a timid glance. 
 On the brooklet's swift advance, 
 On the river's broad expanse ! 
 
 Deep and still, that gliding stream 
 Beautiful to thee must seem 
 As the river of a dream. 
 
 Then why pause with indecision, 
 When bright angels in the vision 
 Beckon thee to fields Elysian? 
 
 X Parian. Of white Parian marble. 
 2 Maugre. In spite of. 
 
 Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
 
 As the dove, with startled eye, 20 
 
 Sees the falcon's shadow fly? 
 
 Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
 That our ears perceive no more, 
 Deafened by the cataract's roar? 
 
 Oh, thou child of many prayers ! 
 
 Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares! 
 
 Care and age come unawares ! 
 
 Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
 Morning rises into noon, 
 May glides onward into June. 
 
 30 
 
 Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
 Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
 Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 
 
 Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
 When the young heart overflows, 
 To embalm that tent of snows. 
 
 Bear a lily in thy hand; 
 
 Gates of brass cannot withstand 
 
 One touch of that magic wand. 
 
 Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 40 
 In thy heart the dew of youth, 
 On thy lips the smile of truth. 
 
 Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
 Into wounds that cannot heal. 
 Even as sleep our eyes doth seal; 
 
 And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
 Into many a sunless heart. 
 For a smile of God thou art. 
 
 (1841) 
 
 THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING 
 
 no ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [From the drama, Pippa Passes] 
 
 The year's at the spring 
 And day's at the morn; 
 Morning's at seven; 
 The hillside's dew-pearled; 
 The lark's on the wing; 
 The snail's on the thorn : 
 God's in his heaven — 
 All's right with the world! 
 
 (1841)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 289 
 
 MARCHING ALONG 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [Browning calls this a "Cavalier Tune," that 
 is, a song supposed to be sung by the Royalists 
 in the Civil Wars of 1642-49. Line 2 refers to 
 the Puritan fashion of wearing the hair short. 
 Pym^ Hampden, Hazelrig, and Fiennes were 
 Parliamentary leaders; Prince Rupert, a dash- 
 ing cavalry leader, was the king's nephew.] 
 
 Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, 
 Bidding the crop-headed Parliament 
 
 swing: 
 And, pressing a troop unable to stoop 
 And see the rogues flourish and honest 
 
 folk droop. 
 Marched them along, fifty-score strong, 
 Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this 
 
 song. 
 
 God for King Charles! Pym and such 
 carles^ 
 
 To the Devil that prompts 'em their trea- 
 sonous paries !2 
 
 Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup. 
 
 Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor 
 sup 10 
 
 Till you're — 
 Chorus. — Marching along, fifty-score 
 
 strong. 
 Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this 
 song. 
 
 Hampden to hell, and his obsequies* knell. 
 Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry 
 
 as well ! 
 England, good cheer! Rupert is near! 
 Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here. 
 Chorus. — Marching along, fifty-score 
 
 strong. 
 Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this 
 song? 
 
 I carles. Fellows, 
 a paries. Conspiring. 
 
 Then, God for King Charles! Pym and 
 
 his snarls 20 
 
 To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent 
 
 carles ! 
 Hold by the right, you double your might ; 
 So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the 
 
 fight. 
 Chorus. — March we along, fifty-score 
 
 strong, 
 Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this 
 
 song! 
 
 (1842) 
 
 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [Reminiscent, like In Memoriam, of the death 
 of Tennyson's friend, Hallam; see the note on 
 page 308.] 
 
 Break, break, break. 
 
 On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! 
 And I would that my tongue could utter 
 
 The thoughts that arise in me. 
 
 O, well for the fisherman's boy. 
 That he shouts with his sister at play! 
 
 O, well for the sailor lad. 
 That he sings in his boat on the bay! 
 
 And the stately ships go on 
 
 To their haven under the hill ; 10 
 
 But O for the touch of a vanished hand, 
 
 And the sound of a voice that is still! 
 
 Break, break, break, 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 
 Will never come back to me. 
 
 (1842)
 
 290 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 LOCKSLEY HALL 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [This is a dramatic monologue, in no way representing the poet's personality, though it does 
 represent his interest in current questions, such as the new science (see lines 12, 186), the social 
 problem (135-6), etc. Tennyson himself said that "the whole poem represents young life, its good 
 side, its deficiencies, its yearning." For the reader's convenience it is here divided into seven 
 sections — not marked by Tennyson — which represent distinct moments or stages in the thought of 
 the supposed speaker. In 1885 appeared a sequel, called "Locksley Hall Sixty Years After," de- 
 picting the same character in his old age; from this it may be inferred that the speaker is about 
 twenty years of age at the time of the present poem. Of special interest in the present era is the 
 remarkable prophecy of the use of aviation in war, found in lines 123-4.] 
 
 Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn : 
 Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn. 
 
 'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, 
 Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall; 
 
 Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, 
 And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts. 
 
 Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, 
 Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the west. 
 
 Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade. 
 
 Glitter like a swarm of fireflies tangled in a silver braid. lO 
 
 Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime 
 With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of time; 
 
 When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; , 
 
 When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed; 
 
 When I dipped into the future far as human eye could see, 
 Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be. — 
 
 In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; 
 In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest; 
 
 In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; 
 
 In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. 20 
 
 Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, 
 And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. 
 
 And I said, "My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, 
 Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee." 
 
 On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color and a light, 
 As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night. 
 
 And she turn'd — her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs — 
 All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes — 
 
 Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong;" 
 
 Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weeping, "I have loved thee long." 30
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 291 
 
 Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands ; 
 Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. 
 
 Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; 
 Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. 
 
 Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, 
 And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fulness of the spring. 
 
 Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, 
 And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips. 
 
 O my cousin, shallow-hearted ! O my Amy, mine no more ! 
 
 the dreary, dreary moorland ! O the barren, barren shore ! 40 
 
 Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung. 
 Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue ! 
 
 Is it well to wish thee happy? having known me — to decline 
 On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine! 
 
 Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day by day. 
 
 What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay. 
 
 As the husband is, the wife is; thou art mated with a clown. 
 
 And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down. 
 
 He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force. 
 
 Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse. 50 
 
 What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not they are glazed with wine. 
 Go to him, it is thy duty; kiss him, take his hand in thine. 
 
 It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought ; 
 
 Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lighter thought. 
 
 He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand — 
 Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew thee with my hand! 
 
 Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace, 
 Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace. 
 
 Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth ! 
 
 Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth ! 6o 
 
 Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule ! 
 Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd^ forehead of the fool ! 
 
 Well — 'tis well that I should bluster! — Hadst thou less unworthy proved — 
 Would to God — for I had loved thee more than ever wife was loved. 
 
 Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? 
 
 1 will pluck it from my bosom, tho' my heart be at the root. 
 
 Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come 
 As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery2 home. 
 I straiten'd. Narrow. 2 rookery. Flock of rooks (crows).
 
 292 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Where is comfort? in division of the records of the mind? 
 
 Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew her, kind? 70 
 
 I remember one that perish'd ; sweetly did she speak and move ; 
 Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love. 
 
 Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore? 
 No — she never loved me truly ; love is love for evermore. 
 
 Comfort? comfort scorn 'd of devils! this is truth the poet^ sings, 
 That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. 
 
 Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof. 
 In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof. 
 
 Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall. 
 
 Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and fall. 80 
 
 Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken sleep, 
 To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou wilt weep. 
 
 Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whisper'd by the phantom years, 
 And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears; 
 
 And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain. 
 Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again. 
 
 Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry. 
 'Tis a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy trouble dry. 
 
 Baby lips will laugh me down ; my latest rival brings thee rest. 
 
 Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast. 90 
 
 O. the child too clothes the father with a dearness not his due. 
 Half is thine and half is his; it will be worthy of the two. 
 
 O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part. 
 
 With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart. 
 
 "They were dangerous guides the feelings — she herself was not exempt — 
 Truly, she herself had suffer'd"— Perish in thy sel f -contempt ! 
 
 Overlive it — lower yet — be happy! wherefore should I care? 
 I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair. 
 
 What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these? 
 
 Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but to golden keys. 100 
 
 Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow. 
 I have but an angry fancy; what is that which I should do? 
 
 I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground, 
 
 When the ranks are roll'd in vapor, and the winds are laid with sound. 
 
 But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels. 
 And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels. 
 
 I the pott. Dante.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 293 
 
 Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that earlier page. 
 Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous Mother-Age ! 
 
 Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife, 
 
 When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life; IIO 
 
 Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield, 
 Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field. 
 
 And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn. 
 Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn; 
 
 And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, 
 Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men ; 
 
 Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new ; 
 That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do. 
 
 For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see. 
 
 Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be; 120 
 
 Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, 
 Pilot of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales; 
 
 Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew 
 From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue; 
 
 Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, 
 With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm; 
 
 Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd 
 In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world. 
 
 There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe. 
 
 And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapped in universal law. 130 
 
 So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry. 
 
 Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye; 
 
 Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint. 
 Science moves, but slowly, slowly creeping on from point to point; 
 
 Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, 
 Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire. 
 
 Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs. 
 
 And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns. 
 
 What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, 
 
 Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's? 140 
 
 Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore. 
 And the individual withers, and the world is more and more. 
 
 Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast. 
 Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest. 
 
 Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn, 
 They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn.
 
 294 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? 
 I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing. 
 
 Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! woman's pleasure, woman's pain — 
 
 Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain. 150 
 
 Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, 
 Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine — 
 
 Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some retreat 
 Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat, 
 
 Where in wild Mahratta-battle^ fell my father evil-starr'd ; — 
 I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward. 
 
 Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander far away, 
 On from island unto island at the gateways of the day. 
 
 Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies. 
 
 Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise. 160 
 
 Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag. 
 
 Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag; 
 
 Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy- fruited tree — 
 Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea. 
 
 There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind, 
 In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind. 
 
 There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing space; 
 I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race. 
 
 Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they shall run, 
 
 Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun ; 170 
 
 Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks. 
 Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books — 
 
 Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know my words are wild, 
 But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child. 
 
 I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains. 
 Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains! 
 
 Mated with a squalid savage — what to me were sun or clime? 
 I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time — 
 
 I that rather held it better men should perish one by one, 
 
 Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon!^ 180 
 
 Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range. 
 
 Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.^ 
 
 Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day; 
 Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. 
 
 Mother-Age, — for mine I knew not, — help me as when life begun; 
 Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the sun. 
 
 z Mahralta-baltle. The home of the Mahrattas includes a large part of Western and Central 
 India, which had come under British control in Tennyson's generation. 
 
 3 Joshua's moon. See Joshua 10:13. 
 
 3 Tennyson explained that this line was suggested to him by the new art of railway locomotion, 
 and that at the time he wrote it he supposed that the track-rails were grooved.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 295 
 
 O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. 
 Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet. 
 
 Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall ! 
 Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall. 
 
 Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and holt,^ 
 Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. 
 
 Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; 
 For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go. 
 
 (1842) 
 
 190 
 
 ULYSSES 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [The Odyssey, the chief ancient poem treat- 
 ing of Ulvsses, had ended with the hero's re- 
 turn to Ithaca, his home, after his wanderings; 
 but further wanderings had been foretold for 
 his last years. Tennyson also took a hint from 
 Dante, who represented the spirit of Ulysses as 
 saying, "Neither fondness for my son, nor piety 
 for my old father, nor the due love that should 
 have made Penelope glad, could overcome within 
 me the ardor that I had to gain experience of 
 the world."] 
 
 It little profits that an idle king. 
 
 By this still hearth, among these barren 
 
 crags, 
 Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and 
 
 dole 
 Unequal laws unto a savage race, 
 That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and 
 
 know not me. 
 I cannot rest from travel; I will drink 
 Life to the lees. All times I have en- 
 
 joy'd 
 Greatly, have sufFer'd greatly, both with 
 
 those 
 That loved me, and alone; on shore, and 
 
 when 9 
 
 Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades^ 
 Vex'd the dim sea. I am become a name ; 
 For always roaming with a hungry heart 
 Much have I seen and known, — cities of 
 
 men 
 And manners, climates, councils, govern- 
 ments, 
 Myself not least, but honor'd of them 
 
 all,— 
 And drunk delight of battle with my 
 
 peers. 
 Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 
 
 1 holt. Woodland. 
 
 2 Hyades. A constellation whose rising, in the 
 month of May, was associated with the coming 
 of the rainy season. 
 
 I am a part of all that I have met ; 
 Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' 
 Gleams that untravel'd world whose mar- 
 gin fades 20 
 For ever and for ever when I move. 
 How dull it is to pause, to make an end, 
 To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use ! 
 As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled 
 
 on life 
 Were all too little, and of one to me 
 Little remains; but every hour is saved 
 From that eternal silence, something more, 
 A bringer of new things : and vile it were 
 For some three suns to store and hoard 
 
 myself. 
 And this gray spirit yearning in desire 30 
 To follow knowledge like a sinking star. 
 Beyond the utmost bound of human 
 thought. 
 This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 
 To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle, — 
 Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil 
 This labor, by slow prudence to make mild 
 A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees 
 Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
 Most blameless is he, centred in the 
 
 sphere 
 Of common duties, decent not to fail 40 
 In offices of tenderness, and pay 
 Meet adoration to my household gods. 
 When I am gone. He works his work, I 
 mine. 
 There lies the port; the vessel puffs her 
 sail; 
 There gloom the dark, broad seas. My 
 
 mariners. 
 Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and 
 
 thought with me, — 
 That ever with a frolic welcome took 
 The thunder and the sunshine, and op- 
 posed 
 Free hearts, free foreheads, — you and I 
 are old; 49
 
 296 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. 
 Death closes all; but something ere the 
 
 end, 
 Some work of noble note, may yet be 
 
 done, 
 Not unbecoming men that strove with 
 
 gods. 
 The lights begin to twinkle from the 
 
 Tocks ; 
 The long day wanes; the slow moon 
 
 climbs ; the deep 
 Moans round with many voices. Come, 
 
 my friends, 
 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
 Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
 The sounding furrows ; for my purpose 
 
 holds 59 
 
 To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
 Of all the western stars, until I die. 
 It may be that the gulfs will wash us 
 
 down ; 
 It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,^ 
 And see the great Achilles, whom we 
 
 knew, 
 Tho' much is taken, much abides; and 
 
 the' 
 We are not now that strength which in 
 
 old days 
 Moved earth and heaven, that which we 
 
 are, we are, — 
 One equal temper of heroic hearts. 
 Made weak by time and fate, but strong 
 
 in will 69 
 
 To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 
 
 (1842) 
 
 SIR GALAHAD 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [Sir Galahad, alone of Arthur's kniehts of 
 the Round Table, was perfectly pure of heart, 
 and so won the vision of the Holy Grail, the 
 cup of the Last Supper. Tennyson represents 
 in him that spirit 01 mystical devotion, a com- 
 bination of religion and knightly chivalry, which 
 he later portrayed more fully in the Idylls of 
 the King.] 
 
 My good blade carves the casques of men, 
 
 My tough lance thrusteth sure, 
 My strength is as the strength of ten. 
 
 Because my heart is pure. 
 The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, 
 
 The hard brands shiver on the steel, 
 The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly. 
 
 The horse and rider reel ; 
 
 I Happy Isles. The Greek paradise. 
 
 They reel, they roll in clanging lists, 
 And when the tide of combat stands,^ lo 
 
 Perfume and flowers fall in showers. 
 That lightly rain from ladies' hands. 
 
 How sweet are looks that ladies bend 
 
 On whom their favors fall ! 
 For them I battle till the end, 
 
 To save from shame and thrall.* 
 But all my heart is drawn above, 
 
 My knees are bow'd in crypt' and 
 shrine; 
 I never felt the kiss of love. 
 
 Nor maiden's hand in mine. 20 
 
 More bounteous aspects on me beam, 
 
 Me mightier transports move and thrill ; 
 So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer 
 
 A virgin heart in work and will. 
 
 When down the stormy crescent goes, 
 
 A light before me swims. 
 Between dark stems the forest glows, 
 
 I hear a noise of hymns. 
 Then by some secret shrine I ride ; 
 
 I hear a voice, but none are there ; 30 
 The stalls* are void, the doors are wide. 
 
 The tapers burning fair. 
 Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth. 
 
 The silver vessels sparkle clean. 
 The shrill bell rings, the censer swings. 
 
 And solemn chants resound between. 
 
 Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres^ 
 
 I find a magic bark. 
 I leap on board ; no helmsman steers ; 
 
 I float till all is dark. 40 
 
 A gentle sound, an awful light! 
 
 Three angels bear the Holy Grail ; 
 With folded feet, in stoles of white, 
 
 On sleeping^ wings they sail. 
 Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 
 
 My spirit beats her mortal bars. 
 As down dark tides the glory slides, 
 
 And star-like mingles with the stars. 
 
 When on my goodly charger borne 
 Thro' dreaming towns I go, 50 
 
 The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, 
 The streets are dumb with snow. 
 
 The tempest crackles on the leads,^ 
 And, ringing, springs from brand and 
 mail; 
 
 But o'er the dark a glory spreads, 
 
 1 stands. Halts. 
 
 2 thrall. Captivity. 
 
 3 crypt. Convent cell. 
 
 4 stalls. Seats (in the chancel). 
 
 5 meres. Lakes. 
 
 6 sleeping. Expanded but motionless. 
 
 7 leads. Roofing.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 297 
 
 And gilds the driving hail. 
 I leave the plain, I climb the height ; 
 
 No branchy thicket shelter yields; 
 But blessed forms in whistling storms 
 
 Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. 60 
 
 A maiden^ knight — to me is given 
 
 Such hope, I know not fear; 
 I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 
 
 That often meet me here. 
 I muse on joy that will not cease, 
 
 Pure spaces clothed in living beams, 
 Pure lilies of eternal peace. 
 
 Whose odors haunt my dreams ; 
 And, stricken by an angel's hand. 
 
 This mortal armor that I wear, 70 
 
 This weight and size, this heart and eyes, 
 
 Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. 
 
 The clouds are broken in the sky, 
 
 And thro' the mountain-walls 
 A rolling organ-harmony 
 
 Swells up and shakes and falls. 
 Then move the trees, the copses nod, 
 
 Wings flutter, voices hover clear : 
 "O just and faithful knight of God! 
 
 Ride on ! the prize is near." 80 
 
 So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; 
 
 By bridge and ford, by park and pale, 
 AU-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide. 
 
 Until I find the Holy Grail. 
 
 (1842) 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT 
 THOMAS HOOD 
 
 With fingers weary and worn, 
 
 With eyelids heavy and red, 
 A woman sits in unwomanly rags, 
 
 Plying her needle and thread — 
 Stitch! stitch! stitch! 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt. 
 
 And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
 She sang the "Song of the Shirt." 
 
 "Work ! work ! work ! 
 
 While the cock is crowing aloof ! 10 
 And work — work — work, 
 
 Till the stars shine through the roof ! 
 It's oh ! to be a slave 
 
 Along with the barbarous Turk, 
 Where woman has never a soul to save. 
 
 If this is Christian work! 
 
 I maiden. Untried or unsullied. 
 
 "Work — work — work 
 
 Till the brain begins to swim; 
 Work— work — work 
 
 Till the eyes are heavy and dim. 20 
 Seam, and gusset, and band, 
 
 Band, and gusset, and seam, 
 Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 
 
 And sew them on in a dream! 
 
 "Oh, men, with sisters dear! 
 
 Oh, men, with mothers and wives! 
 It is not linen you're wearing out, 
 
 But human creatures' lives! 
 Stitch — stitch — stitch. 
 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 30 
 
 Sewing at once, with a double thread, 
 
 A Shroud as well as a Shirt. 
 
 "But why do I talk of Death? 
 
 That phantom of grisly hone, 
 I hardly fear his terrible shape, 
 
 It seems so like my own — 
 It seems so like my own, 
 
 Because of the fasts I keep ; 
 Oh, God ! that bread should be so dear. 
 
 And flesh and blood so cheap! 40 
 
 "Work — work — work ! 
 
 My labor never flags; 
 And what are its wages? A bed of straw, 
 
 A crust of bread — and rags. 
 That shattered roof — this naked floor — 
 
 A table — a broken chair — 
 And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank 
 
 For sometimes falling there. 
 
 "Work — work — work ! 
 
 From weary chime to chime, 50 
 
 Work — work — work — 
 
 As prisoners work for crime! 
 Band, and gusset, and seam. 
 
 Seam, and gusset, and band. 
 Till the heart is sick, and the brain be- 
 numbed 
 
 As well as the weary hand. 
 
 "Work — work — work. 
 
 In the dull December tight, 
 And work — work — work. 
 
 When the weather is warm and bright, 
 While underneath the eaves 61 
 
 The brooding swallows cling 
 As if to show me their sunny backs 
 
 And twit me with the spring. 
 
 "Oh! but to breathe the breath 
 Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, 
 
 With the sky above my head. 
 And the grass beneath my feet;
 
 298 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 For only one short hour 
 To feel as I used to feel, 
 
 Before I knew the woes of want 
 And the walk that costs a meal. 
 
 70 
 
 "Oh, but for one short hour ! 
 
 A respite however brief ! 
 No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, 
 
 But only time for Grief! 
 A little weeping would ease my heart, 
 
 But in their briny bed 
 My tears must stop, for every drop 
 
 Hinders needle and thread!" 80 
 
 With fingers weary and worn. 
 
 With eyelids heavy and red, 
 A woman sat in unwomanly rags, 
 
 Plying her needle and thread — 
 Stitch! stitch! stitch! 
 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
 (Would that its tone could reach the 
 rich!) 
 
 She sang this "Song of the Shirt." 
 
 (1843) 
 
 THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN 
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 
 
 [This poem was inspired by a report lately 
 made by Richard H. Home on the employment 
 of children in English mines and factories. 
 Mrs. Browning mentioned this, in particular, as 
 her authority for the superstition referred to 
 in lines 113-116.] 
 
 Do ye hear the children weeping, O my 
 brothers, 
 Ere the sorrow comes with years? 
 They are leaning their young heads 
 against their mothers. 
 And that cannot stop their tears. 
 The young lambs are bleating in the 
 meadows. 
 The young birds are chirping in the 
 nest. 
 The young fawns are playing with the 
 shadows. 
 The young flowers are blowing toward 
 the west — 
 But the young, young children, O my 
 brothers. 
 They are weeping bitterly! 10 
 
 They are weeping in the playtime of the 
 others, 
 In the country of the free. 
 
 Do you question the young children in 
 the sorrow, 
 
 Why their tears are falling so? 
 The old man may weep for his to-morrow 
 
 Which is lost in Long Ago; 
 The old tree is leafless in the forest. 
 
 The old year is ending in the frost, 
 The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, 
 
 The old hope is hardest to be lost. 20 
 But the young, young children, O my 
 brothers. 
 
 Do you ask them why they stand 
 Weeping sore before the bosoms of their 
 mothers. 
 
 In our happy Fatherland? 
 
 They look up with their pale and sunken 
 faces. 
 And their looks are sad to see. 
 For the man's hoary anguish draws and 
 presses 
 Down the cheeks of infancy. 
 "Your old earth," they say, "is very 
 dreary ; 
 Our young feet," they say, "are very 
 weak ! 30 
 
 Few paces have we taken, yet are weary — 
 
 Our grave-rest is very far to seek. 
 Ask the aged why they weep, and not the 
 children ; 
 For the outside earth is cold; 
 And we young ones stand without, in our 
 bewildering. 
 And the graves are for the old." 
 
 "True," say the children, "it may happen 
 
 That we die before our time; 
 Little Alice died last year — her grave is 
 shapen 
 Like a snowball, in the rime.* 40 
 
 We looked into the pit prepared to take 
 her: 
 Was no room for any work in the close 
 clay! 
 From the sleep wherein she lieth none 
 will wake her. 
 Crying, 'Get up, little Alice! it is day.' 
 If you listen by that grave, in sun and 
 shower, 
 With your ear down, little Alice never 
 cries ; 
 Could we see her face, be sure we should 
 not know her. 
 For the smile has time for growing in 
 her eyes : 
 And merry go her moments, lulled and 
 stilled in 
 
 I rime. Frost.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 299 
 
 The shroud by the kirk-chime ! So 
 
 It is good when it happens," say the chil- 
 dren, 
 "That we die before our time." 
 
 Alas, alas, the children ! they are seeking 
 
 Death in life, as best to have; 
 They are binding up their hearts away 
 from breaking. 
 With a cerement from the grave. 
 Go out, children, from the mine and from 
 the city, — 
 Sing out, children, as the little thrushes 
 do; 
 Pluck you handfuls of the meadow cow- 
 slips pretty, 
 Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let 
 them through I 60 
 
 But they answer, "Are your cowslips of 
 the meadows 
 Like our weeds anear the mine? 
 Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal- 
 shadows, 
 From your pleasures fair and fine! 
 
 "For oh," say the children, "we are weary, 
 
 And we cannot run or leap ; 
 If we cared for any meadows, it were 
 merely 
 
 To drop down in them and sleep. 
 Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping. 
 
 We fall upon our faces, trying to go ; 70 
 And, underneath our heavy eyelids droop- 
 ing, 
 
 The reddest flower would look as pale 
 as snow ; 
 For all day we drag our burden tiring 
 
 Through the coal-dark, underground — 
 Or all day we drive the wheels of iron 
 
 In the factories, round and round. 
 
 "For all day the wheels are droning, 
 turning — 
 Their wind comes in our faces — 
 Till our hearts turn — our heads, with 
 pulses burning. 
 And the walls turn in their places : 80 
 Turns the sky in the high window blank 
 and reeling, 
 Turns the long light that drops adown 
 the wall. 
 Turn the black flies that crawl along the 
 ceiling. 
 All are turning, all the day, and we 
 with all. 
 And all day the iron wheels are droning, 
 And sometimes we could pray, 
 
 'O ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad 
 moaning), 
 'Stop ! be silent for to-day !' " 
 
 Aye ! be silent ! Let them hear each other 
 breathing 
 For a moment, mouth to mouth ! 90 
 
 Let them touch each other's hands, in a 
 fresh wreathing 
 Of their tender human youth! 
 Let them feel that this cold metallic mo- 
 tion 
 Is not all the life God fashions or re- 
 veals : 
 Let them prove their living souls against 
 the notion 
 That they live in you, or under you, O 
 wheels ! — 
 Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, 
 
 Grinding life down from its mark;i 
 And the children's souls, which God is 
 calling sunward. 
 Spin on blindly in the dark. 100 
 
 Now tell the poor young children, O my 
 brothers, 
 To look up to Him and pray; 
 So the blessed One, who blesseth all the 
 others, 
 Will bless them another day. 
 They answer, "Who is God that He should 
 hear us. 
 While the rushing of the iron wheels is 
 stirred? 
 When we sob aloud, the human creatures 
 near us 
 Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a 
 word. 
 And we hear not (for the wheels in their 
 resounding) 
 Strangers speaking at the door: no 
 Is it likely God, with angels singing round 
 Him, 
 Hears our weeping any more? 
 
 "Two words, indeed, of praying we re- 
 member. 
 And at midnight's hour of harm, 
 'Our Father,' looking upward in the cham- 
 ber, 
 We say softly for a charm. 
 We know no other words, except 'Our 
 Father,' 
 And we think that, in some pause of 
 angels' song, 
 God may pluck them, with the silence 
 sweet to gather, 
 I mark. Normal quality.
 
 300 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And hold both within His right hand, 
 which is strong. 120 
 
 'Our Father!' If He heard us, He would 
 surely 
 (For they call Him good and mild) 
 Answer, smiling down the steep world 
 very purely, 
 'Come and rest with Me, my child.' 
 
 "But, no!" say the children, weeping 
 faster, 
 "He is speechless as a stone; 
 And they tell us, of His image is the 
 master 
 Who commands us to work on. 
 Go to!" say the children, — "up in Heaven 
 Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all 
 we find. 130 
 
 Do not mock us; grief has made us un- 
 believing — 
 We look up for God, but tears have 
 made us blind." 
 Do you hear the children weeping and 
 disproving, 
 O my brothers, what ye preach? 
 For God's possible is taught by His 
 world's loving, 
 And the children doubt of each. 
 
 And well may the children weep before 
 you! 
 They are weary ere they run ; 
 They have never seen the sunshine, nor 
 the glory 
 Which is brighter than the sun, 140 
 They know the grief of man, without its 
 wisdom ; 
 They sink in man's despair, without its 
 calm; 
 Are slaves, without the liberty in Christ- 
 dom. 
 Are martyrs, by the pang without the 
 palm, — 
 
 Are worn, as if with age, yet unretriev- 
 ingly 
 The harvest of its memories cannot 
 reap, — 
 Are orphans of the earthly love and heav- 
 enly. 
 Let them weep! let them weep! 
 
 They look up, with their pale and sunken 
 faces, 
 And their look is dread to see, 150 
 
 For they mind you of their angels in high 
 places,! 
 With eyes turned on Deity! — 
 "How long," they say, "hov/ long, O cruel 
 nation. 
 Will you stand, to move the world, on a 
 child's heart. — 
 Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpi- 
 tation. 
 And tread onward to your throne amid 
 the mart? 
 Our blood splashes upward, O gold- 
 heaper. 
 And your purple shows your path! 
 But the child's sob in the silence curses 
 deeper 
 Than the strong man in his wrath." 160 
 
 (1844) 
 
 RONDEAU 
 
 LEIGH HUNT 
 
 Jenny kissed me when we met, ^ 
 
 Jumping from the chair she sat in; 
 Time, you thief, who love to get 
 
 Sweets to fill your list, put that in: 
 Say I'm weary, say I'm sad. 
 
 Say that health and wealth have missed 
 me. 
 Say I'm growing old, but add, 
 
 Jenny kissed me. 
 
 (1844) 
 
 I See Mailtmv 18:10.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 301 
 
 THE PRESENT CRISIS 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 [This poem was written with special reference to the question of the annexation of Texas, but 
 concerns the cause of anti-slavery generally, and indeed that of reform in any age. In the next 
 to the last stanza Lowell refers to the fact that slavery was defended by arguments derived from 
 the beliefs and deeds of our forefathers, who nevertheless were progressives in their day. — The 
 poem is here abbreviated by the omission of four stanzas.] 
 
 When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast 
 
 Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west, 
 
 And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb 
 
 To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime 
 
 Of a century bursts fulI-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time. 
 
 For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along. 
 
 Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong; 
 
 Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame 
 
 Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame ; — 
 
 In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim. 10 
 
 Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, 
 
 In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side ; 
 
 Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight, 
 
 Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right. 
 
 And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light. 
 
 Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand. 
 
 Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land? 
 
 Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 'tis Truth alone is strong, 
 
 And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng 
 
 Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong. 20 
 
 Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record 
 One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word; 
 Truth forever on the scaffold. Wrong forever on the throne, — 
 Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, 
 Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own. 
 
 We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great, 
 
 Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate, 
 
 But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din, 
 
 List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave* within, — 
 
 "They enslave their children's children who make compromise with sin." 30 
 
 Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust, 
 Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just; 
 Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside. 
 Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified. 
 And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied. 
 
 Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, — they were souls that stood alone, 
 While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone, 
 Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline 
 To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, 
 
 By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design. 40 
 
 I Delphic cave. The seat of the greatest of oracles.
 
 302 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track, 
 
 Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back, 
 
 And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned 
 
 One new word of that grand Credo'^ which in prophet-hearts hath burned 
 
 Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned. 
 
 For Humanity sweeps onward : where to-day the martyr stands, 
 
 On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands ; 
 
 Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn, 
 
 While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return 
 
 To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn. 50 
 
 'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves 
 
 Of a legendary virtue carved upon our father's graves. 
 
 Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime ; — 
 
 Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time? 
 
 Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth Rock sublime? 
 
 They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts. 
 
 Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's ; 
 
 But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us free, 
 
 Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee 
 
 The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea. 60 
 
 They have rights who dare maintain them ; we are traitors to our sires, 
 Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires ; 
 Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to slay. 
 From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away 
 To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day? 
 
 New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth ; 
 
 They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth; 
 
 Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must Pilgrims be. 
 
 Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, 
 
 Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key. 70 
 
 (1844) 
 
 I Credo. Creed, faith.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 303 
 
 THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceil- 
 ing, 
 Like a huge organ, rise the burnished 
 arms; 
 But from their silent pipes no anthem 
 pealing 
 Startles the villages with strange 
 alarms. 
 
 Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and 
 dreary, 
 When the death-angel touches those 
 swift keys ! 
 What loud lament and dismal miserere'^ 
 Will mingle with their awful sympho- 
 nies! 
 
 I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus. 
 The cries of agony, the endless groan. 
 
 Which, through the ages that have gone 
 before us, ii 
 
 In long reverberations reach our own. 
 
 On helm and harness rings the Saxon 
 hammer, 
 Through Cimbric forest 2 roars the 
 Norseman's song, 
 And loud, amid the universal clamor, 
 O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar 
 gong. 
 
 I hear the Florentine, who from his pal- 
 ace 
 Wheels out his battle-bell^ with dread- 
 ful din, 
 And Aztec priests upon their teocallis* 
 Beat the wild war-drums made of ser- 
 pent's skin; 20 
 
 The tumult of each sacked and burning 
 village ; 
 The shout that every prayer for mercy 
 drowns ; 
 The soldiers' revels in the midst of pil- 
 lage; 
 The wail of famine in beleaguered 
 towns ; 
 
 1 miserere. Prayer for mercy (from the first 
 word of Psalm 51, Latin version). 
 
 2 Cimbric forest. In the region of Jutland, an 
 ancient home of the Cimbri. 
 
 3 battle-bell. A bell which the Florentines of 
 the 13th century used to take with them, on wheels, 
 to the battle-field. 
 
 4 teocallis. Temples (of the Aztecs). 
 
 The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched 
 asunder, 
 The rattling musketry, the clashing 
 blade ; 
 And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 
 The diapason of the cannonade. 
 
 Is it, O man, with such discordant noises. 
 
 With such accursed instruments as 
 
 these, 30 
 
 Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly 
 
 voices, 
 
 And jarrest the celestial harmonies? 
 
 Were half the power that fills the world 
 with terror. 
 Were half the wealth bestowed on 
 camps and courts, 
 Given to redeem the human mind from 
 error. 
 There were no need of arsenals or 
 forts; 
 
 The warrior's name would be a name 
 abhorred ! 
 And every nation that should lift again 
 Its hand against a brother, on its fore- 
 head 
 Would wear for evermore the curse of 
 Cain ! 40 
 
 Down the dark future, through long gen- 
 erations, 
 The echoing sounds grow fainter and 
 then cease; 
 And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vi- 
 brations, 
 I hear once more the voice of Christ 
 say, "Peace!" 
 
 Peace! and no longer from its brazen 
 portals 
 The blast of War's great organ shakes 
 the skies ! 
 But beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
 The holy melodies of love arise. 
 
 (1844) 
 
 TO THE DANDELION 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 Dear common flower, that grow'st be- 
 side the way. 
 Fringing the dusty road with harmless 
 gold. 
 
 First pledge of blithesome May,
 
 304 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Which children pluck, and, full of pride, 
 uphold. 
 High-hearted buccaneers, o'er joyed that 
 they 
 An Eldorado^ in the grass have found. 
 Which not the rich earth's ample round 
 May match in wealth, thou art more 
 
 dear to me 
 Than all the prouder summer-blooms 
 may be. 
 
 Gold such as thine ne'er drew the 
 Spanish prow lO 
 
 Through the primeval hush of Indian 
 seas, 
 Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
 Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 
 'Tis the Spring's largess, which she 
 scatters now 
 To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand. 
 Though most hearts never understand 
 To take it at God's value, but pass by 
 The offered wealth with unrewarded 
 eye. 
 
 Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; 
 To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; 
 The eyes thou givest me 21 
 
 Are in the heart, and heed not space or 
 time: 
 Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed 
 bee 
 Feels a more summer-like warm ravish- 
 ment 
 In the white lily's breezy tent. 
 His fragrant Sybaris,^ than I, when 
 
 first 
 From the dark green thy yellow circles 
 burst. 
 
 Then think I of deep shadows on the 
 grass, 
 Of meadows where in sun the cattle 
 graze. 
 Where, as the breezes pass, 30 
 
 The gleaming rushes lean a thousand 
 ways, 
 Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy 
 mass, 
 Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 
 That from the distance sparkle through 
 Some woodland gap, and of a sky 
 
 above, 
 Where one white cloud like a stray 
 lamb doth move. 
 
 I Eldorado. Gold country. 
 
 a Sybaris. A city famous for luxury. 
 
 My childhood's earliest thoughts are 
 linked with thee; 
 The sight of thee calls back the robin's 
 song, 
 
 Who, from the dark old tree 
 Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 
 And I, secure in childish piety, 41 
 
 Listened as if I heard an angel sing 
 With news from heaven, which he could 
 bring 
 Fresh every day to my untainted ears 
 When birds and flowers and I were 
 happy peers. 
 
 How like a prodigal doth Nature seem, 
 When thou, for all thy gold, so common 
 art! 
 Thou teachest me to deem 
 More sacredly of every human heart. 
 Since each reflects in joy its scanty 
 gleam 50 
 
 Of heaven, and could some wondrous 
 
 secret show. 
 Did we but pay the love we owe. 
 And with a child's undoubting wisdom 
 
 look 
 On all these living pages of God's book. 
 
 (184s) 
 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE 
 STAIRS 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 Somewhat back from the village street 
 Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
 Across its antique portico 
 Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw; 
 And from its station in the hall 
 An ancient timepiece says to all, — 
 "Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
 And points arid beckons with its hands 10 
 From its case of massive oak. 
 Like a monk, who, under his cloak. 
 Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
 With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 
 "Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 By day its voice is low and light; 
 But in the silent dead of night, 
 Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
 It echoes along the vacant hall, 20
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 305 
 
 Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
 And seems to say, at each chamber- 
 door, — 
 
 "Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 Through days of sorrow and of mirth. 
 Through days of death and days of birth, 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 Of changeful time, unchanged it has 
 
 stood. 
 And as if, like God, it all things saw. 
 It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 
 "Forever — never ! 31 
 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 In that mansion used to be 
 Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
 His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
 The stranger feasted at his board ; 
 But, like the skeleton at the feast. 
 That warning timepiece never ceased, — 
 "Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 40 
 
 There groups of merry children played, 
 There youths and maidens dreaming 
 
 strayed ; 
 O precious hours ! O golden prime, 
 And affluence of love and time! 
 Even as a miser counts his gold. 
 Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 
 "Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 From that chamber, clothed in white, 
 The bride came forth on her wedding 
 night ; 50 
 
 There, in that silent room below. 
 The dead lay in his shroud of snow; 
 And in the hush that followed the prayer 
 Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 
 "Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 All are scattered now and fled. 
 Some are married, some are dead; 
 And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
 "Ah! when shall they all meet again?" 60 
 As in the days long since gone by, 
 The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 
 "Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 Never here, forever there, 
 Where all parting, pain, and care, 
 
 And death, and time shall disappear, — 
 Forever there, but never here ! 
 The horologe^ of Eternity 
 Sayeth this incessantly, — 70 
 
 "Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 (1845) 
 
 HOME-THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 Oh, to be in England 
 
 Now that April's there, 
 
 And whoever wakes in England 
 
 Sees, some morning, unaware. 
 
 That the lowest boughs and the brush- 
 wood sheaf 
 
 Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. 
 
 While the chaffinch sings on the orchard 
 bough 
 
 In England — now ! 
 
 And after April, when May follows, 
 
 And the whitethroat builds, and all the 
 swallows ! 10 
 
 Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in 
 the hedge 
 
 Leans to the field and scatters on the 
 clover 
 
 Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent 
 spray's edge — 
 
 That's the wise thrush ; he sings each song 
 twice over. 
 
 Lest you should think he never could re- 
 capture 
 
 The first fine careless rapture ! 
 
 And though the fields look rough with 
 hoary dew. 
 
 All will be gay when noontide wakes anew 
 
 The buttercups, the little children's dower 
 
 — Far brighter than this gaudy melon- 
 flower ! 20 
 
 (1845) 
 
 HOME-THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [Actually written on board a vessel off the 
 African coast.] 
 
 Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the 
 Northwest died away ; 
 
 Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reek- 
 ing into Cadiz Bay; 
 
 I horologe. Time-piece.
 
 306 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face 
 
 Trafalgar lay; 
 In the dimmest Northeast distance dawned 
 
 Gibraltar grand and gray; 
 "Here and here did England help me: 
 
 how can I help England?" — say, 
 Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to 
 
 God to praise and pray, 
 While Jove's planet^ rises yonder, silent 
 
 over Africa. 
 
 (1845) 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 Others abide our question. Thou art free. 
 
 We ask and ask. — Thou smilest, and art 
 still, 
 
 Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest 
 hill 
 
 That to the stars uncrowns his majesty, 
 
 Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, 
 
 Making the heaven of heavens his dwell- 
 ing-place. 
 
 Spares^ but the cloudy border of his base 
 
 To the foil'd searching of mortality; 
 
 And thou, who didst the stars and sun- 
 beams know. 
 
 Self-schooled, self-scanned, self-honored, 
 self-secure, 10 
 
 Didst walk on earth unguess'd at. — Bet- 
 ter so ! 
 
 All pains the immortal spirit must endure. 
 
 All weakness which impairs, all griefs 
 that bow, 
 
 Find their sole voice in that victorious 
 brow. 
 
 (1849) 
 
 ANNABEL LEE 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 It was many and many a year ago, 
 
 In a kingdom by the sea, 
 That a maiden there lived whom you may 
 know 
 By the name of Annabel Lee; 
 And this maiden she lived with no other 
 thought 
 Than to love and be loved by me. 
 
 I was a child and she was a child. 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 But we loved with a love that was more 
 than love, 
 
 I and my Annabel Lee; 10 
 
 1 Jove's planet. Jupiter. 
 
 2 Spares. Allows, shows. 
 
 With a love that the winged seraphs of 
 heaven 
 Coveted her and me. 
 
 And this was the reason that, long ago, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 
 
 My beautiful Annabel Lee; 
 So that her highborn kinsmen came 
 
 And bore her away from me. 
 To shut her up in a sepulchre 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea. 20 
 
 The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 
 
 Went envying her and me ; 
 Yes, that was the reason (as all men 
 know. 
 In this kingdom by the sea) 
 That the wind came out of the cloud by 
 night, 
 Chilling and killing tny Annabel Lee. 
 
 But our love it was stronger by far than 
 the love 
 
 Of those who were older than we, 
 
 Of many far wiser than we; 
 And neither the angels in heaven above. 
 
 Nor the demons down under the sea, 31 
 Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 
 
 For the moon never beams, without bring- 
 ing me dreams 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
 And the stars never rise, but I feel the 
 bright eyes 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
 And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by 
 
 the side 
 Of my darling — my darling — my life and 
 my bride, 
 In her sepulchre there by the sea, 40 
 In her tomb by the sounding sea. 
 
 (1849) 
 
 THE FAIRIES 
 
 WILLIAM ALLINGHAM 
 
 Up the airy mountain, 
 
 Down the rushy glen. 
 We daren't go a-hunting 
 
 For fear of little men; 
 Wee folk, good folk, 
 
 Trooping all together; 
 Green jacket, red cap, 
 , And white owl's feather!
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 307 
 
 Down along the rocky shore 
 
 Some make their home, — 10 
 
 They live on crispy pancakes 
 
 Of yellow tide-foam; 
 Some in the reeds 
 
 Of the black mountain-lake, 
 With frogs for their watch-dogs, 
 
 All night awake. 
 
 High on the hill-top 
 
 The old King sits; 
 He is now so old and gray 
 
 He's nigh lost his wits. 20 
 
 With a bridge of white mist 
 
 Columbkill he crosses, 
 On his stately journeys 
 
 From Slieveleague to Rosses;^ 
 Or going up with music 
 
 On cold starry nights. 
 To sup with the Queen 
 
 Of the gay Northern Lights. 
 
 They stole little Bridget 
 
 For seven years long; 30 
 
 When she came down again 
 
 Her friends were all gone. 
 They took her lightly back. 
 
 Between the night and morrow ; 
 They thought that she was fast asleep, 
 
 But she was dead with sorrow. 
 They have kept here ever since 
 
 Deep within the lakes. 
 On a bed of flag-leaves, 
 
 Watching till she wakes. 40 
 
 By the craggy hill-side, 
 
 Through the mosses bare. 
 They have planted thorn-trees 
 
 For pleasure here and there. 
 Is any man so daring 
 
 As dig one up in spite, 
 He shall find their sharpest thorns 
 
 In his bed at night. 
 
 Up the airy mountain, 
 
 Down the rushy glen, 50 
 
 We daren't go a-hunting 
 
 For fear of little men; 
 Wee folk, good folk, 
 
 Trooping all together; 
 Green jacket, red cap, 
 
 And white owl's feather! 
 
 (1850) 
 
 I On opposite sides of Donegal Bay, northern 
 Ireland; these are Irish fairies. 
 
 SONG 
 
 THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES 
 
 Old Adam, the carrion crow, 
 
 The old crow of Cairo, 
 He sat in the shower, and let it flow 
 Under his tail and over his crest, 
 And through every feather 
 Leaked the wet weather; 
 And the bough swung under his nest; 
 For his beak it was heavy with marrow. 
 Is that the wind dying? O no; 
 It's only two devils, that blow 10 
 Through a murderer's bones, to and 
 fro. 
 In the ghosts' moonshine. 
 
 Ho! Eve, my gray carrion wife, 
 When we have supped on kings' mar- 
 row, 
 Where shall we drink and make merry 
 our life? 
 Our nest it is Queen Cleopatra's skull, 
 'Tis cloven and cracked, 
 And battered and hacked. 
 But with tears of blue eyes it is full; 
 Let us drink, then, my raven of Cairo. 
 Is that the wind dying? O no; 21 
 It's only two devils, that blow 
 Through a murderer^s bones, to and 
 fro. 
 In the ghosts' moonshine. 
 (1850) 
 
 SWEET AND LOW 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 Sweet and low, sweet and low, 
 
 Wind of the western sea. 
 Low, low, breathe and blow. 
 
 Wind of the western sea! 
 Over the rolling waters go. 
 Come from the dying moon, and blow, 
 
 Blow him again to me : 
 While my little one, while my pretty one, 
 sleeps. 
 
 Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 
 
 Father will come to thee soon ; 10 
 
 Rest, rest, on mother's breast, 
 
 Father will come to thee soon; 
 Father will come to his babe in the nest, 
 Silver sails all out of the west 
 
 Under the silver moon ; 
 Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, 
 sleep. 
 
 (1850)
 
 308 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE SPLENDOR FALLS 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 ["This song," said Tennyson, "was written 
 after hearing the echoes at Killarney in 1848. 
 When I was there I heard a bugle blown beneath 
 the 'Eagle's Nest,' and eight distinct echoes."] 
 
 The splendor falls on castle walls 
 
 And snowy summits old in story; 
 The long light shakes across the lakes, 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes 
 
 flying, 
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dy- 
 ing, dying. 
 
 O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, 
 
 And thinner, clearer, farther going! 
 
 O, sweet and far from cliff and scar 
 
 The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 
 Blow, let us hear the purple glens reply- 
 ing, ^ II 
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dy- 
 ing, dying. 
 
 O love, they die in yon rich sky, 
 They faint on hill or field or river; 
 
 Our echoes roll from soul to soul. 
 And grow for ever and for ever. 
 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes 
 
 flying, J . . 
 
 And answer, echoes, answer, dymg, dy- 
 ing, dying. 
 
 (i8so) 
 
 IN MEMORIAM A. H. H. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [The full title would be "In Memory of 
 Arthur Henry Hallam," Tennyson's college 
 friend and betrothed brother-in-law, who died 
 in 1833. The whole work consists of 131 lyrics, 
 with prologue and epilogue, embodying not 
 merely the expression of the poet's love and 
 grief for his friend, but of the whole problem 
 of the significance of human life, sorrow, and 
 death. The first of the following selections con- 
 sists of the opening stanzas of the prologue, 
 dealing with the contrast between knowledge 
 and faith — a favorite theme of Tennyson's. The 
 second is a complete lyric on the same theme. 
 The third is the famous lyric for New Year s 
 Eve, expressing the poet's hope for the future 
 of the race. The fourth is a notable example 
 of Tennyson's interest in the new science; in 
 it he interprets spirituallj; the teachings of 
 geology and biology respecting the development 
 of the earth and of man.] 
 
 Strong Son of God, immortal Love, 
 Whom we, that have not seen thy face, 
 By faith, and faith alone, embrace, 
 
 Believing where we cannot prove ; 
 
 Thine are these orbs^ of light and shade; 
 
 Thou madest Life in man and brute; 
 
 Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot 
 Is on the skull which thou hast made. 
 
 Thou wilt not leave us in the dust; " 
 Thou madest man, he knows not why, lo 
 He thinks he was not made to die ; 
 
 And thou hast made him: thou art just. 
 
 Thou seemest human and divine. 
 The highest, holiest manhood thou: 
 Our wills are ours, we know not how ; 
 
 Our wills are ours, to make them thine. 
 
 Our little systems have their day; 
 They have their day and cease to be : 
 They are but broken lights^ of thee. 
 
 And thou, O Lord, art more than they. 20 
 
 We have but faith : we cannot know ; 
 
 For knowledge is of things we see; 
 
 And yet we trust it comes from thee, 
 A beam in darkness: let it grow. 
 
 O, yet we trust that somehow good 
 Will be the final goal of ill. 
 To pangs of nature, sins of will. 
 
 Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; 
 
 That nothing walks with aimless feet; 
 That not one life shall be destroy'd, 
 Or cast as rubbish to the void. 
 
 When God hath made the pile complete; 
 
 That not a worm is cloven in vain; 
 That not a moth with vain desire 10 
 Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire, 
 
 Or but subserves another's gain. 
 
 Behold, we know not anything; 
 
 I can but trust that good shall fall 
 At last— far off— at last, to all. 
 
 And every winter change to spring. 
 
 So runs my dream ; but what am I ? 
 
 An infant crying in the night; 
 
 An infant crying for the light. 
 And with no language but a cry. 20 
 
 1 orbs. The halves of the earth lying in sun- 
 light and shadow. 
 
 2 broken lights. The partial prismatic rays, as 
 compared with the full white ones.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 309 
 
 Ring out. wild bells, to the wild sky, 
 The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
 The year is dying in the night; 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 
 
 Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow : 
 The year is going, let him go; 
 
 Ring out the false, ring in the true. 
 
 Ring out the grief that saps the mind. 
 For those that here we see no more; lo 
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor; 
 
 Ring in redress to all mankind. 
 
 Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
 And ancient forms of party strife; 
 Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
 
 With sweeter manners, purer laws. 
 
 Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
 The faithless coldness of the times ; 
 Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 
 
 But ring the fuller minstrel in. 20 
 
 Ring out false pride in place and blood. 
 The civic slander and the spite; 
 Ring in the love of truth and right, 
 
 Ring in the common love of good. 
 
 Ring out old shapes of foul disease; 
 
 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; 
 
 Ring out the thousand wars of old. 
 Ring in the thousand years of peace. 
 
 Ring in the valiant man and free, 
 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 30 
 Ring out the darkness of the land. 
 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be. 
 
 Who throve and branch'd from clime to 
 clime, 
 The herald of a higher race, 
 And of himself in higher place, 
 
 If so he type this work of time 
 
 Within himself, from more to more;^ 
 Or, crown'd with attributes of woe 
 Like glories, move his course,^ and show 
 
 That life is not as idle ore, 20 
 
 But iron dug from central gloom, 
 And heated hot with burning fears, 
 And dipp'd in baths of hissing tears, 
 
 And batter'd with the shocks of doom 
 
 To shape and use. Arise and Hy 
 The reeling faun,^ the sensual feast; 
 Move upward, working out the beast, 
 
 And let the ape and tiger die. 
 
 (1850) 
 
 ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE 
 DUKE OF WELLINGTON 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [Tennyson published this poem on the day of 
 the funeral 01 the "Iron Duke," November 18, 
 1852. It will be noticed that the ode follows 
 the course of the funeral procession from the 
 moment of its starting from Somerset House to 
 that of the burial in St. Paul's Cathedral. At 
 the opening of the 6th strophe, Lord Nelson, al- 
 ready buried in St. Paul's, is supposed to speak 
 as the procession enters the building, and to be 
 answered by the poet, with a recapitulation of 
 Wellington's militar-y glories. Lines 160-169 are 
 a characteristic expression of Tennyson's po- 
 litical views — distrustful of both "crowns" and 
 "crowds."] 
 
 Contemplate all this work of Time, 
 The giant laboring in his youth; 
 Nor dream of human love and truth 
 
 As dying Nature's earth and lime; 
 
 But trust that those we call the dead 
 Are breathers of an ampler day 
 For ever nobler ends. They say 
 
 The solid earth whereon we tread 
 
 In tracts of fluent heat began. 
 
 And grew to seeming-random forms, 10 
 The seeming prey of cyclic storms, 
 
 Till at the last arose the man ; 
 
 1 
 
 Bury the Great Duke 
 
 With an empire's lamentation; 
 Let us bury the Great Duke 
 
 To the noise of the mourning of a 
 mighty nation ; 
 Mourning when their leaders fall. 
 Warriors carry the warrior's pall. 
 And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall. 
 
 I If he develop, as the physical creation has, 
 always in the direction of something higher. 
 
 3 Or if he make of his sufferings a crown of 
 glory, still advancing. 
 
 3 faun. A creature half bestial, half human, — 
 here standing for man in a low state of moral 
 development.
 
 310 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Where shall we lay the man whom we 
 
 deplore ? 
 Here, in streaming London's central 
 
 roar, 
 Let the sound of those he wrought for, lo 
 And the feet of those he fought for, 
 Echo round his bones for evermore. 
 
 Lead out the pageant : sad and slow, 
 
 As fits an universal woe, 
 
 Let the long, long procession go, 
 
 And let the sorrowing crowd about it 
 
 grow. 
 And let the mournful martial music blow ; 
 The last great Englishman is low. 
 
 IV 
 
 Mourn, for to us he seems the last, 19 
 Remembering all his greatness in the past. 
 No more in soldier fashion will he greet 
 With lifted hand the gazer in the street. 
 O friends, our chief state-oracle is mute! 
 Mourn for the man of long-enduring 
 
 blood. 
 The statesman-warrior, moderate, reso- 
 lute. 
 Whole in himself, a common good. 
 Mourn for the man of amplest influence, 
 Yet clearest of ambitious crime. 
 Our greatest yet with least pretence, 
 Great in council and great in war, 30 
 
 Foremost captain of his time, 
 Rich in saving common-sense, 
 And, as the greatest only are, 
 In his simplicity sublime. 
 O good gray head which all men knew, 
 O voice from which their omens all men 
 
 drew, 
 O iron nerve to true occasion true, 
 O fallen at length that tower of strength 
 Which stood four-square to all the winds 
 
 that blew ! 
 Such was he whom we deplore. 40 
 
 The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er. 
 The great World-victor's^ victor will be 
 seen no more. 
 
 All is over and done : 
 Render thanks to the Giver, 
 England, for thy son. 
 
 I World-victor's. Napoleon's. 
 
 Let the bell be toll'd. 
 
 Render thanks to the Giver, 
 
 And render him to the mould. 
 
 Under the cross of gold 
 
 That shines over city and river, 50 
 
 There he shall rest for ever 
 
 Among the wise and the bold. 
 
 Let the bell be toll'd. 
 
 And a reverent people behold 
 
 The towering car, the sable steeds : 
 
 Bright let it be with its blazon'd deeds, 
 
 Dark in its funeral fold. 
 
 Let the bell be toll'd, 
 
 And a deeper knell in the heart be 
 
 knoll'd ; 
 And the sound of the sorrowing anthem 
 
 roU'd 60 
 
 Thro' the dome of the golden cross ; 
 And the volleying cannon thunder his 
 
 loss ; 
 He knew their voices of old. 
 For many a time in many a clime 
 His captain's-ear has heard them boom 
 Bellowing victory, bellowing doom : 
 When he with those deep voices wrought. 
 Guarding realms and kings from shame ; 
 With those deep voices our dead captain 
 
 taught 
 The tyrant, and asserts his claim 70 
 
 In that dread sound to the great name 
 Which he has worn so pure of blame, 
 In praise and in dispraise the same, 
 A man of well-attemper'd frame. 
 O civic muse, to such a name. 
 To such a name for ages long. 
 To such a name, 
 
 Preserve a broad approach of fame. 
 And ever-echoing avenues of song! 
 
 VI 
 
 "Who is he that cometh, like an honor*d 
 guest, 80 
 
 With banner and with music, with soldier 
 and with priest. 
 
 With a nation weeping, and breaking 
 on my rest?" — 
 
 Mighty Seaman, this is he 
 
 Was great by land as thou by sea. 
 
 Thine island loves thee well, thou fa- 
 mous man. 
 
 The greatest sailor since our world began. 
 
 Now, to the roll of muffled drums. 
 
 To thee the greatest soldier comes ; 
 
 For this is he 
 
 Was great by land as thou by sea. 90 
 
 His foes were thine; he kept us free; 
 
 O, give him welcome, this is he
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 311 
 
 Worthy of our gorgeous rites, 
 
 And worthy to be laid by thee; 
 
 For this is England's greatest son, 
 
 He that gain'd a hundred fights, 
 
 Nor ever lost an English g^n ; 
 
 This is he that far away 
 
 Against the myriads of Assayed 
 
 Clash'd with his fiery few and won ; loo 
 
 And underneath another sun, 
 
 Warring on a later day, 
 
 Round affrighted Lisbon^ drew 
 
 The treble works, the vast designs 
 
 Of his labor'd rampart-lines, 
 
 Where he greatly stood at bay. 
 
 Whence he issued forth anew, 
 
 And ever great and greater grew, 
 
 Beating from the wasted vines 
 
 Back to France her banded swarms, no 
 
 Back to France with countless blows, 
 
 Till o'er the hills her eagles flew 
 
 Beyond the Pyrenean pines, 
 
 Follow'd up in valley and glen 
 
 With blare of bugle, clamor of men, 
 
 Roll of cannon and clash of arms, 
 
 And England pouring on her foes. 
 
 Such a war had such a close. 
 
 Again their ravening eagle rose 
 
 In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing 
 
 wings, 120 
 
 And barking for the thrones of kings ; 
 Till one that sought but Duty's iron 
 
 crown 
 On that loud Sabbath^ shook the spoiler 
 
 down; 
 A day of onsets of despair ! 
 Dash'd on every rocky square. 
 Their surging charges foam'd themselves 
 
 away; 
 Last, the Prussian trumpet blew ; 
 Thro* the long-tormented air 
 Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray. 
 And down we swept and charged and 
 
 overthrew. 130 
 
 So great a soldier taught us there 
 What long-enduring hearts could do 
 In that world-earthquake, Waterloo ! 
 Mighty Seaman, tender and true. 
 And pure as he from taint of craven 
 
 guile, 
 O saviour of the silver-coasted isle, 
 O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile, 
 
 1 Assaye. A battle in India, September, 1803, 
 when Wellington routed a native army of 40,000 
 with 7,000 men, 
 
 2 In the fall oi 1810 Wellington retired to Lisbon, 
 which was protected by three lines of fortifications, 
 and thence gradually pushed out against the 
 French until Napoleon's capitulation of 18 14. 
 
 3 Sabbath. June 18, 1815, the day of the 
 Battle of Waterloo. 
 
 If aught of things that here befall 
 Touch a spirit among things divine. 
 If love of country move thee there at all. 
 Be glad, because his bones are laid by 
 thine! 141 
 
 And thro' the centuries let a people's voice 
 In full acclaim, 
 A people's voice. 
 
 The proof and echo of all human fame, 
 A people's voice, when they rejoice 
 At civic revel and pomp and game. 
 Attest their great commander's claim 
 With honor, honor, honor, honor to him. 
 Eternal honor to his name. 150 
 
 A people's voice ! we are a people yet. 
 Tho' all men else their nobler dreams 
 
 forget, 
 Confused by brainless mobs and lawless 
 
 powers. 
 Thank Him who isled us here, and 
 
 roughly set 
 His Briton in blown seas and storming 
 
 showers. 
 We have a voice with which to pay the 
 
 debt 
 Of boundless love and reverence and re- 
 gret 
 To those great men who fought, and 
 
 kept it ours. 
 And keep it ours, O God, from brute con- 
 trol! 
 O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the 
 
 soul i6o 
 
 Of Europe, keep our noble England whole, 
 And save the one true seed of freedom 
 
 sown 
 Betwixt a people and their ancient throne. 
 That sober freedom out of which there 
 
 springs 
 Our loyal passion for our temperate 
 
 kings ! 
 For, saving that, ye help to save mankind 
 Till public wrong be crumbled into dust. 
 And drill the raw world for the march 
 
 of mind. 
 Till crowds at length be sane and crowns 
 
 be just. 
 But wink no more in slothful overtrust. 
 Remember him who led your hosts; 171 
 He bade you guard the sacred coasts. 
 Your cannons moulder on the seaward 
 
 wall; 
 His voice is silent in your council-hall 
 For ever; and whatever tempests lower 
 For ever silent; even if they broke 
 In thunder, silent; yet remember all
 
 312 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 He spoke among you, and the man who 
 
 spoke ; 
 Who never sold the truth to serve the 
 
 hour, 
 Nor palter'd with Eternal God for power ; 
 Who let the turbid streams of rumor 
 
 flow i8i 
 
 Thro' either babbling world of high and 
 
 low; 
 Whose life was work, whose language 
 
 rife 
 With rugged maxims hewn from life; 
 Who never spoke against a foe; 
 Whose eighty winters freeze with one re- 
 buke 
 All great self-seekers trampling on the 
 
 right. 
 Truth-teller was our England's Alfred 
 
 named ; 
 Truth-lover was our English Duke; 
 Whatever record leap to light 190 
 
 He never shall be shamed. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Lo! the leader in these glorious wars 
 Now to glorious burial slowly borne, 
 Follow'd by the brave of other lands. 
 He, on whom from both her open hands 
 Lavish Honor shower'd all her stars. 
 And affluent Fortune emptied all her horn. 
 Yea, let all good things await 
 Him who cares not to be great 
 But as he saves or serves the state. 200 
 Not once or twice in our rough island- 
 story 
 The path of duty was the way to glory. 
 He that walks it, only thirsting 
 For the right, and learns to deaden 
 Love of self, before his journey closes, 
 He shall find the stubborn thistle burst- 
 ing 
 Into glossy purples, which out-redden 
 All voluptuous garden-roses. 
 Not once or twice in our fair island-story 
 The path of duty was the way to glory. 
 He, that ever following her commands. 
 On with toil of heart and knees and 
 hands, 212 
 
 Thro' the long gorge to the far light has 
 
 won 
 His path upward, and prevail'd. 
 Shall find the toppling crags of Duty 
 
 scaled 
 Are close upon the shining table-lands 
 To which our God Himself is moon and 
 
 sun. 
 Such was he: his work is done. 
 
 But while the races of mankind endure 
 Let his great example stand 220 
 
 Colossal, seen of every land. 
 And keep the soldier firm, the statesman 
 
 pure; 
 Till in all lands and thro' all human story 
 The path of duty be the way to glory. 
 And let the land whose hearths he saved 
 
 from shame 
 For many and many an age proclaim 
 At civic revel and pomp and game, 
 And when the long-illumined cities flame, 
 Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame. 
 With honor, honor, honor, honor to him, 
 Eternal honor to his name. 231 
 
 IX 
 
 Peace, his triumph will be sung 
 
 By some yet unmoulded tongue 
 
 Far on in summers that we shall not see. 
 
 Peace, it is a day of pain 
 
 For one about whose patriarchal knee 
 
 Late the little children clung. 
 
 O peace, it is a day of pain 
 
 For one^ upon whose hand and heart and 
 
 brain 
 Once the weight and fate of Europe 
 
 hung. 240 
 
 Ours the pain, be his the gain ! 
 More than is of man's degree 
 Must be with us, watching here 
 At this, our great solemnity. 
 Whom we see not we revere; 
 We revere, and we refrain 
 From talk of battles loud and vain, 
 And brawling memories all too free 
 For such a wise humility 
 As befits a solemn fane: 250 
 
 We revere, and while we hear 
 The tides of Music's golden sea 
 Setting toward eternity, 
 Uplifted high in heart and hope are we, 
 Until we doubt not that for one so true 
 There must be other nobler work to do 
 Than when he fought at Waterloo, 
 And Victor he must ever be. 
 For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill 
 And break the shore, and evermore _ 260 
 Make and break, and work their will, 
 Tho' world on world in myriad myriads 
 
 roll 
 Round us, each with different powers. 
 And other forms of life than ours. 
 What know we greater than the soul? 
 On God and Godlike men we build our 
 
 trust. 
 I OTie. The Queen.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 313 
 
 Hush, the Dead March wails in the 
 
 people's ears; 
 The dark crowd moves, and there are 
 
 sobs and tears; 
 The black earth yawns; the mortal dis- 
 appears ; 
 Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; 270 
 
 He is gone who seem'd so great. — 
 Gone, but nothing can bereave him 
 Of the force he made his own 
 Being here, and we believe him 
 Something far advanced in state. 
 And that he wears a truer crown 
 Than any wreath that man can weave 
 
 him. 
 Speak no more of his renown, 
 Lay your earthly fancies down. 
 And in the vast cathedral leave him ; 280 
 God accept him, Christ receive him! 
 
 (1852) 
 
 SELF-DEPENDENCE 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 Weary of myself, and sick of asking 
 What I am, and what I ought to be. 
 At this vessel's prow I stand, which 
 
 bears me 
 Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea. 
 
 And a look of passionate desire 
 O'er the sea and to the stars I send: 
 "Ye who from my childhood up have 
 
 calm'd me, 
 Calm me, ah, compose me to the end! 
 
 "Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye 
 waters, 9 
 
 On my heart your mighty charm renew; 
 Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you. 
 Feel my soul becoming vast like you!" 
 
 From the intense, clear, star-sown vault 
 of heaven, 
 
 Over the lit sea's unquiet way, 
 
 In the rustling night-air came the an- 
 swer: 
 
 "Wouldst thou he as these are? Live as 
 they. 
 
 "Unaflfrighted by the silence round 
 them, 
 
 Undistracted by the sights they see, 
 
 These demand not that the things with- 
 out them 
 
 Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 20 
 
 "And with joy the stars perform their 
 
 shining. 
 And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll; 
 For self -poised they live, nor pine with 
 
 noting 
 All the fever of some differing soul. 
 
 "Bounded by themselves, and unregard- 
 ful 
 
 In what state God's other works may be, 
 
 In their own tasks all their powers pour- 
 ing. 
 
 These attain the mighty life you see." 
 
 O air-born voice! long since, severely 
 
 clear, 
 A cry like thine in mine own heart I 
 
 hear : 30 
 
 "Resolve to be thyself; and know that 
 
 he 
 Who finds himself loses his misery!" 
 
 (1852) 
 
 ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY 
 
 Welcome, wild North-easter! 
 
 Shame it is to see 
 Odes to every zephyr; 
 
 Ne'er a verse to thee. 
 Welcome, black North-easter! 
 
 O'er the German foam; 
 O'er the Danish moorlands, 
 
 From thy frozen home. 
 Tired we are of summer. 
 
 Tired of gaudy glare, 10 
 
 Showers soft and steaming, 
 
 Hot and breathless air. 
 Tired of listless dreaming, 
 
 Through the lazy day : 
 Jovial wind of winter 
 
 Turn us out to play ! 
 Sweep the golden reed-beds; 
 
 Crisp the lazy dyke; 
 Hunger into madness 
 
 Every plunging pike. 20 
 
 Fill the lake with wild-fowl; 
 
 Fill the marsh with snipe; 
 While on dreary moorlands 
 
 Lonely curlews pipe. 
 Through the black fir-forest 
 
 Thunder harsh and dry. 
 Shattering down the snow-flakes 
 
 Off the curdled sky.
 
 314 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Hark! the brave North-easter! 
 
 Breast-high lies the scent, 30 
 
 On by holt^ and headland, , 
 
 Over heath and bent.^ 
 Chime, ye dappled darlings, ' 
 
 Through the sleet and snow. 
 Who can over-ride you? 
 
 Let the horses go I 
 Chime, ye dappled darlings, 
 
 Down the roaring blast; 
 You shall see a fox die 
 
 Ere an hour be past. 40 
 
 Go ! and rest to-morrow, 
 
 Hunting in your dreams, 
 While our skates are ringing 
 
 O'er the frozen streams. 
 Let the luscious South-wind 
 
 Breathe in lovers' sighs, 
 While the lazy gallants 
 
 Bask in ladies' eyes. 
 What does he but soften 
 
 Heart alike and pen? So 
 
 'Tis the hard gray weather 
 
 Breeds hard English men. 
 What's the soft South-wester? 
 
 'Tis the ladies' breeze, 
 Bringing home their true-loves 
 
 Out of all the seas : 
 But the black North-easter, 
 
 Through the snowstorm hurled, 
 Drives our English hearts of oak 
 
 Seaward round the world. 60 
 
 Come, as came our fathers, 
 
 Heralded by thee, 
 Conquering from the eastward, 
 
 Lords by land and sea. 
 Come; and strong within us 
 
 Stir the Vikings' blood; 
 Bracing brain and sinew; 
 
 Blow, thou wind of God! 
 
 (1854) 
 
 COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [This famous love-lyric represents a simple 
 scene in the long poem called Maud. The 
 speaker is Maud's plighted lover, but is not re- 
 ceived at the manor-house where she lives; on 
 the night of a great ball_ given _ there bv her 
 brother he must wait outside while she dances 
 with the young lord (line 29) who is wooing 
 her,_ but when the ball is over she has promised 
 to join him in the garden.] 
 
 Come into the garden, Maud, 
 
 For the black bat, night, has flown. 
 
 Come into the garden, Maud, 
 I am here at the gate alone ; 
 
 I holt. Woodland. 2 bent. Hillside. 
 
 And the woodbine spices are wafted 
 abroad, 
 And the musk of the rose is blown. 
 
 For a breeze of morning moves. 
 And the planet of love is on high. 
 
 Beginning to faint in the light that she 
 loves 
 On a bed of daffodil sky, 10 
 
 To faint in the light of the sun she loves 
 To faint in his light, and to die. 
 
 All night have the roses heard 
 
 The flute, violin, bassoon; 
 All night has the casement jessamine 
 stirr'd 
 
 To the dancers dancing in tune; 
 Till a silence fell with the waking bird, 
 
 And a hush with the setting moon. 
 
 I said to the lily, "There is but one, 
 
 With whom she has heart to be gay. 20 
 When will the dancers leave her alone? 
 
 She is weary of dance and play." 
 Now half to the setting moon are gone, 
 
 And half to the rising day; 
 Low on the sand and loud on the stone 
 
 The last wheel echoes away. 
 
 I said to the rose, "The brief night goes 
 In babble and revel and wine. 
 
 O young lord-lover, what sighs are those. 
 For one that will never be thine? 30 
 
 But mine, but mine," so I sware to the 
 rose, 
 "For ever and ever, mine." 
 
 And the soul of the rose went into my 
 blood, 
 As the music clash'd in the Hall; 
 And long by the garden lake I stood. 
 
 For I heard your rivulet fall 
 From the lake to the meadow and on to 
 the wood, 
 Our wood, that is dearer than all; 
 
 From the meadow your walks have left 
 so sweet 
 
 That whenever a March-wind sighs 40 
 He sets the jewel-print of your feet 
 
 In violets blue as your eyes, 
 To the woody hollows in which we meet 
 
 And the valleys of Paradise. 
 
 The slender acacia would not shake 
 One long milk-bloom on the tree; 
 
 The white lake-blossom fell into the lake 
 As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 315 
 
 But the rose was awake all night for 
 your sake, 
 
 Knowing your promise to me; 50 
 
 The lilies and roses were all awake, 
 
 They sigh'd for the dawn and thee. 
 
 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of 
 girls. 
 Come hither, the dances are done, 
 In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, 
 
 Queen lily and rose in one ; 
 Shine out, little head, sunning over with 
 curls, 
 To the flowers, and be their sun. 
 
 There has fallen a splendid tear 
 
 From the passion-flower at the gate, 60 
 She is coming, my dove, my dear ; 
 
 She is coming, my life, my fate. 
 The red rose cries, "She is near, she is 
 near ;" 
 
 And the white rose weeps, "She is 
 late;" 
 The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;" 
 
 And the lily whispers, "I wait." 
 
 She is coming, my own, my sweet; 
 
 Were it ever so airy a tread. 
 My heart would hear her and beat, 
 
 Were it earth in an earthy bed ; 70 
 My dust would hear her and beat, 
 
 Had I lain for a century dead, — 
 Would start and tremble under her feet. 
 
 And blossom in purple and red. 
 
 (1855) 
 
 EVELYN HOPE 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! 
 
 Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
 That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 
 
 She plucked that piece of geranium- 
 flower, 
 Beginning to die too, in the glass ; 
 
 Little has yet been changed, I think: 
 The shutters are shut, no light may pass 
 
 Save two long rays through the hinge's 
 chink. 
 
 Sixteen years old when she died ! 
 
 Perhaps she had scarcely heard my 
 name; 10 
 
 It was not her time to love; beside. 
 
 Her life had many a hope and aim, 
 
 Duties enough and little cares. 
 
 And now was quiet, now astir. 
 Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — 
 
 And the sweet white brow is all of her. 
 Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? 
 
 What, your soul was pure and true, 
 The good stars met in your horoscope. 
 
 Made you of spirit, fire, and dew — 20 
 And, just because I was thrice as old 
 
 And our paths in the world diverged so 
 wide, 
 Each was naught to each, must I be told? 
 
 We were fellow mortals, naught be- 
 side? 
 
 No, indeed ! for God above 
 
 Is great to grant, as mighty to make, 
 And creates the love to reward the love : 
 
 I claim you still, for my own love's 
 sake ! 
 Delayed it may be for more lives yet. 
 
 Through worlds I shall traverse, not a 
 few : 30 
 
 Much is to learn, much to forget 
 
 Ere the time be come for taking you. 
 
 But the time will come, — at last it will, 
 When, "Evelyn Hope, what meant" (I 
 shall say) 
 In the lower earth, in the years long still. 
 
 That body and soul so pure and gay? 
 Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, 
 And your mouth of your own gera- 
 nium's red — 
 And what you would do with me, in fine,^ 
 In the new life come^ in the old one's 
 stead. 40 
 
 "I have lived" (I shall say) "so much 
 since then. 
 
 Given up myself so many times, 
 Gained me the gains of various men, 
 
 Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; 
 Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full 
 scope, 
 
 Either I missed or itself missed me : 
 And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! 
 
 What is the issue? let us see!" 
 
 I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ! 
 
 My heart seemed full as it could hold \^ 
 
 There was place and to spare for the 
 
 frank young smile, 51 
 
 I in fine. Finally, 
 a come. Which has come. 
 
 3 (For the grammatical meaning, omit the 
 exclamation point at the end of the preceding line.)
 
 316 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And the red young mouth, and the 
 hair's young gold. 
 So, hush, — I will give you this leaf to 
 keep: 
 See, I shut it inside the sweet cold 
 hand ! 
 There, that is our secret : go to sleep ! 
 You will wake, and remember, and 
 understand. 
 
 (1855) 
 
 THE PATRIOT 
 An Old Story 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [This monologue does not refer to any one 
 historic person or situation, but to a typical 
 imaginary occurrence such as has often made 
 the heroes of one day the martyrs of the next.] 
 
 It was roses, roses, all the way. 
 With myrtle mixed in my path like 
 mad : 
 The house-roofs seemed to heave and 
 sway. 
 The church-spires flamed, such flags 
 they had, 
 A year ago on this very day. 
 
 The air broke into a mist with bells, 
 The old walls rocked with the crowd 
 and cries. 
 Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise re- 
 pels — 
 But give me your sun from yonder 
 skies !" 
 They had answered, "And afterward, 
 what else?" 10 
 
 Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun 
 To give it my loving friends to keep ! 
 
 Naught man could do, have I left un- 
 done: 
 And you see my harvest, what I reap 
 
 This very day, now a year is run. 
 
 There's nobody on the house-tops now — 
 Just a palsied few at the windows set; 
 
 For the best of the sight is, all allow. 
 At the Shambles* Gate — or, better yet, 
 
 By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. 20 
 
 I go in the rain, and, more than needs, 
 A rope cuts both my wrists behind; 
 
 And I think, by the feel, my forehead 
 bleeds, 
 For they fling, whoever has a mind. 
 
 Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. 
 
 Thus I entered, and thus I go ! 
 In triumphs, people have dropped down 
 dead. 
 "Paid by the world, what dost thou owe 
 Me?" — God might question ;i now in- 
 stead, 
 'T is God shall repay : I am safer so. 30 
 
 (1855) 
 
 "DE GUSTIBUS— " 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [The title means "Concerning Tastes," the 
 opening words of a Latin proverb meaning "It 
 is useless to argue matters of taste." This is 
 one of a number of poems expressing Brown- 
 ing's devotion to his adopted land of Italy. In 
 |ines 31-34 he refers to the hatred of the Ital- 
 ians for their Bourbon king, who reigned in 
 Naples until 1861. Lines 36-40 allude to the 
 story that Queen Mary of England, shortly 
 after the French had taken Calais, said that if 
 her breast were opened after death the word 
 "Calais" would be found engraved on her heart.] 
 
 Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, 
 
 (If our loves remain) 
 
 In an English lane, 
 By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. 
 Hark, those two in the hazel coppice — 
 A boy and a girl, if the good fates please. 
 
 Making love, say, — 
 
 The happier they ! 
 Draw yourself up from the light of the 
 
 moon, 
 And let them pass, as they will too soon. 
 
 With the beanflowers' boon, 
 
 And the blackbird's tune, 
 
 And May, and June! 
 
 What I love best in all the world lo 
 
 Is a castle, precipice-encurled. 
 In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine. 
 Or look for me, old fellow of mine, 
 (If I get my head from out the mouth 
 O' the grave, and loose my spirit's bands. 
 And come again to the land of lands) — 
 In a sea-side house to the farther South, 
 Where the baked cicala^ dies of drouth, 
 And one sharp tree — 'tis a cypress — 
 
 stands 
 By the many hundred years red-rusted, 20 
 Rough iron-spiked, ripe fruit-o'ercrusted. 
 My sentinel to guard the sands 
 To the water's edge. For, what expands 
 Before the house, but the great opaque 
 Blue breadth of sea without a break? 
 
 1 might question. That is, if I were to enter his 
 presence from a triumph. 
 
 2 cicala. Cicada, locust.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 317 
 
 While, in the house, forever crumbles 
 Some fragment of the frescoed walls, 
 From blisters where a scorpion sprawls. 
 A girl bare- footed brings, and tumbles 
 Down on the pavement, green-flesh me- 
 lons, 30 
 And says there's news to-day — the king 
 Was shot at, touched in the liver-wing, 
 Goes with his Bourbon arm in a sling, 
 — She hopes they have not caught the 
 
 felons. 
 Italy, my Italy! 
 
 Queen Mary's saying serves for me — 
 (When fortune's malice 
 Lost her Calais) 
 Open my heart and you will see 
 Graved inside of it, "Italy." 40 
 
 Such lovers old are I and she : 
 So it always was, so shall ever be ! 
 
 (1855) 
 
 UP AT A VILLA— DOWN IN THE 
 CITY 
 
 (As Distinguished by an Italian Person 
 of Quality) 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 Had I but plenty of money, money 
 
 enough and to spare, 
 The house for me, no doubt, were a house 
 
 in the city-square ; 
 Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads 
 
 at the window there ! 
 
 Something to see, by Bacchus, something 
 
 to hear, at least ! 
 There, the whole day long, one's life is a 
 
 perfect feast; 
 While up at a villa one lives, I maintain 
 
 it, no more than a beast. 
 
 Well now, look at our villa ! stuck like 
 
 the horn of a bull 
 Just on a mountain-edge as bare as the 
 
 creature's skull. 
 Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly 
 
 a leaf to pull ! 
 — I scratch my own, sometimes, to see if 
 
 the hair's turned wool. 10 
 
 But the city, oh the city — the square with 
 
 the houses ! Why? 
 They are stone-faced, white as a curd, 
 
 there's something to take the eye ! 
 
 Houses in four straight lines, not a single 
 
 front awry; 
 You watch who crosses and gossips, who 
 
 saunters, who hurries by; 
 Green blinds, as a matter of course, to 
 
 draw when the sun gets high ; 
 And the shops with fanciful signs whicli 
 
 are painted properly. 
 
 What of a villa? Though winter be over 
 
 in March by rights, 
 Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall 
 
 have withered well off the heights : 
 You've the brown ploughed land before, 
 
 where the oxen steam and wheeze, 
 And the hills over-smoked behind by the 
 
 faint gray olive-trees. 20 
 
 Is it better in May, I ask you? You've 
 
 summer all at once ; 
 In a day he leaps complete with a few 
 
 strong April suns. 
 'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, 
 
 scarce risen three fingers well. 
 The wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows 
 
 out its great red bell 
 Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the 
 
 children to pick and sell. 
 
 Is it ever hot in the square? There's a 
 
 fountain to spout and splash! 
 In the shade it sings and springs: in the 
 
 shine such foambows flash 
 On the horses with curling fish-tails, that 
 
 prance and paddle and pash 
 Round the lady atop in her conch — fifty 
 
 gazers do not abash, 
 Though all that she wears is some weeds 
 
 round her waist in a sort of sash. 30 
 
 All the year long at the villa, nothing to 
 
 see though you linger. 
 Except yon cypress that points like 
 
 death's lean lifted forefinger. 
 Some think fireflies pretty, when they 
 
 mix i' the corn and mingle. 
 Or thrid^ the stinking hemp till the stalks 
 
 of it seem a-tingle. 
 Late August or early September, the 
 
 stunning cicala2 is shrill, 
 And the bees keep their tiresome whine 
 
 round the resinous firs on the hill. 
 Enough of the seasons, — I spare you the 
 
 months of the fever and chill. 
 
 I thrid. Thread, fly among. 
 3 cicala. Locust.
 
 318 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Ere you open your eyes in the city, the 
 blessed church-bells begin : 
 
 No sooner the bells leave off than the 
 diligence rattles in : 
 
 You get the pick of the news, and it 
 costs you never a pin. 40 
 
 By and by there's the travelling doctor 
 gives pills, lets blood, draws teeth ; 
 
 Or the Pulcinello-trumpeti breaks up the 
 market beneath. 
 
 At the post-office such a scene-picture — 
 the new play, piping hot ! 
 
 And a notice how, only this morning, 
 three liberal thieves were shot. 
 
 Above it, behold the Archbishop's most 
 fatherly of rebukes. 
 
 And beneath, with his crown and his 
 lion, some little new law of 'the 
 Duke's ! 
 
 Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the 
 Reverend Don So-and-so, 
 
 Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, Saint 
 Jerome, and Cicero, 
 
 "And moreover" (the sonnet goes rhym- 
 ing), "the skirts of Saint Paul has 
 reached, 
 
 Having preached us those six Lent-lec- 
 tures more unctuous than ever he 
 preached." 50 
 
 Noon strikes, — here sweeps the proces- 
 sion! our Lady2 borne smiling and 
 smart 
 
 With a pink gauze gown all spangles, 
 and seven swords stuck in her heart! 
 
 Bang-whang-whang goes the drum, tootle- 
 te-tootle the fife; 
 
 No keeping one's haunches still : it's the 
 greatest pleasure in life. 
 
 But bless you, it's dear — it's dear! fowls, 
 
 wine, at double the rate. 
 They have clapped a new tax upon salt, 
 
 and what oil pays passing the gate^ 
 It's a horror to think of. And so, the 
 
 villa for me, not the city ! 
 Beggars can scarcely be choosers : but 
 
 still — ah, the pity, the pity ! 
 Look, two and two go the priests, then 
 
 the monks with cowls and sandals, 
 And the penitents dressed in white shirts, 
 
 a-holding the yellow candles; 60 
 
 I Pulcinello-trumpet. The trumpet of a Punch 
 and Judy show. 
 
 3 our Lady. An image of the Virgin. The 
 "seven swords" symbolized what Catholic the- 
 ologians called "the seven sorrows" of Mary. 
 
 3 passing the gate. Where the octioi, or city 
 import tax, was paid. 
 
 One, he carries a flag up straight, and 
 
 another a cross with handles, 
 And the Duke's guard brings up the rear, 
 
 for the better prevention of scandals : 
 Bang-whang-whang goes the drum, tootle- 
 
 te-tootle the fife. 
 Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no 
 
 such pleasure in life! 
 
 (1855) 
 
 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 Where the quiet-colored end of evening 
 smiles 
 
 Miles and miles 
 On the solitary pastures where our sheep 
 
 Half-asleep 
 Tinkle homeward through the twilight, 
 stray or stop 
 
 As they crop — 
 Was the site once, of a city great and 
 gay, 
 
 (So they say) 
 Of our country's very capital, its prince 
 Ages since 10 
 
 Held his court in, gathered councils, 
 wielding far 
 
 Peace or war. 
 
 Now, — the country does not even boast 
 a tree. 
 
 As you see, 
 To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain 
 rillsi 
 
 From the hills 
 Intersect and give a name to (else they 
 run 
 
 Into one), 
 Where the domed and daring palace shot 
 its spires 
 
 Up like fires 20 
 
 O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall 
 
 Bounding all. 
 Made of marble, men might march on 
 nor be pressed. 
 
 Twelve abreast. 
 
 And such plenty and perfection, see, of 
 grass 
 
 Never was ! 
 
 I After "verdure" supply "which," as object of 
 "intersect." In like manner supply "which" 
 after "marble" in line 23.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 319 
 
 Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o'er- 
 spreads 
 
 And embeds 
 Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, 
 Stock or stone — 30 
 
 Where a multitude of men breathed joy 
 and woe 
 
 Long ago; 
 Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, 
 dread of shame 
 
 Struck them tame ; 
 And that glory and that shame alike, the 
 gold 
 
 Bought and sold. 
 
 Now, — the single little turret that remains 
 
 On the plains, 
 By the caper^ overrooted, by the gourd 
 Overscored, 40 
 
 While the patching houseleek's head of 
 blossom winks 
 
 Through the chinks — 
 Marks the basement whence a tower in 
 ancient time 
 
 Sprang sublime, 
 And a burning ring, all round, the chari- 
 ots traced 
 
 As they raced, 
 And the monarch and his minions and 
 his dames 
 
 Viewed the games. 
 
 And I know, while thus the quiet-colored 
 eve 
 
 Smiles to leave 50 
 
 To their folding, all our many-tinkling 
 fleece 
 
 In such peace, 
 And the slopes and rills in undistin- 
 guished gray 
 
 Melt away — 
 That a girl with eager eyes and yellow 
 hair 
 
 Waits me there 
 In the turret whence the charioteers 
 caught soul 
 
 For the goal. 
 When the king looked, where she looks 
 now, breathless, dumb 60 
 
 Till I come. 
 
 But he looked upon the city, every side, 
 
 Far and wide, 
 All the mountains topped with temples, 
 all the glades' 
 Colonnades, 
 I caper. A shrub. 
 
 All the causeys,2 bridges, aqueducts, — 
 and then, 
 
 All the men ! 
 When I do come, she will speak not, she 
 will stand. 
 
 Either hand 
 On my shoulder, give her eyes the first 
 embrace 
 
 Of my face, 70 
 
 Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and 
 speech 
 
 Each on each. 
 
 In one year they sent a million fighters 
 forth 
 
 South and North, 
 And they built their gods a brazen pillar 
 high 
 
 As the sky. 
 Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full 
 force — 
 
 Gold, of course. 
 Oh heart ! oh blood that freezes, blood 
 that burns! 
 
 Earth's returns 80 
 
 For whole centuries of folly, noise and 
 sin! 
 
 Shut them in, 
 With their triumphs and their glories 
 and the rest ! 
 Love is best. 
 
 (I8SS) 
 
 AMERICA 
 
 SYDNEY DOBELL 
 
 [This is one of several sonnets written at the 
 time of the Crimean War, when the relations 
 between Great Britain and America were some- 
 what strained.] 
 
 Nor force nor fraud shall sunder us ! O 
 
 ye 
 Who north or south, on east or western 
 
 land, 
 Native to noble sounds, say truth for 
 
 truth, 
 Freedom for freedom, love for love, and 
 
 God 
 For God; O ye who in eternal youth 
 Speak with a living and creative flood 
 This universal English, and do stand 
 Its breathing book; live worthy of that 
 
 grand. 
 Heroic utterance — parted, yet a whole, 
 
 2 causeys. Causeways.
 
 320 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Far, yet unsevered, — children brave and Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme, 
 
 free lo And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair 
 
 Of the great Mother-tongue, and ye shall be as Spenser's dream. 
 
 Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare's 
 
 soul, (1855) 
 
 THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH 
 
 WALT WHITMAN 
 
 There was a child went forth every day; 
 
 And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, 
 
 And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, 
 
 Or for many years, or stretching cycles of years. 
 
 The early lilacs became part of this child, 
 
 And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song 
 
 of the phoebe-bird. 
 And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the mare's foal, and 
 
 the cow's calf, 
 And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the pond-side, 
 And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there, and the beautiful 
 
 curious liquid, 
 And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads, — all became part of him. 10 
 
 The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him, 
 Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of 
 
 the garden. 
 And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, 
 
 and the commonest weeds by the road; 
 And the old drunkard staggering home from the outhouse of the tavern whence he 
 
 had lately risen. 
 And the schoolmistress that pass'd on her way to the school. 
 And the friendly boys that pass'd, and the quarrelsome boys. 
 And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls, and the barefoot negro boy and girl. 
 And all the changes of city and country wherever he went. 
 
 His own parents, _ 19 
 
 He that had father'd him and she that had conceiv'd him in her womb and birth'd him. 
 They gave this child more of themselves than that; 
 They gave him afterward every day, they became part of him. 
 
 The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table, 
 
 The mother with mild words, clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling oflF 
 
 her person and clothes as she walks by. 
 The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd, unjust. 
 The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure. 
 The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture, the yearning and swell- 
 ing heart. 
 Affection that will not be gainsay'd, the sense of what is real, the thought if after 
 
 all it should prove unreal, 
 The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time, the curious whether and how, 
 Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks? 30 
 
 Men and women crowding fast in the streets, if they are not flashes and specks what 
 are they?
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 321 
 
 The streets themselves, and the facades of houses, and goods in the windows, 
 
 Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves, the huge crossing at the ferries, 
 
 The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset, the river between. 
 
 Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, 
 
 three miles oflf, 
 The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide, the little boat slack-tow'd 
 
 astern. 
 The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping. 
 The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint away solitary by itself, 
 
 the spread of purity it lies motionless in. 
 The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud ; 
 These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and 
 
 will always go forth every day. 40 
 
 (1855) 
 
 THE GRASS 
 
 [From the poem "Walt Whitman"] 
 WALT WHITMAN 
 
 A child said, IVhat is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; 
 
 How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is, any more than he. 
 
 I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. 
 
 Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, 
 
 A scented gift and remembrancer, designedly dropp'd. 
 
 Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, 
 
 and say IV hose f 
 Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. 
 
 Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic. 
 And it means. 
 
 Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, 10 
 
 Growing among black folks as among white, 
 
 Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuflf, I give them the same, I receive them the 
 same. 
 
 And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. 
 
 Tenderly will I use you, curling grass; 
 
 It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, 
 
 It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, 
 
 It may be you are from old people, and from women, and from offspring taken soon 
 
 out of their mothers' laps, 
 And here you are the mothers' laps. 
 
 This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers. 
 
 Darker than the colorless beards of old men, .20 
 
 Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. 
 
 O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues ! 
 
 And I perceive they do not come from the Toofs of mouths for nothing.
 
 322 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, 
 And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their 
 laps. 
 
 What do you think has become of the young and old men? 
 And what do you think has become of the women and children? 
 
 They are alive and well somewhere ; 
 
 The smallest sprout shows there is really no death ; 
 
 And if ever there was, it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it. 
 
 And ceased the moment life appear'd. 
 
 All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses. 
 
 And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. 
 
 (i8SS) 
 
 30 
 
 MY LOST YOUTH 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 [The poem refers to Portland, Maine, Long- 
 fellow's native town. "Deering's Woods" (lines 
 47, 82) was an oak-grove on the outskirts of 
 the city; the sea-fight of line 37 was an en- 
 gagement of the War of 1812, between the 
 American brig Enterprise and the British Boxer.] 
 
 Often I think of the beautiful town 
 
 That is seated by the sea; 
 Often in thought go up and down 
 The pleasant streets of that dear old 
 town. 
 And my youth comes back to me. 
 And a verse of a Lapland song 
 Is haunting my memory still : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 
 
 I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 10 
 
 And catch, in sudden gleams. 
 The sheen of the far-surrounding seas. 
 And islands that were the Hesperides^ 
 Of all my boyish dreams. 
 
 And the burden of that old song, 
 It murmurs and whispers still : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 
 
 I remember the black wharves and the 
 
 slips. 
 
 And the sea-tides tossing free ; 20 
 
 And the Spanish sailors with bearded lips, 
 
 And the beauty and mystery of the ships, 
 
 I Hesperides. The western isles of the golden 
 apples, in Greek mythology. 
 
 And the magic of the sea. 
 
 And the voice of that wayward 
 
 song 
 Is singing and saying still : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 
 
 I remember the bulwarks by the shore. 
 
 And the fort upon the hill ; 
 The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, 30 
 The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, 
 And the bugle wild and shrill. 
 
 And the music of that old song 
 Throbs in my memory still : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 
 
 I remember the sea-fight far away, 
 
 How it thundered o'er the tide! 
 And the dead captains, as they lay 
 In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil 
 bay 40 
 
 Where they in battle died. 
 
 And the sound of that mournful 
 
 song 
 Goes through me with a thrill : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 
 
 I can see the breezy dome of groves. 
 The shadows of Deering's Woods; 
 And the friendships old and the early 
 
 loves 
 Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of 
 
 doves
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 323 
 
 In quiet neighborhoods. 50 
 
 And the verse of that sweet old 
 
 song, 
 It flutters and murmurs still : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts," 
 
 I remember the gleams and glooms that 
 dart 
 Across the school-boy's brain; 
 The song and the silence in the heart, 
 That in part are prophecies, and in part 
 Are longings wild and vain. 
 
 And the voice of that fitful song 60 
 Sings on, and is never still : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 
 
 There are things of which I may not 
 speak ; 
 There are dreams that cannot die ; 
 There are thoughts that make the strong 
 
 heart weak, 
 And bring a pallor into the cheek. 
 And a mist before the eye. 
 
 And the words of that fatal song 
 Come over me like a chill : 70 
 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 
 
 Strange to me now are the forms I meet 
 
 When I visit the dear old town ; 
 But the native air is pure and sweet, 
 And the trees that o'ershadow each well- 
 known street, 
 As they balance up and down. 
 
 Are singing the beautiful song, 
 Are sighing and whispering still : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will, 80 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 
 
 And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, 
 
 And with joy that is almost pain 
 My heart goes back to wander there. 
 And among the dreams of the days that 
 were, 
 I find my lost youth again. 
 
 And the strange and beautiful song. 
 The groves are repeating it still : 
 "A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
 thoughts." 90 
 
 (1855) 
 
 ROBERT OF LINCOLN 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
 
 Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 
 Near to the nest of his little dame. 
 Over the mountain-side or mead, 
 
 Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 Snug and safe is that nest of ours. 
 Hidden among the summer flowers. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Robert of Lincoln is gayly dress'd, 10 
 V/earing a bright black wedding-coat; 
 White are his shoulders and white his 
 crest. 
 Hear him call in his merry note : 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 Look, what a nice new coat is mine. 
 Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife. 
 
 Pretty and quiet, with plain brown 
 wings, 20 
 
 Passing at home a patient life. 
 Broods in the grass while her husband 
 sings : 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 Brood, kind creature; you need not fear 
 Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Modest and shy as a nun is she; 
 
 One weak chirp is her only note. 29 
 Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 
 Pouring boasts from his little throat : 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 Never was I afraid of man; 
 Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Six white eggs on a bed of hay. 
 
 Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! 
 There as the mother sits all day, 
 
 Robert is singing with all his might : 40 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
 Keeping house while I frolic about. 
 Chee, chee, chee.
 
 324 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 
 Six wide mouths are open for food; 
 Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
 Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 50 
 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 This new life is likely to be 
 Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Robert of Lincoln at length is made 
 
 Sober with work, and silent with care ; 
 Oflf is his holiday garment laid. 
 Half forgotten that merry air: 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 60 
 
 Nobody knows but my mate and I 
 Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Summer wanes; the children are grown; 
 
 Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 
 Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; 
 Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 69 
 
 When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
 Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 (185s) 
 
 THE BAREFOOT BOY 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 
 
 Blessings on thee, little man. 
 
 Barefoot boy, with cheeks of tan! 
 
 With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
 
 And thy merry whistled tunes; 
 
 With thy red lip, redder still 
 
 Kissed by strawberries on the hill; 
 
 With the sunshine on thy face, 
 
 Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; 
 
 From my heart I give thee joy, — 
 
 I was once a barefoot boy ! 10 
 
 Prince thou art, — the grown-up man 
 
 Only is republican. 
 
 Let the million-dollared ride ! 
 
 Barefoot, trudging at his side, 
 
 Thou hast more than he can buy 
 
 In the reach of ear and eye, — 
 
 Outward sunshine, inward joy: 
 
 Blessings on thee, barefoot boy 1 
 
 Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 
 Knowledge never learned of schools. 
 Of the wild bee's morning chase. 
 Of the wild-flower's time and place, 
 Flight of fowl and habitude 
 Of the tenants of the wood; 
 How the tortoise bears his shell, 
 How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
 And the ground-mole sinks his well; 
 How the robin feeds her young, 30 
 
 How the oriole's nest is hung; 
 Where the whitest lilies blow, 
 Where the freshest berries grow, 
 Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 
 Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; 
 Of the black wasp's cunning way, 
 Mason of his walls of clay. 
 And the architectural plans 
 Of gray hornet artisans ! 
 For, eschewing books and tasks, 40 
 
 Nature answers all he asks; 
 Hand in hand with her he walks. 
 Face to face with her he talks. 
 Part and parcel of her joy, — 
 Blessings on the barefoot boy! 
 
 Oh for boyhood's time of June, 
 
 Crowding years in one brief moon, 
 
 When all things I heard or saw, 
 
 Me, their master, waited for. 
 
 I was rich in flowers and trees, $0 
 
 Humming-birds and honey-bees ; 
 
 For my sport the squirrel played, 
 
 Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 
 
 For my taste the blackberry cone 
 
 Purpled over hedge and stone; 
 
 Laughed the brook for my delight 
 
 Through the day and through the night, 
 
 Whispering at the garden wall. 
 
 Talked with me from fall to fall; 
 
 Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 60 
 
 Mine the walnut slopes beyond. 
 
 Mine, on bending orchard trees. 
 
 Apples of Hesperides ! ^ 
 
 Still as my horizon grew, 
 
 Larger grew my riches too; 
 
 All the world I saw or knew 
 
 Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 
 
 Fashioned for a barefoot boy! 
 
 Oh for boyhood's painless play. 
 Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 
 
 20 
 
 Oh for festal dainties spread, 
 Like my bowl of milk and bread; 
 Pewter spoon and bowl of wood. 
 On the door-stone, gray and rude! 
 O'er me, like a regal tent, 
 Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, 
 
 I See note on page 322. 
 
 70
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 325 
 
 Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 
 Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; 
 While for music came the play 
 Of the pied frogs' orchestra; 
 And, to light the noisy choir, 
 Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 80 
 
 I was monarch : pomp and joy 
 Waited on the barefoot boy! 
 
 Cheerily, then, my little man, 
 
 Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 
 
 Though the flinty slopes be hard. 
 
 Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 
 
 Every mom shall lead thee through 
 
 Fresh baptisms of the dew; 
 
 Every evening from thy feet 
 
 Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : 90 
 
 All too soon these feet must hide 
 
 In the prison cells of pride, 
 
 Lose the freedom of the sod, 
 
 Like a colt's for work be shod. 
 
 Made to tread the mills of toil. 
 
 Up and down in ceaseless moil : 
 
 Happy if their track be found 
 
 Never on forbidden ground; 
 
 Happy if they sink not in 
 
 Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 100 
 
 Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, 
 
 Ere it passes, barefoot boy! 
 
 (1856) 
 
 A FAREWELL 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY 
 
 My fairest child, I have no song to give 
 you; 
 No lark could pipe to skies so dull and 
 gray: 
 Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave 
 you 
 
 For every day. 
 
 Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be 
 clever; 
 Do noble things, not dream them, all 
 day long: 
 And so make life, death, and that vast 
 forever 
 
 One grand, sweet song. 
 
 (1856) 
 
 DAYS 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 
 Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, 
 Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes. 
 And marching single in an endless file, 
 Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. 
 To each they offer gifts after his will. 
 Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds 
 
 them all. 
 I, in my pleached^ garden, watched the 
 
 pomp. 
 Forgot my morning wishes, hastily 8 
 
 Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day 
 Turned and departed silent. I, too late, 
 Under her solemn fillet^ saw the scorn. 
 
 (i8S7) 
 
 THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 ["Suggested," said Holmes, "by looking at a 
 section of one of those chambered shells to 
 which is given the name of Pearly Nautilus. 
 ... A section will show you the series of 
 enlarging compartments successively dwelt in by 
 the animal that inhabits the shell, which is built 
 in a widening spiral."] 
 
 This is the ship of pearl, which, poets 
 feign, 
 Sails the unshadowed main, — 
 The venturous bark that flings 
 On the sweet summer wind its purpled 
 
 wings 
 In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, 
 
 And coral reefs lie bare. 
 Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their 
 streaming hair. 
 
 Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; 
 Wrecked is the ship of pearl! 
 And every chambered cell, 10 
 
 Where its dim dreaming life was wont to 
 
 dwell. 
 As the frail tenant shaped his growing 
 shell, 
 Before thee lies revealed, — 
 Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt 
 unsealed ! 
 
 Year after year beheld the silent toil 
 
 That spread his lustrous coil; 
 
 Still, as the spiral grew. 
 He left the past year's dwelling for the 
 new, 
 
 1 pleached. Bowered (with branches). 
 
 2 fillet. Worn in the hair of a priestess.
 
 326 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Stole with soft step its shining archway 
 
 through, 
 Built up its idle door, 20 
 
 Stretched in his last-found home, and 
 
 knew the old no more. 
 
 Thanks for the heavenly message brought 
 by thee, 
 Child of the wandering sea, 
 Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 
 From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
 Than ever Triton^ blew from wreathed 
 horn! 
 While on mine ear it rings. 
 Through the deep caves of thought I hear 
 a voice that sings : 
 
 Build thee more stately mansions, O my 
 soul, 
 As the swift seasons roll ! 30 
 
 Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
 Let each new temple, nobler than the last. 
 Shut thee from heaven with a dome more 
 vast. 
 Till thou at length art free. 
 Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's un- 
 resting sea! 
 
 (1858) 
 
 THE LIVING TEMPLE 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 [Originally called "The Anatomist's Hymn." 
 It will be seen how the author interprets poet- 
 ically the respiratory and circulatory systems, 
 the muscular and nervous structure, the organs 
 of sight and hearing, and the brain and nerves.] 
 
 Not in the world of light alone. 
 Where God has built his blazing throne. 
 Nor yet alone in earth below. 
 With belted seas that come and go. 
 And endless isles of sunlit green, 
 Is all thy Maker's glory seen : 
 Look in upon thy wondrous frame, — 
 Eternal wisdom still the same ! 
 
 The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves 
 Flows murmuring through its hidden 
 
 caves, 10 
 
 Whose streams of brightening purple 
 
 rush. 
 Fired with a new and livelier blush, 
 While all their burden of decay 
 The ebbing current steals away. 
 And red with Nature's flame they start 
 From the warm fountains of the heart. 
 
 I Triton. A Greek sea-god, with trumpet of 
 shell. 
 
 No Test that throbbing slave may ask, 
 Forever quivering o'er his task. 
 While far and wide a crimson jet 
 Leaps forth to fill the woven net 20 
 
 Which in unnumbered crossing tides 
 The flood of burning life divides. 
 Then, kindling each decaying part. 
 Creeps back to find the throbbing heart. 
 
 But warmed with that unchanging flame 
 Behold the outward moving frame, 
 Its living marbles jointed strong 
 With glistening band and silvery thong, 
 And linked to reason's guiding reins 
 By myriad rings in trembling chains, 30 
 Each graven with the threaded zone 
 Which claims it as the master's own. 
 
 See how yon beam of seeming white 
 Is braided out of seven-hued light, 
 Yet in those lucid globes no ray 
 By any chance shall break astray. 
 Hark how the rolling surge of sound. 
 Arches and spirals circling round. 
 Wakes the hushed spirit through thine 
 
 ear 
 With music it is heaven to hear, 40 
 
 Then mark the cloven sphere that holds 
 All thought in its mysterious folds ; 
 That feels sensation's faintest thrill. 
 And flashes forth the sovereign will; 
 Think on the stormy world that dwells 
 Locked in its dim and clustering cells ! 
 The lightning gleams of power it sheds 
 Along its hollow glassy threads ! 
 
 O Father! grant thy love divine 
 To make these mystic temples thine ! 50 
 When wasting age and wearying strife 
 Have sapped the leaning walls of life, 
 When darkness gathers over all. 
 And the last tottering pillars fall. 
 Take the poor dust thy mercy warms, 
 And mould it into heavenly forms ! 
 
 (1858) 
 
 A SUN-DAY HYMN 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 Lord of all being! throned afar, 
 Thy glory flames from sun and star; 
 Centre and soul of every sphere. 
 Yet to each loving heart how near !
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 327 
 
 Sun of our life, thy quickening ray 
 Sheds on our path the glow of day; 
 Star of our hope, thy softened light 
 Cheers the long watches of the night. 
 
 Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn; 
 Our noontide is thy gracious dawn ; lo 
 Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign; 
 AH, save the clouds of sin, are thine ! 
 
 Lord of all life, below, above. 
 
 Whose light is truth, whose warmth is 
 
 love, 
 Before thy ever-blazing throne 
 We ask no lustre of our own. 
 
 Grant us thy truth to make us free. 
 And kindling hearts that burn for thee, 
 Till all thy living altars claim 
 One holy light, one heavenly flame ! 20 
 
 (1859) 
 
 DRIFTING 
 
 THOMAS BUCHANAN READ 
 
 My soul to-day 
 
 Is far away, 
 Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; 
 
 My winged boat, 
 
 A bird afloat, 
 Swings round the purple peaks remote : — 
 
 Round purple peaks 
 
 It sails, and seeks 
 Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, 
 
 Where high rocks throw, 10 
 
 Through deeps below, 
 A duplicated golden glow. 
 
 Far, vague, and dim. 
 
 The mountains swim ; 
 While on Vesuvius' misty brim, 
 
 With outstretched hands. 
 
 The gray smoke stands 
 O'erlooking the volcanic lands. 
 
 Here Ischial smiles 
 
 O'er liquid miles; 20 
 
 And yonder, bluest of the isles, 
 
 Calm Capri waits. 
 
 Her sapphire gates 
 Beguiling to her bright estates. 
 
 I Ischia. Ischia and Capri (line 22) are islands 
 at the northern and southern horns of the Bay of 
 Naples. 
 
 I heed not, if 
 
 My rippling skiff 
 Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 
 Under the walls of Paradise. 30 
 
 Under the walls 
 
 Where swells and falls 
 The Bay's deep breast at intervals 
 
 At peace I lie. 
 
 Blown softly by, 
 A cloud upon this liquid sky. 
 
 The day, so mild. 
 
 Is Heaven's own child. 
 With Earth and Ocean reconciled; 
 
 The airs I feel 40 
 
 Around me steal 
 Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. 
 
 Over the rail 
 
 My hand I trail 
 Within the shadow of the sail, 
 
 A joy intense, 
 
 The cooling sense 
 Glides down my drowsy indolence. 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 50 
 
 Where Summer sings and never dies, — 
 
 O'erveiled with vines 
 
 She glows and shines 
 Among her future oil and wines. 
 
 Her children, hid 
 
 The cliffs amid. 
 Are gamboling with the gamboling kid; 
 
 Or down the walls, 
 
 With tipsy calls. 
 Laugh on the rock like waterfalls. 60 
 
 The fisher's child. 
 
 With tresses wild. 
 Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, 
 
 With glowing lips 
 
 Sings as she skips. 
 Or gazes at the far-off ships. 
 
 Yon deep bark goes 
 
 Where traffic blows, 
 From lands of sun to lands of snows ; 
 
 This happier one, — 70 
 
 Its course is run 
 From lands of snow to lands of sun.
 
 328 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 O happy ship, 
 
 To rise and dip, 
 With the blue crystal at your lip ! 
 
 O happy crew, 
 
 My heart with you 
 Sails, and sails, and sings anew ! 
 
 No more, no more 
 
 The worldly shore 80 
 
 Upbraids me with its loud uproar : 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 
 Under the walls of Paradise! 
 
 (i860) 
 
 OUR COUNTRY 
 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 On primal rocks she wrote her name, 
 Her towers were reared on holy graves, 
 The golden seed that bore her came 
 Swift-winged with prayer o'er ocean 
 waves. 
 
 The Forest bowed his solemn crest, 
 And open flung his sylvan doors ; 
 Meek Rivers led the appointed Guest 
 To clasp the wide-embracing shores; 
 
 Till, fold by fold, the broidered Land 
 To swell her virgin vestments grew, 10 
 While Sages, strong in heart and hand, 
 Her virtue's fiery girdle drew. 
 
 O Exile of the wrath of Kings! 
 O Pilgrim Ark of Liberty ! 
 The refuge of divinest things. 
 Their record must abide in thee. 
 
 First in the glories of thy front 
 Let the crown jewel Truth be found; 
 Thy right hand fling with generous wont 
 Love's happy chain to furthest bound. 20 
 
 Let Justice with the faultless scales 
 Hold fast the worship of thy sons, 
 Thy commerce spread her shining sails 
 Where no dark tide of rapine runs. 
 
 So link thy ways to those of God, 
 So follow firm the heavenly laws, 
 That stars may greet thee, warrior- 
 browed. 
 And storm-sped angels hail thy cause. 
 
 O Land, the measure of our prayers, 29 
 Hope of the world, in grief and wrong; 
 Be thine the blessing of the years, 
 The gift of faith, the crown of song. 
 
 (1861) 
 
 BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 
 
 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 [Written as a war-song for the Union cause 
 in the Civil War, and set to the tune of "John 
 Brown's Body," a favorite among the soldiers.] 
 
 Mine eyes have seen the glory of the com- 
 ing of the Lord : 
 
 He is trampling out the vintage where 
 the grapes of wrath are stored; 
 
 He hath loosed the fateful lightning of 
 His terrible swift sword: 
 
 His truth is marching on. 
 
 I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a 
 
 hundred circling camps; 
 They have builded Him an altar in the 
 
 evening dews and damps ; 
 I can read His righteous sentence by the 
 
 dim and flaring lamps : 
 
 His day is marching on. 
 
 I have read a fiery gospel, writ in bur- 
 nished rows of steel : 
 
 "As ye deal with My contemners, so with 
 you My grace shall deal ; 10 
 
 Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the 
 serpent with His heell^ 
 
 Since God is marching on." 
 
 He has sounded forth the trumpet that 
 
 shall never call retreat ; 
 He is sifting out the hearts of men before 
 
 His judgment-seat; 
 Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! 
 
 be jubilant, my feet ! 
 
 Our God is marching on. 
 
 In the beauty of the lilies Christ was 
 born across the sea. 
 
 With a glory in His bosom that trans- 
 figures you and me: 
 
 As He died to make men holy, let us die 
 to make men free. 
 
 While God is marching on. 20 
 
 (1862) 
 
 I See Genesis 3:14-15.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 329 
 
 DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER 
 
 GEORGE HENRY BOKER 
 
 [In memory of General Philip Kearny, who 
 fell in battle in the Civil War.] 
 
 Close his eyes ; his work is done ! 
 
 What to him is friend or foeman, 
 Rise of moon, or set of sun, 
 Hand of man, or kiss of woman? 
 Lay him low, lay him low, 
 In the clover or the snow ! 
 What cares he? He cannot know; 
 Lay him low ! 
 
 As man may, he fought his fight. 
 
 Proved his truth by his endeavor; lo 
 Let him sleep in solemn night, 
 Sleep forever and forever. 
 
 Lay him low, lay him low, 
 In the clover or the snow ! 
 What cares he? He cannot know; 
 Lay him low ! 
 
 Fold him in his country's stars, 
 
 Roll the drum and fire the volley? 
 What to him are all our wars, 
 What but death-bemocking folly? 20 
 Lay him low, lay him low, 
 In the clover or the snow ! 
 What cares he? He cannot know; 
 Lay him low ! 
 
 Leave him to God's watching eye; 
 
 Trust him to the hand that made him. 
 Mortal love weeps idly by; 
 
 God alone has power to aid him. 
 Lay him low, lay him low. 
 In the clover or the snow ! 30 
 
 What cares he ? He cannot know ! 
 Lay him low ! 
 
 (1862) 
 
 SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE 
 NOUGHT AVAILETH 
 
 ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Say not the struggle nought availeth. 
 The labor and the wounds are vain, 
 
 The enemy faints not, nor faileth. 
 And as things have been they remain. 
 
 If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 
 
 It may be, in yon smoke concealed, 
 Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, 
 
 And, but for you, possess the field. 
 
 For while the tired waves, vainly break- 
 ing, 
 Seem here no painful inch to gain, 10 
 Far back, through creeks and inlets mak- 
 ing, 
 Comes silent, flooding in, the main.^ 
 
 And not by eastern windows only. 
 
 When daylight comes, comes in the 
 light. 
 
 In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 
 But westward, look, the land is bright. 
 
 (1862) 
 
 UP-HILL 
 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 
 
 Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 
 
 Yes, to the very end. 
 Will the day's journey take the whole 
 long day? 
 
 From morn to night, my friend. 
 
 But is there for the night a resting-place? 
 A roof for when the slow dark hours 
 begin. 
 May not the darkness hide it from my 
 face? 
 You cannot miss that inn. 
 
 Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 
 
 Those who have gone before. 10 
 
 Then must I knock, or call when just in 
 sight? 
 They will not keep you standing at that 
 door. 
 
 Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and 
 weak? 
 Of labor you shall find the sum. 
 Will there be beds for me and all who 
 seek? 
 Yea, beds for all who come. 
 
 (1862) 
 
 SONG 
 
 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 
 
 When I am dead, my dearest. 
 
 Sing no sad songs for me; 
 Plant thou no roses at my head, 
 
 Nor shady cypress-tree : 
 Be the green grass above me 
 
 With showers and dewdrops wet; 
 And if thou wilt, remember, 
 
 And if thou wilt, forget. 
 
 I main. Ocean.
 
 330 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 I shall not see the shadows, 
 
 I shall not feel the rain; 10 
 
 I shall not hear the nightingale 
 
 Sing on as if in pain: 
 And dreaming through the twilight 
 
 That doth not rise nor set, 
 Haply I may remember, 
 
 And haply may forget. 
 
 (1862) 
 
 YOUNG AND OLD 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY 
 
 When all the world is young, lad. 
 
 And all the trees are green, 
 And every goose a swan, lad. 
 
 And every lass a queen ; 
 Then hey for boot and horse, lad. 
 
 And round the world away ! 
 Young blood must have its course, lad. 
 
 And every dog his day. 
 
 When all the world is old, lad. 
 
 And all the trees are brown ; 10 
 
 And all the sport is stale, lad. 
 
 And all the wheels run down ; 
 Creep home, and take your place there, 
 
 The spent and maimed among: 
 God grant you find one face there 
 
 You loved when all was young. 
 
 (1863) 
 
 SONGS OF SEVEN 
 
 JEAN INGELOW 
 
 Seven Times One 
 
 There's no dew left on the daisies and 
 clover. 
 There's no rain left in heaven; 
 I've said my "seven times" over and 
 over, — 
 Seven times one are seven. 
 
 I am old, so old, I can write a letter; 
 
 My birthday lessons are done; 
 The lambs play always, they know no 
 
 better, — 
 They are only one times one. 
 
 O moon ! in the night I have seen you 
 sailing 
 And shining so round and low; 10 
 
 You were bright ! ah, bright ! but your 
 light is failing, — 
 You are nothing now but a bow. 
 
 You moon, have you done something 
 wrong in heaven 
 That God has hidden your face? 
 I hope if you have you will soon be for- 
 given. 
 And shine again in your place. 
 
 O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow, 
 You've powdered your legs with gold ! 
 
 O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yel- 
 low, 
 Give me your money to hold ! 20 
 
 O columbine, open your folded wrapper. 
 Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! 
 
 cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper 
 That hangs in your clear green bell ! 
 
 And show me your nest with the young 
 ones in it, — 
 I will not steal them away; 
 
 1 am old ! you may trust me, linnet, 
 
 linnet — 
 I am seven times one to-day. 
 
 Seven Times Two 
 
 You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out 
 your changes. 
 How many soever they be, 30 
 
 And let the brown meadow-lark's note as 
 he ranges 
 Come over, come over to tae. 
 
 Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by 
 swelling 
 No magical sense conveys. 
 And bells have forgotten their old art of 
 telling 
 The fortune of future days. 
 
 "Turn again, turn again," once they rang 
 cheerily, 
 While a boy listened alone; 
 Made his heart yearn again, musing so 
 wearily 
 All by himself on a stone. 40 
 
 Poor bells ! I forgive you ; your good 
 days are over, 
 And mine, they are yet to be; 
 No listening, no longing shall aught, 
 aught discover, — 
 You leave the story to me.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 331 
 
 The foxglove shoots out of the green 
 matted heather, 
 Preparing her hoods of snow; 
 She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny 
 weather : 
 Oh, children take long to grow. 
 
 I wish and I wish that the spring would 
 go faster, 
 Nor long summer bide so late, 50 
 
 And I could go on like the foxglove and 
 aster. 
 For some things are ill to wait. 
 
 I wait for the day when dear hearts shall 
 discover, 
 While dear hands are laid on my 
 head, — 
 "The child is a woman, the book may 
 close over. 
 For all the lessons are said." 
 
 I wait for my story — the birds cp.nnot 
 sing it, 
 Not one, as he sits on the tree ; 
 The bells cannot ring it, but long years 
 O bring it! 
 Such as I wish it to be. 60 
 
 (1863) 
 
 BOSTON HYMN 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 
 [Emerson read this poem at a meeting held 
 in Music Hall, Boston, on January 1, 1863, in 
 celebration of President Lincoln's Proclamation 
 of Emancipation.] 
 
 The word of the Lord by night 
 To the watching Pilgrims came, 
 As they sat by the seaside, 
 And filled their hearts with flame. 
 
 God said, I am tired of kings, 
 I suffer them no more ; 
 Up to my ear the morning brings 
 The outrage of the poor. 
 
 Think ye I made this ball 
 A field of havoc and war, 10 
 
 Where tyrants great and tyrants small 
 Might harry the weak and poor? 
 
 My angel, — his name is Freedom, — 
 Choose him to be your king; 
 He shall cut pathways east and west 
 And fend you with his wing. 
 
 Lo ! I uncover the land 
 Which I hid of old time in the West, 
 As the sculptor uncovers the statue 
 When he has wrought his best; 20 
 
 I show Columbia, of the rocks 
 Which dip their foot in the seas, 
 And soar to the air-borne flocks 
 Of clouds, and the boreaU fleece. 
 
 I will divide my goods ; 
 Call in the wf etch and slave : 
 None shall rule but the humble, 
 And none but Toil shall have. 
 
 I will have never a noble. 
 No lineage counted great ; 30 
 
 Fishers and choppers and ploughmen 
 Shall constitute a state. 
 
 Go, cut down trees in the forest 
 And trim the straightest boughs; 
 Cut down trees in the forest 
 And build me a wooden house. 
 
 Call the people together. 
 The young men and the sires. 
 The digger in the harvest field, 
 Hireling and him that hires ; 
 
 40 
 
 And here in a pine state-house 
 They shall choose men to rule 
 In every needful faculty. 
 In church and state and school. 
 
 Lo, now! if these poor men 
 Can govern the land and sea. 
 And make just laws below the sun. 
 As planets faithful be. 
 
 And ye shall succor men ; 
 
 'Tis nobleness to serve : 
 
 Help them who cannot help again : 
 
 Beware from right to swerve. 
 
 I break your bonds and masterships, 
 And I unchain the slave : 
 Free be his heart and hand henceforth 
 As wind and wandering wave. 
 
 I cause from every creature 
 His proper good to flow : 
 As much as he is and doeth. 
 So much he shall bestow. 
 I boreal. Northern. 
 
 50 
 
 60
 
 332 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But, laying hands on another 
 To coin his labor and sweat, 
 He goes in pawn to his victim 
 For eternal years in debt. 
 
 To-day unbind the captive, 
 So only are ye unbound ; 
 Lift up a people from the dust, 
 Trump of their rescue, sound ! 
 
 Pay ransom to the owner. 
 And fill the bag to the brim. 70 
 
 Who is the owner? The slave is owner, 
 And ever was. Pay him. 
 
 O North ! give him beauty for rags, 
 And honor, O South! for his shame; 
 Nevada ! coin thy golden crags 
 With Freedom's image and name. 
 
 Up ! and the dusky race 
 
 That sat in darkness long, — 
 
 Be swift their feet as antelopes, 
 
 And as behemoth strong. 80 
 
 Come, East and West and North, 
 By races, as snow-flakes, 
 And carry my purpose forth, 
 Which neither halts nor shakes. 
 
 My will fulfilled shall be. 
 For, in daylight or in dark. 
 My thunderbolt has eyes to see 
 His way home to the mark. 
 
 (1863) 
 
 RABBI BEN EZRA 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [In this monologue Browning puts his own 
 philosophy of life, especially that concerning the 
 flevelopment of the soul from youth to age. into 
 the mouth of a rabbi who actually Uvea and 
 taught in the 12th century; his name appears 
 as Ibn Ezra or Abenezra. From certain of his 
 writings Browning was led to associate with him 
 the thoughts here developed; for example, he 
 had said, "Man has the sole privilege of becom- 
 ing superior to the beast and the fowl" (com- 
 pare stanzas 4 and 5), and again, ''The soul of 
 man is called lonely because it is separated 
 during its union with the body from the uni- 
 versal soul" (compare line 48, etc.).] 
 
 Grow old along with me! 
 
 The best is yet to be. 
 
 The last of life, for which the first was 
 
 made : 
 Our times are in his hand 
 Who saith, "A whole I planned. 
 Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, 
 
 nor be afraid!" 
 
 Not that, amassing flowers, 
 Youth sighed, "Which rose make ours, 
 Which lily leave and then as best re- 
 call?" 
 Not that, admiring stars, lO 
 
 It yearned, "Nor Jove,^ nor Mars ; 
 Mine be some figured flame which blends, 
 transcends them all I" 
 
 Not for such hopes and fears, 
 Annulling youth's brief years, 
 Do I remonstrate : folly wide the mark ! 
 Rather I prize the doubt 
 Low kinds exist without, 
 Finished and finite clods, untroubled by 
 a spark. 
 
 Poor vaunt of life indeed. 
 Were man but formed to feed 20 
 
 On joy, to solely seek and find and feast : 
 Such feasting ended, then 
 As sure an end to men : 
 Irks care2 the crop-full bird? Frets 
 doubt the maw-crammed beast? 
 
 Rejoice we are allied 
 To That which doth provide 
 And not partake, effect and not receive ! 
 A spark disturbs our clod; 
 Nearer we hold of^ God 
 Who gives, than of His tribes that take, 
 I must believe. 30 
 
 Then, welcome each rebuff 
 
 That turns earth's smoothness rough, 
 
 Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but 
 
 go! 
 Be our joys three-parts pain! 
 Strive, and hold cheap the strain ; 
 Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never 
 
 grudge the throe! 
 
 For thence, — a paradox 
 Which comforts while it mocks, — 
 Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail : 
 What I aspired to be, 40 
 
 And was not, comforts me: 
 A brute I might have been, but would 
 not sink i' the scale. 
 
 What is he but a brute 
 Whose flesh has soul to suit. 
 
 I Jove. Jupiter. 
 
 a Irks care. Does care disturb. 
 
 3 hold of. Are related to.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 333 
 
 Whose spirit works lest arms and legs 
 
 want play? 
 To man, propose this test — 
 Thy body at its best, 
 How far can that project thy soul on its 
 
 lone way? 
 
 Yet gifts should prove their use : 
 
 I own the Past profuse 50 
 
 Of power each side, perfection every 
 
 turn : 
 Eyes, ears took in their dole. 
 Brain treasured up the whole ; 
 Should not the heart beat once "How 
 
 good to live and. learn"? 
 
 Not once beat "Praise be thine! 
 
 I see the whole design, 
 
 I, who saw power, see now Love perfect 
 
 too; 
 Perfect I call thy plan : 
 Thanks that I was a man! 
 Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what 
 
 thou shalt do!" 60 
 
 For pleasant is this flesh ; 
 Our soul, in its rose-mesh 
 Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for 
 
 rest: 
 Would we some prize might hold 
 To match those manifold 
 Possessions of the brute, — gain most, as 
 
 we did best ! 
 
 Let us not always say, 
 
 "Spite of this flesh to-day 
 
 I strove, made head, gained ground upon 
 
 the whole !" 
 As the bird wings and sings, 70 
 
 Let us cry, "All good things 
 Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, 
 
 than flesh helps soul !" 
 
 Therefore I summon age 
 
 To grant youth's heritage, 
 
 Life's struggle having so far reached its 
 
 term :^ 
 Thence shall I pass, approved 
 A man, for aye removed 
 From the developed brute; a God though 
 
 in the germ. 
 
 And I shall thereupon 
 Take rest, ere I be gone 80 
 
 Once more on my adventure brave and 
 new : 
 
 I term. End. 
 
 Fearless and unperplexed, 
 When I wage battle next, 
 What weapons to select, what armor to 
 indue.2 
 
 Youth ended, I shall try 
 My gain or loss thereby; 
 Leave the fire ashes, what survives is 
 
 gold : 
 And I shall weigh the same, 
 Give life its praise or blame : 
 Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, 
 
 being old. go 
 
 For note, when evening shuts, 
 
 A certain moment cuts 
 
 The deed off, calls the glory from the 
 gray: 
 
 A whisper from the west 
 
 Shoots — "Add this to the rest, 
 
 Take it and try its worth: here dies an- 
 other day." 
 
 So, still within this life. 
 
 Though lifted o'er its strife. 
 
 Let me discern, compare, pronounce at 
 
 last, 
 "This rage was right i' the main, 100 
 
 That acquiescence vain : 
 The Future I may face, now I have 
 
 proved the Past." 
 
 For more is not reserved 
 To man, with soul just nerved 
 To act to-morrow what he learns to-day : 
 Here, work enough to watch 
 The Master work, and catch 
 Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the 
 tool's true play. 
 
 As it was better,3 youth 
 
 Should strive, through acts uncouth, no 
 
 Toward making, than repose on aught 
 
 found made : 
 So, better, age, exempt 
 From strife, should know, than tempt 
 Further. Thou waitedst age : wait death 
 
 nor be afraid ! 
 
 Enough now, if the Right 
 
 And Good and Infinite 
 
 Be named here, as thou callest thy hand 
 
 thine own. 
 With knowledge absolute. 
 Subject to no dispute 
 From fools that crowded youth, nor let 
 
 thee feel alone. 120 
 
 a indue. Put on. 
 
 3 better. Note that the comma after this word, 
 both here and in 112, represents an omitted "that."
 
 334 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Be there, for once and all, 
 Severed great minds from small, 
 Announced to each his station in the Past ! 
 Was 1,1 the world arraigned, 
 Were they, my soul disdained, 
 Right? Let age speak the truth and give 
 us peace at last! 
 
 Now, who shall arbitrate? 
 
 Ten men love what I hate, 
 
 Shun what I follow, slight what I re- 
 ceive ; 
 
 Ten, who in ears and eyes 130 
 
 Match me; we all surmise, 
 
 They this thing, and I that : whom shall 
 my soul believe? 
 
 Not on the vulgar mass 
 
 Called "work" must sentence pass, 
 
 Things done, that took the eye and had 
 
 the price; 
 O'er which, from level stand, 
 The low world laid its hand, 
 Found straightway to its mind, could 
 
 value in a trice : 
 
 But all,2 the world's coarse thumb 
 And finger failed to plumb, 140 
 
 So passed in making up the main account ; 
 All instincts immature, 
 All purposes unsure, 
 
 That weighed not as his work, yet swelled 
 the man's amount : 
 
 Thoughts hardly to be packed 
 
 Into a narrow act, 
 
 Fancies that broke through language and 
 
 escaped ; 
 All I could never be, 
 All, men ignored in me, 
 This I was worth to God, whose wheel 
 
 the pitcher shaped. 150 
 
 Ay, note that Potter's wheel. 
 
 That metaphor ! and feel 
 
 Why time spins fast, why passive lies our 
 
 clay, — 
 Thou, to whom fools propound. 
 When the wine makes its round, 
 "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past 
 
 gone, seize to-day !" 
 
 Fool ! All that is, at all. 
 Lasts ever, past recall ; 
 
 1 /. Here, and in the following line, the comma 
 represents an omitted "whom." 
 
 2 all. Here, and in line 149, "that" is omitted. 
 
 Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand 
 
 sure: 
 What entered into thee, 160 
 
 That was, is, and shall be : 
 Time's wheel runs back or stops : Potter 
 
 and clay endure. 
 
 He fixed thee 'mid this dance 
 
 Of plastic^ circumstance. 
 
 This Present, thou, forsooth, would fain 
 
 arrest : 
 Machinery just meant 
 To give thy soul its bent, 
 Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently 
 
 impressed.* 
 
 What though the earlier grooves, 
 Which ran the laughing loves'* 170 
 
 Around thy base, no longer pause and 
 
 press? 
 What though, about thy rim. 
 Skull-things in order grim 
 Grow out, in graver mood, obey the 
 
 sterner stress? 
 
 Look not thou down but up ! 
 
 To uses of a cup. 
 
 The festal board, lamp's flash and trum- 
 pet's peal. 
 
 The new wine's foaming flow, 
 
 The Master's lips aglow ! 
 
 Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what 
 needst thou with earth's wheel? 180 
 
 But I need, now as then. 
 
 Thee, God, who mouldest men ; 
 
 And since, not even while the whirl was 
 
 worst. 
 Did I — to the wheel of life 
 With shapes and colors rife. 
 Bound dizzily — mistake my end, to slake 
 
 thy thirst : 
 
 So, take and use thy work ! 
 
 Amend what flaws may lurk, 
 
 What strain o' the stuffs, what warpings 
 past the aim ! 
 
 My times be in thy hand ! 190 
 
 Perfect the cup as planned ! 
 
 Let age approve of youth, and death com- 
 plete the same ! 
 
 (1864) 
 
 3 plastic. Formative. 
 
 4 impressed. Moulded. 
 
 5 loves. Cupids.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 335 
 
 PROSPICE 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [The title means "Look forward." The poem 
 was written shortly after the death of Mrs. 
 Browning, to whom the conclusion is addressed.] 
 
 Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat, 
 
 The mist in my face, 
 When the snows begin, and the blasts 
 denote 
 I am nearing the place, 
 The power of the night, the press of the 
 storm. 
 The post of the foe; 
 Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a vis- 
 ible form, 
 Yet the strong man must go : 
 For the journey is done and the summit 
 attained, 
 And the barriers fall, lo 
 
 Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon 
 be gained. 
 The reward of it all. 
 I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more, 
 
 The best and the last ! 
 I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, 
 and forbore. 
 And bade me creep past. 
 No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like 
 my peers 
 The heroes of old, 
 Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's 
 arrears 
 Of pain, darkness and cold. 20 
 
 For sudden the worst turns the best to the 
 brave, 
 The black minute's at end, 
 And the elements* rage, the fiend-voices 
 that rave, 
 Shall dwindle, shall blend. 
 Shall change, shall become first a peace 
 out of pain. 
 Then a light, then thy breast, 
 O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp 
 thee again. 
 And with God be the rest 1 
 
 O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 
 
 WALT WHITMAN 
 
 [On the death of Lincoln at the conclusion of 
 the Civil War.] 
 
 O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip 
 
 is done, 
 The ship has weather'd every rack, the 
 
 prize we sought is won, 
 The port is near, the bells I hear, the 
 
 people all exulting. 
 While follow eyes the steady keel, the 
 vessel grim and daring; 
 But O heart ! heart ! heart ! 
 O the bleeding drops of red. 
 Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
 O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear 
 
 the bells : 
 Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for 
 you the bugle trills, lo 
 
 For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — 
 
 for you the shores a-crowding, 
 For you they call, the swaying mass, their 
 eager faces turning; 
 Here Captain! dear father! 
 This arm beneath your head! 
 
 It is some dream that on the deck 
 You've fallen cold and dead. 
 
 My Captain does not answer, his lips are 
 
 pale and still. 
 My father does not feel my arm, he has 
 
 no pulse nor will; 
 The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its 
 
 voyage closed and done, 
 From fearful trip the victor ship comes 
 in with object won ; 20 
 
 Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! 
 But I with mournful tread 
 
 Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
 (1864) 
 
 (1865)
 
 336 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 ODE RECITED AT THE HARVARD 
 COMMEMORATION 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 [This poem was read at a commemoration 
 service in honor of Harvard men who had fallen 
 in the Civil War, July 21, 1865, and was pub- 
 lished in the Atlantic Monthly in September.] 
 
 Weak-winged is song, 
 Nor aims at that clear-ethered height 
 Whither the brave deed climbs for 
 light : 
 We seem to do them wrong, 
 Bringing our robin's-leaf^ to deck their 
 
 hearse 
 Who in warm life-blood wrote their no- 
 bler verse, 
 Our trivial song to honor those who come 
 With ears attuned to strenuous trump and 
 
 drum. 
 And shaped in squadron-strophes their 
 
 desire, 
 Live battle-odes whose lines were steel 
 and fire : lo 
 
 Yet sometimes feathered words are 
 strong, 
 A gracious memory to buoy up and save 
 From Lethe's^ dreamless ooz^ the com- 
 mon grave 
 Of the unventurous throng. 
 
 II 
 To-day our Reverend Mother welcomes 
 back 
 Her wisest Scholars, those who under- 
 stood 
 The deeper teaching of her mystic tome, 
 And offered their fresh lives to make 
 it good : 
 No lore of Greece or Rome, 
 No science peddling with the names of 
 things, 20 
 
 Or reading stars to find inglorious fates, 
 
 Can lift our life with wings 
 Far from Death's idle gulf that for the 
 many waits. 
 And lengthen out our dates 
 With that clear fame whose memory sings 
 In manly hearts to come, and nerves them 
 
 and dilates : 
 Nor such thy teaching. Mother of us all ! 
 Not such the trumpet-call 
 Of thy diviner mood. 
 That could thy sons entice 30 
 
 I rohin's-leaf. Like those brought by the robins 
 to cover the "babes in the wood." 
 a Lethe. The river of forgetfulness. 
 
 From happy homes and toils, the fruitful 
 
 nest 
 Of those half-virtues which the world 
 calls best. 
 Into War's tumult rude; 
 But rather far that stern device 
 The sponsors chose that round thy cradle 
 stood 
 In the dim, unventured wood. 
 The Veritas^ that lurks beneath 
 The letter's unprolific sheath. 
 Life of whate'er makes life worth liv- 
 ing, 
 Seed-grain of high emprise, immortal 
 food, 40 
 
 One heavenly thing whereof earth hath 
 the giving. 
 
 Ill 
 Many loved Truth, and lavished life's best 
 
 oil 
 Amid the dust of books to find her. 
 Content at last, for guerdon of their toil, 
 With the cast mantle she hath left be- 
 hind her. 
 Many in sad faith sought for her. 
 Many with crossed hands sighed for 
 
 her; 
 But these, our brothers, fought for 
 
 her, 
 At life's dear peril wrought for her, 
 So loved her that they died for her, 
 Tasting the raptured fleetness 51 
 
 Of her divine completeness: 
 Their higher instinct knew 
 Those love her best who to themselves 
 
 are true. 
 And what they dare to dream of, dare 
 to do; 
 They followed her and found her 
 Where all may hope to find, 
 Not in the ashes of the burnt-out mind, 
 But beautiful, with danger's sweetness 
 round her. 
 Where faith made whole with deed 60 
 Breathes its awakening breath 
 Into the lifeless creed. 
 They saw her plumed and mailed, 
 With sweet, stern face unveiled. 
 And all-repaying eyes, look proud on 
 them in death. 
 
 IV 
 
 Our slender life runs rippling by, and 
 glides 
 Into the silent hollow of the past; 
 What is there that abides 
 
 3 Veritas, Truth, — the Harvard motto.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 337 
 
 To make the next age better for the 
 last? 
 Is earth too poor to give us 70 
 
 Something to live for here that shall 
 outlive us? 
 Some more substantial boon 
 Than such as flows and ebbs with For- 
 tune's fickle moon? 
 The little that we see 
 From doubt is never free; 
 The little that we do 
 Is but half-nobly true; 
 With our laborious hiving 
 What men call treasure, and the gods call 
 dross, 79 
 
 Life seems a jest of Fate's contriving, 
 Only secure in every one's conniving, 
 A long account of nothings paid with loss. 
 Where we poor puppets, jerked by unseen 
 wires. 
 After our little hour of strut and rave, 
 With all our pasteboard passions and de- 
 sires, 
 Loves, hates, ambitions, and immortal fires. 
 Are tossed pell-mell together in the 
 
 grave. 
 But stay! no age was e'er degenerate, 
 Unless men held it at too cheap a rate. 
 For in our likeness still we shape our 
 fate. 90 
 
 Ah, there is something here 
 Unfathomed by the cynic's sneer. 
 Something that gives our feeble light 
 A high immunity from Night, 
 Something that leaps life's narrow bars 
 To claim its birthright with the hosts of 
 heaven; 
 A seed of sunshine that can leaven 
 Our earthy dulness with the beams of 
 stars. 
 And glorify our clay 
 With light from fountains elder than the 
 Day; lOO 
 
 A conscience more divine than we, 
 A gladness fed with secret tears, 
 A vexing, forward-reaching sense 
 Of some more noble permanence; 
 
 A light across the sea. 
 Which haunts the sou! and will not let 
 it be. 
 Still beaconing from the heights of un- 
 degenerate years. 
 
 W^hither leads the path 
 To ampler fates that leads? 
 Not down through flowery meads, 110 
 
 To reap an aftermath 
 
 Of youth's vainglorious weeds; 
 But up the steep, amid the wrath 
 And shock of deadly hostile creeds. 
 Where the world's best hope and stay 
 By battle's flashes gropes a desperate way. 
 And every turf the fierce foot clings to 
 bleeds. 
 Peace hath her not ignoble wreath, 
 Ere yet the sharp, decisive word 
 Light the black lips of cannon, and the 
 sword 120 
 
 Dreams in its easeful sheath ; 
 But some day the live coal behind the 
 thought, 
 Whether from Baal's stone obscene, 
 Or from the shrine serene 
 Of God's pure altar brought, 
 Bursts up in flame; the war of tongue 
 
 and pen 
 Learns with what deadly purpose it was 
 
 fraught. 
 And, helpless in the fiery passion caught. 
 Shakes all the pillared state with shock 
 of men : 129 
 
 Some day the soft Ideal that we wooed 
 Confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, 
 And cries reproachful: "Was it, then, my 
 
 praise, 
 And not myself was loved? Prove now 
 
 thy truth; 
 I claim of thee the promise of thy youth ; 
 Give me thy life, or cower in empty 
 
 phrase, 
 The victim of thy genius, not its mate !" 
 Life may be given in many ways, 
 And loyalty to Truth be sealed 
 As bravely in the closet as the field, 
 So bountiful is Fate; 140 
 
 But then to stand beside her, 
 When craven churls deride her, 
 To front a lie in arms and not to yield. 
 This shows, methinks, God's plan 
 And measure of a stalwart man, 
 Limbed like the old heroic breeds, 
 Who stands self-poised on manhood's 
 
 solid earth. 
 Not forced to frame excuses for his 
 birth. 
 Fed from within with all the strength he 
 needs. 
 
 VI 
 
 Such was he. our Martyr-Chief, 1 50 
 
 Whom late the Nation he had led. 
 With ashes on her head. 
 
 Wept with the passion of an angry grief:
 
 338 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Forgive me, if from present things I turn 
 To speak what in my heart will beat and 
 
 burn, 
 And hang my wreath on his world-hon- 
 ored urn. 
 Nature, they say, doth dote. 
 And cannot make a man 
 Save on some worn-out plan, 
 Repeating us by rote : l6o 
 
 For him her Old-World moulds aside she 
 threw. 
 And, choosing sweet clay from the 
 breast 
 Of the unexhausted West, 
 With stuff untainted shaped a hero new, 
 Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, 
 and true. 
 How beautiful to see 
 Once more a shepherd of mankind in- 
 deed. 
 Who loved his charge, but never loved to 
 
 lead ; 
 One whose meek flock the people joyed 
 to be. 
 Not lured by any cheat of birth, 170 
 
 But by his clear-grained human worth. 
 And brave old wisdom of sincerity ! 
 They knew that outward grace is dust; 
 They could not choose but trust 
 In that sure - footed mind's unfaltering 
 skill, 
 And supple-tempered will 
 That bent like perfect steel to spring 
 again and thrust. 
 His was no lonely mountan-peak of 
 
 mind, 
 Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy 
 
 bars, 
 A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors 
 blind; 180 
 
 Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined. 
 Fruitful and friendly for all human- 
 kind. 
 Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loft- 
 iest stars. 
 Nothing of Europe here. 
 Or, then, of Europe fronting morn-ward 
 still. 
 Ere any names of Serf and Peer 
 Could Nature's equal scheme deface 
 
 And thwart her genial will; 
 Here was a type of the true elder 
 race. 
 And one of Plutarch's men^ talked with 
 us face to face. 190 
 
 I A man like one of the old-world heroes cele- 
 brated by Plutarch in his Lives. 
 
 I praise him not; it were too late; 
 And some innative weakness there must 
 
 be 
 In him who condescends to victory 
 Such as the Present gives, and cannot 
 wait. 
 Safe in himself as in a fate. 
 So always firmly he : 
 He knew to bide his time. 
 And can his fame abide. 
 Still patient in his simple faith sublime. 
 Till the wise years decide. 200 
 
 Great captains, with their guns and 
 drums, 
 Disturb our judgment for the hour. 
 But at last silence comes; 
 These all are gone, and, standing like 
 
 a tower, 
 Our children shall behold his fame. 
 The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing 
 man. 
 Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not 
 blame. 
 New birth of our new soil, the first 
 American. 
 
 VII 
 
 Long as man's hope insatiate can dis- 
 cern 
 Or only guess some more inspiring 
 goal 210 
 
 Outside of Self, enduring as the pole, 
 Along whose course the flying axles 
 
 burn 
 Of spirits bravely-pitched, earth's man- 
 lier brood; 
 Long as below we cannot find 
 The meed that stills the inexorable 
 
 mind; 
 So long this faith to some ideal Good, 
 Under whatever mortal name it masks. 
 Freedom, Law, Country, this ethereal 
 mood 
 That thanks the Fates for their severer 
 tasks. 
 Feeling its challenged pulses leap, 220 
 While others skulk in subterfuges cheap. 
 And, set in Danger's van, has all the boon 
 it asks, 
 Shall win man's praise and woman's 
 
 love. 
 Shall be a wisdom that we set above 
 All other skills and gifts to culture dear, 
 A virtue round whose forehead we en- 
 wreathe 
 Laurels that with a living passion 
 breathe
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 339 
 
 When other crowns grow, while we twine 
 them, sear. 
 What brings us thronging these high 
 rites to pay, 
 And seal these hours the noblest of our 
 year, 230 
 
 Save that our brothers found this bet- 
 ter way? 
 
 VIII 
 
 We sit here in the Promised Land 
 That flows with Freedom's honey and 
 milk; 
 But 'twas they won it, sword in hand, 
 Making the nettle danger soft for us as 
 silk. 
 We welcome back our bravest and our 
 
 best ; — 
 Ah me ! not all ! some come not with the 
 rest. 
 Who went forth brave and bright as any 
 
 here! 
 I strive to mix some gladness with my 
 strain, 
 But the sad strings complain, 240 
 
 And will not please the ear: 
 I sweep them for a paean, but they wane 
 
 Again and yet again 
 Into a dirge, and die away in pain. 
 In these brave ranks I only see the gaps. 
 Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb 
 
 turf wraps. 
 Dark to the triumph which they died to 
 gain: 
 Fitlier may others greet the living, 
 For me the past is unforgiving; 
 I with uncovered head 250 
 
 Salute the sacred dead, 
 Who went, and who return not. — Say 
 
 not so ! 
 'Tis not the grapes of Canaan^ that 
 
 repay. 
 But the high faith that failed not by 
 the way; 
 Virtue treads paths that end not in the 
 
 grave ; 
 No bar of endless night exiles the brave; 
 
 And to the saner mind 
 We rather seem the dead that stayed be- 
 hind. 
 Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow ! 
 For never shall their aureoled presence 
 lack :2 260 
 
 I see them muster in a gleaming row. 
 With ever-youthful brows that nobler 
 show; 
 
 1 grapes of Canaan. See Numbers 13:23. 
 
 2 lack. Be missing. 
 
 We find in our dull road their shining 
 track ; 
 In every nobler mood 
 We feel the orient of their spirit glow, 
 Part of our life's unalterable good, 
 Of all our saintlier aspiration; 
 
 They come transfigured back. 
 Secure from change in their high-hearted 
 
 ways. 
 Beautiful evermore, and with the rays 
 Of morn on their white Shields of Ex- 
 
 271 
 
 pectation ! 
 
 IX 
 
 But IS there hope to save 
 Even this ethereal essence from the 
 
 grave ? 
 What ever 'scaped Oblivion's subtle 
 wrong 
 Save a few clarion names, or golden 
 threads of song? 
 Before my musing eye 
 The mighty ones of old sweep by, 
 Disvoiced now and insubstantial things, 
 As noisy once as we; poor ghosts of 
 
 kings, 
 Shadows of empire wholly gone to 
 dust, 280 
 
 And many races, nameless long ago. 
 To darkness driven by that imperious 
 
 gust 
 Of ever-rushing Time that here doth 
 
 blow: 
 O visionary world, condition strange. 
 Where naught abiding is but only Change, 
 Where the deep-bolted stars themselves 
 still shift and range ! 
 Shall we to more continuance make 
 pretence? 
 Renown builds tombs; a life-estate is Wit; 
 
 And, bit by bit. 
 The cunning years steal all from us but 
 woe : 290 
 
 Leaves are we, whose decays no har- 
 vest sow. 
 But, when we vanish hence. 
 Shall they lie forceless in the dark be- 
 low. 
 Save to make green their little length of 
 
 sods, 
 Or deepen pansies for a year or two, 
 Who now to us are shining-sweet as 
 
 gods? 
 Was dying all they had the skill to do? 
 That were not fruitless : but the Soul 
 
 resents 
 Such short-lived service, as if blind 
 events
 
 340 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Ruled without her, or earth could so 
 endure ; 300 
 
 She claims a more divine investiture 
 Of longer tenure than Fame's airy 
 
 rents ; 
 Whate'er she touches doth her nature 
 
 share ; 
 Her inspiration haunts the ennobled 
 air, 
 Gives eyes to mountains blind, 
 Ears to the deaf earth, voices to the 
 
 wind, 
 And her clear trump sings succor every- 
 where 
 By lonely bivouacs to the wakeful mind ; 
 For soul inherits all that soul could 
 dare: 
 
 Yea, Manhood hath a wider span 310 
 And larger privilege of life than man. 
 The single deed, the private sacrifice, 
 So radiant now through proudly-hidden 
 
 tears. 
 Is covered up ere long from mortal eyes 
 With thoughtless drift of the deciduous 
 
 years ; 
 But that high privilege that makes all 
 
 men peers. 
 That leap of heart whereby a people 
 rise 
 Up to a noble anger's height. 
 And, flamed on by the Fates, not shrink, 
 but grow more bright, 
 That swift validity in noble veins, 320 
 Of choosing danger and disdaining 
 shame. 
 Of being set on flame 
 By the pure fire that flies all contact 
 base, 
 But wraps its chosen with angelic might, 
 These are imperishable gains. 
 Sure as the sun, medicinal as light. 
 These hold great futures in their lusty 
 reins 
 And certify to earth a new imperial race. 
 
 Who now shall sneer? 
 Who dare again to say we trace 330 
 Our lines to a plebeian race? 
 Roundhead and Cavalier ! 
 Dumb are those names erewhile in battle 
 
 loud; 
 Dream- footed as the shadow of a cloud, 
 
 They flit across the ear: 
 That is best blood that hath most iron 
 
 in't. 
 To edge resolve with, pouring without 
 stint 
 
 For what makes manhood dear. 
 Tell us not of Plantagenets, 
 Hapsburgs, and Guelfs,i whose thin 
 bloods crawl 340 
 
 Down from some victor in a border- 
 brawl ! 
 How poor their outworn coronets. 
 Matched with one leaf of that plain civic 
 
 wreath 
 Our brave for honor's blazon shall be- 
 queath. 
 Through whose desert a rescued Nation 
 sets 
 Her heel on treason, and the trumpet 
 
 hears 
 Shout victory, tingling Europe's sullen 
 ears 
 With vain resentments and more vain 
 regrets ! 
 
 XI 
 
 Not in anger, not in pride. 
 Pure from passion's mixture rude, 
 Ever to base earth allied, 351 
 
 But with far-heard gratitude. 
 Still with heart and voice renewed. 
 To heroes living and dear martyrs dead, 
 The strain should close that consecrates 
 our brave. 
 Lift the heart and lift the head! 
 Lofty be its mood and grave, 
 Not without a martial ring. 
 Not without a prouder tread 
 And a peal of exultation : 360 
 
 Little right has he to sing 
 Through whose heart in such an hour 
 Beats no march of conscious power, 
 Sweeps no tumult of elation ! 
 'Tis no Man we celebrate, 
 By his country's victories great, 
 A hero half, and half the whim of Fate, 
 But the pith and marrow of a Nation 
 Drawing force from all her men. 
 Highest, humblest, weakest, all, 370 
 For her time of need, and then 
 Pulsing it again through them. 
 Till the basest can no longer cower, 
 Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall. 
 Touched but in passing by her mantle- 
 hem. 
 Come back, then, noble pride, for 'tis her 
 dower ! 
 How could poet ever tower, 
 If his passions, hopes, and fears. 
 If his triumphs and his tears, 
 Kept not measure with his people? 
 I The royal families of Europe.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 341 
 
 Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and 
 
 waves ! 381 
 
 Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking 
 
 steeple ! 
 Banners, advance with triumph, bend 
 
 your staves ! 
 And from every mountain-peak 
 Let beacon - fire to answering beacon 
 
 speak, 
 Katahdin tell Monadnock, White facei 
 
 he, 
 And so leap on in light from sea to sea, 
 
 Till the glad news be sent 
 
 Across a kindling continent, 
 Making earth feel more firm and air 
 
 breathe braver : 390 
 
 "Be proud ! for she is saved, and all have 
 
 helped to save her ! 
 She that lifts up the manhood of the 
 
 poor, 
 She of the open soul and open door. 
 With room about her hearth for all 
 
 mankind ! 
 The fire is dreadful in her eyes no 
 
 more; 
 From her bold front the helm she doth 
 
 unbind, 
 Sends all her handmaid armies back to 
 
 spin. 
 And bids her navies, that so lately 
 
 hurled 
 Their crashing battle, hold their thun- 
 ders in. 
 Swimming like birds of calm along the 
 
 unharmful shore. 400 
 
 No challenge sends she to the elder 
 
 world, 
 That looked askance and hated ; a light 
 
 scorn 
 Plays o'er her mouth, as round her 
 
 mighty knees 
 She calls her children back, and waits 
 
 the morn 
 Of nobler day, enthroned between her 
 
 subject seas." 
 
 XII 
 
 Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast 
 found release ! 
 Thy God, in these distempered days. 
 Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of 
 His ways, 
 And through thine enemies hath wrought 
 thy peace ! 
 Bow down in prayer and praise! 410 
 T Mountains of New England. 
 
 No poorest in thy borders but may now 
 Lift to the juster skies a man's enfran- 
 chised brow. 
 O Beautiful! my Country! ours once 
 
 more! 
 Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled 
 
 hair 
 O'er such sweet brows as never other 
 wore, 
 And letting thy set lips, 
 Freed from wrath's pale eclipse. 
 The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, 
 What words divine of lover or of poet 
 Could tell our love and make thee know 
 it, 420 
 
 Among the Nations bright beyond com- 
 pare? 
 What were our lives without thee? 
 What all our lives to save thee? 
 We reck not what we gave thee ; 
 We will not dare to doubt thee. 
 But ask whatever else, and we will dare ! 
 
 (i86s) 
 
 A MATCH 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
 If love were what the rose is, 
 
 And I were like the leaf, 
 Our lives would grow together 
 In sad or singing weather, 
 Blown fields or flowerful closes, 2 
 
 Green pleasure or gray grief; 
 If love were what the rose is, 
 
 And I were like the leaf. 
 
 If I were what the words are. 
 
 And love were like the tune, 10 
 
 With double sound and single 
 Delight our lips would mingle. 
 With kisses glad as birds are 
 
 That get sweet rain at noon ; 
 HI were what the words are 
 
 And love were like the tune. 
 
 If you were life, my darling, 
 
 And I your love were death, 
 We'd shine and snow together 
 Ere March made sweet the weather 20 
 With daffodil and starling 
 
 And hours of fruitful breath; 
 If you were life, my darling, 
 
 And I your love were death. 
 
 3 closes. Enclosed gardens.
 
 342 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 If you were thrall to sorrow, 
 
 And I were page to joy, 
 We'd play for lives and seasons 
 With loving looks and treasons 
 And tears of night and morrow 
 
 And laughs of maid and boy; 30 
 
 If you were thrall to sorrow, 
 
 And I were page to joy. 
 
 If you were April's lady, 
 
 And I were lord in May, 
 We'd throw with leaves for hours, 
 And draw for days with flowers, 
 Till day like night were shady 
 
 And night were bright like day; 
 If you were April's lady, 
 
 And I were lord in May. 40 
 
 If you were queen of pleasure. 
 
 And I were king of pain. 
 We'd hunt down love together, 
 Pluck out his flying-feather. 
 And teach his feet a measure. 
 
 And find his mouth a rein : 
 If you were queen of pleasure, 
 
 And I were king of pain. 
 
 (1866) 
 
 RUGBY CHAPEL 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 [In memory of the poet's father, Dr. Thomas 
 Arnold, the great head-master of Rugby School, 
 who died in 1842 and was buried in the school 
 chapel.] 
 
 Coldly, sadly descends 
 
 The autumn-evening. The field 
 
 Strewn with its dank yellow drifts 
 
 Of withered leaves, and the elms, 
 
 Fade into dimness apace. 
 
 Silent; — hardly a shout 
 
 From a few boys late at their play ! 
 
 The lights come out in the street, 
 
 In the schoolroom windows; — but cold. 
 
 Solemn, unlighted, austere, 10 
 
 Through the gathering darkness, arise 
 
 The chapel-walls, in whose bound 
 
 Thou, my father ! art laid. 
 
 There thou dost lie, in the gloom 
 
 Of the autumn evening. But ah! 
 
 That word gloom to my mind 
 
 Brings thee back in the light 
 
 Of thy radiant vigor again. 
 
 In the gloom of November we passed 
 
 Days not dark at thy side ; 20 
 
 Seasons impaired not the ray 
 
 Of thy buoyant cheerfulness clear. 
 
 Such thou wast ! and I stand 
 
 In the autumn evening, and think 
 
 Of bygone autumns with thee. 
 
 Fifteen years have gone round 
 
 Since thou arosest to tread. 
 
 In the summer-morning, the road 
 
 Of death, at a call unforeseen. 
 
 Sudden. For fifteen years, 30 
 
 We who till then in thy shade 
 
 Rested as under the boughs 
 
 Of a mighty oak, have endured 
 
 Sunshine and rain as we might. 
 
 Bare, unshaded, alone. 
 
 Lacking the shelter of thee. 
 
 O strong soul, by what shore 
 Tarriest thou now? For that force, 
 Surely, has not been left vain ! 
 Somewhere, surely, afar, 40 
 
 In the sounding labor-house vast 
 Of being, is practised that strength, 
 Zealous, beneficent, firmli 
 
 Yes, in some far-shining sphere. 
 
 Conscious or not of the past, 
 
 Still thou performest the word 
 
 Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live. 
 
 Prompt, unwearied, as here ! 
 
 Still thou upraisest with zeal 
 
 The humble good from the ground, 50 
 
 Sternly repressest the bad; 
 
 Still, like a trumpet, dost rouse 
 
 Those who with half-open eyes 
 
 Tread the border-land dim 
 
 'Twixt vice and virtue; reviv'st, 
 
 Succorest. This was thy work, 
 
 This was thy life upon earth. 
 
 What is the course of the life 
 
 Of mortal men on the earth? 
 
 Most men eddy about 60 
 
 Here and there — eat and drink, 
 
 Chatter and love and hate, 
 
 Gather and squander, are raised 
 
 Aloft, are hurled in the dust. 
 
 Striving blindly, achieving 
 
 Nothing; and then they die, — 
 
 Perish ; and no one asks 
 
 Who or what they have been. 
 
 More than he asks what waves. 
 
 In the moonlit solitudes mild 70 
 
 Of the midmost Ocean, have swelled. 
 
 Foamed for a moment, and gone. 
 
 I With these lines compare Tennyson's "Welling- 
 ton Ode," lines 255-58, page 312.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 343 
 
 And there are some whom a thirst 
 
 Ardent, unquenchable, fires. 
 
 Not with the crowd to be spent, 
 
 Not without aim to go round 
 
 In an eddy of purposeless dust, 
 
 Effort unmeaning and vain. 
 
 Ah yes ! some of us strive 
 
 Not without action to die 80 
 
 Fruitless, but something to snatch 
 
 From dull oblivion, nor all 
 
 Glut the devouring grave. 
 
 We, we have chosen our path, — 
 
 Path to a clear-purposed goal, 
 
 Path of advance; but it leads 
 
 A long, steep journey, through sunk 
 
 Gorges, o'er mountains in snow. 
 
 Cheerful, with friends, we set forth : 
 
 Then, on the height, comes the storm. 90 
 
 Thunder crashes from rock 
 
 To rock; the cataracts reply; 
 
 Lightnings dazzle our eyes ; 
 
 Roaring torrents have breached 
 
 The track; the stream-bed descends 
 
 In the place where the wayfarer once 
 
 Planted his footstep — the spray 
 
 Boils o'er its borders ! aloft. 
 
 The unseen snow-beds dislodge 
 
 Their hanging ruin. Alas, 100 
 
 Havoc is made in our train! 
 
 Friends who set forth at our side 
 
 Falter, are lost in the storm. 
 
 We, we only are left! 
 
 With frowning foreheads, with lips 
 
 Sternly compressed, we strain on, 
 
 On — and at nightfall at last 
 
 Come to the end of our way. 
 
 To the lonely inn 'mid the rocks; 
 
 Where the gaunt and taciturn host no 
 
 Stands on the threshold, the wind 
 
 Shaking his thin white hairs, 
 
 Holds his lantern to scan 
 
 Our storm-beat figures, and asks, — 
 
 Whom in our party we bring? 
 
 Whom we have left in the snow? 
 
 Sadly we answer. We bring 
 
 Only ourselves ! we lost 
 
 Sight of the rest in the storm. 
 
 Hardly ourselves we fought through, 120 
 
 Stripped, without friends, as we are. 
 
 Friends, companions, and train. 
 
 The avalanche swept from our side. 
 
 But thou wouldst not alone 
 Be saved, my father ! alone 
 Conquer and come to thy goal, 
 Leaving the rest in the wild. 
 We were weary, and we 
 
 Fearful, and we in our march 
 Fain to drop down and to die. 130 
 
 Still thou turnedst, and still 
 Beckonedst the trembler, and still 
 Gavest the weary thy hand. 
 If, in the paths of the world. 
 Stones might have wounded thy feet, 
 Toil or dejection have tried 
 Thy spirit, of that we saw 
 Nothing: to us thou wast still 
 Cheerful, and helpful, and firm! 
 Therefore to thee it was given 140 
 
 Many to save with thyself. 
 And, at the end of thy day, 
 O faithful shepherd, to come. 
 Bringing thy sheep in thy hand. 
 
 And through thee I believe 
 
 In the noble and great who are gone; 
 
 Pure souls honored and blest 
 
 By former ages, who else — 
 
 Such, so soulless, so poor. 
 
 Is the race of men whom I see — 150 
 
 Seemed but a dream of the heart, 
 
 Seemed but a cry of desire. 
 
 Yes I I believe that there lived 
 
 Others like thee in the past. 
 
 Not like the men of the crowd 
 
 Who all round me to-day 
 
 Bluster or cringe, and make life 
 
 Hideous and arid and vile ; 
 
 But souls tempered with fire. 
 
 Fervent, heroic, and good, 160 
 
 Helpers and friends of mankind. 
 
 Servants of God ! — or sons 
 Shall I not call you? because 
 Not as servants ye knew 
 Your Father's innermost mind, 
 His who unwillingly sees 
 One of his little ones lost, — 
 Yours is the praise, if mankind 
 Hath not as yet in its march 
 Fainted and fallen and died. 
 
 170 
 
 See! In the rocks of the world 
 
 Marches the host of mankind, 
 
 A feeble, wavering line. 
 
 Where are they tending? A God 
 
 Marshaled them, gave them their goal. 
 
 Ah, but the way is so long ! 
 
 Years have they been in the wild: 
 
 Sore thirst plagues them; the rocks, 
 
 Rising all round, overawe; 
 
 Factions divide them ; their host 180 
 
 Threatens to break, to dissolve. 
 
 — Ah ! keep, keep them combined ! 
 
 Else, of the myriads who fill
 
 344 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 That army, not one shall arrive ; 
 Sole they shall stray ; in the rocks 
 Stagger forever in vain, 
 Die one by one in the waste. 
 
 Then, in such hour of need 
 
 Of your fainting, dispirited race, 
 
 Ye like angels appear, 190 
 
 Radiant v^ith ardor divine. 
 
 Beacons of hope, ye appear! 
 
 Languor is not in your heart, 
 
 Weakness is not in your word, 
 
 Weariness not on your brow. 
 
 Ye alight in our van ! at your voice, 
 
 Panic, despair, flee away. 
 
 Ye move through the ranks, recall 
 
 The stragglers, refresh the outworn, 
 
 Praise, re-inspire the brave. 200 
 
 Order, courage, return; 
 
 Eyes rekindling, and prayers, 
 
 Follow your steps as ye go. 
 
 Ye fill up the gaps in our files, 
 
 Strengthen the wavering line, 
 
 Stablish, continue our march, 
 
 On, to the bound of the waste. 
 
 On to the City of God. 
 
 (1867) 
 
 EAST LONDON 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 *Twas August, and the fierce sun over- 
 head 
 
 Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal 
 Green, 
 
 And the pale weaver, through his window 
 seen 
 
 In Spitalfields, looked thrice dispirited. 
 
 I met a preacher there I knew, and said : 
 
 "111 and o'erworked, how fare you in this 
 scene ?" 
 
 "Bravely !" said he, "for I of late have 
 been 
 
 Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, 
 the Living Bread." 
 
 O human soul ! as long as thou canst so 
 Set up a mark of everlasting light 10 
 
 Above the howling senses' ebb and flow, 
 To cheer thee and to right thee if thou 
 
 roam, 
 Not with lost toil thou laborest through 
 
 the night! 
 .Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st in- 
 deed thy home. 
 
 (1867) 
 
 THE ETERNAL GOODNESS 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 
 
 [The closing portion of a poem of twenty-two 
 stanzas.] 
 
 I know not what the future hath 
 
 Of marvel or surprise, 
 Assured alone that life and death 
 
 His mercy underlies. 
 
 And if my heart and flesh are weak 
 
 To bear an untried pain. 
 The bruised reed He will not break, 
 
 But strengthen and sustain. 
 
 No offering of my own I have. 
 Nor works my faith to prove; 10 
 
 I can but give the gifts He gave. 
 And plead his love for love. 
 
 And so beside the Silent Sea 
 
 I wait the muffled oar; 
 No harm from Him can come to me 
 
 On ocean or on shore. 
 
 I know not where his islands lift 
 
 Their fronded palms in air; 
 I only know I cannot drift 
 
 Beyond his love and care. 20 
 
 O brothers ! if my faith is vain, 
 
 If hopes like these betray. 
 Pray for me that my feet may gain 
 
 The sure and safer way. 
 
 And Thou, O Lord ! by whom are seen 
 
 Thy creatures as they be. 
 Forgive me if too close I lean 
 
 My human heart on Thee ! 
 
 (1867) 
 
 THE STEAM THRESHING 
 MACHINE 
 
 CHARLES TENNYSON-TURNER 
 
 Flush with the pond the lurid furnace 
 
 burned 
 At eve, while smoke and vapor filled the 
 
 yard; 
 The gloomy winter sky was dimly starred, 
 The fly-wheel with a mellow murmur 
 
 turned ; 
 While, ever rising on its mystic stair
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 345 
 
 In the dim light, from secret chambers 
 
 borne, 
 The straw of harvest, severed from the 
 
 corn, 
 Climbed, and fell over, in the murky air. 
 
 I thought of mind and matter, will and 
 law, 9 
 
 And then of him^ who set his stately seal 
 Of Roman words on all the forms he saw 
 Of old-world husbandry : / could but feel 
 With what a rich precision he would draw 
 The endless ladder and the booming 
 wheel! 
 
 (1868) 
 
 ALADDIN 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 When I was a beggarly boy. 
 
 And lived in a cellar damp, 
 I had not a friend nor a toy. 
 
 But I had Aladdin's lamp; 
 When I could not sleep for the cold, 
 
 I had fire enough in my brain, 
 And builded, with roofs of gold. 
 
 My beautiful castles in Spain ! 
 
 Since then I have toiled day and night, 
 
 I have money and power good store, 10 
 But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright. 
 
 For the one that is mine no more ; 
 Take, Fortune, whatever you choose, — 
 
 You gave, and may snatch again ; 
 I have nothing 'twould pain me to lose, 
 
 For I own no more castles in Spain ! 
 
 (1868) 
 
 LOST DAYS 
 
 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 
 
 The lost days of my life until to-day. 
 What were they, could I see thera on the 
 
 street 
 Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of 
 
 wheat 
 Sown once for food but trodden into clay? 
 Or golden coins squandered and still to 
 
 pay? 
 Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty 
 
 feet? 
 Or such spilt water as in dreams must 
 
 cheat 
 
 I Virgil, who poetized Roman farm-life in his 
 Ctortics. 
 
 The undoing throats of Hell, athirst 
 alway? 
 
 I do not see them here ; but after death 9 
 God knows I know the faces I shall see, 
 Each one a murdered self, with low last 
 
 breath. 
 "I am thyself, — what hast thou done to 
 
 me?" 
 "And I — and I — thyself," (lo! each one 
 
 saith,) 
 "And thou thyself to all eternity!" 
 
 (1869) 
 
 LOVESIGHT 
 
 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 
 
 When do I see thee most, beloved one? 
 When in the light the spirits of mine eyes 
 Before thy face, their altar, solemnize 
 The worship gf that Love through thee 
 
 made known? 
 Or when in the dusk hours (we two 
 
 alone). 
 Close-kissed and eloquent of still replies 
 Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage 
 
 lies. 
 And my soul only sees thy soul its own? 
 
 O love, my love! if I no more should see 
 Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of 
 thee, 10 
 
 Nor image of thine eyes in any spring, — 
 How thap should sound upon Life's dark- 
 ening slope 
 The ground-whirl of the perished leaves 
 
 of Hope, 
 The wind of Death's imperishable wing? 
 
 (1870) 
 
 IN SCHOOL-DAYS 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 
 
 Still sits the school-house by the road, 
 
 A ragged beggar sleeping ; 
 Around it still the sumachs grow. 
 
 And blackberry-vines are creeping. 
 
 Within, the master's desk is seen. 
 Deep scarred by raps official ; 
 
 The warping floor, the battered seats, 
 The jack-knife's carved initial;
 
 346 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The charcoal frescoes on its wall ; 
 
 Its door's worn sill, betraying lo 
 
 The feet that, creeping slow to school, 
 
 Went storming out to playing! 
 
 Long years ago a winter sun 
 
 Shone over it at setting; 
 Lit up its western window-panes, 
 
 And low eaves' icy fretting. 
 
 It touched the tangled golden curls, 
 And brown eyes full of grieving. 
 
 Of one who still her steps delayed 
 When all the school were leaving. 20 
 
 For near her stood the little boy 
 
 Her childish favor singled : 
 His cap pulled low upon a face 
 
 Where pride and shame were mingled. 
 
 Pushing with restless feet the snow 
 To right and left, he lingered; — 
 
 As restlessly her tiny hands 
 The blue-checked apron fingered. 
 
 He saw her lift her eyes; he felt 
 
 The soft hand's light caressing, _ 30 
 
 And heard the tremble of her voice. 
 As if a fault confessing. 
 
 "I'm sorry that I spelt the word: 
 
 I hate to go above you. 
 Because," — the brown eyes lower fell, — 
 
 "Because, you see, I love you !" 
 
 Still memory to a gray-haired man 
 That sweet child-face is showing. 
 
 Dear girl ! the grasses on her grave 
 Have forty years been growing! 40 
 
 He lives to learn, in life's hard school, 
 How few who pass above him 
 
 Lament their triumph and his loss. 
 Like her, because they love him. 
 
 (1870) 
 
 ST. JOHN BAPTIST 
 
 ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY 
 
 I think he had not heard of the far 
 
 towns ; 
 Nor of the deeds of men, nor of kings' 
 
 crowns; 
 Before the thought of God took hold 
 
 of him, 
 As he was sitting dreaming in the cairn 
 
 Of one first noon, upon the desert's rim. 
 Beneath the tall fair shadows of the palm, 
 All overcome with some strange inward 
 
 balm. 
 
 He numbered not the changes of the year, 
 The days, the nights, and he forgot all 
 
 fear 
 Of death: each day he thought there 
 
 should have been 10 
 
 A shining ladder set for him to climb 
 Athwart some opening in the heavens, 
 
 e'en 
 To God's eternity, and see, sublime — 
 His face whose shadow passing fills all 
 
 time. 
 
 But he walked through the ancient wil- 
 derness. 
 
 O, there the prints of feet were number- 
 less 
 And holy all about him ! And quite 
 plain 
 
 He saw each spot an angel silver-shod 
 Had lit upon; where Jacob too had 
 lain 
 
 The place seemed fresh, — and, bright and 
 lately trod, 20 
 
 A long track showed where Enoch walked 
 with God.^ 
 
 And often, while the sacred darkness 
 
 trailed 
 Along the mountains smitten and unveiled 
 By rending lightnings, — over all the 
 
 noise 
 Of thunders and the earth that quaked 
 
 and bowed 
 From its foundations — he could hear the 
 
 voice 
 Of great Elias^ prophesying loud 
 To Him whose face was covered by a 
 
 cloud. 
 
 (1870) 
 
 DOROTHY Q. 
 
 A Family Portrait 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 [The portrait was an actual one, of Holmes's 
 great-grandmother, Dorothy Quincy. His own 
 note reads: "Dorothy was the daughter of Judge 
 Edmund Quincy, and the niece of Josiah Quincy. 
 Junior, the young patriot and orator, who died 
 just before the American Revolution. . . . The 
 son of the latter, Josiah Quincy, [was] the first 
 mayor of Boston bearing that name."] 
 
 Grandmother's mother : her age, I guess, 
 Thirteen summers, or something less; 
 Girlish bust, but womanly air; 
 Smooth, square forehead with uprolled 
 hair, 
 
 1 See Genesis 28:11 and 5:24. 
 
 2 Elias. Elijah; see i Kings 19:11-14 and 
 Matthew 17:10-13.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 347 
 
 Lips that lover has never kissed; 
 Taper fingers and slender wrist ; 
 Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade; 
 So they painted the little maid. 
 
 On her hand a parrot green 
 Sits unmoving and broods serene. lo 
 
 Hold up the canvas full in view, — 
 Look ! there's a rent the light shines 
 
 through, 
 Dark with a century's fringe of dust, — 
 That was a Red-Coat's rapier-thrust ! 
 Such is the tale the lady old, 
 Dorothy's daughter's daughter, told. 
 
 Who the painter was none may tell, — 
 One whose best was not over well ; 
 Hard and dry, it must be confessed. 
 Flat as a rose that has long been pressed ; 
 Yet in her cheek the hues are bright, 21 
 Dainty colors of red and white. 
 And in her slender shape are seen 
 Hint and promise of stately mien. 
 
 Look not on her with eyes of scorn, — 
 Dorothy Q. was a lady born ! 
 Ay ! since the galloping Normans came, 
 England's annals have known her name; 
 And still to the three-hilled rebel town^ 
 Dear is that ancient name's renown, 30 
 For many a civic wreath they won. 
 The youthful sire and the gray-haired son. 
 
 O Damsel Dorothy ! Dorothy Q. ! 
 Strange is this gift that I owe to you ; 
 Such a gift as never a king 
 Save to daughter or son might bring, — 
 All my tenure of heart and hand. 
 All my title to house and land ; 
 Mother and sister and child and wife 
 And joy and sorrow and death and life! 
 
 What if a hundred years ago 41 
 
 Those close-shut lips had answered No, 
 When forth the tremulous question came 
 That cost the maiden her Norman name. 
 And under the folds that look so still 
 The bodice swelled with the bosom's 
 
 thrill? 
 Should I be 1, or would it be 
 One-tenth another, to nine-tenths me? 
 
 Soft is the breath of a maiden's Yes : 
 Not the light gossamer stirs with less ; 50 
 But never a cable that holds so fast 
 Through all the battles of wave and blast, 
 I Boston. 
 
 And never an echo of speech or song 
 That lives in the babbling air so long! 
 There were tones in the voice that whis- 
 pered then 
 You may hear to-day in a hundred men. 
 
 lady and lover, how faint and far 
 Your images hover, — and here we are. 
 Solid and stirring in flesh and bone, — 
 Edward's and Dorothy's — all their own, — 
 A goodly record for Time to show 61 
 Of a syllable spoken so long ago! — 
 Shall I bless you, Dorothy, or forgive 
 For the tender whisper that bade me live? 
 
 It shall be a blessing, my little maid ! 
 
 1 will heal the stab of the Red-Coat's 
 
 blade, 
 And freshen the gold of the tarnished 
 
 frame, 
 And gild with a rhyme your household 
 
 name; 
 So you shall smile on us brave and bright 
 As first you greeted the morning's light. 
 And live untroubled by woes and fears 71 
 Through a second youth of a hundred 
 
 years. 
 
 (1871) 
 
 MY STRAWBERRY* 
 
 HELEN HUNT JACKSON 
 
 marvel, fruit of fruits, I pause 
 To reckon thee. I ask what cause 
 Set free so much of red from heats 
 
 At core of earth, and mixed such sweets 
 With sour and spice : what was that 
 
 strength 
 Which out of darkness, length by length, 
 Spun all thy shining thread of vine. 
 Netting the fields in bond as thine. 
 
 1 see thy tendrils drink by sips 
 
 From grass and clover's smiling lips; 10 
 I hear thy roots dig down for wells. 
 Tapping the meadow's hidden cells; 
 Whole generations of green things. 
 Descended from long lines of springs, 
 I see make room for thee to bide 
 A quiet comrade by their side; 
 I see the creeping peoples go 
 Mysterious journeys to and fro. 
 Treading to right and left of thee. 
 Doing thee homage wonderingiy. 20 
 
 • Copyright, 1873, by Little, Brown & Com- 
 pany. Reprinted by special permission.
 
 348 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 I see the wild bees as they fare, 
 Thy cups of honey drink, but spare. 
 I mark thee bathe and bathe again 
 In sweet uncalendared spring rain. 
 I watch how all May has of sun 
 Makes haste to have thy ripeness done, 
 While all her nights let dews escape 
 To set and cool thy perfect shape. 
 Ah, fruit of fruits, no more I pause 
 To dream and seek thy hidden laws ! 30 
 I stretch my hand and dare to taste. 
 In instant of delicious waste 
 On single feast, all things that went 
 To make the empire thou hast spent. 
 
 (1873) 
 
 SONG OF PALMS 
 
 ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY 
 
 [The second half of the original poem is 
 omitted.] 
 
 Mighty, luminous, and calm 
 Is the country of the palm. 
 
 Crowned with sunset and sunrise, 
 
 Under blue unbroken skies, 
 Waving from green zone to zone. 
 Over wonders of its own ; 
 Trackless, untraversed, unknown. 
 
 Changeless through the centuries. 
 
 Who can say what thing it bears? 
 
 Blazing bird and blooming flower, 10 
 Dwelling there for years and years. 
 
 Hold the enchanted secret theirs : 
 Life and death and dream have made 
 Mysteries in many a shade. 
 Hollow haunt and hidden bower 
 Closed alike to sun and shower. 
 
 Who is ruler of each race 
 Living in each boundless place. 
 Growing, flowering, and flying. 
 Glowing, reveling, and dying? 20 
 
 Wave-like, palm by palm is stirred. 
 And the bird sings to the bird. 
 And the day sings one rich word, 
 And the great night comes replying. 
 
 (1874) 
 
 ODE 
 ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY 
 
 We are the music-makers, 
 
 And we are the dreamers of dreams, 
 Wandering by lone sea-breakers, 
 
 And sitting by desolate streams ; 
 
 World-losers and world- forsakers, 
 On whom the pale moon gleams : 
 
 Yet we are the movers and shakers 
 Of the world forever, it seems. 
 
 With wonderful deathless ditties 
 
 We build up the world's great cities, 10 
 
 And out of a fabulous story 
 
 We fashion an empire's glory : 
 One man with a dream, at pleasure. 
 
 Shall go forth and conquer a crown ; 
 And three with a new song's measure 
 
 Can trample a kingdom down. 
 
 We, in the ages lying 
 
 In the buried past of the earth, 
 Built Nineveh with our sighing, 
 
 And Babel itself in our mirth; 20 
 
 And o'erthrew them with prophesying 
 
 To the old of the new world's worth; 
 For each age is a dream that is dying. 
 
 Or one that is coming to birth. 
 
 A breath of our inspiration 
 Is life of each generation; 
 
 A wondrous thing of our dreaming, 
 
 Unearthly, impossible seeming — 
 The soldier, the king, and the peasant 
 
 Are working together in one, 30 
 
 Till our dream shall become their present, 
 
 And their work in the world be done. 
 
 They had no vision amazing 
 
 Of the goodly house they are raising; 
 
 They had no divine foreshowing 
 
 Of the land to which they are going; 
 But on one man's soul it hath broken, 
 
 A light that doth not depart; 
 And his look, or a word he hath spoken, 
 
 Wrought flame in another man's heart. 
 
 And therefore to-day is thrilling 41 
 
 With a past day's late fulfilling; 
 
 And the multitudes are enlisted 
 
 In the faith that their fathers resisted. 
 And, scorning the dream of to-morrow, 
 
 Are bringing to pass, as they may, 
 In the world, for its joy or its sorrow, 
 
 The dream that was scorned yesterday. 
 
 But we, with our dreaming and singing, 
 
 Ceaseless and sorrowless we ! 50 
 
 The glory about us clinging 
 
 Of the glorious futures we see, 
 Our souls with high music ringing: 
 
 O men ! it must ever be 
 That we dwell, in our dreaming and sing- 
 ing, 
 
 A little apart from ye.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 349 
 
 For we are afar with the dawning 
 
 And the suns that are not yet high, 
 And out of the infinite morning 
 
 Intrepid you hear us cry — 60 
 
 How, spite of your human scorning, 
 
 Once more God's future draws nigh. 
 And already goes forth the warning 
 
 That ye of the past must die. 
 
 Great hail ! we cry to the comers 
 
 From the dazzling unknown shore; 
 Bring us hither your sun and your sum- 
 mers, 
 
 And renew our world as of yore ; 
 You shall teach us your song's new num- 
 bers; 69 
 
 And things that we dreamed not before : 
 Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers. 
 
 And a singer who sings no more. 
 
 (1874) 
 
 THE REASON WHY 
 
 FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON 
 
 Ask why I love the roses fair. 
 
 And whence they come and whose they 
 
 were; 
 They come from her, and not alone, — 
 They bring her sweetness with their own. 
 
 Or ask me why I love her so ; 
 I know not : this is all I know. 
 These roses bud and bloom, and twine 
 As she round this fond heart of mine. 
 
 And this is why I love the flowers, 
 Once they were hers, they're mine — they're 
 ours ! 10 
 
 I love her, and they soon will die, 
 And now you know the Reason Why. 
 
 (1874) 
 
 NATURE 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 As a fond mother, when the day is o'er. 
 Leads by the hand her little child to 
 
 bed, 
 Half willing, half reluctant to be led. 
 And leave his broken playthings on the 
 
 floor. 
 Still gazing at them through the open 
 door, 
 
 Nor wholly reassured and comforted 
 
 By promises of others in their stead, 
 
 Which, though more splendid, may not 
 
 please him more; 
 So Nature deals with us, and takes away 
 Our playthings one by one, and by the 
 hand 10 
 
 Leads us to rest so gently, that we go 
 Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay. 
 Being too full of sleep to understand 
 How far the unknown transcends the 
 what we know. 
 
 (1875) 
 
 A LATE LARK TWITTERS 
 
 WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY 
 
 [This poem is sometimes entitled "Margaritre 
 Sorori" ("To my Sister Margaret"), being thus 
 dedicated in Henley's collected poems.] 
 
 A late lark twitters from the quiet skies; 
 
 And from the west. 
 
 Where the sun, his day's work ended, 
 
 Lingers as in content. 
 
 There falls on the old, gray city 
 
 An influence luminous and serene, 
 
 A shining peace. 
 
 The smoke ascends 
 In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires 
 Shine, and are changed. In the valley 10 
 Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The 
 
 sun, 
 Closing his benediction. 
 Sinks, and the darkening air 
 Thrills with a sense of the triumphing 
 
 night — 
 Night with her train of stars 
 And her great gift of sleep. 
 
 So be my passing! 
 
 My task accomplished and the long day 
 
 done, 
 My wages taken, and in my heart 
 Some late lark singing, 20 
 
 Let me be gathered to the quiet West, 
 The sundown splendfd and serene, 
 Death. 
 
 (1876)
 
 350 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 TO THE MAN-OF-WAR BIRD* 
 
 WALT WHITMAN 
 
 [The "frigate-bird," or petrel, is distinguished 
 for its size, swiftness, and endurance — never 
 alighting to rest on the water.] 
 
 Thou who hast slept all night upon the 
 storm, 
 
 Waking renew'd on thy prodigious pin- 
 ions 
 
 (Burst the wild storm? above it thou as- 
 cended'st, 
 
 And rested on the sky, thy slave that 
 cradled thee), 
 
 Now a blue point, far, far in heaven float- 
 ing, 
 
 As to the light emerging here on deck I 
 watch thee 
 
 (Myself a speck, a point on the world's 
 floating vast). 
 
 Far, far at sea, 
 
 After the night's fierce drifts have strewn 
 
 the shore with wrecks. 
 With re-appearing day as now so happy 
 
 and serene, lo 
 
 The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing 
 
 sun. 
 The limpid spread of air cerulean, 
 Thou also re-appearest. 
 
 Thou born to match the gale (thou art 
 
 all wings), 
 To cope with heaven and earth and sea 
 
 and hurricane, 
 Thou ship of air that never furl'st thy 
 
 sails, 
 Days, even weeks untired and onward, 
 
 through spaces, realms gyrating, 
 At dusk that look'st on Senegal,^ at morn 
 
 America, 
 That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and 
 
 thunder-cloud, 
 In them, in thy experience, had'st thou 
 
 my soul, 20 
 
 What joys! what joys were thine! 
 
 (1876) 
 
 * Reprinted by special arrangement with 
 Doubleday, Page & Co. 
 I Senegal. In West Africa. 
 
 A BALLADE OF DREAMLAND 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
 [The Ballade is an old French form, built 
 wholly on three rhyme-sounds, repeated accord- 
 ing to the scheme followed in this poem. The 
 "envoi" was originally a concluding address to 
 the poet's prince or patron.] 
 
 I hid my heart in a nest of roses. 
 
 Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; 
 In a softer bed than the soft white snow's 
 is, 
 Under the roses I hid my heart. 
 Why would it sleep not? why should it 
 start, 
 When never a leaf of the rose-tree 
 stirred? 
 What made sleep flutter his wings and 
 part? 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
 Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, 
 
 And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's 
 
 dart; 10 
 
 Lie still, for the wind on the warm sea 
 
 dozes. 
 
 And the wind is unquieter yet than thou 
 
 art. 
 Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's 
 wound smart? 
 Does the fang still fret thee of hope de- 
 ferred ? 
 What bids the lips of thy sleep dispart? 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
 The green land's name that a charm en- 
 closes, 
 It never was writ in the traveller's chart. 
 And sweet on its trees as the fruit that 
 grows is. 
 It never was sold in the merchant's mart. 
 The swallows of dreams through its 
 dim fields dart, 21 
 
 And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops 
 heard; 
 No hound's note wakens the wildwood 
 hart, 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
 ENVOI 
 
 In the world of dreams I have chosen 
 my part, — 
 
 To sleep for a season and hear no word 
 Of true love's truth or of light love's art, 
 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
 (1876)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 351 
 
 WHEN I SAW YOU LAST, ROSE 
 
 AUSTIN DOBSON 
 
 [The form of this poem is the old French 
 villanelle, based on only two rhyme-sounds, with 
 the first and third lines later repeated thrice as 
 a kind of double refrain.] 
 
 When I saw you last, Rose, 
 You were only so high; — 
 How fast the time goes ! 
 
 Like a bud ere it blows. 
 
 You just peeped at the sky, 
 When I saw you last, Rose! 
 
 Now your petals unclose, 
 
 Now your May-time is nigh; — 
 How fast the time goes ! 
 
 10 
 
 And a life, — how it grows! 
 You were scarcely so shy 
 When I saw you last, Rose! 
 
 In your bosom it shows 
 
 There's a guest on the sly; 
 How fast the time goes ! 
 
 Is it Cupid? Who knows! 
 Yet you used not to sigh, 
 When I saw you last, Rose;- 
 How fast the time goes ! 
 
 (1877) 
 
 THE TOYS 
 
 COVENTRY PATMORE 
 
 My little Son, who looked from thought- 
 ful eyes 
 
 And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up 
 wise. 
 
 Having my law the seventh time diso- 
 beyed, 
 
 I struck him, and dismissed 
 
 With hard words and unkissed, — 
 
 His Mother, who was patient, being dead. 
 
 Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder 
 sleep, 
 
 I visited his bed, 
 
 But found him slumbering deep. 
 
 With darkened eyelids, and their lashes 
 yet 10 
 
 From his late sobbing wet. 
 
 And I, with moan, 
 
 Kissing away his tears, left others of my 
 own; 
 
 For, on a table drawn beside his head. 
 
 He had put, within his reach, 
 
 A box of counters and a red-veined stone, 
 
 A piece of glass abraded by the beach. 
 
 And six or seven shells, 
 
 A bottle with bluebells, 
 
 And two French copper coins, ranged 
 
 there with careful art, 20 
 
 To comfort his sad heart. 
 So when that night I prayed 
 To God, I wept, and said : 
 Ah, when at last we lie with tranced 
 
 breath, 
 Not vexing Thee in death. 
 And Thou rememberest of what toys 
 We made our joys. 
 How weakly understood 
 Thy great commanded good, 
 Then, fatherly not less 30 
 
 Than I whom Thou hast moulded from 
 
 the clay, 
 Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say, 
 "I will be sorry for their childishness." 
 
 (1877) 
 
 WINTER IN NORTHUMBERLAND 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
 [Four stanzas are omitted.] 
 
 Outside the garden 
 The wet skies harden. 
 The gates are barred on 
 
 The summer side : 
 "Shut out the flower-time, 
 Sunbeam and shower-time; 
 Make way for our time," 
 
 Wild winds have cried. 
 Green once and cheery, 
 The woods, worn weary, 10 
 
 Sigh as the dreary 
 
 Weak sun goes home : 
 A great wind grapples 
 The wave, and dapples 
 The dead green floor of the sea with foam. 
 
 Through Fell and moorland, 
 And salt-sea foreland. 
 Our noisy norland 
 
 Resounds and rings; 
 Waste waves thereunder 20 
 
 Are blown in sunder 
 And winds make thunder 
 
 With cloud-wide wings. 
 Sea-drift makes dimmer 
 The beacon's glimmer; 
 Nor sail nor swimmer
 
 352 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Can try the tides; 
 And snowdrifts thicken 
 Where, when leaves quicken, 
 Under the heather the sundew hides. 30 
 
 Green land and red land, 
 Moorside and headland. 
 Are white as dead land, 
 
 Are all as one; 
 Nor honied heather, 
 Nor bells to gather. 
 Fair with fair weather 
 
 And faithful sun: 
 Fierce frost has eaten 
 All flowers that sweeten 40 
 
 The fells rain-beaten ; 
 
 And winds their foes 
 Have made the snow's bed 
 Down in the rose-bed ; 
 Deep in the snow's bed bury the rose. 
 
 Bury her deeper 
 
 Than any sleeper; 
 
 Sweet dreams will keep her 
 
 All day, all night; 
 Though sleep benumb her, 50 
 
 And time o'ercome her. 
 She dreams of summer, 
 
 And takes delight, 
 Dreaming and sleeping 
 In love's good keeping. 
 While rain is weeping 
 
 And no leaves cling; 
 Winds will come bringing her 
 Comfort, and singing her 
 Stories and songs and good news of the 
 
 spring. 60 
 
 Draw the white curtain 
 Close, and be certain 
 She takes no hurt in 
 
 Her soft low bed; 
 She feels no colder. 
 And grows not older. 
 Though snows enfold her 
 
 From foot to head; 
 She turns not chilly 
 
 Like weed and lily 70 
 
 In marsh or hilly 
 
 High watershed, 
 Or green soft island 
 In lakes of highland; 
 She sleeps awhile, and she is not dead. 
 
 For all the hours. 
 Come sun, come showers. 
 Are friends of flowers. 
 And fairies all; 
 
 When frost entrapped her, 80 
 
 They came and lapped her 
 In leaves, and wrapped her 
 
 With shroud and pall; 
 In red leaves wound her, 
 With dead leaves bound her 
 Dead brows, and round her 
 
 A death-knell rang; 
 Rang the death-bell for her, 
 Sang "Is it well for her, 
 Well, is it well with you, rose?" they 
 
 sang. 90 
 
 Each reed that grows in 
 Our stream is frozen. 
 The fields it flows in 
 
 Are hard and black; 
 The water-fairy 
 Waits wise and wary 
 Till time shall vary 
 
 And thaws come back, 
 "O sister, water," 
 
 The wind besought her, 100 
 
 "O twin-born daughter 
 
 Of spring with me, 
 Stay with me, play with me. 
 Take the warm way with me. 
 Straight for the summer and oversea." 
 
 But winds will vary, 
 And wise and wary 
 The patient fairy 
 
 Of water waits; 
 All shrunk and wizen, no 
 
 In iron prison. 
 Till spring re-risen 
 
 Unbar the gates; 
 Till, as with clamor 
 Of axe and hammer. 
 Chained streams that stammer 
 
 And struggle in straits 
 Burst bonds that shiver. 
 And thaws deliver 
 The roaring river in stormy spates.^ 120 
 
 As men's cheeks faded 
 On shores invaded. 
 When shorewards waded 
 
 The lords of fight; 
 When churl and craven 
 Saw hard on haven 
 The wide-winged raven 
 
 At mainmast height ; 
 When monks affrighted 
 To windward sighted 130 
 
 The birds full-flighted 
 1 spates. Freshets.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 353 
 
 Of swift sea-kings ;i 
 So earth turns paler 
 When Storm the sailor 
 Steers in with a roar in the race of his 
 
 wings. 
 
 O strong sea-sailor, 
 Whose cheeks turn paler 
 For wind or hail or 
 
 For fear of thee? 
 O far sea-farer, 140 
 
 O thunder-bearer, 
 Thy songs are rarer 
 
 Than soft songs be. 
 O fleet- foot stranger, 
 O north-sea ranger 
 Through days of danger 
 
 And ways of fear, 
 Blow thy horn here for us, 
 Blow the sky clear for us. 
 Send us the song of the sea to hear. 150 
 
 O stout north-easter, 
 Sea-king, land-waster. 
 For all thine haste or 
 
 Thy stormy skill, 
 Yet hadst thou never. 
 For all endeavor, 
 Strength to dissever 
 
 Or strength to spill. 
 Save of his giving 
 
 Who gave our living, 160 
 
 Whose hands are weaving 
 
 What ours fulfill; 
 Whose feet tread under 
 The storms and thunder. 
 Who made our wonder to work his will. 
 
 His years and hours. 
 His world's blind powers, 
 His stars and flowers, 
 
 His nights and days. 
 Sea-tide and river, 170 
 
 And waves that shiver. 
 Praise God, the Giver 
 
 Of tongues to praise. 
 Winds in their blowing, 
 And fruits in growing, 
 Time in its going. 
 
 While time shall be, 
 In death and living, 
 \Vith pne thanksgiving. 
 Praise him whose hand is the strength of 
 
 the sea. jgo 
 
 (1878) 
 I The Danish invaders of early England. 
 
 BALLADE OF DEAD CITIES 
 
 EDMUND GOSSE 
 
 [For the ballade form, see note on page 350. 
 Here the writer has in mind Villon's famous 
 ballade on Dead Ladies, with the refrain, "Where 
 arc the snows of yester-year?"] 
 
 Where are the cities of the plain? 
 
 And where the shrines of rapt Bethel ?i 
 And Calah2 built of Tubal-Cain? 
 
 And Shinars whence King Amraphel 
 
 Came out in arms, and fought, and fell, 
 Decoyed into the pits of slime 
 
 By Siddim, and sent sheer to hell; 
 Where are the cities of old time? 
 
 Where now is Karnak,^ that great fane 
 
 With granite built, a miracle? lo 
 
 And Luxor smooth without a stain, 
 
 Whose graven scriptures still we spell? 
 
 The jackal and the owl may tell. 
 Dark snakes around their ruins climb, 
 
 They fade like echo in a shell; 
 Where are the cities of old time? 
 
 And where is white Shusan.s again, 
 Where Vashti's beauty bore the bell, 
 
 And all the Jewish oil and grain 
 Were brought to Mithridath to sell, 20 
 Where Nehemiahe would not dwell, 
 
 Because another town sublime 
 Decoyed him with her oracle? 
 
 Where are the cities of old time? 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 Prince, with a dolorous, ceaseless knell, 
 Above their wasted toil and crime 
 
 The waters of oblivion swell : 
 Where are the cities of old time? 
 
 (1879) 
 
 ULTIMA VERITAS 
 
 WASHINGTON GLADDEN 
 [The title means "Final Truth."] 
 
 In the bitter waves of woe. 
 
 Beaten and tossed about 
 By the sullen winds that blow 
 
 From the desolate shores of doubt, — 
 
 r shrines of Bethel. See i Kings 12:28-33; 13:1-5. 
 7 Calah. See Genesis 10:11; the poet confuses 
 Tubal-Cain and Nimrod. 
 
 3 Shinar. . . Siddim. See Genesis 14:1-10. 
 
 4 Karnak. . . Luxor. Finely sculptured cities 
 of ancient Egypt. 
 
 5 Shusan. See Esther 1:5-11. 
 
 6 Nehemiah. See Nehemiah 1:1; 2:1-5.
 
 354 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 While the anchors that faith had cast 
 
 Are dragging in the gale, 
 I am quietly holding fast 
 
 To the things that cannot fail. 
 
 I know that right is right, 
 
 That it is not good to lie ; lo 
 
 That love is better than spite, 
 
 And a neighbor than a spy ; 
 
 I know that passion needs 
 
 The leash of a sober mind; 
 I know that generous deeds 
 
 Some sure reward will find; 
 
 That the rulers must obey; 
 
 That the givers shall increase; 
 That Duty lights the way 
 
 For the beautiful feet of Peace; — 20 
 
 In the darkest night of the year. 
 When the stars have all gone out, 
 
 That courage is better than fear. 
 That faith is truer than doubt; 
 
 And fierce though the fiends may fight, 
 And long though the angels hide, 
 
 I know that Truth and Right 
 Have the universe on their side; 
 
 And that somewhere, beyond the stars, 
 Is a Love that is better than fate; 30 
 
 When the night unlocks her bars 
 I shall see Him, and I will wait. 
 
 (1879) 
 
 THE MARSHES OF GLYNN 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER 
 
 Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided 
 
 and woven 
 With intricate shades of the vines that 
 myriad-cloven 
 Clamber the forks of the multiform 
 boughs, — 
 
 Emerald twilight, — 
 Virginal shy lights. 
 Wrought of the leaves to allure to the 
 
 whisper of vows. 
 When lovers pace timidly down through 
 
 the green colonnades 
 Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark 
 woods. 
 Of the heavenly woods and glades. 
 That run to the radiant marginal sand- 
 beach within 10 
 The wide sea-marshes of Glynn; — 
 
 Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noon- 
 day fire, — 
 
 Wildwood privacies, closets of lone de- 
 sire, 
 
 Chamber from chamber parted with wav- 
 ering arras of leaves, — 
 
 Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer 
 to the soul that grieves. 
 
 Pure with a sense of the passing of saints 
 through the wood. 
 
 Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with 
 good ;— 
 
 O braided dusks of the oak and woven 
 
 shades of the vine. 
 While the riotous noon-day sun of the 
 
 June-day long did shine 
 Ye held me fast in your heart and I held 
 
 you fast in mine ; 20 
 
 But now when the noon is no more, and 
 
 riot is rest. 
 And the sun is a-wait at the ponderous 
 
 gate of the West, 
 And the slant yellow beam down the 
 
 wood-aisle doth seem 
 Like a lane into heaven that leads from 
 
 a dream, — 
 Ay, now, when my soul all day hath 
 
 drunken the soul of the oak, 
 And my heart is at ease from men, and 
 
 the wearisome sound of the stroke 
 Of the scythe of time and the trowel of 
 
 trade is low, 
 And belief overmasters doubt, and I 
 
 know that I know. 
 And my spirit is grown to a lordly 
 
 great compass within. 
 That the length and the breadth and the 
 
 sweep of the Marshes of Glynn 30 
 Will work me no fear like the fear they 
 
 have wrought me of yore 
 When length was fatigue, and when 
 
 breadth was but bitterness sore. 
 And when terror and shrinking and 
 
 dreary unnamable pain 
 Drew over me out of the merciless miles 
 
 of the plain, — 
 
 Oh, now, unafraid, I am fain^ to face 
 
 The vast sweet visage of space. 
 To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I 
 
 am drawn. 
 Where the gray beach glimmering runs, 
 as a belt of the dawn. 
 For a mete and a mark 
 To the forest-dark : — 40 
 
 I fain. Glad.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 355 
 
 So: 
 Affable live-oak, leaning low, — 
 Thus — with your favor — soft, with a rev- 
 erent hand 
 (Not lightly touching your person, lord 
 
 of the land!). 
 Bending your beauty aside, with a step I 
 
 stand 
 On the firm-packed sand. 
 
 Free 
 By a world of marsh that borders a world 
 
 of sea. 
 Sinuous southward artd sinuous north- 
 ward the shimmering band 
 Of the sand-beach fastens the fringe of 
 
 the marsh to the folds of the land. 50 
 Inward and outward to northward and 
 
 southward the beach-lines linger and 
 
 curl 
 As a silver-wrought garment that clings 
 
 to and follows the firm sweet limbs 
 
 of a girl. 
 Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving 
 
 again into sight, 
 Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a 
 
 dim gray looping of light. 
 And what if behind me to westward the 
 
 wall of the woods stands high? 
 The world lies east : how ample, the marsh 
 
 and the sea and the sky ! 
 A league and a league of marsh-grass, 
 
 waist-high, broad in the blade, 
 Green, and all of a height, and unflecked 
 
 with a light or a shade. 
 Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain, 
 To the terminal blue of the main. 60 
 
 Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the 
 
 terminal sea? 
 Somehow my soul seems suddenly free 
 From the weighing of fate and the sad 
 
 discussion of sin, 
 By the length and the breadth and the 
 
 sweep of the marshes of Glynn. 
 
 Ye marshes, how candid and simple and 
 
 nothing-withholding and free 
 Ye publish yourselves to the sky and 
 
 offer yourselves to the sea ! 
 Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and 
 
 the rains and the sun. 
 Ye spread and span like a catholic man 
 
 who hath mightily won 
 God out of knowledge and good out of 
 
 infinite pain 
 And sight out of blindness and purity out 
 
 of a stain. 70 
 
 As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the 
 
 watery sod, 
 Behold I will build me a nest on the 
 
 greatness of God : 
 I will fly in the greatness of God as the 
 
 marsh-hen flies 
 In the freedom that fills all the space 
 
 'twixt the marsh and the skies : 
 By so many roots as the marsh-grass 
 
 sends in the sod 
 I will heartily lay me a-hold on the great- 
 ness of God : 
 Oh, like to the greatness of God is the 
 
 greatness within 
 The range of the marshes, the liberal 
 
 marshes of Glynn. 
 
 And the sea lends large, as the marsh: lo, 
 
 out of his plenty the sea 
 Pours fast : full soon the time of the 
 
 flood-tide must be : 80 
 
 Look how the grace of the sea doth go. 
 About and about through the intricate 
 
 channels that flow 
 Here and there. 
 Everywhere, 
 Till his waters have flooded the uttermost 
 
 creeks and the low-lying lanes. 
 And the marsh is meshed with a million 
 
 veins. 
 That like as with rosy and silvery es- 
 sences flow 
 In the rose-and-silver evening glow. 
 Farewell, my lord Sun ! 
 The creeks overflow ; a thousand rivulets 
 
 run 90 
 
 'Twixt the roots of the sod; the blades of 
 
 the marsh-grass stir; 
 Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that 
 
 westward whirr; 
 Passeth, and all is still; and the currents 
 
 cease to run ; 
 And the sea and the marsh are one. 
 
 How still the plains of the waters be! 
 The tide is in his ecstasy. 
 The tide is at his highest height : 
 And it is night. 
 
 And now from the Vast of the Lord will 
 
 the waters of sleep 
 Roll in on the souls of men, 100 
 
 But who will reveal to our waking ken 
 The forms that swim and the shapes that 
 
 creep 
 
 Under the waters of sleep?
 
 356 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And I would I could know what swim- 
 meth below when the tide comes in 
 
 On the length and the breadth of the mar- 
 vellous marshes of Glynn. 
 
 (1879) 
 
 LONDON SNOW 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
 When men were all asleep the snow came 
 
 flying, 
 In large white flakes falling on the city 
 
 brown. 
 Stealthily and perpetually settling and 
 
 loosely lying, 
 Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy 
 
 town ; 
 Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs 
 
 failing; 
 Lazily and incessantly floating down and 
 
 down : 
 Silently sifting and veiling road, roof, 
 
 and railing; 
 Hiding difference, making unevenness 
 
 even, 
 Into angles and crevices softly drifting 
 
 and sailing. 
 All night it fell, and when full inches 
 
 seven 10 
 
 It lay in the depth of its uncompacted 
 
 lightness. 
 The clouds blew off from a high and 
 
 frosty heaven; 
 And all woke earlier for the unaccus- 
 tomed brightness 
 Of the winter dawning, the strange un- 
 
 heavenly glare : 
 The eye marvelled — marvelled at the 
 
 dazzling whiteness; 
 The ear hearkened to the stillness of 
 
 the solemn air; 
 No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot 
 
 falling, 
 And the busy morning cries came thin 
 
 and spare. 
 Then boys I heard, as they went to 
 
 school, calling; 
 They gathered up the crystal manna to 
 
 freeze 20 
 
 Their tongues with tasting, their hands 
 
 with snowballing; 
 Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to 
 
 the knees ; 
 
 Or peering up from under the white- 
 mossed wonder, 
 
 "O look at the trees !" they cried, "O 
 look at the trees !" 
 With lessened load a few carts creak 
 and blunder. 
 
 Following along the white deserted way. 
 
 A country company long dispersed 
 asunder : 
 When now already the sun, in pale dis- 
 play 
 
 Standing by Paul's^ high dome, spread 
 forth below 
 
 His sparkling beams, and awoke the stir 
 of the day. 30 
 
 For now doors open, and war is waged 
 with the snow ; 
 
 And trains of sombre men, past tale of 
 number, 
 
 Tread long brown paths, as toward their 
 toil they go: 
 But even for them awhile no cares en- 
 cumber 
 
 Their minds diverted ; the daily word is 
 unspoken. 
 
 The daily thoughts of labor and sorrow 
 slumber 
 
 At the sight of the beauty that greets 
 them, for the charm they have broken. 
 
 (1880) 
 
 O YOUTH WHOSE HOPE IS HIGH 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
 O youth whose hope is high, 
 Who dost to Truth aspire, 
 Whether thou live or die, 
 O look not back nor tire. 
 
 Thou that art bold to fly 
 Through tempest, flood, and fire, 
 Nor dost not shrink to try 
 Thy heart in torments dire : 
 
 If thou canst Death defy, 
 If thy Faith is entire. 
 Press onward, for thine eye 
 Shall see thy heart's desire. 
 
 Beauty and love are nigh, 
 And with their deathless choir 
 Soon shall thine eager cry 
 Be numbered and expire. 
 
 (1880) 
 
 1: Paul's. St. Paul's Cathedral. 
 
 10
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 357 
 
 A BALLAD OF TREES AND THE 
 MASTER 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER 
 
 Into the woods my Master went, 
 
 Clean forspent, forspent. 
 
 Into the woods my Master came. 
 
 Forspent with love and shame. 
 
 But the olives they were not blind to Him, 
 
 The little gray leaves were kind to Him : 
 
 The thorn-tree had a mind to Him 
 
 When into the woods He came. 
 
 Out of the woods my Master went, 
 And He was well content. lo 
 
 Out of the woods my Master came, 
 Content with death and shame. 
 When Death and Shame would woo Him 
 
 last. 
 From under the trees they drew Him last : 
 'Twas on a tree they slew Him — last 
 When out of the woods he came. 
 
 (1881) 
 
 A SONG OF TO-DAY 
 MARY A. LATHBURY 
 
 Sing paeans over the Past! 
 We bury the dead years tenderly, 
 To find them again in eternity; 
 
 All safe in its circle vast, 
 
 Sing paeans over the Past ! 
 
 Farewell, farewell to the old ! 
 
 Beneath the arches, and one by one. 
 From sun to shade, and from shade to 
 sun. 
 
 We pass, and the years are told; 
 
 Farewell, farewell to the old ! 10 
 
 And hail, all hail to the new! 
 The future lies like a world new-born, 
 All steeped in sunshine and mists of 
 mom, 
 
 And arched with a cloudless blue : 
 
 All hail, all hail to the new ! 
 
 All things, all things are yours ! 
 The spoil of nations, the arts sublime 
 That arch the ages from eldest time. 
 
 The Word that for aye endures ; 
 
 All things, all things are yours ! 20 
 
 Arise, and conquer the land ! 
 
 Not one shall fail in the march of life, 
 Not one shall fall in the hour of strife, 
 
 Who trusts in the Lord's right hand. 
 
 Arise, and conquer the land ! 
 
 The Lord shall sever the sea ! 
 And open a way in the wilderness. 
 To faith that follows, to feet that press 
 
 On into the great To-Be : 
 
 The Lord shall sever the sea ! 30 
 
 (1882) 
 
 "HOLLOW-SOUNDING AND 
 MYSTERIOUS" 
 
 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 
 
 There's no replying 
 
 To the Wind's sighing; 
 
 Telling, foretelling. 
 
 Dying, undying. 
 
 Dwindling and swelling. 
 
 Complaining, droning. 
 
 Whistling and moaning. 
 
 Ever beginning. 
 
 Ending, repeating. 
 
 Hinting and dinning, 10 
 
 Lagging and fleeting; — 
 
 We've no replying 
 
 Living or dying 
 
 To the Wind's sighing. 
 
 What are you telling, 
 
 Variable Wind-tone? 
 
 What would be teaching, 
 
 O sinking, swelling. 
 
 Desolate Wind-moan? 
 
 Ever for ever 20 
 
 Teaching and preaching. 
 
 Never, ah never 
 
 Making us wiser. 
 
 The earliest riser 
 
 Catches no meaning, 
 
 The last who barkens 
 
 Garners no gleaning 
 
 Of wisdom's treasure. 
 
 While the world darkens. 
 
 Living or dying, 30 
 
 In pain, in pleasure. 
 
 We've no replying 
 
 To wordless, flying 
 
 Wind's sighing. 
 
 (1882)
 
 358 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE WAY TO ARCADY 
 
 HENRY CUYLER BUNNER 
 
 Oh, what's the way to Arcady, 
 
 To Arcady, to Arcady; 
 Oh, what's the way to Arcady, 
 
 Where all the leaves are merry T 
 
 Oh, what's the way to Arcady? 
 The spring is rustling in the tree, — 
 The tree the wind is blowing through, — 
 
 It sets the blossoms flickering white. 
 I knew not skies could burn so blue 
 
 Nor any breezes blow so light. lo 
 
 They bloAV an old-time way for me, 
 Across the world to Arcady. 
 
 Oh, what's the way to Arcady? 
 Sir Poet, with the rusty coat. 
 Quit mocking of the song-bird's note. 
 How have you heart for any tune. 
 You with the wayworn russet shoon? 
 Your scrip, a-swinging by your side. 
 Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wide. 
 I'll brim it well with pieces red, 20 
 
 If you will tell the way to tread. 
 
 Oh, I am hound for Arcady, 
 And if you but keep pace zvith me 
 You tread the way to Arcady. 
 
 And where away lies Arcady, 
 
 And how long yet may the journey be? 
 
 Ah, that (quoth he) / do not know: 
 Across the clover and the snow — 
 Across the frost, across the flowers — 
 Through summer seconds and winter 
 hours, 30 
 
 I've trod the way my whole life long. 
 
 And know not now where it may be; 
 My guide is but the stir to song. 
 That tells me I cannot go wrong. 
 
 Or clear or dark the pathway he 
 
 Upon the road to Arcady. 
 
 But how shall I do who cannot sing? 
 
 I was wont to sing, once on a time, — 
 There is never an echo now to ring 
 
 Remembrance back to the trick of 
 rhyme. 40 
 
 'Tis strange you cannot sing (quoth he), 
 The folk all sing in Arcady. 
 
 But how may he find Arcady 
 Who hath nor youth nor melody? 
 
 What, know you not, old man (quoth 
 he),— 
 Your hair is white, your face is zvise,— 
 That Love must kiss that mortal's eyes 
 
 Who hopes to see fair Arcady? 
 
 J^o gold can buy you entrance there; 
 
 But beggared Love may go all bare — 50 
 
 No wisdom zvon with weariness; 
 
 But Love goes in with Folly's dress — 
 
 No fame that wit could ever win; 
 
 But only Love may lead Love in 
 To Arcady, to Arcady. 
 
 Ah, woe is me, through all my days 
 
 Wisdom and wealth I both have got. 
 And fame and name, and great men's 
 praise ; 
 
 But Love, ah Love ! I have it not. 
 There was a time, when life was new — 60 
 
 But far away, and half forgot — 
 I only know her eyes were blue; 
 
 But Love — I fear I knew it not. 
 We did not wed, for lack of gold, 
 And she is dead, and I am old. 
 All things have come since then to me, 
 Save Love, ah Love ! and Arcady. 
 
 Ah, then I fear we part (quoth he), — 
 My way's for Love and Arcady. 
 
 But you, you fare alone, like me; 70 
 
 The gray is likewise in your hair, 
 What love have you to lead you there, 
 
 To Arcady, to Arcady? 
 
 Ah, no, not lonely do I fare; 
 
 My true companion's Memory. 
 With love he fills the Spring-time air; 
 
 With Love he clothes the Winter tree. 
 Oh, past this poor horizon's bound 
 
 My song goes straight to one who 
 stands, — 
 Her face all gladdening at the sound, — 80 
 
 To lead me to the Spring-green lands, 
 To wander with enlacing hands. 
 
 The songs within my breast that stir 
 Are all of her, are all of her. 
 My maid is dead long years (quoth he), — 
 She waits for me in Arcady. 
 
 Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, 
 
 To Arcady, to Arcady; 
 Oh, yon's the zvay to Arcady, 
 
 Where all the leaves are merry. 90 
 
 (1884)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 359 
 
 THE MILKMAID 
 
 AUSTIN DOBSON 
 
 Across the grass I see her pass ; 
 
 She comes with tripping pace, — 
 A maid I know, — and March winds blow 
 Her hair across her face; — 
 With a hey, Dolly ! ho, Dolly ! 
 
 Dolly shall be mine, 
 Before the spray is white with May, 
 Or blooms the eglantine. 
 
 The March winds blow. I watch her go: 
 Her eye is brown and clear; lo 
 
 Her cheek is brown, and soft as down, 
 (To those who see it near!) — 
 With a hey, Dolly ! ho, Dolly ! 
 
 Dolly shall be mine, 
 Before the spray is white with May, 
 Or blooms the eglantine. 
 
 What has she not that those have got, — 
 
 The dames that walk in silk! 
 If she undo her 'kerchief blue 
 Her neck is white as milk. 20 
 
 With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! 
 
 Dolly shall be mine, 
 Before the spray is white with May, 
 Or blooms the eglantine. 
 
 Let those who will be proud and chill! 
 
 For me, from June to June, 
 My Dolly's words are sweet as curds — 
 Her laugh is like a tune; — 
 With a hey, Dolly ! ho, Dolly ! 
 
 Dolly shall be mine, 30 
 
 Before the spray is white with May, 
 Or blooms the eglantine. 
 
 Break, break to her, O crocus-spear I 
 
 O tall Lent-lilies flame! 
 There'll be a bride at Easter-tide, 
 And Dolly is her name. 
 
 With a hey, Dolly ! ho, Dolly ! 
 
 Dolly shall be mine 
 Before the spray is white with May, 
 Or blooms the eglantine. 40 
 
 (1885) " 
 
 BALLADE OF JUNE 
 
 WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY 
 
 [For the form of this poem, see the note on 
 page 350.] 
 
 Lilacs glow, and jasmines climb, 
 Larks are loud the livelong day. 
 
 O the golden summer-prime! 
 June takes up the sceptre of May, 
 And the land beneath her sway 
 
 Glows, a dream of blossoming closes. 
 And the very wind's at play 
 
 With Sir Love among the roses. 
 
 Lights and shadows in the lime 
 
 Meet in exquisite disarray. 10 
 
 Hark! the rich recurrent rhyme 
 
 Of the blackbird's roundelay! 
 
 Where he carols, frank and gay. 
 Fancy no more glooms or proses; 
 
 Joyously she trips away 
 With Sir Love among the roses. 
 
 O the cool sea's slumbrous chime ! 
 
 O the links that beach the bay, 
 Paven with meadow-sweet and thyme. 
 
 Where the brown bees murmur and 
 stray ! 20 
 
 Lush the hedgerows, ripe the hay ! 
 Many a maiden, binding posies, 
 
 Finds herself at Yea-and-Nay 
 With Sir Love among the roses. 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 Boys and girls, be wise, I pray! 
 
 Do as dear Queen June proposes, 
 For she bids you troop and stay 
 
 With Sir Love among the roses. 
 
 (1887) 
 
 REQUIEM 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 Under the wide and starry sky. 
 Dig the grave and let me lie. 
 Glad did I live and gladly die. 
 And I laid me down with a will. 
 
 This be the verse you grave for me : 
 Here he lies where he longed to be, 
 Home is the sailor, home from sea. 
 And the hunter home from the hill. 
 
 (1887)
 
 360 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 MARCH 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 [The whole poem contains seven stanzas, of which these are the first, fourth, and last.] 
 
 Ere frost-flower and snow-blossom faded and fell, and the splendor of winter had 
 
 passed out of sight, 
 The ways of the woodlands were fairer and stranger than dreams that fulfil us in 
 
 sleep with delight; 
 The breath of the mouths of the winds had hardened on tree-tops and branches that 
 
 glittered and swayed 
 Such wonders and glories of blossom-like snow, or of frost that outlightens all flowers 
 
 till it fade, 
 That the sea was not lovelier than here was the land, nor the night than the day, nor 
 
 the day than the night, 
 Nor the winter sublimer with storm than the spring; such mirth had the madness and 
 
 might in thee made, 
 March, master of winds, bright minstrel and marshal of storms that enkindle the season 
 
 they smite. 
 
 As the sunshine quenches the snowshine; as April subdues thee, and yields up his 
 kingdom to May, 
 
 So time overcomes the regret that is born of delight as it passes in passion away. 
 
 And leaves but a dream for desire to rejoice in or mourn for with tears and thanks- 
 givings; but thou, 10 
 
 Bright god that art gone from us, maddest and gladdest of months, to what goal hast 
 thou gone from us now? 
 
 For somewhere surely the storm of thy laughter that lightens, the beat of thy wings 
 that play, 
 
 Must flame as a fire through the world, and the heavens that we know not rejoice 
 in thee : surely thy brow 
 
 Hath lost not its radiance of empire, thy spirit the joy that impelled it on quest as 
 for prey. 
 
 Thy spirit is quenched not, albeit we behold not thy face in the crown of the steep 
 
 sky's arch, 
 And the bold first buds of the whin wax golden, and witness arise of the thorn and 
 
 the larch: 
 Wild April, enkindled to laughter and storm by the kiss of the wildest of winds that 
 
 blow, 
 Calls loud on his brother for witness ; his hands that were laden with blossom are 
 
 sprinkled with snow. 
 And his lips breathe winter, and laugh, and relent ; and the live woods feel not the 
 
 frost's flame parch ; 
 For the flame of the s.pring that consumes not but quickens is felt at the heart of the 
 
 forest aglow, 20 
 
 And the sparks that enkindled and fed it were strewn from the hands of the gods 
 
 of the winds of March. 
 
 (1887)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 361 
 
 ENGLAND, QUEEN OF THE WAVES 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
 [The closing poem in a series called "The Armada," written in celebration of the 300th anniversary 
 of the destruction of the Spanish Armada.] 
 
 England, queen of the waves whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee round, 
 Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found? 
 Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaims thee crowned. 
 
 Times may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason and fraud and 
 
 fear : 
 Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far and near : 
 Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from year to year. 
 
 Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and defame and smite. 
 We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons of night, 
 We that love thee behold above thee the witness written of life in light. 
 
 Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not but eyeless 
 foes : 10 
 
 Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as madness grows : 
 Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory, beholds and glows. 
 
 Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face of truth : 
 Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy deathless youth : 
 Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the serpent's tooth. 
 
 Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at heel in vain : 
 Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead and plain ; 
 Thou art thou : and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the strength of Spain. 
 
 Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee England's place: 
 Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed with grace : 20 
 
 Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as fair of face. 
 
 How shalt thou be abased? or how shall fear take hold of thy heart? of thine, 
 
 England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with hopes divine? 
 
 Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her darkness shine. 
 
 England, none that is born thy son, and lives, by grace of thy glory, free, 
 Lives and yearns not at heart and burns with hope to serve as he worships thee; 
 None may sing thee : the sea-wind's wing beats down our songs as it hails the sea. 
 
 (1888) 
 
 BY AN EVOLUTIONIST i 
 
 If my body come from brutes, my soul 
 ALFRED TENNYSON uncertain or a fable, 
 
 -„ . J. . • . . , Why not bask amid the senses while the 
 
 [Note these divisions in the poem: the open- „„„ „r ^„,„.- „ „u:„..„ 
 
 ing stanza, in which the poet imaginatively ^ suri of mornmg shines, 
 
 states the whole subject of the relation of man's I, the finer brute rejoicmg m my hounds, 
 body and soul; the four numbered stanzas, and in my stable 
 
 giving the two speeches of the Evolutionist; v iU j u i^u ' j u- iU j i*t 
 
 and the reply of Old Age to the first of these Youth and health, and birth and wealth, 
 
 speeches.] and choice of women and of wines? 
 
 The Lord let the house of a brute to the 11 
 
 soul of a man. What hast thou done for me, grim Old 
 
 And the man said, "Am I your debtor?" Age, save breaking my bones on the 
 
 And the Lord — "Not yet: but make it as rack? 
 
 clean as you can. Would I had pass'd in the morning that 
 
 And then I will let you a better." looks so bright from afar! 10
 
 362 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Old Age 
 Done for thee? starved the wild beast 
 that was link'd with thee eighty years 
 back. 
 Less weight now for the ladder-of- 
 heaven that hangs on a star. 
 
 If my body come from brutes, tho* some- 
 what finer than their own, 
 I am heir, and this my kingdom. Shall 
 the royal voice be mute? 
 No, but if the rebel subject seek to drag 
 me from the throne, 
 Hold the sceptre, Human Soul, and rule 
 thy province of the brute. 
 
 II 
 
 I have climb'd to the snows of Age, and I 
 gaze at a field in the Past, 
 Where I sank with the body at times in 
 the sloughs of a low desire. 
 But I hear no yelp of the beast, and the 
 Man is quiet at last 
 As he stands on the heights of his life 
 with a glimpse of a height that is 
 higher. 20 
 
 (1889) 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 [This poem, in which Browning contemplates 
 the time when he shall be dead, was actually 
 published on the day of his death, as the clos- 
 ing poem in his final volume called Asolando.'i 
 
 At the midnight in the silence of the 
 sleep-time, 
 When you set your fancies free. 
 Will they pass to where — by death, fools 
 
 think, imprisoned — 
 Low he lies who once so loved you, whom 
 you loved so, 
 — Pity me? 
 
 Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mis- 
 taken ! 
 What had I on earth to do 
 With the slothful, with the mawkish, the 
 
 unmanly? 
 Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I 
 drivel 
 
 — Being — who ? 10 
 
 One who never turned his back but 
 marched breast forward, 
 Never doubted clouds would break, 
 Never dreamed, ^ though right were 
 
 worsted, wrong would triumph, 
 Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight 
 better. 
 
 Sleep to wake. 
 
 No, at noonday in the bustle of man's 
 work-time 
 Greet the unseen with a cheer! 
 Bid him forward, breast and back as 
 
 either should be, 
 "Strive and thrive!" cry "Speed, — fight 
 on, fare ever 
 
 Thece as here!" 20 
 
 (1889) 
 
 CROSSING THE BAR 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 [By Tennyson's direction, this poem is al- 
 ways printed at the conclusion of his collected 
 works.] 
 
 Sunset and evening star. 
 
 And one clear call for me! 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar, 
 
 When I put out to sea. 
 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep. 
 Too full for sound and foam. 
 
 When that which drew from out the 
 boundless deep 
 Turns again home. 
 
 Twilight and evening bell. 
 
 And after that the dark! 10 
 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
 
 When I embark; 
 
 For tho' from out our bourne of Time 
 and Place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crossed the bar. 
 
 (1889) 
 
 I dreamed. Supply "that" after this word, and 
 again after "Held" in the following line.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 363 
 
 WHEN BURBAGE PLAYED 
 
 AUSTIN DOBSON 
 
 [Burbag* was the leading tragic actor of 
 Shakespeare's company, who first played Ham- 
 let. The form of this poem is the old French 
 rondeau, based on a refrain twice repeated from 
 the opening pbfase.] 
 
 When Burbage played, the stage was bare 
 Of fount and temple, tower and stair; 
 
 Two backswords eked a battle out; 
 
 Two supers made a rabble rout; 
 The Throne of Denmark was a chair! 
 
 And yet, no less, the audience there 
 Thrilled through all changes of Despair, 
 Hope, Anger, Fear, Delight, and Doubt, 
 When Burbage played! 
 
 This is the actor's gift : to share lo 
 
 All moods, all passions, nor to care 
 One whit for scene, so he without 
 Can lead men's minds the roundabout, 
 Stirred as of old those hearers were 
 When Burbage played! 
 
 (1889) 
 
 But how he set, I know not. 
 There seemed a purple stile 10 
 
 Which little yellow boys and girls 
 Were climbing all the while, 
 
 Till when they reached the other side, 
 A dominie in gray 
 Put gently up the evening bars, 
 And led the flock away. 
 
 (1890) 
 
 I NEVER SAW A MOOR* 
 EMILY DICKINSON 
 
 I never saw a moor, 
 
 I never saw the sea; 
 
 Yet know I how the heather looks, 
 
 And what a wave must be. 
 
 I never spoke with God, 
 Nor visited in heaven; 
 Yet certain am I of the spot 
 As if the chart were given. 
 
 (1890) 
 
 IF 
 
 EMILY DICKINSON 
 
 If I can stop one heart from breaking, 
 
 I shall not live in vain; 
 
 HI can ease one life the aching, 
 
 Or cool one pain, 
 
 Or help one fainting robin 
 
 Unto his nest again, 
 
 I shall not live in vain. 
 
 (1890) 
 
 A DAY* 
 EMILY DICKINSON 
 
 I'll tell you how the sun rose, — 
 A ribbon at a time. 
 The steeples swam in amethyst, 
 The news like squirrels ran. 
 
 The hills untied their bonnets, 
 The bobolinks begun. 
 Then I said softly to myself, 
 "That must have been the sun !" 
 
 * Copyrighted by Little, Brown & Company. 
 Reprinted by special permission. 
 
 THE RAILWAY TRAIN* 
 
 EMILY DICKINSON 
 
 I like to see it lap the miles, 
 And lick the valleys up. 
 And stop to feed itself at tanks; 
 And then, prodigious, step 
 
 Around a pile of mountains, 
 And, supercilious, peer 
 In shanties by the sides of roads; 
 And then a quarry pare 
 
 To fit its sides, and crawl between. 
 Complaining all the while 10 
 
 In horrid, hooting stanza; 
 Then chase itself down hill 
 
 And neigh like Boanerges ;i 
 Then, punctual as a star. 
 Stop — docile and omnipotent — 
 At its own stable door. 
 
 (1891) 
 
 I Boanerges. The Sons of Thunder; see Mark 
 3:17. 
 
 * Copyrighted by Little, Brown & Company. 
 Reprinted by special permission.
 
 364 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE ROBIN* 
 
 EMILY DICKINSON 
 
 The Tobin is the one 
 That interrupts the morn 
 With hurried, few, express reports 
 When March is scarcely on. 
 
 The robin is the one 
 That overflows the noon 
 With her cherubic quantity, 
 An April but begun. 
 
 The robin is the one 
 That speechless from her nest 
 Submits that home and certainty 
 And sanctity are best. 
 
 (1891) 
 
 WHO ROBBED THE WOODS?* 
 
 EMILY DICKINSON 
 
 Who robbed the woods, 
 
 The trusting woods? 
 
 The unsuspecting trees 
 
 Brought out their burrs and mosses 
 
 His fantasy to please. 
 
 He scanned their trinkets, curious, 
 He grasped, he bore away. 
 What will the solemn hemlock, 
 What will the fir-tree say? 
 
 (1891) 
 
 TWO VOYAGERS* 
 EMILY DICKINSON 
 
 Two butterflies went out at noon 
 And waltzed above a stream, 
 10 Then stepped straight through the firma- 
 ment 
 And rested on a beam; 
 
 And then together bore away 
 Upon a shining sea, — 
 Though never yet, in any port. 
 Their coming mentioned be. 
 
 If spoken by the distant bird. 
 If met in ether sea 
 By frigate or by merchantman, 
 Report was not to me. 
 
 (1891) 
 
 ID 
 
 THE ENGLISH FLAG 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 [In this poem Kipling celebrated English imperialism at a time when he felt it was little under- 
 stood by the English themseWes. Four omitted lines (after the second) have to do with temporary 
 political conditions.] 
 
 Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro — 
 And what should they know of England who only England know?— 
 
 * * * * 
 
 We may not speak of England; her flag's to sell or share. 
 What is the Flag of England? Winds of the world, declare! 
 
 The North Wind blew: "From Bergen my steel-shod vanguards go; 
 I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe.^ 
 By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God, 
 And the liner splits on the ice-fields, or the Dogger^ fills with cod. 
 
 "I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with flame, 
 Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came. 10 
 
 I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with my blast. 
 And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the spirit passed. 
 
 * Copyrighted by Little, Brown & Company. 
 I Disko floe. Ice-drift from Greenland. 
 
 Reprinted by special permission. 
 
 2 Dogger. A fishing bank in the North Sea.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 365 
 
 "The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic night, 
 The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light: 
 What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to dare. 
 Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!" 
 
 The South Wind sighed: "From the Virgins^ my mid-sea course was ta'en 
 
 Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main. 
 
 Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed breakers croon 
 
 Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked lagoon. 20 
 
 "Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys, 
 I waked the palms to laughter — I tossed the scud in the breeze. 
 Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone, 
 But over the scud and the palm-trees an English flag was flown. 
 
 "I have wrenched it free from the halliards to hang for a wisp on the Horn ; 
 I have chased it north to the Lizard, 2 ribboned and rolled and torn; 
 I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea; 
 I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free. 
 
 "My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross, 
 
 Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross. 30 
 
 What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare. 
 Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is there!" 
 
 The East Wind roared: "From the Kuriles,^ the Bitter Seas, I come. 
 And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home. 
 Look — look well to your shipping ! By the breath of my mad typhoon 
 I swept your close-packed Praya,* and beached your best at Kowloon l^ 
 
 "The reeling junks behind me, and the racing seas before, 
 I raped your richest roadstead — I plundered Singapore ! 
 I set my hand on the Hoogli;^ as a hooded snake she rose; 
 And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows. 40 
 
 "Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake. 
 But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England's sake — 
 Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid — 
 Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed. 
 
 "The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows. 
 The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows. 
 What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare. 
 Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there !" 
 
 The West Wind called : "In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly 
 
 That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die. 50 
 
 They make my might their porter, they make my house their path, 
 
 And I loose my neck from their service and whelm them all in my wrath. 
 
 "I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole; 
 They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll : 
 For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath, 
 And they see strange bows above them, and the two go locked to death. 
 
 1 Virgins. Islands of the West Indies. 
 
 2 Litard. The headland first sighted by ships approaching England from the south. 
 
 3 Kuriles. Islands northeast of Japan. 4 Praya. An embankment. 
 
 5 Kowloon. Near Hong Kong. 
 
 6 Hoogli. The chief branch in the delta of the River Ganges.
 
 366 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day 
 I heave them whole to the conger^ or rip their plates away, 
 First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky, 
 Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by. 
 
 "The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it — the frozen dews have kissed- 
 The morning stars have hailed it, a fellow-star in the mist. 
 What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare, 
 Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there !" 
 
 (1891) 
 
 60 
 
 FRESH FROM HIS FASTNESSES 
 
 WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY 
 
 Fresh from his fastnesses 
 
 Wholesome and spacious, 
 
 The North Wind, the mad huntsman. 
 
 Halloas on his white hounds 
 
 Over the gray, roaring 
 
 Reaches and ridges. 
 
 The forest of ocean. 
 
 The chace^ of the world. 
 
 Hark to the peal 
 
 Of the pack in full cry, 10 
 
 As he thongs them before him. 
 
 Swarming voluminous. 
 
 Weltering, wide-wallowing, 
 
 Till in a ruining 
 
 Chaos of energy. 
 
 Hurled on their quarry, 
 
 They crash into foam! 
 
 Old Indefatigable, 
 
 Time's right-hand man, the sea 
 
 Laughs as in joy 
 
 From his millions of wrinkles : 
 
 Laughs that his destiny. 
 
 Great with the greatness 
 
 Of triumphing order, 
 
 Shows as a dwarf 
 
 By the strength of his heart 
 
 And the might of his hands. 
 
 20 
 
 Master of masters, 
 O maker of heroes, 
 Thunder the brave, 
 Irresistible message: — 
 "Life is worth Living 
 Through every grain of it, 
 From the foundations 
 To the last edge 
 Of the cornerstone, death." 
 
 (1892) 
 
 1 conger. Sea-eel. 
 
 2 chace. Hunting reservation. 
 
 30 
 
 UNGUARDED GATES 
 
 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 [With this poetic plea for the restriction of 
 immigration to the United States, compare the 
 opposite side as represented in Mr. Schauffler's 
 poem, page 386.] 
 
 Wide open and unguarded, stand our 
 
 gates, 
 Named of the four winds, North, South, 
 
 East, and West; 
 Portals that lead to an enchanted land 
 Of cities, forests, fields of living gold, 
 Vast prairies, lordly summits touched with 
 
 snow. 
 Majestic rivers sweeping proudly past 
 The Arab's date-palm and the Norseman's 
 
 pine — 
 A realm wherein are fruits of every zone. 
 Airs of all climes, for lo! throughout the 
 
 year 
 The red rose blossoms somewhere — a rich 
 
 land, 10 
 
 A later Eden planted in the wilds. 
 With not an inch of earth within its 
 
 bound 
 But if a slave's foot press it sets him free. 
 Here, it is written. Toil shall have its 
 
 wage. 
 And Honor honor, and the humblest man 
 Stand level with the highest in the law. 
 Of such a land have men in dungeons 
 
 dreamed. 
 And, with the vision brightening in their 
 
 eyes. 
 Gone smiling to the fagot and the sword. 
 
 Wide open and unguarded stand our 
 gates, 20 
 
 And through them presses a wild motley 
 throng — 
 
 Men from the Volga and the Tartar 
 steppes, 
 
 Featureless figures of the Hoang-ho,
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 367 
 
 Malayan, Scythian, Teuton, Kelt, and 
 
 Slav, 
 Flying the Old World's poverty and 
 
 scorn; 
 These bringing with them unknown gods 
 
 and rites, — 
 Those, tiger passions, here to stretch their 
 
 claws. 
 In street and alley what strange tongues 
 
 are loud. 
 Accents of menace alien to our air. 
 Voices that once the Tower of Babel 
 
 knew I 30 
 
 O Liberty, white Goddess ! is it well 
 
 To leave the gates unguarded? On thy 
 
 breast 
 Fold Sorrow's children, soothe the hurts 
 
 of fate, 
 Lift the down-trodden, but with hand of 
 
 steel 
 Stay those who to thy sacred portals come 
 To waste the gifts of freedom. Have a 
 
 care 
 Lest from thy brow the clustered stars be 
 
 torn 
 And trampled in the dust. For so of old 
 The thronging Goth and Vandal trampled 
 
 Rome, 
 And where the temples of the Caesars 
 
 stood 40 
 
 The lean wolf unmolested made her lair. 
 
 (1892) 
 
 I will arise and go now, for always night 
 
 and day 
 I hear lake water lapping with low sounds 
 
 by the shore ; 10 
 
 While I stand on the roadway, or on the 
 
 pavements gray, 
 I hear it in the deep heart's core. 
 
 (1892) 
 
 THE REDBIRD* 
 
 MADISON CAWEIN 
 
 He flies with flirt and fluting — 
 
 As flies a crimson star 
 From flaming star-beds shooting — 
 
 From where the roses are. 
 
 Wings past and sings ; and seven 
 Notes, wild as fragrance is, — 
 
 That turn to flame in heaven, — 
 Float round him full of bliss. 
 
 He sings; each burning feather 
 
 Thrills, throbbing at his throat; lo 
 
 A song of firefly weather, 
 And of a glow-worm boat: 
 
 Of Elf land and a princess 
 
 Who, born of a perfume, 
 His music rocks, — where winces 
 
 That rosebud's cradled bloom. 
 
 THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE 
 
 WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS 
 
 I will arise and go now, and go to Innis- 
 
 free. 
 And a small cabin build there, of clay and 
 
 wattles^ made; 
 Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive 
 
 for the honey bee. 
 And live alone in the bee-loud glade. 
 
 And I shall have some peace there, for 
 peace comes dropping slow. 
 
 Dropping from the veils of the morning 
 to where the cricket sings; 
 
 There midnight's all a glimmer, and 
 noon a purple glow. 
 
 And evening full of the linnets' wings. 
 
 J wattles. Woven twigs. 
 
 No bird sings half so airy. 
 No bird of dusk or dawn. 
 
 Thou masking King of Faery! 
 Thou red-crowned Oberon ! 
 
 (1893) 
 
 20 
 
 "A MAN MUST LIVE" 
 
 CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON 
 
 [For the rondeau form of this poem, see note 
 on Dobson's "When Burbage Played," page 
 363.] 
 
 A man must live! We justify 
 Low shift and trick to treason high, 
 A little vote for a little gold, 
 To a whole senate bought and sold, 
 With this self-evident reply. 
 
 • Copyright by the 
 rinted by special pe 
 
 Macmillan Company, 
 permission. 
 
 Re-
 
 368 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But is it so? Pray tell me why 
 Life at such cost you have to buy? 
 In what religion were you told 
 "A man must live"? 
 
 There are times when a man must die. lo 
 
 Imagine for a battle-cry 
 
 From soldiers with a sword to hold — 
 From soldiers with the flag unrolled — 
 
 This coward's whine, this liar's lie, 
 "A man must Hve" ! 
 
 (1893) 
 
 For you shall Shakespeare's scene unroll, 
 Mozart shall steal your ravished soul, 
 Homer his bardic hymn rehearse, 
 Virgil recite his maiden verse. 
 
 Now learn, love, have, do, be the best ; 
 Each in one thing excel the rest : 10 
 
 Strive; and hold fast this truth of 
 
 heaven — 
 To him that hath shall more be given. 
 
 (1893) 
 
 HISTORY 
 
 WILLIAM WATSON 
 
 Darkly, as by some gloomed mirror 
 
 glassed, 
 Herein at times the brooding eye beholds 
 The great scarred visage of the pompous 
 
 Past, 
 But oftener only the embroidered folds 
 And soiled regality of his rent robe, 
 Whose tattered skirts are ruined dynasties 
 And cumber with their trailing pride the 
 
 globe. 
 And sweep the dusty ages in our eyes ; 
 Till the world seems a world of husks 
 
 and bones g 
 
 Where sightless seers and immortals dead, 
 Kings that remember not their awful 
 
 thrones. 
 Invincible armies long since vanquished. 
 And powerless potentates and foolish 
 
 sages 
 Lie 'mid the crumbling of the mossy 
 
 ages. 
 
 (1893) 
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
 [From "Founder's Day," an ode written for 
 the ninth Jubilee of Eton, the chief English 
 school for boys.] 
 
 Here is eternal spring: for you 
 The very stars of heaven are new; 
 And aged Fame again is born, 
 Fresh as a peeping flower of morn. 
 
 COMRADES * 
 
 RICHARD HOVEY 
 
 [From a poem read at the 60th convention of 
 the Psi Upsilon fraternity.] 
 
 Comrades, pour the wine to-night, 
 
 For the parting is with dawn. 
 Oh, the clink of cups together, 
 With the daylight coming on ! 
 Greet the morn 
 With a double horn, 
 When strong men drink together! 
 
 Comrades, gird your swords to-night, 
 
 For the battle is with dawn. 
 Oh, the clash of shields together, 10 
 
 With the triumph coming on ! 
 Greet the foe 
 And lay him low 
 When strong men fight together. 
 
 Comrades, watch the tides to-night, 
 
 For the sailing is with dawn. 
 Oh, to face the spray together. 
 With the tempest coming on ! 
 Greet the Sea 
 
 With a shout of glee 20 
 
 When strong men roam together. 
 
 Comrades, give a cheer to-night, 
 
 For the dying is with dawn. 
 Oh, to meet the stars together, 
 With the silence coming on ! 
 Greet the end 
 As a friend a friend, 
 When strong men die together. 
 
 (1894) 
 
 •Reprinted by special permission of Small, 
 Maynard & Company.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 369 
 
 THE MARCHING MORROWS* 
 
 BLISS CABMAN 
 
 Now gird thee well for courage, 
 My knight of twenty year, 
 Against the marching morrows 
 That fill the world with fear! 
 
 The flowers fade before them; 
 The summer leaves the hill ; 
 Their trumpets range the morning, 
 And those who hear grow still. 
 
 Like pillagers of harvest. 
 
 Their fame is far abroad, lo 
 
 As gray remorseless troopers 
 
 That plunder and maraud. 
 
 The dust is on their corselets ; 
 Their marching fills the world; 
 With conquest after conquest 
 Their banners are unfurled. 
 
 They overthrow the battles 
 
 Of every lord of war. 
 
 From world-dominioned cities 
 
 Wipe out the names they bore. 20 
 
 Sohrab, Rameses, Roland, 
 
 Ramoth, Napoleon, Tyre, 
 
 And the Romeward Huns of Attila — 
 
 Alas, for their desire ! 
 
 By April and by autumn 
 They perish in their pride. 
 And still they close and gather 
 Out on the mountain-side. 
 
 The tanned and tameless children 
 Of the wild elder earth, 30 
 
 With stature of the northlights. 
 They have the stars for girth. 
 
 There's not a hand to stay them, 
 Of all the hearts that brave; 
 No captain to undo them, 
 No cunning to off-stave. 
 
 Yet fear thou not! If haply 
 
 Thou be the kingly one, 
 
 They'll set thee in their vanguard 
 
 To lead them round the sun. 40 
 
 (1894) 
 
 'Reprinted by special permission of Small, 
 Maynard & Company. 
 
 A MORE ANCIENT MARINERf 
 
 BLISS CARMAN 
 
 [Six stanzas of the original poem — following 
 the sixth — are omitted.] 
 
 The swarthy bee is a buccaneer, 
 
 A burly velveted rover, 
 
 Who loves the booming wind in his ear 
 
 As he sails the seas of clover. 
 
 A waif of the goblin pirate crew, 
 With not a soul to deplore him. 
 He steers for the open verge of blue 
 With the filmy world before him. 
 
 His flimsy sails abroad on the wind 
 Are shivered with fairy thunder; 10 
 
 On a line that sings to the light of his 
 
 wings 
 He makes for the lands of wonder. 
 
 He harries the ports of the Hollyhocks, 
 And levies on poor Sweetbrier; 
 He drinks the whitest wine of Phlox, 
 And the Rose is his desire. 
 
 He hangs in the Willows a night and a 
 
 day; 
 He rifles the Buckwheat patches; 
 Then battens his store of pelf galore 
 Under the tautest hatches. 20 
 
 He woos the Poppy and weds the Peach, 
 Inveigles Daffodilly, 
 And then like a tramp abandons each 
 For the gorgeous Canada Lily. 
 
 He never could box the compass round; 
 He doesn't know port from starboard; 
 But he knows the gates of the Sundown 
 
 Straits, 
 Where the choicest goods are harbored. 
 
 He never could see the Rule of Three, 
 But he knows a rule of thumb 30 
 
 Better than Euclid's, better than yours, 
 Or the teachers' yet to come. 
 
 He knows the smell of the hydromel 
 As if two and two were five; 
 And hides it away for a year and a day 
 In his own hexagonal hive. 
 
 Out in the day, haphazard, alone, 
 Booms the old vagrant hummer. 
 With only his whim to pilot him 
 Through the splendid vast of summer. 40 
 
 t Reprinted by special permission of Small, 
 Maynard & Company.
 
 370 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 He steers and steers on the slant of the 
 
 gale, 
 Like the fiend or Vanderdecken ;i 
 And there's never an unknown course to 
 
 sail 
 But his crazy log can reckon. 
 
 He drones along with his rough sea-song 
 
 And the throat of a salty tar, 
 
 This devil-may-care, till he makes his 
 
 lair 
 By the light of a yellow star. 
 
 He looks like a gentleman, lives like a 
 
 lord. 
 And works like a Trojan hero; 50 
 
 Then loafs all winter upon his hoard, 
 With the mercury at zero. 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY* 
 
 JOHN B. TABB 
 
 Leafless, stemless, floating flower, 
 From a rainbow's scattered bower, 
 Like a bubble of the air 
 Blown by fairies, tell me where 
 Seed or scion 1 may find 
 Bearing blossoms of thy kind. 
 
 (1894) 
 
 THE BROOK* 
 
 JOHN B. TABB 
 
 It is the mountain to the sea 
 That makes a messenger of me: 
 And, lest I loiter on the way 
 And lose what I am sent to say. 
 He sets his reverie to song 
 And bids me sing it all day long. 
 Farewell ! for here the stream is slow, 
 And 1 have many a mile to go. 
 
 (1894) 
 
 I Vanderdecken. The legendary captain of the 
 Flying Dutchman, doomed to a perpetual attempt 
 to round the Cape of Good Hope. 
 
 •Reprinted by special permission of Small. 
 Maynard & Company. 
 
 10 
 
 THE WATER-LILYt 
 JOHN B. TABB 
 
 Whence, O fragrant form of light. 
 Hast thou drifted through the night, 
 Swanlike, to a leafy nest. 
 On the restless waves at rest? 
 
 Art thou from the snowy zone 
 Of a mountain-summit blown, 
 Or the blossom of a dream. 
 Fashioned in the foamy stream? 
 
 Nay; methinks the maiden moon. 
 When the daylight came too soon, 
 Fleeting from her bath to hide, 
 Left her garment in the tide. 
 
 (1894) 
 
 PHANTOMS t 
 
 JOHN B. TABB 
 
 Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, 
 
 O flakes of snow. 
 For which, through naked trees, the winds 
 
 A-mourning go? 
 
 Or are ye angels, bearing home 
 
 The host unseen 
 Of truant spirits, to be clad 
 
 Again in green? 
 
 (1894) 
 
 THE DANDELIONt 
 
 JOHN B. TABB 
 
 With locks of gold to-day; 
 To-morrow, silver gray; 
 Then blossom-bald. Behold, 
 O man, thy fortune told ! 
 
 (1894) 
 
 EASTERf 
 
 JOHN B. TABB 
 
 Like a meteor, large and bright, 
 
 Fell a golden seed of light 
 
 On the field of Christmas night 
 
 When the Babe was born; 
 Then 'twas sepulchred in gloom 
 Till above His holy tomb 
 Flashed its everlasting bloom — 
 
 Flower of Easter morn. 
 
 (1894) 
 
 t Reprinted by special permission of Small, 
 Maynard & Company.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 371 
 
 DAISY 
 FRANCIS THOMPSON 
 
 Where the thistle lifts a purple crown 
 
 Six foot out of the turf, 
 And the harebell shakes on the windy 
 hill— 
 
 O the breath of the distant surf! 
 
 The hills look over on the South, 
 And southward dreams the sea ; 
 
 And, with the sea-breeze hand in hand, 
 Came innocence and she. 
 
 Where 'mid the gorse the raspberry 
 Red for the gatherer springs, lo 
 
 Two children did we stray and talk 
 Wise, idle, childish things. 
 
 She listened with big-lipped surprise, 
 Breast-deep 'mid flower and spine: 
 
 Her skin was like a grape, whose veins 
 Run snow instead of wine. 
 
 She knew not those sweet words she spake. 
 Nor knew her own sweet way ; 
 
 But there's never a bird, so sweet a song 
 Thronged in whose throat that day ! 20 
 
 Oh, there were flowers in Storrington 
 On the turf and on the spray; 
 
 But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills 
 Was the Daisy-flower that day ! 
 
 Her beauty smoothed earth's furrowed 
 face; 
 
 She gave me tokens three, — 
 A look, a vvord of her winsome mouth, 
 
 And a wild raspberry. 
 
 A berry red, a guileless look, 
 
 A still word, — strings of sand ! 30 
 
 And yet they made my wild, wild heart 
 
 Fly down to her little hand. 
 
 For standing artless as the air, 
 
 And candid as the skies. 
 She took the berries with her hand. 
 
 And the love with her sweet eyes. 
 
 The fairest things have fleetest end. 
 Their scent survives their close; 
 
 But the rose's scent is bitterness 
 To him that loved the rose ! 40 
 
 She looked a little wistfully. 
 Then went her sunshine way : 
 
 The sea's eye had a mist on it. 
 And the leaves fell from the day. 
 
 She went her unremembering way. 
 
 She went and left in me 
 The pang of all the partings gone 
 
 And partings yet to be. 
 
 She left me marvelling why my soul 
 Was sad that she was glad; 
 
 At all the sadness in the sweet, 
 The sweetness in the sad. 
 
 Still, still I seemed to see her, still 
 Look up with soft replies, 
 
 And take the berries with her hand, 
 And the love with her lovely eyes. 
 
 Nothing begins and nothing ends, 
 That is not paid with moan; 
 
 For we are born in others' pain, 
 And perish in our own. 
 
 (1895) 
 
 50 
 
 60 
 
 THE JOY OF THE HILLS 
 
 EDWIN MARKHAM 
 
 I ride on the mountain tops, I ride; 
 
 I have found my life and am satisfied. 
 
 Onward I ride in the blowing oats. 
 
 Checking the field-lark's rippling notes- 
 Lightly I sweep 
 From steep to steep: 
 
 Over my head through the branches high 
 
 Come glimpses of a rushing sky; 
 
 The tall oats brush my horse's flanks ; 
 
 Wild poppies crowd on the sunny banks ; 
 
 A bee booms out of the scented grass; 11 
 
 A jay laughs with me as I pass. 
 
 I ride on the hills, I forgive, I forget 
 
 Life's hoard of regret — 
 
 All the terror and pain 
 
 Of the chafing chain. 
 
 Grind on, O cities, grind : 
 
 I leave you a blur behind. 
 I am lifted elate — the skies expand: 
 Here the world's heaped gold is a pile of 
 sand. 20 
 
 Let them weary and work in their narrow 
 
 walls : 
 I ride with the voices of waterfalls!
 
 372 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 I swing on as one in a dream — I swing 
 Down the airy hollows, I shout, I sing! 
 The world is gone like an empty word : 
 My body's a bough in the wind, my heart 
 a bird! 
 
 (189s) 
 
 AN ANGLER'S WISH 
 
 HENRY VAN DYKE 
 
 When tulips bloom in Union Square, 
 And timid breaths of vernal air 
 
 Go wandering down the dusty town, 
 Like children lost in Vanity Fair; 
 
 When every long, unlovely row 
 Of westward houses stands aglow, 
 
 And leads the eyes towards sunset skies 
 Beyond the hills where green trees grow, — 
 
 Then weary seems the street parade, 
 And weary books, and weary trade; 10 
 
 I'm only wishing to go a-fishing; 
 For this the month of May was made. 
 
 I guess the pussy-willows now 
 Are creeping out on every bough 
 
 Along the brook; and robins look 
 For early worms behind the plough. 
 
 The thistle-birds have changed their dun 
 For yellow coats, to match the sun; 
 
 And in the same array of flame 
 The Dandelion Show's begun. 20 
 
 The flocks of young anemones 
 
 Are dancing round the budding trees : 
 
 Who can help wishing to go a-fishing 
 In days as full of joy as these? 
 
 I think the meadow-lark's clear sound 
 Leaks slowly upward from the ground, 
 
 While on the wing the blue-birds ring 
 Their wedding-bells to woods around. 
 
 The flirting chewink calls his dear 
 Behind the bush ; and very near, 30 
 
 Where water flows, where green grass 
 grows, 
 Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer." 
 
 And, best of all, through twilight's calm 
 The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm. 
 
 How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing 
 In days so sweet with music's balm ! 
 
 'Tis not a proud desire of mine; 
 I ask for nothing superfine; 
 
 No heavy weight, no salmon great, 
 To break the record — or my line : 40 
 
 Only an idle little stream. 
 Whose amber waters softly gleam. 
 Where I may wade, through woodland 
 shade, 
 And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream: 
 
 Only a trout or two, to dart 
 From foaming pools, and try my art : 
 'Tis all I'm wishing — old-fashioned fish- 
 ing, 
 And just a day on Nature's heart. 
 
 (1895) 
 
 AFTER CONSTRUING* 
 
 ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON 
 
 Lord Caesar, when you sternly wrote 
 The story of your grim campaigns, 
 
 And watched the ragged smoke - wreath 
 float 
 Above the burning plains, 
 
 Amid the impenetrable wood. 
 Amid the camp's incessant hum, 
 
 At eve, beside the tumbling flood 
 In high Avaricum, 
 
 You little recked, imperious head, 
 When shrilled your shattering trumpet's 
 noise, 10 
 
 Your frigid sections would be read 
 By bright-eyed English boys. 
 
 Ah me ! who penetrates to-day 
 The secret of your deep designs? 
 
 Your sovereign visions, as you lay 
 Amid the sleeping lines? 
 
 The Mantuan singer^ pleading stands; 
 
 From century to century 
 He leans and reaches wistful hands. 
 
 And cannot bear to die. 20 
 
 I Mantuan singer. Virgil. 
 
 * Reprinted by special permission of the John 
 Lane Company.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 373 
 
 But you are silent, secret, proud, 
 No smile upon your haggard face, 
 
 As when you eyed the murderous crowd 
 Beside the statue's base. 
 
 I marvel : that Titanic heart 
 
 Beats strongly through the arid page, 
 And we, self-conscious sons of art, 
 
 In this bewildering age, 
 
 Like dizzy revelers stumbling out 
 
 Upon the pure and peaceful night, 30 
 
 Are sobered into troubled doubt, 
 As swims across our sight. 
 
 The ray of that sequestered sun, 
 
 Far in the illimitable blue, — 
 The dream of all you left undone. 
 
 Of all you dared to do. 
 
 (1895) 
 
 A picket frozen on duty, 
 
 A mother starved for her brood, 
 Socrates drinking the hemlock, 
 
 And Jesus on the rood;^ 
 And millions who, humble and nameless. 
 
 The straight, hard pathway plod, — 30 
 Some call it Consecration, 
 
 And others call it God. 
 
 (1895) 
 
 EVENSONG 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 The embers of the day are red 
 Beyond the murky hill. 
 The kitchen smokes : the bed 
 In the darkling house is spread : 
 The great sky darkens overhead. 
 And the great woods are shrill. 
 So far have I been led, 
 Lord, by Thy will : 
 
 So far I have followed. Lord, and won- 
 dered still. 
 
 EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE 
 
 WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTK 
 
 A fire-mist and a planet, 
 
 A crystal and a cell, 
 A jelly-fish and a saurian, ^ 
 
 And caves where the cave-men dwell; 
 Then a sense of law and beauty 
 
 And a face turned from the clod — 
 Some call it Evolution, 
 
 And others call it God. 
 
 A haze on the far horizon. 
 
 The infinite, tender sky, 10 
 
 The ripe rich tint of the cornfields. 
 
 And the wild geese sailing high — 
 And all over upland and lowland 
 
 The charm of the golden-rod — 
 Some of us call it Autumn 
 
 And others call it God. 
 
 Like tides on a crescent sea-beach, 
 
 When the moon is new and thin, 
 Into our hearts high yearnings 
 
 Come welling and surging in — 20 
 
 Come from the mystic ocean. 
 
 Whose rim no foot has trod, — 
 Some of us call it Longing, 
 
 And others call it God. 
 
 I saurian. Reptile. 
 
 The breeze from the embalmed land 10 
 Blows sudden toward the shore. 
 And claps my cottage door. 
 I hear the signal, Lord — I understand. 
 The night at Thy command 
 Comes. I will eat and sleep and will not 
 question more. 
 
 (1895) 
 
 TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNG 
 
 A. E. HOUSMAN 
 
 [This and the following jpoem are from the col- 
 lection called A Shropshire Lad.] 
 
 The time you won your town the race 
 We chaired you through the market-place ; 
 Man and boy stood cheering by, 
 And home we brought you shoulder-high. 
 
 To-day, the road all runners come. 
 Shoulder-high we bring you home. 
 And set you at your threshold down. 
 Townsman of a stiller town. 
 
 Smart lad, to slip betimes away 
 From fields where glory does not stay, 10 
 And early though the laurel grows 
 It withers quicker than the rose. 
 I rood. Cross.
 
 374 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Eyes the shady night has shut 
 
 Cannot see the record cut, 
 
 And silence sounds no worse than cheers 
 
 After earth has stopped the ears : 
 
 Now you will not swell the rout 
 
 Of lads that wore their honors out, 
 
 Runners whom renown outran 
 
 And the name died before the man. 20 
 
 So set, before its echoes fade, 
 The fleet foot on the sill of shade, 
 And hold to the low lintel up 
 The still-defended challenge-cup. 
 
 And round that early-laurelled head 
 Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead. 
 And find unwithered on its curls 
 The garland briefer than a girl's. 
 
 (1896) 
 
 LAD, HAVE YOU THINGS TO DO? 
 
 A. E. HOUSMAN 
 
 Say, lad, have you things to do? 
 
 Quick then, while your day's at prime, 
 Quick, and if 'tis work for two. 
 
 Here am I, man : now's your time. 
 
 Send me now, and I shall go; 
 
 Call me, I shall hear you call ; 
 Use me ere they lay me low 
 
 Where a man's no use at all; 
 
 Ere the wholesome flesh decay. 
 
 And the willing nerve be numb, 10 
 
 And the lips lack breath to say,^ 
 
 "No, my lad, I cannot come." 
 
 (1896) 
 AT THE END OF THE DAY* 
 
 RICHARD HOVEY 
 
 There is no escape by the river, 
 There is no flight left by the fen; 
 We are compassed about by the shiver 
 Of the night of their marching men. 
 Give a cheer! 
 
 For our hearts shall not give way. 
 Here's to a dark to-morrow. 
 And here's to a brave to-day! 
 
 •Reprinted by special permission of Small, 
 Mayiiard & Company. 
 
 The tale^ of their hosts is countless. 
 And the tale of ours a score; 10 
 
 But the palm is naught to the dauntless. 
 And the cause is more and more. 
 Give a cheer ! 
 
 We may die, but not give way. 
 Here's to a silent to-morrow, 
 And here's to a stout to-day ! 
 
 God has said : "Ye shall fail and perish ; 
 But the thrill ye have felt to-night 
 I shall keep in my heart and cherish 
 When the worlds have passed in night." 
 Give a cheer! 21 
 
 For the soul shall not give way. 
 Here's to the greater to-morrow 
 That is born of a great to-day! 
 
 Now shame on the craven truckler 
 And the puling things that mope ! 
 We've a rapture for our buckler 
 That outwears the wings of hope. 
 Give a cheer ! 
 
 For our joy shall not give way. 30 
 
 Here's in the teeth of to-morrow 
 To the glory of to-day! 
 
 (1896) 
 
 GUILIELMUS REX 
 
 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 [The title means "King William."] 
 
 The folk who lived in Shakespeare's day 
 And saw that gentle figure pass 
 By London Bridge, his frequent way — 
 They little knew what man he was. 
 
 The pointed beard, the courteous mien. 
 The equal port^ to high and low, 
 All this they saw or might have seen — 
 But not the light behind the brow ! 
 
 The doublet's modest gray or brown. 
 The slender sword-hilt's plain device, 10 
 What sign had these for prince or clown? 
 Few turned, or none, to scan him twice. 
 
 Yet 'twas the king of England's kings ! 
 The rest with all their pomps and trains 
 Are mouldered, half-remembered things — 
 'Tis he alone that Hves and reigns! 
 
 (1896) 
 
 I tale. Number. 
 
 a equal port. Same manner.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 375 
 
 AMERICA AND ENGLAND* 
 
 GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY 
 
 [These sonnets are from a group published "when 
 there was talk of war with England."] 
 
 What is the strength of England, and her 
 
 pride 
 Among the nations, when she makes her 
 
 boast ? 
 Has the East heard it, where her far-flung 
 
 host 
 Hangs like a javelin in India's side? 
 Does the sea know it, where her navies 
 
 ride, 
 Like towers of stars, about the silver coast. 
 Or from the great Capes to the uttermost 
 Parts of the North like ocean meteors 
 
 glide? 
 Answer, O South, if yet where Gordon^ 
 
 sank, 9 
 
 Spent arrow of the far and lone Soudan, 
 There comes a whisper out of wasted 
 
 death ! 
 O every ocean, every land, that drank 
 The blood of England, answer, if ye can, 
 What is it that giveth her immortal 
 
 breath? 
 
 Then the West answered : "Is the sword's 
 
 keen edge 
 Like to the mind for sharpness? Doth' 
 
 the flame 
 Devour like thought? Many with char- 
 iots came. 
 Squadron and phalanx, legion, square, and 
 
 wedge ; 
 They mounted up; they wound from ledge 
 
 to ledge 19 
 
 Of battle-glory dark with battle-shame; 
 But God hath hurled them from the 
 
 heights of fame 
 Who from the soul took no eternal pledge. 
 Because above her people and her throne 
 She hath erected reason's sovereignty; 
 Because wherever human speech is known 
 The touch of English breath doth make 
 
 thought free; 
 Therefore forever is her glory blown 
 About the hills, and flashed beneath the 
 
 (1896) 
 
 I Gordon. General Charles George Gordon, who 
 was killed in the Soudan in 1885. 
 
 * Reprinted by special permission of The Mac- 
 millan Company. 
 
 THE SECRET* 
 
 GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY 
 
 Nightingales warble about it 
 All night under blossom and star; 
 
 The wild swan is dying without it. 
 And the eagle crieth afar; 
 
 The sun, he doth mount but to find it. 
 Searching the green earth o'er ; 
 
 But more doth a man's heart mind it — 
 
 more, more, more ! 
 
 Over the gray leagues of ocean 
 
 The infinite yearneth alone ; 10 
 
 The forests with wandering emotion 
 
 The thing they know not intone ; 
 Creation arose but to see it, 
 
 A million lamps in the blue; 
 But a lover, he shall be it. 
 
 If one sweet maid is true. 
 
 (1897) 
 
 DRAKE'S DRUM 
 
 HENRY NEWBOLT 
 
 [This is a sailor's "chantey," in praise of the 
 great British Admiral, Sir Francis Drake, who 
 was born in Devonshire, 1540, and was buried 
 at sea in the Caribbean, January, 1596. The 
 poem embodies one of many legends respecting 
 Drake's promise to return to the help of Eng- 
 land in case of need.] 
 
 Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand 
 mile away 
 (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?). 
 Slung atween the round shot in Nombre 
 Dios Bay,^ 
 An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth 
 H0C.2 
 
 Yarnder lumes the island, yarnder He the 
 ships, 
 Wi' sailor lads a-dancin' heel-an'-toe, 
 An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night- 
 tide dashin', — 
 He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et 
 long ago. 
 
 Drake he was a Devon man, an' ruled 
 
 the Devon seas 9 
 
 (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?) ; 
 
 Rovin' tho' his death fell, he went wi' 
 
 heart at ease. 
 
 An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth 
 
 Hoe. 
 
 1 Nombre Dios Bay. Off the Panama coast; the 
 scene of Drake's last days. 
 
 a Plymouth Hoe. A headland at Plymouth. 
 • Reprinted by special permission of The Mac- 
 millan Company,
 
 Z76 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 "Take my drum to England, hang et by 
 the shore, 
 Strike et when your powder's runnin' 
 low; 
 If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port 
 o' Heaven, 
 An' drum them up the Channel as we 
 drummed them long ago." 
 
 Drake he's in his hammock till the great 
 Armadas come 
 (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?), 
 Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for 
 the drum, 
 An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth 
 Hoe. 20 
 
 Call him on the deep sea, call him up the 
 Sound, 
 Call him when ye sail to meet the foe; 
 Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old 
 flag flyin'. 
 They shall find him ware an' wakin', as 
 they found him long ago! 
 
 (1897) 
 
 ALTRUISM 
 
 DAVID STARR JORDAN 
 
 [With the last three stanzas the reader may 
 compare Tennyson's "By an Evolutionist" (page 
 361) and Moody's "The Menagerie" (page 379) 
 as examples of the poetic interpretation of the 
 theory of biological evolution.] 
 
 "The God of things as they are" 
 Is the God of the highest heaven; 
 
 The God of the morning star. 
 Of the thrush that sings at even; 
 
 The God of the storm and sunshine, 
 Of the wolf, the snail, and the bee, 
 
 Of the Alp's majestic silence, 
 Of the soundless depths of the sea; 
 
 The God of the times and the nations, 
 Of the planets as they roll, 10 
 
 Of the numberless constellations, 
 Of the limitless human soul. 
 
 For there is nothing small, 
 
 And naught can mighty be; 
 Archangels and atoms all 
 
 Embodiments of Thee! 
 
 A single thought divine 
 
 Holds stars and suns in space ; 
 A dream of man is Thine, 
 
 And history finds its place. 20 
 
 When the universe was young, 
 Thine was the perfect thought 
 
 That life should be bound in one 
 By the strand of Love inwrought. 
 
 In the life of the fern and the lily. 
 
 Of the dragon and the dove, 
 Still through the stress and struggle 
 
 Waxes the bond of Love. 
 
 Out from the ruthless ages 
 
 Rises, like incense mild, 30 
 
 The love of the man and the woman, 
 
 The love of mother and child. 
 
 (1897) 
 
 RECESSIONAL 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 [Written at the close of the great British 
 festival in honor of the 60th anniversary of 
 Victoria's accession to the throne.] 
 
 God of our fathers, known of old, 
 Lord of our far-flung battle-line. 
 
 Beneath whose awful Hand we hold 
 Dominion over palm and pine — 
 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 
 
 The tumult and the shouting dies ; 
 
 The Captains and the Kings depart : 
 Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice. 
 
 An humble and a contrite heart. 10 
 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget! 
 
 Far-called, our navies melt away; 
 
 On dune and headland sinks the fire: 
 Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 
 
 Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! 
 Judge of the Nations, spare us yet. 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 
 
 If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 
 Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe. 
 
 Such boastings as the Gentiles use, 21 
 Or lesser breeds without the Law — 
 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet. 
 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget! 
 
 For heathen heart that puts her trust 
 In reeking tube and iron shard. 
 
 All valiant dust that builds on dust, 
 And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, 
 
 For frantic boast and foolish word — 
 
 Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord! 30 
 
 (1897)
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 377 
 
 WHEN THE GREAT GRAY SHIPS COME IN* 
 
 {New York Harbor, August 20, 1898) 
 
 GUY WETMORE CARRYL 
 
 [On the conclusion of the war with Spain. 1 
 
 To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o'er mapless miles of sea, 
 On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost isles are free, 
 And the furthermost isles make answer; harbor, and height, and hill. 
 Breaker and beach cry each to each, " 'Tis the Mother who calls ! Be still !" 
 Mother! new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm, 
 Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign arm, 
 Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, who bade her navies roam. 
 Who calls again to the leagues of main, and who calls them this time home ! 
 
 And the gjeat gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest, 
 
 The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west lo 
 
 Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars, 
 
 And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars! 
 
 Peace! As the tidings silence the strenuous cannonade. 
 
 Peace at last ! is the bugle blast the length of the long blockade, 
 
 And eyes of vigil weary are lit with the glad release. 
 
 From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is "Peace ! Thank God for peace." 
 
 Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show 
 
 The sons of these who swept the seas how she bade them rise and go, — 
 
 How, when the stirring summons smote on her children's ear. 
 
 South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land answered "Here !" 20 
 
 For the soul of the soldier's story and the heart of the sailor's song 
 
 Are all of those who meet their foes as right should meet with wrong. 
 
 Who fight their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the decks they trod, 
 
 Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of their country's God! 
 
 Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free. 
 
 To carry the hearts of a people to the uttermost ends of sea. 
 
 To see the day steal up the bay where the enemy lies in wait. 
 
 To run your ship to the harbor's lip and sink her across the strait : 
 
 But better the golden evening when the ships round heads for home, 
 
 And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a swirl of seething foam, 30 
 
 And the people wait at the haven's gate to greet the men who win ! 
 
 Thank God for peace ! Thank God for peace, when the great gray ships come in ! 
 
 (1898) 
 
 UNMANIFEST DESTINYf Across the sea that knows no beach 
 
 RICHARD HOVEY The Admiral of the Nation guides 
 
 , , , , „ . ^ Thy blind obedient keels to reach 
 
 [Written when the war between the United yy. Uorhnr whprp fhv fntnr*. rJrl^c t 
 
 States and Spain had brought into use the ^ "^ narDor where ttty luture tides! 
 phrase "manifest destiny," with reference to 
 
 the new world-policy of the nation.] I^e guns that spoke at Lexington 9 
 
 To what new fates, my country, far _ ^"ew not that God was planning then 
 
 And unforeseen of foe or friend, ^he trumpet word of Jefferson 
 
 Beneath what unexpected star. To bugle forth the rights of men. 
 Compelled to what unchosen end, 
 
 * From "The Garden of Years and Other To them that wept and cursed Bull Run, 
 Poems," courtesy of G. P. Putnam's Sons, pub- What was it but despair and shame? 
 
 '% Reprinted by special permission of Duffield ^^^° ^^^ behind the cloud the Sun ? 
 & Company. vv ho knew that God was m the name ?
 
 378 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Had not defeat upon defeat, 
 
 Disaster on disaster come, 
 The slave's emancipated feet 19 
 
 Had never marched behind the drum. 
 
 There is a Hand that bends our deeds 
 To mightier issues than we planned ; 
 
 Each son that triumphs, each that bleeds. 
 My country, serves Its dark command. 
 
 I do not know beneath what sky 
 Nor on what seas shall be thy fate; 
 
 I only know it shall be high, 
 I only know it shall be great. 
 
 (1898) 
 
 And the loveliest lyric I ever heard 
 Was the wildwood strain of a forest 
 
 bird.— 
 If the wind and the brook and the bird 
 
 would teach 
 My heart their beautiful parts of speech, 
 And the natural art that they say these 
 
 with, 9 
 
 My soul would sing of beauty and myth 
 In a rhyme and metre that none before 
 Have sung in their love, or dreamed in 
 
 their lore, 
 And the world would be richer one poet 
 
 the more. 
 
 (1899) 
 
 TWO TAVERNS 
 
 EDWIN MARKHAM 
 
 I remember how I lay 
 
 On a bank a summer day. 
 
 Where the poppies in full f!ower 
 
 Danced away their golden hour. 
 
 Till the air grew strangely chill 
 
 At the darkening of the hill; 
 
 Then I saw a wild bee dart 
 
 Out of the cold to the poppy's heart; 
 
 Saw the petals gently spin, 
 
 And shut the little lodger in. 10 
 
 Then I took the quiet road 
 
 To my own secure abode. 
 
 All night long his tavern hung; 
 
 Now it rested, now it swung; 
 
 I asleep in steadfast tower, 
 
 He asleep in stirring flower; 
 
 In our hearts the same delight 
 
 In the hushes of the night; 
 
 Over us both the same dear care, 
 
 As we slumbered unaware. 20 
 
 (1899) 
 
 PRELUDE * 
 
 MADISON CAWEIN 
 
 There is no rhyme that is half so sweet 
 As the song of the wind in the rippling 
 
 wheat ; 
 There is no metre that's half so fine 
 As the lilt of the brook under rock and 
 
 vine; 
 
 • Copyright by the Macmillan Company. Re- 
 printed by special permission. 
 
 GLOUCESTER MOORS 
 
 WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY 
 
 [The reader should note carefully how the 
 image of earth as a ship (lines 28-36), seem- 
 ingly suggested by the scene on the Massachu- 
 setts coast, controls the whole further develop- 
 ment of the poem, when the theme changes 
 from landscape to the problem of man in so- 
 ciety.] 
 
 A mile behind is Gloucester town 
 Where the fishing fleets put in, 
 A mile ahead the land dips down 
 And the woods and farms begin. 
 Here, where the moors stretch free 
 In the high blue afternoon. 
 Are the marching sun and talking sea. 
 And the racing winds that wheel and fiee 
 On the flying heels of June. 
 
 Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue, 10 
 
 Blue is the quaker-maid, 
 
 The wild geranium holds its dew 
 
 Long in the boulder's shade. 
 
 Wax-red hangs the cup 
 
 From the huckleberry boughs, 
 
 In barberry bells the gray moths sup, 
 
 Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up 
 
 Sweet bowls for their carouse. 
 
 Over the shelf of the sandy cove 
 
 Beach-peas blossom late. 20 
 
 By copse and cliff the swallows rove 
 
 Each calling to his mate. 
 
 Seaward the sea-gulls go. 
 
 And the land-birds all are here; 
 
 That green-gold flash was a vireo. 
 
 And yonder flame where the marsh-flags 
 
 grow 
 Was a scarlet tanager.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 379 
 
 This earth is not the steadfast place 
 
 We landsmen build upon ; 
 
 From deep to deep she varies pace, 30 
 
 And while she comes is gone. 
 
 Beneath my feet I feel 
 
 Her smooth bulk heave and dip ; 
 
 With velvet plunge and soft upreel 
 
 She swings and steadies to her keel 
 
 Like a gallant, gallant ship. 
 
 These summer clouds she sets for sail, 
 The sun is her mast-head light. 
 She tows the moon like a pinnace frail 
 Where her phosphor wake churns bright. 
 Now hid, now looming clear, 41 
 
 On the face of the dangerous blue 
 The star-fleets tack and wheel and veer. 
 But on, but on does the old earth steer 
 As if her port she knew. 
 
 There is cash to purse and spend, 
 There are wives to be embraced, 
 Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend. 
 And hearts to take and keep to the end, — 
 O little sails, make haste! 81 
 
 But thou, vast outbound ship of souls. 
 
 What harbor town for thee? 
 
 What shapes, when thy arriving tolls,^ 
 
 Shall crowd the banks to see? 
 
 Shall all the happy shipmates then 
 
 Stand singing brotherly? 
 
 Or shall a haggard ruthless few 
 
 Warp her over and bring her to, 
 
 While the many broken souls of men 90 
 
 Fester down in the slaver's pen. 
 
 And nothing to say or do? 
 
 (1900) 
 
 God, dear God ! Does she know her port, 
 
 Though she goes so far about? 
 
 Or blind astray, does she make her sport 
 
 To brazen and chance it out? 
 
 I watched when her captains passed : 50 
 
 She were better captainless. 
 
 Men in the cabin, before the mast, 
 
 But some were reckless and some aghast. 
 
 And some sat gorged at mess. 
 
 By her battened hatch I leaned and caught 
 Sounds from the noisome hold, — 
 Cursing and sighing of souls distraught 
 And cries too sad to be told. 
 Then I strove to go down and see ; 
 But they said, "Thou art not of us !" 60 
 I turned to those on the deck with me 
 And cried, "Give help !" But they said, 
 
 "Let be: 
 Our ship sails faster thus." 
 
 Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue. 
 
 Blue is the quaker-maid. 
 
 The alder-clurrvp where the brook comes 
 
 through 
 Breeds cresses in its shade. 
 To be out of the moiling street 
 With its swelter and its sin ! 
 Who has given to me this sweet, 70 
 
 And given my brother dust to eat? 
 And when will his wage come in? 
 
 Scattering wide or blown in ranks. 
 Yellow and white and brown, 
 Boats and boats from the fishing banks 
 Come home to Gloucester town. 
 
 THE MENAGERIE 
 
 WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY 
 
 [This is a dramatic monologue, from which the 
 reader must infer indirectly the scene and the 
 character of the person speaking. Lines 41-50, 
 61-70, and 101-115 are among the most remarka- 
 ble passages in which the biological theory of 
 evolution has been interpreted by poetry.] 
 
 Thank God my brain is not inclined to cut 
 Such capers every day! I'm just about 
 Mellow, but then — There goes the tent- 
 flap shut. 
 Rain's in the wind. I thought so : every 
 
 snout 
 Was twitching when the keeper turned me 
 out. 
 
 That screaming parrot makes my blood 
 
 run cold. 
 Gabriel's trump ! the big bull elephant 
 Squeals "Rain" to the parched herd. The 
 
 monkeys scold, 8 
 
 And jabber that it's rain water they want. 
 (It makes me sick to see a monkey pant.) 
 
 I'll foot it home, to try and make believe 
 I'm sober. After this I stick to beer. 
 And drop the circus when the sane folks 
 
 leave. 
 A man's a fool to look at things too near : 
 They look back, and begin to cut up queer. 
 
 I An allusion to the custom of tolling the wharf- 
 bell as announcement of a homecoming fishing 
 schooner,
 
 380 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 Beasts do, at any rate; especially 
 Wild devils caged. They have the coolest 
 
 way 
 Of being something else than what you 
 
 see : i8 
 
 You pass a sleek young zebra nosing hay, 
 A nylghau looking bored and distingue, — 
 
 And think you've seen a donkey and a 
 
 bird. 
 Not on your life ! Just glance back, if you 
 
 dare. 
 The zebra chews, the nylghau hasn't 
 
 stirred ; 
 But something's happened. Heaven knows 
 
 what or where. 
 To freeze your scalp and pompadour your 
 
 hair. 
 
 I'm not precisely an aeolian lute 
 Hung in the wandering winds of senti- 
 ment, 
 But drown me if the ugliest, meanest 
 brute 28 
 
 Grunting and fretting in that sultry tent 
 Didn't just floor me with embarrassment ! 
 
 'Twas like a thunder-clap from out the 
 
 clear, — 
 One minute they were circus beasts, some 
 
 grand. 
 Some ugly, some amusing, and some 
 
 queer: 
 Rival attractions to the hobo band, 
 The flying jenny, and the peanut stand. 
 
 Next minute there were old hearth-mates 
 of mine ! 
 
 Lost people, eyeing me with such a stare ! 
 
 Patient, satiric, devilish, divine; 
 
 A gaze of hopeless envy, squalid care, 
 
 Hatred, and thwarted love, and dim de- 
 spair. 40 
 
 Within my blood my ancient kindred 
 
 spoke, — 
 Grotesque and monstrous voices, heard afar 
 Down ocean caves when behemoth awoke, 
 Or through fern forests roared the ple- 
 
 siosaur 
 Locked with the giant-bat in ghastly war. 
 
 And suddenly, as in a flash of light, 
 
 I saw great Nature working out her plan ; 
 
 Through all her shapes from mastodon to 
 
 mite 
 Forever groping, testing, passing on 49 
 To find at last the shape and soul of Man. 
 
 Till in the fulness of accomplished time. 
 Comes brother Forepaugh,^ upon business 
 
 bent, 
 Tracks her through frozen and through 
 
 torrid clime, 
 And shows us, neatly labeled in a tent, 
 The stages of her huge experiment; 
 
 Blabbing aloud her shy and reticent hours ; 
 
 Dragging to light her blinking, slothful 
 moods ; 
 
 Publishing fretful seasons when her pow- 
 ers 
 
 Worked wild and sullen in her solitudes, 
 
 Or when her mordant laughter shook the 
 woods. 60 
 
 Here, round about me, were her vagrant 
 
 births ; 
 Sick dreams she had, fierce projects she 
 
 essayed ; 
 Her qualms, her fiery prides, her crazy 
 
 mirths ; 
 The troublings of her spirit as she strayed, 
 Cringed, gloated, mocked, was lordly, was 
 
 afraid, 
 
 On that long road she went to seek man- 
 kind; 
 Here were the darkling coverts that she beat 
 To find the Hider she was sent to find ; 
 Here the distracted footprints of her feet 
 Whereby her soul's Desire she came to 
 greet. 70 
 
 But why should they, her botch-work, turn 
 
 about 
 And stare disdain at me, her finished job? 
 Why was the place one vast suspended 
 
 shout 
 Of laughter? Why did all the daylight 
 
 throb 
 With soundless guffaw and dumb-stricken 
 
 5ob? 
 
 Helpless I stood among those awful cages; 
 The beasts were walking loose, and I was 
 
 bagged ! 
 I, I, last product of the toiling ages. 
 Goal of heroic feet that never lagged, — 
 A little man in trousers, slightly jagged. 
 
 Deliver me from such another jury! 81 
 The Judgment-day will be a picnic to't. 
 Their satire was more dreadful than their 
 
 fury. 
 And worst of all was just a kind of brute 
 Disgust, and giving up, and sinking mute. 
 
 I Fcrtpaugh. The proprietor of the menagerie.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 381 
 
 Survival of the fittest, adaptation, 
 And all their other evolution terms. 
 Seem to omit one small consideration. 
 To wit, that tumblebugs and angleworms 
 Have souls : there's soul in everything 
 that squirms. 90 
 
 And souls are restless, plagued, impatient 
 
 things. 
 All dream and unaccountable desire ; 
 Crawling, but pestered with the thought 
 
 of wings ; 
 Spreading through every inch of earth's 
 
 old mire 
 Mystical hanker after something higher. 
 
 Wishes are horses, as I understand. 
 I guess a wistful polyp that has strokes 
 Of feeling faint to gallivant on land 
 Will come to be a scandal to his folks; 
 Legs he will sprout, in spite of threats 
 and jokes. 100 
 
 And at the core of every life that crawls 
 Or runs or flies or swims or vegetates — 
 Churning the mammoth's heart-blood, in 
 
 the galls 
 Of shark and tiger planting gorgeous 
 
 hates. 
 Lighting the love of eagles for their 
 
 mates ; 
 
 Yes, in the dim brain of the jellied fish 
 That is and is not living — moved and 
 
 stirred 
 From the beginning a mysterious wish, 
 A vision, a command, a fatal Word : 
 The name of Man was uttered, and they 
 
 heard, no 
 
 Upward along the aeons of old war 
 They sought him : wing and shank-bone, 
 
 claw and bill 
 Were fashioned aud rejected; wide and 
 
 far 
 They roamed the twilight jungles of their 
 
 will; 
 But still they sought him, and desired him 
 
 still. 
 
 Man they desired, but mind you. Perfect 
 
 Man, 
 The radiant and the loving, yet to be ! 
 I hardly wonder, when they came to scan 
 The upshot of their strenuosity. 
 They gazed with mixed emotions upon 
 
 me. 120 
 
 Well, my advice to you is, Face the crea- 
 tures. 
 
 Or spot them sideways with your weather 
 eye. 
 
 Just to keep tab on their expansive fea- 
 tures ; 
 
 It isn't pleasant when you're stepping high 
 
 To catch a giraffe smiling on the sly. 
 
 If nature made you graceful, don't get 
 
 gay 
 Back-to before the hippopotamus ; 
 If meek and godly, find some place to play 
 Besides right where three mad hyenas 
 
 fuss : 
 You may hear language that we won't 
 
 discuss. 130 
 
 If you're a sweet thing in a flower-bed hat. 
 Or her best fellow with your tie tucked in, 
 Don't squander love's bright springtime 
 
 girding at 
 An old chimpanzee with an Irish chin : 
 There may be hidden meaning in his grin. 
 
 (1901) 
 
 SEA FEVER* 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 I must go down to the seas again, to the 
 
 lonely sea and the sky. 
 And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to 
 
 steer her by; 
 And the wheel's kick and the wind's song 
 
 and the white sail's shaking. 
 And a gray mist on the sea's face, and 
 
 a gray dawn breaking. 
 
 I must go down to the seas again, for the 
 
 call of the running tide 
 Is a wild call and a clear call that may 
 
 not be denied; 
 And all I ask is a windy day with the 
 
 white clouds flying. 
 And the flung spray and the blown spume, 
 
 and the sea-gulls crying. 
 
 I must go down to the seas again, to the 
 
 vagrant gypsy life. 
 To the gull's way and the whale's way, 
 
 where the wind's like a whetted knife; 
 And all I ask is a merry yarn from a 
 
 laughing fellow-rover, 11 
 
 And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when 
 
 the long trick's over. 
 (1902) 
 
 • Reprinted by special permission from the 
 author and the publishers.
 
 382 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 KEW IN LILAC-TIME 
 
 ALFRED NOYES 
 
 [One of the lyrics supposed to be heard by the 
 poet in the music of a street-piano in London; 
 from a long poem called "The Barrel-Organ."] 
 
 Go down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac- 
 time, in lilac-time; 
 Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't 
 far from London!) 
 
 And you shall wander hand in hand with 
 love in summer's wonderland; 
 
 Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't 
 far from London!). 
 
 The cherry-trees are seas of bloom and 
 soft perfume and sweet perfume, 
 The cherry-trees are seas of bloom (and 
 oh, so near to London!), 
 And there, they say, when dawn is high 
 and all the world's a blaze of sky. 
 The cuckoo, though he's very shy, will 
 sing a song for London, 
 
 The Dorian nightingale is rare and yet 
 they say you'll hear him there 
 At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, 
 so near to London!), lo 
 
 The linnet and the throstle, too, and after 
 dark the long halloo 
 And golden-eyed tu-whit, tu-whoo of 
 owls that ogle London. 
 
 For Noah hardly knew a bird of any kind 
 that isn't heard 
 At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, 
 so near to London ! ) , 
 And when the rose begins to pout and all 
 the chestnut spires are out 
 You'll hear the rest without a doubt, all 
 chorusing for London : — 
 
 Come down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac- 
 time, in lilac-time; 
 Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it 
 isn't far from London!), 
 And you shall wander hand in hand with 
 love in summer's wonderland; 
 Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it 
 isn't far from London!). 20 
 
 (1904) 
 
 IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING 
 
 ALFRED NOYES 
 
 In the cool of the evening, when the low 
 sweet whispers waken. 
 When the laborers turn them homeward, 
 and the weary have their will, 
 
 When the censers of the roses o'er the 
 forest-aisles are shaken, 
 Is it but the wind that cometh o'er the 
 far green hill? 
 
 For they say 'tis but the sunset winds that 
 wander through the heather, 
 Rustle all the meadow-grass and bend 
 the dewy fern; 
 They say 'tis but the winds that bow the 
 reeds in prayer together. 
 And fill the shaken pools with fire along 
 the shadowy burn, 
 
 In the beauty of the twilight, in the Gar- 
 den that He loveth, 
 They have veiled His lovely vesture 
 with the darkness of a name ! 10 
 
 Thro' His Garden, thro' His Garden it is 
 but the wind that moveth, 
 No more; but O, the miracle, the mira- 
 cle is the same ! 
 
 In the cool of the evening, when the sky 
 is an old story 
 Slowly dying, but remembered, ay, and 
 loved with passion still, 
 Hush ! . . . the fringes of His garment, 
 in the fading golden glory. 
 Softly rustling as He cometh o'er the 
 far green hill. 
 
 (1907) 
 
 SOMETIMES* 
 
 THOMAS S. JONES, Jr. 
 
 Across the fields of yesterday 
 
 He sometimes comes to me, 
 A little lad just back from play — 
 
 The lad I used to be. 
 
 And yet he smiles so wistfully 
 
 Once he has crept within, 
 I wonder if he hopes to see 
 
 The man I might have been. 
 
 (1907) 
 
 TO A GREEK BOOTBLACKf 
 
 O. W. FIRKINS 
 
 In a dusk and scant retreat^ 
 Fronting on the noisy street, 
 Six lads, quick of hands and feet, 
 Ply a trade for song unmeet. 
 In the passer's careless view : 
 
 • Reprinted from "The Rose-Jar," published 
 by Thomas Bird Mosher, by special permission 
 of the author, 
 
 t Reprinted by special permission from the 
 author and The .Itlaiilic Monthly.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 383 
 
 I, from Saxon loins that rose — 
 Churl or swain or serf — who knows? — 
 High-reared, propping heels and toes, 
 Brood in meditant repose 
 O'er the Greek who blacks my shoe, lo 
 
 Round black head that fronts my knees, 
 Cheeks whose tint might tempt the bees, 
 Profile scarcely formed to please 
 Myron or Praxiteles,^ 
 
 Yet of dainty mould and coy; 
 Eyes whose owner ne'er may guess 
 What appealing tenderness. 
 Dream-like in their veiled recess, 
 Deep and dark their spheres express — 
 
 Longings alien to the boy. 20 
 
 Reascends the ancient aeon : 
 Winds that o'er the broad .Egean 
 Skyward lift the joyous paean, 
 Chanted as with pipes Pandaean^ 
 
 O'er the Persian's broken line; 
 Trail of purple-hemmed himations,' 
 Foam and fragrance of libations, 
 Viols, harp and flute vibrations, 
 
 Olives, and the Chian vine.* 
 
 Not for him the dream is spun; 30 
 
 From his lips, unheeding one, 
 In a lasting torrent run 
 Accents strange to Xenophon, 
 
 Tones Cithaeron^ never knew: 
 What to him the ages' sickle? 
 What the thought that time is fickle? 
 Brisk, he takes the proffered nickel; 
 
 Eager, seeks the waiting shoe. 
 
 Meagre, in this narrowed sluice, 
 Flows the rich-hued Attic juice; 40 
 
 Shrunken ward of fallen Zeus, 
 I thy sandal should unloose — 
 
 Sandals — they are vanished too ! 
 Sad eclipse of antique splendor ! 
 Poor blue shirt and crossed suspender! 
 Tribute gladly would I render; 
 Tears, or smiles than tears more tender — 
 
 Little Greek that blacks my shoe. 
 
 (1908) 
 
 I Greek sculptors. 
 
 3 pipes Pandaan. Pipes which the god Pan 
 was said to have invented and played. 
 
 3 himations. Greek outer garments. 
 
 4 Chian vine. Wine from Chianti. 
 
 5 Citharon. A mountain region of Greece. 
 
 MIMMA BELLA 
 
 EUGENE LEE-HAMILTON 
 
 [From a series of sonnets, called by the same 
 title, in memory of the poet's little daughter.] 
 
 Lo, through the open window of the room 
 That was her nursery, a small bright 
 
 spark 
 Comes wandering in, as falls the summer 
 
 dark. 
 And with a measured flight explores the 
 
 gloom. 
 As if it sought, among the things that 
 
 loom 
 Vague in the dusk, for some familiar 
 
 mark. 
 And like a light on some wee unseen bark. 
 It tacks in search of who knows what or 
 
 whom? 
 
 I know 'tis but a fire-fly ; yet its flight. 
 So straight, so measured, round the empty 
 
 bed, 10 
 
 Might be a little soul's that night sets 
 
 free; 
 And as it nears, I feel my heart grow 
 
 tight 
 With something like a superstitious 
 
 dread. 
 And watch it breathless, lest it should be 
 
 she. 
 
 (1909) 
 
 A LITTLE SONG OF LIFE* 
 
 LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE 
 
 Glad that I live am I ; 
 That the sky is blue; 
 Glad for the country lanes, 
 And the fall of dew. 
 
 After the sun the rain, 
 After the rain the sun; 
 This is the way of life, 
 Till the work be done. 
 
 All that we need to do, 
 
 Be we low or high, 10 
 
 Is to see that we grow 
 
 Nearer the sky. 
 
 (1909) 
 
 * Reprinted from "A Wayside Lute" by spe- 
 cial permission of Thomas Bird Mosher.
 
 384 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT* 
 
 JAMES OPPENHEIM 
 
 The lights of Saturday night beat golden, golden over the pillared street; 
 The long plate-glass of a Dream-World olden is as the footlights shining sweet. 
 Street-lamp — flambeau — glamor of trolley — comet-trail of the trains above, 
 Splash where the jostling crowds are jolly with echoing laughter and human love. 
 
 This is the City of the Enchanted, and these are her enchanted people; 
 Far and far is Daylight, haunted with whistle of mill and bell of steeple. 
 The eastern tenements loose the women, the western flats release the wives 
 To touch, where all the ways are common, a glory to their sweated lives. 
 
 The leather of shoes in the brilliant casement sheds a lustre over the heart; 
 
 The high-heaped fruit in the flaring basement glows with the tints of Turner's art. lo 
 
 Darwin's dream and the eye of Spencer saw not such a gloried race^ 
 
 As here, in copper light intenser than desert sun, glides face by face. 
 
 This drab washwoman dazed and breathless, ray-chiseled in the golden stream. 
 
 Is a magic statue standing deathless, her tub and soap-suds touched with Dream. 
 
 Yea, in this people, glamor-sunnied, democracy wins heaven again; 
 
 Here the unlearned and the unmoneyed laugh in the lights of Lover's Lane! 
 
 O Dream-World lights that lift through the ether millions of miles to the Milky Way! 
 To-night earth rolls through a golden weather that lights the Pleiades where they 
 
 play ! 
 Yet — God? Does he lead these sons and daughters? Yea, do they feel with a passion 
 
 that stills, 
 God on the face of the moving waters, God in the quiet of the hills? 20 
 
 Yet — what if the million-mantled mountains, and what if the million-moving sea 
 Are here alone in fagades and fountains — our deep stone-world of humanity — 
 We builders of cities and civilizations, walled away from the sea and the sod. 
 Must reach, dream-led, for our revelations through one another — as far as God. 
 
 Through one another — through one another — no more the gleam on sea or land, 
 But so close that we see the Brother, and understand — and understand! 
 Till, drawn in swept crowd closer, closer, we see the gleam in the human clod. 
 And clerk and foreman, peddler and grocer, are in our Family of God ! 
 
 (1909) 
 
 r-r^-KicT, KT^T^c^A. Wc were dear; we were leal;2 O, far we 
 
 COMRADES t went straying; 
 
 GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY ^?* '^^^^ ^ ^^^"^ t° '"y ^^^'"^ ^^O^^^S 
 
 hommg ! — 
 
 [In the original form these are the opening ^xn „ • u ^i. j 1 u 1 j 
 
 stanzas of a longer poem.] Where IS he now, the dark boy slender 
 
 Where are the friends that I knew in ^^^ ^^.^^ht me bare-back, stirrup and 
 
 my Maying, ^^'"s.. , , . u .-r 1 
 
 In the days of my youth, in the first of ^ ^o^^^ him; he loved me; my beautiful, 
 
 my roaming? tender 
 
 •From a volume entitled "Monday Morning." Tamer of horses on grass-grown plains. 
 
 Reprinted by special permission of the publishers 
 
 and the author. i Darwin and Spencer developed the doctrine 
 
 t Reprinted by special permission of The Mac- of the evolution of man. 
 
 miilan Company. 3 leal. Loyal.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 385 
 
 Where is he now whose eyes swam 
 brighter, 
 Softer than love, in his turbulent 
 charms ; lO 
 
 Who taught me to strike, and to fall, 
 dear fighter. 
 And gathered me up in his boyhood 
 arms; 
 Taught me the rifle, and with me went 
 riding, 
 Suppled my limbs to the horseman's 
 war; 
 Where is he now, for whom my heart's 
 biding. 
 Biding, biding — but he rides far ! 
 
 love that passes the love of woman ! 
 Who that hath felt it shall ever forget, 
 
 When the breath of life with a throb 
 turns human. 
 And a lad's heart is to a lad's heart set? 
 Ever, forever, lover and rover — 21 
 
 They shall cling, nor each from other 
 shall part 
 Till the reign of the stars in the heavens 
 be over, 
 And life is dust in each faithful heart! 
 
 (1910) 
 THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR* 
 
 HAROLD T. PULSIFER 
 
 With a thunder-driven heart 
 
 And the shimmer of new wings, 
 I, a worm that was, upstart. 
 King of kings ! 
 
 1 have heard the singing stars, 
 
 I have watched the sunset die, 
 As I burst the lucent bars 
 Of the sky. 
 
 Lo, the argosies of Spain, 
 
 As they plowed the naked brine, 10 
 
 Found no heaven-girded main 
 Like to mine. 
 
 Soaring from the clinging sod. 
 
 First and foremost of my race, 
 I have met the hosts of God 
 Face to face : 
 
 Met the tempest and the gale 
 
 Where the white moon-riven cloud 
 Wrapped the splendor of my sail 
 
 In a shroud. 20 
 
 * From "Mothers and Men," published by 
 Houghton Mifflin Company, copyright, 1916. Re- 
 printed by permission of author. 
 
 Where the ghost of winter fled 
 
 Swift I followed with the snow, 
 Like a silver arrow sped 
 From a bow. 
 
 I have trailed the summer south 
 
 Like a flash of burnished gold, 
 When she fled the hungry mouth 
 Of the cold. 
 
 I have dogged the ranging sun 
 
 Till the world became a scroll ; 30 
 
 All the oceans, one by one, 
 Were my goal. 
 
 Other winged men may come. 
 
 Pierce the heavens, chart the sky 
 Sound an echo to my drum 
 Ere I die. 
 
 I alone have seen the earth. 
 
 Age-old fetters swept aside, 
 In the glory of new birth — 
 
 Deified ! 40 
 
 (1910) 
 
 THE UNCONQUERED AIR* 
 
 FLORENCE EARLE COAXES 
 
 I 
 
 (1906) 
 
 Others endure Man's rule : he therefore 
 
 deems 
 I shall endure it — I, the unconquered Air ! 
 Imagines this triumphant strength may 
 
 bear 
 His paltry sway ! yea, ignorantly dreams. 
 Because proud Rhea^ now his vassal 
 
 seems. 
 And Neptune^ him obeys in billowy lair. 
 That he a more sublime assault may dare. 
 Where blown by tempest wild the vulture 
 
 screams ! 
 Presumptuous, he mounts: I toss his 
 
 bones 
 Back from the height supernal he has 
 
 braved : 10 
 
 Ay, as his vessel nears my perilous zones, 
 I blow the cockle-shell away like chaff 
 And give him to the Sea he has enslaved. 
 He founders in its depths; and then I 
 
 laugh ! 
 
 1 Rhea. A goddess of earth. 
 
 2 Neptune. The sea-god. 
 
 * Reprinted by special permission from the 
 author.
 
 386 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 (1911) 
 
 Impregnable I held myself, secure 
 Against intrusion. Who can measure 
 
 Man? 
 How should I guess his mortal will out- 
 ran 
 Defeat so far that danger could allure 
 For its own sake? — that he would all en- 
 dure, 
 All sacrifice, all suffer, rather than 20 
 Forego the daring dreams Olympian 
 That prophesy to him of victory sure? 
 Ah, tameless Courage ! — dominating power 
 That, all attempting, in a deathless hour 
 Made earth-born Titans^ godlike, in re- 
 volt !— 
 Fear is the fire that melts Icarian wings :2 
 Who fears nor Fate, nor Time, nor what 
 
 Time brings, 
 May drive Apollo's steeds, or wield the 
 thunderbolt ! 
 
 (1911) 
 
 "SCUM O' THE EARTH" 
 
 ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER 
 
 [The scene of this poem is set at the United 
 States immigrant station in New York harbor. 
 Compare the poetic argument for a liberal atti- 
 tude toward the immigrant class, with that ex- 
 pressed in Aldrich's poem, page 366.] 
 
 At the gate of the West I stand, 
 On the isle where the nations throng. 
 We call them "scum o' the earth" ; 
 Stay, are we doing you wrong. 
 Young fellow from Socrates' land? — 
 You, like a Hermes so lissome and strong 
 Fresh from the master Praxiteles' hand? 
 So you're of Spartan birth? 
 Descended, perhaps, from one of the 
 
 band — 
 Deathless in story and song — 10 
 
 Who combed their long hair at Ther- 
 mopylae's pass? 
 Ah, I forget the straits, alas ! 
 More tragic than theirs, more compassion- 
 worth. 
 That have doomed you to march in our 
 
 "immigrant class" 
 Where you're nothing but "scum o' the 
 earth." 
 
 1 Titans. Who dared to war against the ancient 
 gods. 
 
 2 Icarian wings. Icarus made wings for him- 
 self, but when he flew too near the sun, the wax 
 that held them melted, and he fell into the sea. 
 
 You Pole with the child on your knee, 
 
 What dower bring you to the land of the 
 free? 
 
 Hark ! does she croon 
 
 That sad little tune 
 
 That Chopin once found on his Polish 
 lea 20 
 
 And mounted in gold for you and for me? 
 
 Now a ragged young fiddler answers 
 
 In wild Czech melody 
 
 That Dvorak took whole from the dan- 
 cers. 
 
 And the heavy faces bloom 
 
 In the wonderful Slavik way; 
 
 The little, dull eyes, the brows a-gloom, 
 
 Suddenly dawn like the day. 
 
 While, watching these folk and their mys- 
 tery, 
 
 I forget that they're nothing worth; 30 
 
 That Bohemians, Slovaks, Croatians, 
 
 And men of all Slavik nations 
 
 Are "polacks" — and "scum o' the earth." 
 
 Genoese boy of the level brow. 
 Lad of the lustrous, dreamy eyes 
 A-stare at Manhattan's pinnacles now 
 In the first sweet shock of a hushed sur- 
 prise; 
 Within your far-rapt seer's eyes 
 I catch the glow of the wild surmise 
 That played on the Santa Maria's 3 prow 
 In that still gray dawn, 41 
 
 Four centuries gone. 
 When a world from the wave began to 
 
 rise. 
 Oh, it's hard to foretell what high em- 
 prise 
 Is the goal that gleams 
 When Italy's dreams 
 Spread wing and sweep into the skies. 
 Caesar dreamed him a world ruled well; 
 Dante dreamed Heaven out of Hell; 
 Angelo brought us there to dwell; 50 
 
 And you, are you of a different birth? — 
 You're only a "dago," — and "scum o' the 
 earth" ! 
 
 Stay, are we doing you wrong 
 Calling you "scum o' the earth," 
 Man of the sorrow-bowed head. 
 Of the features tender yet strong, — • 
 Man of the eyes full of wisdom and mys- 
 tery 
 Mingled with patience and dread? 
 Have not I known you in history, 
 Sorrow-bowed head? 60 
 
 3 Santa Maria. Columbus's ship.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 387 
 
 Were you the poet-king,^ worth 
 
 Treasures of Ophir unpriced? 
 
 Were you the prophet, perchance, whose 
 art 
 
 Foretold how the rabble would mock 
 
 That shepherd of spirits, erelong, 
 
 Who should carry the lambs on his heart 
 
 And tenderly feed his flock?- 
 
 Man — lift that sorrow-bowed head. 
 
 Lo ! 'tis the face of the Christ ! 
 
 The vision dies at its birth. 70 
 
 You're merely a butt for our mirth. 
 
 You're a "sheeny" — and therefore de- 
 spised 
 
 And rejected as "scum o' the earth." 
 
 Countrymen, bend and invoke 
 
 Mercy for us blasphemers, 
 
 For that we spat on this marvellous folk, 
 
 Nations of darers and dreamers, 
 
 Scions of singers and seers, 
 
 Our peers, and more than our peers. 
 
 "Rabble and refuse" we name them, 80 
 
 And "scum 0' the earth," to shame them. 
 
 Mercy for us of the few, young years. 
 
 Of the culture sr> callow and crude, 
 
 Of the hands so grasping and rude, 
 
 The lips so ready for sneers 
 
 At the sons of our ancient more-than- 
 
 peers. 
 Mercy for us who dare despise 
 Men in whose loins our Homer lies; 
 Mothers of men who shall bring to us 
 The glory of Titian, the grandeur of 
 
 Huss;3 90 
 
 Children in whose frail arms shall rest 
 Prophets and singers and saints of the 
 
 West. 
 
 Newcomers all from the eastern seas. 
 Help us incarnate dreams like these. 
 Forget, and forgive, that we did you 
 
 wrong. 
 Help us to father a nation, strong 
 In the comradeship of an equal birth, 
 In the wealth of the richest bloods of 
 
 earth. 
 
 (1911) 
 
 1 poet-king. David. 
 3 See Isaiah 40:11. 
 
 3 An Italian painter, and a Bohemian leader of 
 the Protestant Reformation. 
 
 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 
 
 MARGARET L. WOODS 
 [From a long poem called "Marlboroticjh Fair."'] 
 
 Merry-go-round is a-turning, turning ! 
 What will you mount upon, where will 
 
 you ride? 
 Merry-go-round is a-turning! 
 Where the gilded chariots glide 
 Merry-go-round is a-calling, calling, 
 Where the galloping horses arch in pride 
 Their elegant necks with manes a-flowing 
 And scarlet nostrils bravely glowing. 
 The dapple and white, the black and the 
 
 bay. 
 The organ is high over every sound, 10 
 You can hear it calling a mile away. 
 It is whirling its galloping tune around 
 While the merry-go-round is turning, 
 
 turning ! 
 
 Whither away goes the Merry-go-round, 
 Busily whirling, dizzily whirling? 
 Say, on its narrow circle of ground. 
 Fast or slow though it go, it abides. 
 And the company giddily, giddily glides. 
 Dabs of color, red country faces, 
 A crimson feather, a grass-green sash, 20 
 The white of a dress or a bonnet flash, 
 Appear, disappear, and appear again. 
 Like beads on a rapid revolving chain 
 That is tense with the force of its own 
 
 motion. 
 Busily whirling, dizzily whirling. 
 
 Yet with the wheel of the Merry-go-round 
 On manifold roads do the riders travel. 
 On wonderful ways, in marvellous places. 
 They have drunk of a wind like a wiz- 
 ard's potion, 
 And the spin of the wheel to a rush and 
 a ravel 30 
 
 Of color and noise, a skein unwound 
 Rapidly, something meaningless, blurred. 
 Transforms the eddying Fair's commo- 
 tion, 
 While the Merry-go-round, the Merry-go- 
 round 
 
 Is turning, turning. 
 
 Over meadow and fallow with horn and 
 
 hound 
 Goes the galloping gray of the farmer's 
 
 boy,
 
 388 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 And the soldier's son with a valorous joy 
 On the enemy's roaring guns has spurred 
 His bay, and the couple at ease in the 
 
 yellow 40 
 
 And azure car — the peony pride 
 Of the sweetheart, the grin of the rustic 
 
 fellow ! — 
 Are riding like gentlefolks in a carriage; 
 The church-bells ring in a downland vil- 
 lage, 
 And he is the bridegroom and she the 
 
 bride. 
 On a white steed, with a bridle of gold. 
 The child in the broidery frock is flying. 
 Beneath her the suns of the world have 
 
 rolled 
 And she sees the enchanted countries 
 
 lying, 
 With palm and minaret, fairy and Djinn,^ 
 Beautiful ladies and palace halls 51 
 
 Where the gold-fish swim, and no foot 
 
 falls 
 And a king half marble throned therein. 
 
 But the Merry-go-Tound is turning, turn- 
 ing 
 
 Slower ; until as a chain drops slack 
 
 When the speed of it fails, in a moment, 
 back 
 
 The riders suddenly come, descend 
 
 Amazed that the journey should have an 
 end 
 And they be standing upon the ground. 
 
 But the Merry-go-round, the Merry-go- 
 round 60 
 
 Above them still will be turning, turning. 
 
 Like the wheel of Life it is turning, turn- 
 ing; 
 
 While they wondering stand, with a bur- 
 den new. 
 
 It is off and away with a brave young 
 crew. 
 
 Watch how forth overhead they are far- 
 ing. 
 
 Mounted and glorious, proudly staring, 
 
 O'er the humbled world they leave be- 
 hind. 
 
 They are swinging the way-worn circle 
 round. 
 
 Busily whirling, dizzily whirling, 
 
 They are swift on the tide, they are sail- 
 ing the wind, 70 
 
 I Djinn. A Mohammedan spirit, made of fire. 
 
 To shores where never a ship was bound. 
 To the Fortunate Isles that will never be 
 
 found. 
 On the track of the stars that are yet to 
 find, 
 Busily whirling, dizzily whirling 
 On the Merry-go-round, the Merry-go- 
 round ! 
 
 But hardly the journey appears begun, 
 And the riders firm in the saddle seated, 
 When the flying circles are all completed, 
 The riders down, and the journey is 
 
 done. 
 Staring they stand, while away with its 
 
 new 
 Spirited, arrogant, splendid crew, ^ 80 
 The Merry-go-round is turning, turning. 
 
 (1911) 
 
 JESUS THE CARPENTER 
 
 CHARLES M. SHELDON 
 
 If I could hold within my hand 
 
 The hammer Jesus swung. 
 Not all the gold in all the land. 
 Nor jewels countless as the sand. 
 
 All in the balance flung, 
 Could weigh the value of that thing 
 Round which his fingers once did cling. 
 
 If I could have the table he 
 
 Once made in Nazareth, 
 Not all the pearls in all the sea, 10 
 
 Nor crowns of kings, or kings to be 
 
 As long as men have breath. 
 Could buy that thing of wood he made — 
 The Lord of Lords who learned a trade. 
 
 Yes, but his hammer still is shown 
 
 By honest hands that toil. 
 And round his table men sit down, 
 And all are equals, with a crown 
 
 No gold nor pearls can soil. 
 The shop at Nazareth was bare, 20 
 
 But Brotherhood was builded there. 
 
 (1911) 
 
 THE MOTHER 
 
 KATHARINE TYNAN 
 
 There is no height, no depth, that could 
 
 set us apart — 
 Body of mine and soul of mine, heart of 
 
 my heart.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 389 
 
 There is no sea so deep, no mountain so 
 
 high, 
 That I could not come to you if I heard 
 
 you cry. 
 
 There is no hell so sunken, no heaven so 
 
 steep, 
 Where I should not seek you and find 
 
 you and keep. 
 
 Now you are round and soft, and sweet 
 
 as a rose; 
 Not a stain on my spotless one, white as 
 
 the snows. 
 
 If some day you came to me heavy with 
 
 sin, 
 I, your mother, would run to the door 
 
 and let you in. lo 
 
 I would wash you white again with my 
 
 tears and my grief. 
 Body of mine and soul of mine, till you 
 
 found relief. 
 
 Though you had sinned all sins there are 
 
 'twixt east and west. 
 You should find my arms wide for you, 
 
 your head on my breast. 
 
 Child, if I were in heaven and you were 
 
 in hell, — 
 Angels white as my spotless one stumbled 
 
 and fell, — 
 
 I would leave the fields of God and Queen 
 
 Mary's feet, 
 Straight to the heart of hell would go 
 
 seeking my sweet. 
 
 God, mayhap, would turn Him at sound 
 
 of the door; 
 "Who is it goes out from Me, to come 
 
 back no more?" 20 
 
 Then the blessed Mary would say from 
 
 her throne : 
 "Son, 'tis a mother goes to hell, seeking 
 
 her own. 
 
 "Body of mine and Soul of mine, born 
 
 of me, — 
 Thou who wert once little Jesus beside 
 
 my knee, — 
 
 "It is so that mothers are made : Thou 
 
 madest them so. 
 Body of mine and Soul of mine, do I not 
 
 know?" 
 
 (1911) 
 
 THE MAKING OF BIRDS 
 
 KATHARINE TYNAN 
 
 God made Him birds in a pleasant humor ; 
 
 Tired of planets and suns was He. 
 He said, "I will add a glory to summer, 
 
 Gifts for my creatures banished from 
 Me!" 
 
 He had a thought and it set Him smiling. 
 Of the shape of a bird and its glancing 
 head, 
 Its dainty air and its grace beguiling : 
 "I will make feathers," the Lord God 
 said. 
 
 He made the robin : He made the swal- 
 low ; 
 His deft hands moulding the shape to 
 His mood, 10 
 
 The thrush and lark and the finch to fol- 
 low, 
 And laughed to see that His work was 
 good. 
 
 He who has given men gift of laughter. 
 Made in His image; He fashioned fit 
 
 The blink of the owl and the stork there- 
 after, 
 The little wren and the long-tailed tit. 
 
 He spent in the making His wit and 
 fancies ; 
 The wing-feathers He fashioned them 
 strong; 
 Deft and dear as daisies and pansies. 
 He crowned His work with the gift of 
 song. 20 
 
 "Dearlings," He said, "make songs for my 
 praises !" 
 He tossed them loose to the sun and 
 wind, 
 Airily sweet as pansies and daisies; 
 He taught them to build a nest to their 
 mind. 
 
 The dear Lord God of His glories weary — 
 Christ our Lord had the heart of a 
 boy — 
 
 Made Him birds in a moment merry. 
 Bade them soar and sing for His joy. 
 
 (1912)
 
 390 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE POOR-HOUSE* 
 
 SARA TEASDALE 
 
 Hope went by and Peace went by 
 
 And would not enter in ; 
 Youth went by and Health went by, 
 
 And Love that is their kin. 
 
 Those within the house shed tears 
 
 On their bitter bread; 
 Some were old and some were mad, 
 
 And some were sick abed. 
 
 Gray Death saw the wretched house. 
 And even he passed by — lo 
 
 "They have never lived," he said, 
 "They can wait to die." 
 
 (1912) 
 
 THE HERITAGE t 
 ABBIE FARWELL BROWN 
 
 No matter what my birth may be. 
 No matter where my lot is cast, 
 
 I am the heir in equity 
 Of all the precious Past. 
 
 The art, the science, and the lore 
 Of all the ages long since dust, 
 
 The wisdom of the world in store. 
 Are mine, all mine in trust. 
 
 The beauty of the living earth, 
 The power of the golden sun, 10 
 
 The Present, whatsoe'er my birth, 
 I share with every one. 
 
 As much as any man am I 
 The owner of the working day; 
 
 Mine are the minutes as they fly 
 To save or throw away. 
 
 And mine the Future to bequeath 
 
 Unto the generations new; 
 I help to shape it with my breath, 
 
 Mine as I think or do. 20 
 
 Present and Past my heritage, 
 The Future laid in my control ; — 
 
 No matter what my name or age, 
 I am a Master-soul I 
 
 (1912) 
 
 * Reprinted by special permission from the 
 author and The Macmillan Company. 
 
 t Reprinted from "Songs of Sixpence," by spe- 
 cial permission from the author. 
 
 THE BUILDING OF SPRINGFIELD* 
 
 NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY 
 
 [The poet here treats of the possibilities of 
 American prairie-towns of the Middle West, 
 speaking especially for his own city of Spring- 
 field, Illinois.] 
 
 Let not our town be large — remembering 
 
 That little Athens was the Muses' home. 
 
 That Oxford rules the heart of London 
 
 still, 
 
 That Florence gave the Renaissance to 
 
 Rome. 
 
 Record it for the grandson of your son — 
 A city is not builded in a day : 
 
 Our little town cannot complete her soul 
 Till countless generations pass away. 
 
 Now let each child be joined as to a 
 church 
 To her perpetual hopes, each man or- 
 dained; ID 
 Let every street be made a reverent aisle 
 Where music grows, and beauty is un- 
 chained. 
 
 Let Science and Machinery and Trade 
 Be slaves of her, and make her all in 
 all- 
 Building against our blatant restless time 
 An unseen, skilful, mediaeval wall. 
 
 Let every citizen be rich toward God. 
 
 Let Christ, the beggar, teach divinity, — 
 Let no man rule who holds his money 
 dear. 
 
 Let this, our city, be our luxury. 20 
 
 We should build parks that students from 
 afar 
 Would choose to starve in, rather than 
 go home — 
 Fair little squares, with Phidian^ orna- 
 ment — 
 Food for the spirit, milk and honey- 
 comb. 
 
 Songs shall be sung by us in that good 
 day — 
 Songs we have written — blood within 
 the rhyme 
 Beating, as when old England still was 
 glad. 
 The purple, rich, Elizabethan time. 
 
 I Phidian. Worthy of Phidias, the great Greek 
 sculptor. 
 
 'Reprinted by special permission of The Mac- 
 millan Company.
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 391 
 
 Say, is my prophecy too fair and far? 
 
 I only know, unless her faith be high, 
 The soul of this our Nineveh is doomed, 
 
 Our little Babylon will surely die. 32 
 
 Some city on the breast of Illinois 
 No wiser and no better at the start. 
 
 By faith shall rise redeemed, — by faith 
 shall rise 
 Bearing the western glory in her heart. 
 
 The genius of the Maple, Elm, and Oak, 
 The secret hidden in each grain of 
 corn — 
 The glory that the prairie angels sing 
 At night when sons of Life and Love 
 are born — 40 
 
 Born but to struggle, squalid and alone. 
 Broken and wandering in their early 
 years ; 
 When will they make our dusty streets 
 their goal. 
 Within our attics hide their sacred 
 tears ? 
 
 When will they start our vulgar blood 
 athrill 
 With living language — words that set 
 us free? 
 When will they make a path of beauty 
 clear 
 Between our riches and our liberty? 
 
 We must have many Lincoln-hearted 
 
 men — 
 
 A city is not builded in a day — 50 
 
 And they must do their work, and come 
 
 and go 
 
 While countless generations pass away. 
 
 (1913) 
 
 PANAMA HYMN* 
 
 WENDELL PHILLIPS STAFFORD 
 
 [On the opening of the Panama Canal.] 
 
 We join to-day the East and West, 
 The stormy and the tranquil seas. 
 
 O Father, be the bridal blest! 
 The earth is on her knees. 
 
 Thou, Thou didst give our hand the 
 might 
 
 To hew the hemisphere in twain 
 And level for these waters bright 
 
 The mountain with the main. 
 
 * Reprinted by special nermission from the 
 autlior and The Atlantic Monthly, 
 
 In freedom let the great ships go 
 On freedom's errand, sea to sea, — 10 
 
 The oceans rise, the hills bend low, 
 Servants of liberty. 
 
 The nations here shall flash through foam 
 And paint their pennons with the sun, 
 
 Till every harbor is a home 
 And all the flags are one. 
 
 We join to-day the East and West, 
 The stormy and the tranquil seas. 
 
 O Father, be the bridal blest ! 
 Earth waits it on her knees. 20 
 
 (1913) 
 
 GOETHALS f 
 
 PERCY MACKAYE 
 [On the directing builder of the Panama Canal.] 
 
 A man went down to Panama 
 Where many a man had died 
 
 To slit the sliding mountains 
 And lift the eternal tide: 
 
 A man stood up in Panama, 
 And the mountains stood aside. 
 
 The Power that wrought the tide and peak 
 
 Wrought mightier the seer; 
 And the One who made the isthmus 
 
 He made the engineer, 10 
 
 And the good God he made Goethals 
 
 To cleave the hemisphere. 
 
 The reek of fevered ages rose 
 From poisoned jungle and strand, 
 
 Where the crumbling wrecks of failure 
 Lay sunk in the torrid sand — 
 
 Derelicts of old desperate hopes 
 And venal contraband : 
 
 Till a mind glowed white through the 
 yellow mist 
 
 And purged the poison-mould, 20 
 
 And the wrecks rose up in labor. 
 
 And the fevers' knell was tolled, 
 And the keen mind cut the world-divide, 
 
 Untarnished by world gold : 
 
 For a poet wrought in Panama, 
 With a continent for his theme. 
 
 And he wrote with flood and fire 
 To forge a planet's dream, 
 
 And the derricks rang his dithyrambs 
 And his stanzas roared in steam. 30 
 
 t Reprinted from "Collected Poems" by special 
 permission from the author and The Macmillan 
 Company.
 
 592 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 But the poet's mind it is not his 
 
 Alone, but a million men's : 
 Far visions of lonely dreamers 
 
 Meet there, as in a lens. 
 And lightnings, pent by stormy time, 
 
 Leap through, with flame intense. 
 
 So from our age three giants loom 
 To vouch man's venturous soul : 
 
 Amundsen on his ice-peak, 
 
 And Peary from his pole, 40 
 
 And midway, where the oceans meet, 
 Goethals — beside his goal : 
 
 Where old Balboa bent his gaze 
 
 He leads the liners through, 
 And the Horn that tossed Magellan 
 
 Bellows a far halloo. 
 For where the navies never sailed 
 
 Steamed Goethals and his crew. 
 
 So nevermore the tropic routes 
 
 Need poleward warp and veer, 50 
 
 But on through the Gates of Goethals 
 
 The steady keels shall steer, 
 Where the tribes of man are led toward 
 peace 
 
 By the prophet-engineer. 
 
 (1914) 
 
 INVOCATION ♦ 
 
 WENDELL PHILLIPS STAFFORD 
 
 O Thou whose equal purpose runs 
 In drops of rain or streams of suns. 
 And with a soft compulsion rolls 
 The green earth on her snowy poles; 
 O Thou who keepest in Thy ken 
 The times of flowers, the dooms of men, 
 Stretch out a mighty wing above — 
 Be tender to the land we love ! 
 
 If all the huddlers from the storm 
 Have found her hearthstone wide and 
 warm; 10 
 
 If she has made men free and glad, 
 Sharing, with all, the good she had; 
 If she has blown the very dust 
 From her bright balance to be just, 
 Oh, spread a mighty wing above — 
 Be tender to the land we love ! 
 
 * Reprinted by special permission from the 
 author and The Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 When in the dark eternal tower 
 The star-clock strikes her trial hour, 
 And for her help no more avail 19 
 
 Her sea-blue shield, her mountain mail, 
 But sweeping wide, from Gulf to Lakes, 
 The battle on her forehead breaks. 
 Throw Thou a thunderous wing above — 
 Be lightning for the land we love ! 
 
 (1914) 
 
 THE GAOLER 
 
 HELEN GRAY CONE 
 
 To be free, to be alone. 
 Is a joy I have not known. 
 
 To a keeper who never sleeps 
 I was given at the hour of birth 
 By the governors of earth; 
 And so well his watch he keeps. 
 Though I leave no sleight untried, 
 That he will not quit my side. 
 
 How often, in bygone years, 
 I have passioned, and sworn with tears 10 
 That I loathed him and all his ways ! 
 He is silent; he smiles; he stays. 
 
 When I close my eyes at night. 
 His face is my latest sight. 
 That dark face is mine own ! 
 He walks in my dreams at will; 
 When I wake, he is with me still. 
 To be free, to be alone. 
 Is a joy that I have not known. 
 
 I have cried to the winds, the sea, 20 
 
 "Oh, help me, for ye are free !" 
 I have thought to escape away, 
 But his hand on my shoulder lay. 
 From the hills and the lifting stars 
 He has borne me back to bars ; 
 With the spell of my murmured name 
 He has captived and kept me tame. 
 
 It is whispered that he and I 
 In a single hour shall die, 
 As we were born, 'tis said. 
 I shall lie in selfless peace; 
 For him, too, is surcease, 
 Rest, and a quiet bed. 
 Self bindeth not the dead. 
 
 30
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 393 
 
 Somewhat otherwise I believe; 
 
 For a hope is astir in me 
 
 That when consciousness one day fills 
 
 With a splendor I scarce conceive, — 
 
 More than the winds and sea, 
 
 More than the stars and hills, — 40 
 
 I indeed shall escape away 
 
 Forever in that great day; 
 
 I shall have no heed to give 
 
 Unto aught that would call me back: 
 
 He shall pass like the sunrise rack, 
 
 He shall vanish; but I shall live! 
 
 (1914) 
 
 TREES * 
 JOYCE KILMER 
 
 I think that I shall never see 
 A poem lovely as a tree. 
 
 A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed 
 Against the sweet earth's flowing breast ; 
 
 A tree that looks at God all day, 
 And lifts her leafy arms to pray; 
 
 A tree that may in Summer wear 
 A nest of robins in her hair ; 
 
 Upon whose bosom snow has lain ; 
 Who intimately lives with rain. 10 
 
 Poems are made by fools like me, 
 But only God can make a tree. 
 
 (1914) 
 
 THE LOOKt 
 
 SARA TEASDALE 
 
 Strephon kissed me in the spring, 
 
 Robin in the fall, 
 But CoHn only looked at me 
 
 And never kissed at all. 
 
 Strephon's kiss was lost in jest, 
 
 Robin's lost in play, 
 But the kiss in Colin's eyes 
 
 Haunts me night and day. 
 
 (1914) 
 
 * Reprinted by special permission of George 
 H. Doran Company. 
 
 t Reprinted by special permission from the 
 author and The Macmillan Company. 
 
 MILK FOR THE CAT 
 HAROLD MONRO 
 
 When the tea is brought at five o'clock, 
 And all the neat curtains are drawn with 
 
 care. 
 The little black cat with bright green 
 
 eyes 
 Is suddenly purring there. 
 At first she pretends, having nothing to 
 
 do. 
 She has come in merely to blink by the 
 
 grate, 
 But, though tea may be late or the milk 
 
 may be sour, 
 She is never late. 
 
 And presently her agate eyes 
 Take a soft large milky haze, 
 And her independent casual glance 
 Becomes a stiff, hard gaze. 
 
 10 
 
 Then she stamps her claws or lifts her 
 
 ears, 
 Or twists her tail and begins to stir, 
 Till suddenly all her lithe body becomes 
 One breathing, trembling purr. 
 
 The children eat and wriggle and laugh ; 
 The two old ladies stroke their silk : 
 But the cat is grown small and thin with 
 
 desire, 
 Transformed to a creeping lust for milk. 
 
 The white saucer like some full moon 
 descends 21 
 
 At last from the clouds of the table 
 above ; 
 
 She sighs and dreams and thrills and glows, 
 
 Transfigured with love. 
 
 She nestles over the shining rim, 
 Buries her chin in the creamy sea; 
 Her tail hangs loose; each drowsy paw 
 Is doubled under each bending knee. 
 
 A long, dim ecstasy holds her life; 
 Her world is an infinite shapeless white, 
 Till her tongue has curled the last holy 
 drop; 31 
 
 Then she sinks back into the night, 
 
 Draws and dips her body to heap 
 
 Her sleepy nerves in the great arm-chair, 
 
 Lies defeated and buried deep 
 
 Three or four hours unconscious there. 
 
 (1914)
 
 394 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 THE LITTLE BOY AND THE 
 LOCOMOTIVE * 
 
 BENJAMIN R. C. LOW 
 
 The Little Boy to the Locomotive 
 
 Big iron horse with lifted head. 
 Panting beneath the station shed. 
 You are my dearest dream come true; — 
 I love my Dad ; I worship you ! 
 Your noble heart is filled with fire; 
 For all your toil, you never tire; 
 And though you're saddled-up in steel, 
 Somewhere, inside, I know you feel. 
 
 All night in dreams when you pass by, 
 You breathe out stars that fill the sky, lo 
 And now, when all my dreams are true, 
 I hardly dare come close to you. 
 
 The Locomotive to the Little Boy 
 
 Boy, whose little confiding hand 
 Your father holds, why do you stand 
 Staring in wonderment at me, — 
 Poor thing of iron that I be? 
 
 Your unsophisticated eyes 
 
 Are full of beautiful surprise; 
 
 And oh, how wonderful you are. 
 
 You little, golden morning-star! 20 
 
 Poor thing of iron that I be, 
 
 A mortal man imagined me; 
 
 But you — you drop of morning dew — 
 
 God and his heaven are globed in you. 
 
 (1915) 
 
 THE HOUSE OF CHRISTMAS 
 GILBERT K. CHESTERTON 
 
 There fared a mother driven forth 
 
 Out of an inn to roam; 
 
 In the place where she was homeless 
 
 All men are at home. 
 
 The crazy stable close at hand, 
 
 With shaking timber and shifting sand, 
 
 Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand 
 
 Than the square stones of Rome. 
 
 • Reprinted from "The House That Was" by 
 special permission from the author and John 
 Lane. 
 
 For men are homesick in their homes. 
 And strangers under the sun, 10 
 
 And they lay their heads in a foreign 
 
 land 
 Whenever the day is done. 
 Here we have battle and blazing eyes. 
 And chance and honor and high surprise, 
 But our homes are under miraculous skies 
 Where the yule tale was begun. 
 
 A Child in a foul stable. 
 
 Where the beasts feed and foam; 
 
 Only where He was homeless 
 
 Are you and I at home; 20 
 
 We have hands that fashion and heads 
 
 that know, 
 But our hearts we lost — how long ago! 
 In a place no chart nor ship can show 
 Under the sky's dome. 
 
 This world is wild as an old wives' tale. 
 
 And strange the plain things are; 
 
 The earth is enough and the air is enough 
 
 For our wonder and our war; 
 
 But our rest is as far as the fire-drake 
 
 swings. 
 And our peace is put in impossible things 
 Where clashed and thundered unthinkable 
 
 wings 31 
 
 Round an incredible star. 
 
 To an open house in the evening 
 
 Home shall men come, 
 
 To an older place than Eden 
 
 And a taller town than Rome. 
 
 To the end of the way of the wandering 
 
 star, 
 To the things that cannot be and that are. 
 To the place where God was homeless 
 And all men are at home. 40 
 
 (1915) 
 
 THE ENGLISH TONGUE 
 LEWIS WORTHINGTON SMITH 
 
 Words that have tumbled and tossed from 
 
 the Avon and Clyde 
 On to where Indus and Ganges pour 
 
 down to the tide. 
 Words that have lived, that have felt, 
 
 that have gathered and grown. 
 Words ! Is it nothing that no other 
 
 people have known 
 Speech of such myriad voices, so full and 
 
 so free, 
 Song by the fireside and crash of the 
 
 thunders at sea?
 
 LYRICAL AND REFLECTIVE POEMS 
 
 395 
 
 Weight of the Teuton upborne by the joy 
 of the Celt, 
 
 Grace from the halls where the courtiers 
 of Normandy knelt, 
 
 Easy precision that plays through the 
 laughter of France, 
 
 Mysteries of dim Irish fairylands 
 thronged in the dance; — lo 
 
 All of the moods of the world have been 
 caught and been sung. 
 
 Changed to its substance, the final in- 
 vincible tongue. 
 
 Words! They are symbols, perhaps, but 
 
 the things that we live 
 Keep in their closure; the joys we can 
 
 take and can give 
 Narrow themselves to our speech, and 
 
 the life of the race 
 Holds to the scope of the lexicon. Idle 
 
 is place, 
 Power, and the marching of armies, if 
 
 those they enthrall 
 Thrill to no word-glow together, no cry 
 
 and no call. 
 
 Words ! They are sympathies, flotsam 
 caught up from the waves. 
 
 Passions and tempests of living that only 
 love saves. 20 
 
 Words ! They are insights and trem- 
 blings of earth made divine, 
 
 Swift revelations that melt all of mine 
 into thine. 
 
 Words ! They are human outreachings 
 to know and believe, 
 
 Throbbings of man to his fellows, to give 
 and receive. 
 
 Speech is the conqueror sureliest hold- 
 ing his reign. 
 
 English they talk in Manila, forgetful 
 of Spain, 
 
 English in India, Africa, Van Diemen's 
 Land, 
 
 English along the St. Lawrence, the Nile, 
 Rio Grande. 
 
 Out of its fullness come friendliness, 
 peace, and content. 
 
 Loves of the hearth and the council when 
 hatreds are spent. 30 
 
 Words ! English words ! They are cir- 
 cling the earth with their power. 
 
 Kinships spring up where they march ; 
 law is born as their dower ; 
 
 Guns shall be silent before them and war- 
 lords give way. 
 
 Yielding to man in his manhood their 
 blood-purchased sway. 
 
 Petty, provincial, and barbarous aims 
 shall be flung 
 
 Far to the deeps in the track of the con- 
 quering tongue. 
 
 (191S) 
 
 NOD 
 WALTER DE LA MARE 
 
 Softly along the road of evening, 
 
 In a twilight dim with rose. 
 Wrinkled with age, and drenched with 
 dew, 
 
 Old Nod the shepherd goes. 
 
 His drowsy flock streams on before him. 
 Their fleeces charged with gold, 
 
 To where the sun's last beam leans low 
 On Nod the shepherd's fold. 
 
 The hedge is quick and green with briar. 
 From their sand the conies creep; 10 
 
 And all the birds that fly in heaven 
 Flock singing home to sleep. 
 
 His lambs outnumber a noon's roses, 
 Yet, when night's shadows fall, 
 
 His blind old sheep-dog, Slumber-soon, 
 Misses not one of all. 
 
 His are the quiet steeps of dreamland. 
 
 The waters of no-more-pain. 
 His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of 
 stars, 
 
 "Rest, rest, and rest again." 20 
 
 (1916) 
 
 THE SACRAMENT OF FIRE* 
 
 JOHN OXENHAM 
 
 Kneel always when you light a fire! 
 Kneel reverently, and thankful be 
 For God's unfailing charity ; 
 And on the ascending flame inspire 
 A little prayer, that shall upbear 
 
 * From a volume entitled "The Fiery Cross," 
 1918. Reprinted by permission of Geo. H. 
 Doran Company, publishers.
 
 396 
 
 POEMS OF THE ENGLISH RACE 
 
 The incense of your thankfulness 
 
 For this sweet grace 
 
 Of warmth and light; 
 
 For here again is sacrifice 
 
 For your delight. lo 
 
 Within the wood, 
 
 That lived a joyous life 
 
 Through sunny days and rainy days 
 
 And winter storms and strife; — 
 
 Within the peat 
 
 That drank the sweet, 
 
 The moorland sweet 
 
 Of bracken, whin, and sweet bell-heather. 
 
 And knew the joy of gold gorse feather 
 
 Flaming like love in wintriest weather, 20 
 
 While snug below, in sun and snow. 
 
 It heard the beat of the padding feet 
 
 li foal and dam, and ewe and lamb, 
 
 And the stamp of old bell-wether; — 
 
 Within the coal. 
 
 Where forests lie entombed, 
 
 Oak, elm, and chestnut, beech, and red 
 
 pme bole ; — 
 God shrined His sunshine, and enwombed 
 For you these stores of light and heat. 
 Your life-joys to complete. 30 
 
 These all have died that you might live; 
 Yours now the high prerogative 
 To loose their long captivities. 
 And through these new activities 
 A wider life to give. 
 
 Kneel always when you light a fire ! 
 
 Kneel reverently. 
 
 And grateful be 
 
 For God's unfailing charity! 
 
 (1918) 
 
 THE DAWN OF PEACE 
 
 ALFRED NOYES 
 
 [This poem, written before the Great War of 
 1914-1918, seemed during the years of that 
 struggle to represent a forgotten hope; yet the 
 editor had intended to print it at the close of 
 this volume, even if the volume had appeared 
 while the war still went on, as a prophecy of 
 the day toward which humanity continues to 
 strive.] 
 
 Yes — "on our brows we feel the breath 
 
 Of dawn," though in the night we wait! 
 An arrow is in the heart of Death, 
 
 A God is at the doors of Fate ! 
 The spirit that moved upon the Deep 
 
 Is moving through the minds of men : 
 The nations feel it in their sleep, 
 
 A change has touched their dreams 
 again. 
 
 Voices, confused and faint, arise. 
 
 Troubling their hearts from East and 
 West. 10 
 
 A doubtful light is in their skies, 
 
 A gleam that will not let them rest : 
 The dawn, the dawn is on the wing. 
 
 The stir of change on every side, 
 Unsignaled as th& approach of Spring, 
 
 Invincible as the hawthorn-tide. 
 
 Have ye not heard it, far and nigh, 
 
 The voice of France across the dark, 
 And all the Atlantic with one cry 
 
 Beating the shores of Europe? — hark! 
 Then — if ye will — uplift your word 21 
 
 Of cynic wisdom ! Once again 
 Tell us He came to bring a sword, — 
 
 Tell us He lived and died in vain. 
 
 Say that we dream I Our dreams have 
 woven 
 Truths that out-face the burning sun : 
 The lightnings, that we dreamed, have 
 cloven 
 Time, space, and linked all lands in 
 one! 
 Dreams! But their swift celestial fingers 
 Have knit the world with threads of 
 steel, 30 
 
 Till no remotest island lingers 
 Beyond the world's one Commonweal. 
 
 Dreams are they? But ye cannot stay 
 them. 
 Or thrust the dawn back for one hour ! 
 Truth, Love, and Justice, if ye slay them, 
 Return with more than earthly power : 
 Strive, if ye will, to seal the fountains 
 That send the Spring thro' leaf and 
 spray : 
 Drive back the sun from the eastern 
 mountains, 39 
 
 Then — bid this mightier movement stay. 
 
 It is the Dawn of Peace ! The nations 
 
 From East to West have heard a cry, — 
 "Though all earth's blood-red generations 
 
 By hate and slaughter climbed thus 
 high, 
 Here — on this height — still to aspire, 
 
 One only path remains untrod. 
 One path of love and peace climbs higher! 
 
 Make straight that highway for our 
 God."
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND POEMS 
 
 American poets are distinguished by the asterisk 
 
 Addison, Thomas ^*gb 
 
 The Spacious Firmament on High.. 247 
 
 *Aldrich, Thomas Bailey 
 
 Unguarded Gates 366 
 
 Guilielmus Rex 374 
 
 Allingham, William 
 
 The Fairies 306 
 
 Arnold, Matthew 
 
 The Forsaken Merman 104 
 
 Sohrab and Rustum 106 
 
 Shakespeare 306 
 
 Self-Dependence 313 
 
 Rugby Chapel 342 
 
 East London 344 
 
 *Bacon, Leonard 
 
 Forefathers' Hymn 285 
 
 Barham, Richard Harris 
 
 The Jackdaw of Rheims 76 
 
 Beddoes, Thomas Lovell 
 
 Song 307 
 
 Benson, Arthur Christopher 
 
 After Construing 372 
 
 Blake, William 
 
 The Tiger 260 
 
 *BoKER, George Henry 
 
 Dirge for a Soldier 329 
 
 Bridges, Robert 
 
 London Snow 356 
 
 O Youth whose Hope is High 356 
 
 School-Days 368 
 
 *Brown, Abbie Farwell 
 
 The Heritage 390 
 
 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett 
 
 Rime of the Duchess May 90 
 
 The Cry of the Children 298 
 
 Browning, Robert 
 
 My Last Duchess 86 
 
 How they Brought the Good News. . 96 
 
 The Boy and the Angel 97 
 
 Incident of the French Camp 98 
 
 The Italian in England 98 
 
 Instans Tyrannus 120 
 
 Herve Riel 189 
 
 Pheidippides 194 
 
 The Year's at the Spring 288 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Marching Along 289 
 
 Home-Thoughts from Abroad 305 
 
 Home-Thoughts from the Sea 305 
 
 Evelyn Hope 315 
 
 The Patriot 316 
 
 De Gustibus 316 
 
 Up at a Villa — Down in the City. ... 317 
 
 Love among the Ruins 318 
 
 Rabbi Ben Ezra 332 
 
 Prospice 335 
 
 Epilogue 362 
 
 *Bryant, William Cullen 
 
 Thanatopsis 272 
 
 To a Water-Fowl 273 
 
 A Forest Hymn 282 
 
 Robert of Lincoln 323 
 
 Buchanan, Robert 
 
 The Ballad of Judas Iscariot 201 
 
 *Bunner, Henry Cuyler 
 
 The Way to Arcady 358 
 
 Burns, Robert 
 
 Tam O'Shanter 31 
 
 To a Louse 258 
 
 To a Mouse 259 
 
 Scots Wha Hae 260 
 
 A Man's a Man for a' That 260 
 
 Highland Mary 262 
 
 Byron, Lord 
 
 The Destruction of Sennacherib. ... 53 
 
 The Prisoner of Chillon 53 
 
 She Walks in Beauty 270 
 
 Campbell, Thomas 
 
 The Battle of the Baltic 52 
 
 Ye Mariners of England 269 
 
 *Carman, Bliss 
 
 The Marching Morrows 369 
 
 A More Ancient Mariner 369 
 
 *Carruth, William Herbert 
 
 Each in his Own Tongue 373 
 
 ♦Carryl, Guy Wetmore 
 
 When the Great Gray Ships Come 
 In 377 
 
 *Cawein, Madison 
 
 The Redbird 367 
 
 Prelude 378 
 
 397
 
 398 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND POEMS 
 
 Chaucer, Geoffrey page 
 
 The Pardoner's Tale i 
 
 Chesterton, Gilbert K. 
 
 The House of Christmas 394 
 
 Clough, Arthur Hugh 
 Say Not the Struggle Nought Avail- 
 
 eth 329 
 
 ♦Coates, Florence Earle 
 
 The Unconquered Air 385 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 
 
 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.. 33 
 
 Christabel 57 
 
 Kubla Khan 270 
 
 Collins, William 
 
 Ode (How sleep the brave) 248 
 
 Ode to Evening 248 
 
 *Cone, Helen Gray 
 
 The Gaoler 392 
 
 CowpER, William 
 
 Boadicea 30 
 
 The Jackdaw 258 
 
 Crashaw, Richard 
 
 The Holy Nativity 240 
 
 Dekker, Thomas 
 
 Sweet Content 227 
 
 DE la Mare, Walter 
 
 The Listeners 215 
 
 Nod 395 
 
 ♦Dickinson, Emily 
 
 If 363 
 
 A Day 363 
 
 1 Never Saw a Moor 363 
 
 The Railway Train 363 
 
 The Robin 364 
 
 Who Robbed the Woods? 364 
 
 Two Voyagers 364 
 
 DoBELL, Sidney 
 
 America 319 
 
 DoBsoN, Austin 
 
 When I Saw You Last, Rose 351 
 
 The Milkmaid 359 
 
 When Burbage Played 363 
 
 Donne, John 
 
 Death 236 
 
 ♦Drake, Joseph Rodman 
 
 The American Flag 274 
 
 Drayton, Michael 
 
 Agincourt 11 
 
 Nymphidia: the Court of Faery iz 
 
 Sonnet (Since there's no help) 231 
 
 The Crier 231 
 
 Dryden, John 
 
 Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687.... 244 
 
 Alexander's Feast 245 
 
 ♦Emerson, Ralph Waldo »age 
 
 Concord Hymn 286 
 
 The Humble-Bee 286 
 
 The Rhodora 287 
 
 The Snow-Storm 287 
 
 Days 32s 
 
 Boston Hymn 331 
 
 ♦Firkins, O. W. 
 To a Greek Bootblack 382 
 
 Gay, John 
 The Painter who Pleased Nobody. . . 29 
 The Peacock, the Turkey, and the 
 Goose 29 
 
 ♦Gladden, Washington 
 
 Ultima Veritas 353 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver 
 The Deserted Village 251 
 
 GossE, Edmund 
 Ballade of Dead Cities 353 
 
 Gray, Thomas 
 Elegy Written in a Country Church- 
 yard 249 
 
 Hawker, Robert Stephen 
 The Silent Tower of Bottreau 73 
 
 Heber, Reginald 
 The Son of God Goes Forth to War. 284 
 
 Hemans, Felicia Dorothea 
 The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. 284 
 
 Henley, William Ernest 
 
 A Late Lark Twitters 349 
 
 Ballade of June 359 
 
 Fresh from his Fastnesses 366 
 
 Herbert, George 
 
 Virtue 23 1 
 
 Love 231 
 
 The Pulley 232 
 
 Herrick, Robert 
 
 Corinna's Going a-Maying 241 
 
 A Thanksgiving to God for his 
 
 House 242 
 
 On Julia's Clothes 242 
 
 To Daffodils 242 
 
 A Christmas Carol 243 
 
 ♦Holmes, Oliver Wendell 
 
 Old Ironsides 285 
 
 The Last Leaf 285 
 
 The Chambered Nautilus 325 
 
 The Living Temple 326 
 
 A Sun-Day Hymn 326 
 
 Dorothy Q 346 
 
 Hood, Thomas 
 
 The Song of the Shirt 297 
 
 HOUSMAN, A. E. 
 
 To an Athlete Dying Young 373 
 
 Lad, Have You Things to Do?.... 374
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND POEMS 
 
 399 
 
 •HovEY, Richard page 
 
 Comrades 368 
 
 At the End of the Day 374 
 
 Unmanifest Destiny 377 
 
 •Howe, Julia Ward 
 
 Our Country 328 
 
 Battle-Hymn of the Republic 328 
 
 Hunt, Leigh 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem 89 
 
 To the Grasshopper and the Cricket 272 
 Rondeau 300 
 
 Ingelow, Jean 
 
 Songs of Seven 330 
 
 ♦Jackson, Helen Hunt 
 
 My Strawberry 347 
 
 ♦Jones, Thomas S. 
 Sometimes 382 
 
 JoNsoN, Ben 
 
 It is not Growing Like a Tree 230 
 
 To Celia 230 
 
 ♦Jordan, David Starr 
 Altruism 376 
 
 Keats, John 
 
 La Belle Dame sans Merci 61 
 
 The Eve of St. Agnes 62 
 
 On First Looking into Chapman's 
 
 Homer 271 
 
 On the Grasshopper and Cricket... 271 
 
 Ode to a Nightingale 275 
 
 Ode on a Grecian Urn 276 
 
 To Autumn 277 
 
 ♦KlLMERyiip)YCE 
 Trees 393 
 
 KiNGSLEY, Charles 
 
 Ode to the North-East Wind 313 
 
 A Farewell 325 
 
 Young and Old 330 
 
 Kipling, Rudyard 
 
 A Ballad of East and West 207 
 
 The Last Chantey 211 
 
 The English Flag 364 
 
 Recessional 376 
 
 Lamb, Charles 
 
 The Old Familiar Faces 261 
 
 Landor, Walter Savage 
 
 Iphigeneia and Agamemnon 103 
 
 Lanier, Sidney 
 
 The Marshes of Glynn 354 
 
 A Ballad of Trees and the Master.. 357 
 
 ♦Lathbury, Mary A. 
 
 A Song of To-day 357 
 
 Lee-Hamilton, Eugene 
 
 Elfin Skates 210 
 
 The Death of Puck 210 
 
 Mimma Bella 383 
 
 ♦Lindsay, Nicholas Vachel pagb 
 
 The Building of Springfield 390 
 
 Locker-Lampson, Frederick 
 The Reason Why 349 
 
 ♦Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 
 
 The Skeleton in Armor 78 
 
 Sir Humphrey Gilbert 104 
 
 King Robert of Sicily 125 
 
 A Ballad of the French Fleet 193 
 
 A Psalm of Life 286 
 
 Maidenhood 288 
 
 The Arsenal at Springfield 303 
 
 The Old Clock on the Stairs 304 
 
 My Lost Youth 322 
 
 Nature 349 
 
 Lovelace, Richard 
 
 To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars. . 243 
 To Althea from Prison 243 
 
 ♦Low, Benjamin R. C. 
 The Little Boy and the Locomotive. . 394 
 
 ♦Lowell, James Russell 
 
 The Shepherd of King Admetus. ... 87 
 
 Rhoecus 87 
 
 The Courtin' 128 
 
 The Present Crisis 301 
 
 To the Dandelion 303 
 
 Ode Recited at the Harvard Com- 
 memoration 336 
 
 Aladdin 345 
 
 Lytton, Lord (see Owen Meredith) 
 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington 
 
 The Last Buccaneer 76 
 
 Horatius 80 
 
 ♦Mackaye, Percy 
 
 Goethals 391 
 
 ♦Markham, Edwin 
 
 The Joy of the Hills 371 
 
 Two Taverns 378 
 
 Masefield, John 
 
 The Dauber Rounds Cape Horn.... 216 
 Sea-Fever 381 
 
 Meredith, Owen 
 King Solomon 124 
 
 Milton, John 
 
 L'Allegro 232 
 
 I\ Penseroso 234 
 
 Lycidas 236 
 
 On his being Arrived at the Age of 
 
 Twenty-three 240 
 
 On his Blindness 244 
 
 Monro, Harold 
 
 Milk for the Cat 393 
 
 ♦Moody, William Vaughn 
 
 Gloucester Moors 378 
 
 The Menagerie 379
 
 400 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND POEMS 
 
 Morris, William page 
 
 The Lady of the Land 130 
 
 *Neihardt, John G. 
 
 The Finding of Jamie 219 
 
 Newbolt, Henry 
 
 Craven 212 
 
 Gillespie 213 
 
 Drake's Drum 375 
 
 NoYES, Alfred 
 
 Forty Singing Seamen 214 
 
 Kew in Lilac-Time 382 
 
 In the Cool of the Evening 382 
 
 The Dawn of Peace 396 
 
 *Oppenheim, James 
 
 Saturday Night 384. 
 
 O'Shaughnessy, Arthur 
 
 St. John Baptist 346 
 
 Song of Palms 348 
 
 Ode (We are the music-makers) . . . 348 
 
 Oxenham, John 
 
 The Sacrament of Fire 395 
 
 Patmore, Coventry 
 
 The Toys 351 
 
 ♦Pinkney, Edward Coate 
 
 A Health 283 
 
 *PoE, Edgar Allan 
 
 The Raven 100 
 
 Annabel Lee 306 
 
 Pope, Alexander 
 
 The Rape of the Lock 17 
 
 Praed, Winthrop Mackworth 
 
 The Red Fisherman 67 
 
 The Belle of the Ball-Room 70 
 
 *PuLSiFER, Harold Trowbridge 
 
 The Conquest of the Air 385 
 
 *Read, Thomas Buchanan 
 
 Drifting 327 
 
 *Reese, Lizette Woodworth 
 
 A Little Song of Life 383 
 
 Rossetti, Christina 
 
 Up-Hill 329 
 
 Song (When I am dead) 329 
 
 "Hollow-Sounding and Mysterious". 357 
 
 Rossetti, Dante Gabriel 
 
 The White Ship 197 
 
 Lost Days 345 
 
 Lovesight 345 
 
 *Schauffler, Robert Haven 
 
 "Scum o' the Earth" 386 
 
 Scott, Walter 
 
 Lochinvar 50 
 
 Marmion and Douglas 51 
 
 Bonny Dundee 72 
 
 Proud Maisie 274 
 
 Shakespeare, William i'age 
 
 Agincourt 9 
 
 Who is Sylvia ? 227 
 
 Blow, Blow, thou Winter Wind .... 227 
 
 Under the Greenwood Tree 228 
 
 O Mistress Mine 228 
 
 Hark, Hark ! the Lark 228 
 
 Sonnets: 
 
 When in disgrace with Fortune 
 
 and men's eyes 228 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet si- 
 lent thought 229 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in 
 
 me behold 229 
 
 But be contented: when that fell 
 
 arrest 229 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted 
 
 time 229 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true 
 minds 230 
 
 *Sheldon, Charles Monroe 
 
 Jesus the Carpenter 388 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 
 
 Ozymandias 2j^ 
 
 Ode to the West Wind ^w 
 
 The Cloud 279 
 
 To a Skylark 280 
 
 A Dirge 281 
 
 Shirley, James 
 
 Song (The glories of our blood) .... 244 
 
 Sidney, Sir Philip 
 Heart-Exchange 227 
 
 *SiLL, Edward Rowland " " "• 
 
 Opportunity «^ . 205 
 
 *Smith. Lewis Worthington 
 The English Tongue 394 
 
 Southey, Robert 
 Bishop Hatto 42 
 
 ♦Stafford, Wendell Phillips 
 
 Panama Hymn 391 
 
 Invocation 392 
 
 ♦Stetson, Charlotte Perkins 
 
 "A Man Must Live" 367 
 
 Stevenson, Robert Louis 
 
 Requiem 359 
 
 Evensong 373 
 
 Suckling, Sir John 
 
 Song (Why so pale and wan?).... 240 
 
 Swinburne, Algernon Charles 
 
 The Slaying of Urgan 204 
 
 A Match 341 
 
 A Ballade of Dreamland 350 
 
 Winter in Northumberland 351 
 
 March 360 
 
 England, Queen of the Waves 361 
 
 %
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND POEMS 
 
 401 
 
 *Tabb, John B. page 
 
 The Butterfly 370 
 
 The Brook 370 
 
 The Water-Lily 370 
 
 Phantoms 370 
 
 The Dandelion 370 
 
 Easter 370 
 
 *Teasdale, Sara 
 
 The Star 218 
 
 The Poor- House 390 
 
 The Look 393 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred 
 
 The Lady of Shalott 74 
 
 The Charge of the Light Brigade.. 119 
 
 Gareth and Lynette 137 
 
 Lancelot and Elaine i6o 
 
 The Passing of Arthur 181 
 
 The Revenge 191 
 
 The Charge of the Heavy Brigade. 196 
 
 Break, Break, Break 289 
 
 Locksley Hall 290 
 
 Ulysses 295 
 
 Sir Galahad 296 
 
 Sweet and Low 307 
 
 The Splendor Falls 308 
 
 In Memoriam: 
 
 Strong Son of God, immortal 
 
 Love 308 
 
 O yet we trust that somehow good 308 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild 
 
 sky 309 
 
 Contemplate all this work of Time 309 
 Ode on the Death of the Duke of 
 
 Wellington 309 
 
 Come into the Garden, Maud 314 
 
 By an Evolutionist 361 
 
 Crossing the Bar 362 
 
 Tennyson-Turner, Charles 
 
 The Steam Threshing Machine.... 344 
 Thompson, Francis 
 
 Daisy 371 
 
 ♦Thompson, Will Henry 
 
 The High Tide at Gettysburg 206 
 
 Thomson, James 
 
 Rule Britannia 247 
 
 Tynan, Katharine 
 
 The Mother 388 
 
 The Making of Birds 389 
 
 ♦van Dyke, Henry 
 
 An Angler's Wish 372 
 
 Watson, William i'age 
 
 History 368 
 
 ♦Whitman, Walt 
 
 There was a Child Went Forth 320 
 
 The Grass 321 
 
 Captain! my Captain! 335 
 
 To the Man-of-War Bird 350 
 
 *Whittier, John Greenleaf 
 
 Skipper Ireson's Ride 123 
 
 The Barefoot Boy 325 
 
 The Eternal Goodness 344 
 
 In School-Days 345 
 
 Wolfe, Charles 
 
 The Burial of Sir John Moore 60 
 
 *W00DBERRY, GeORGE EdWARD 
 
 America and England 375 
 
 The Secret 375 
 
 Comrades 384 
 
 Woods, Margaret L. 
 The Merry-Go-Round 387 
 
 Wordsworth, William 
 
 Simon Lee 41 
 
 Lucy Gray 43 
 
 Michael 43 
 
 Lines Written in Early Spring 261 
 
 Three Years She Grew 262 
 
 She Dwelt among the Untrodden 
 
 Ways 263 
 
 My Heart Leaps Up 263 
 
 The Solitary Reaper 263 
 
 She was a Phantom of Delight 263 
 
 1 Wandered Lonely as a Cloud 264 
 
 Ode to Duty 264 
 
 To a Sky-Lark 265 
 
 Ode (Intimations of Immortality) . . 265 
 Sonnets: 
 
 Composed upon Westminster 
 
 Bridge 268 
 
 London, 1802 268 
 
 Written in London, September, 
 
 1802 269 
 
 It is not to be thought of 269 
 
 The world is too much with us. . . 269 
 
 WoTTON, Sir Henry 
 
 Character of a Happy Life 230 
 
 Yeats, William Butler 
 
 The Ballad of Moll Magee 209 
 
 The Ballad of Father Giiligan 209 
 
 The Lake Isle of Innisfree 367
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem (Hunt) 
 
 After Construing (Benson) 
 
 Agincourt (Drayton) 
 
 Agincourt (Shakespeare) 
 
 Aladdin (Lowell) 
 
 Alexander's Feast (Dryden) 
 
 Altruism (Jordan) 
 
 America (Dobell) 
 
 America and England (Woodberry) . . 
 
 American Flag, The (Drake) 
 
 Angler's Wish, An (van Dyke) 
 
 Annabel Lee (Poe) 
 
 Arsenal at Springfield, The (Long- 
 fellow) 
 
 At the End of the Day (Hovey) 
 
 Ballad of East and West, A (Kipling) 
 
 Ballad of Father Gilligan (Yeats) 
 
 Ballad of Judas Iscariot, The (Bu- 
 chanan) 
 
 Ballad of Moll Magee, The (Yeats).. 
 
 Ballad of Sir John Franklin (Boker) . . 
 
 Ballad of the French Fleet, A (Long- 
 fellow) 
 
 Ballad of Trees and the Master, A 
 (Lanier) 
 
 Ballade of Dead Cities (Gosse) 
 
 Ballade of Dreamland, A (Swin- 
 burne) 
 
 Ballade of June (Henley) 
 
 Barefoot Boy, The (Whittier) 
 
 Battle of the Baltic, The (Campbell). 
 
 Battle-Hymn of the Republic (Howe) 
 
 Belle of the Ball-Room, The (Praed). 
 
 Bishop Hatto (Southey) 
 
 Blow, Blow, thou Winter Wind (Shake- 
 speare) 
 
 Boadicea (Cowper) 
 
 Bonny Dundee (Scott) 
 
 Boston Hymn (Emerson) 
 
 Boy and the Angel, The (Browning) . 
 
 Break, Break, Break (Tennyson) 
 
 Brook, The (Tabb) 
 
 Building of Springfield, The (Lindsay) 
 
 Burial of Sir John Moore, The (Wolfe) 
 
 Butterfly, The (Tabb) 
 
 By an Evolutionist (Tennyson) 
 
 Chambered Nautilus, The (Holmes).. 
 Character of a Happy Life (Wotton) . 
 
 PAGB PAGE 
 
 89 Charge of the Heavy Brigade, The 
 
 372 (Tennyson) 196 
 
 II Charge of the Light Brigade, The 
 
 9 (Tennyson) 119 
 
 345 Christabel (Coleridge) 57 
 
 24s Christmas Carol, A (Herrick) 243 
 
 376 Cloud, The (Shelley) 279 
 
 319 Come into the Garden, Maud (Ten- 
 
 375 nyson) 314 
 
 274 Comrades (Hovey) 368 
 
 372 Comrades (Woodberry) 384 
 
 306 Concord Hymn (Emerson) 286 
 
 Conquest of the Air, The (Pulsifer) . . 385 
 
 303 Corinna's Going a-Maying (Herrick) . 241 
 
 374 Courtin', The (Lowell) 128 
 
 Craven (Newbolt) 213 
 
 207 Crier, The (Drayton) 231 
 
 209 Crossing the Bar (Tennyson) 362 
 
 Cry of the Children, The (Browning) 298 
 201 
 
 209 Daisy (Thompson) 371 
 
 121 Dandelion, The (Tabb) 370 
 
 Dauber Rounds Cape Horn, The(Mase- 
 
 193 field) 216 
 
 Dawn of Peace, The (Noyes) 396 
 
 357 Day, A (Dickinson) 363 
 
 353 Days (Emerson) 325 
 
 "De Gustibus" (Browning) 316 
 
 350 Death (Donne) 236 
 
 359 Death of Puck, The (Lee-Hamilton) . . 210 
 
 324 Deserted Village, The (Goldsmith).., 251 
 52 Destruction of Sennacherib, The (By- 
 
 328 ron) 53 
 
 71 Dirge, A (Shelley) 281 
 
 42 Dirge for a Soldier (Boker) 329 
 
 Dorothy Q. (Holmes) 346 
 
 227 Drake's Drum (Newbolt) 375 
 
 30 Drifting (Read) 327 
 
 72 
 
 331 Each in his Own Tongue (Carruth) . . 373 
 
 97 East London (Arnold) 344 
 
 289 Easter (Tabb) 370 
 
 370 Elegy Written in a Country Church- 
 
 390 yard (Gray) 249 
 
 60 Elfin Skates (Lee-Hamilton) 210 
 
 370 England, Queen of the Waves (Swin- 
 
 361 burne) 361 
 
 English Flag, The (Kipling) 364 
 
 325 English Tongue, The (Smith) 394 
 
 230 Epilogue (Browning) 362 
 
 402
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 403 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Eternal Goodness, The (Whittier) . . . 344 
 
 Eve of St. Agnes, The (Keats) 62 
 
 Evelyn Hope (Browning) 315 
 
 Evensong (Stevenson) 373 
 
 Fairies, The (Allingham) 306 
 
 Farevyeil, A (Kingsley) 325 
 
 Finding of Jamie, The (Neihardt) .... 219 
 
 Forefathers' Hymn (Bacon) 285 
 
 Forest Hymn, A (Bryant) 282 
 
 Forsaken Merman, The (Arnold).... 104 
 
 Forty Singing Seamen (Noyes) 214 
 
 Fresh from His Fastnesses (Henley).. 366 
 
 Gaoler, The (Cone) 392 
 
 Gareth and Lynette (Tennyson) 137 
 
 Gillespie (Newbolt) 213 
 
 Gloucester Moors (Moody) 378 
 
 Goethals (Mackaye) 391 
 
 Grass, The (Whitman) 321 
 
 Guilielmus Rex (Aldrich) 374 
 
 Hark, Hark! the Lark (Shakespeare). 228 
 
 Health, A (Pinkney) 283 
 
 Heart-Exchange (Sidney) 227 
 
 Heritage, The (Brown) 390 
 
 Herve Riel (Browning) 189 
 
 High Tide at Gettysburg, The (Thomp- 
 son) 206 
 
 Highland Mary (Burns) 262 
 
 History (Watson) 368 
 
 "Hollow-Sounding and Mysterious" 
 
 (Rossetti) 357 
 
 Holy Nativity, The (Crashaw) 240 
 
 Home-Thoughts from Abroad (Brown- 
 ing) 305 
 
 Home-Thoughts from the Sea (Brown- 
 ing) 305 
 
 Horatius (Macaulay) 80 
 
 House of Christmas, The (Chesterton) 394 
 How they Brought the Good News 
 
 (Browning) 96 
 
 Humble-Bee, The (Emerson) 286 
 
 I Never Saw a Moor (Dickinson) 363 
 
 I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (Words- 
 worth ) 264 
 
 If (Dickinson) 363 
 
 II Penseroso (Milton) 234 
 
 In Memorlam (Tennyson) 308 
 
 In School Days (Whittier) 345 
 
 In the Cool of the Evening (Noyes).. 382 
 Incident of the French Camp (Brown- 
 ing) 98 
 
 Instans Tyrannus (Browning) 120 
 
 Invocation (Stafford) 392 
 
 Iphigeneia and Agamemnon (Landor) . 103 
 
 PAGE 
 
 It is not Growing Like a Tree (Jon- 
 son ) 230 
 
 Italian in England, The (Browning) . . 98 
 
 Jackdaw, The (Cowper) 258 
 
 Jackdaw of Rheims, The (Barham).. 76 
 
 Jesus the Carpenter (Sheldon) 388 
 
 Johnnie Cock (Anon.) 5 
 
 Joy of the Hills, The (Markham) 371 
 
 Kew in Lilac Time (Noyes) 382 
 
 King Robert of Sicily (Longfellow) ... 125 
 
 King Solomon (Meredith) 124 
 
 Kinmont Willie (Anon.) 6 
 
 Kubla Khan (Coleridge) 270 
 
 La Belle Dame sans Mercl (Keats)... 61 
 Lad, Have You Things to Do? (Hous- 
 
 man) 374 
 
 Lady of Shalott, The (Tennyson) 74 
 
 Lady of the Land, The (Morris) 130 
 
 Lake Isle of Innisfree, The (Yeats).. 367 
 
 L'Allegro (Milton) 232 
 
 Lancelot and Elaine (Tennyson) 160 
 
 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, The 
 
 (Hemans) 284 
 
 Last Buccaneer, The (Macaulay) 76 
 
 Last Chantey, The (Kipling) 211 
 
 Last Leaf, The (Holmes) 285 
 
 Late Lark Twitters, A (Henley) 349 
 
 Lines Written in Early Spring (Words- 
 worth) 261 
 
 Listeners, The (De la Mare) 215 
 
 Little Boy and the Locomotive, The 
 
 .(Low) 394 
 
 Little Song of Life, A (Reese) 383 
 
 Living Temple, The (Holmes) 326 
 
 Lochinvar ( Scott) 50 
 
 Locksley Hall (Tennyson) 290 
 
 London Snow (Bridges) 356 
 
 Look, The (Teasdale) 393 
 
 Lost Days (Rossetti) 345 
 
 Love (Herbert) 231 
 
 Love among the Ruins (Browning)... 318 
 
 Lovesight (Rossetti) 345 
 
 Lucy Gray (Wordsworth) 43 
 
 Lycidas (Milton) 236 
 
 Maidenhood (Longfellow) 288 
 
 Making of Birds, The (Tynan) 389 
 
 "Man Must Live, A" (Stetson) 367 
 
 Man's a Man for a' That, A (Burns) 260 
 
 March (Swinburne) 360 
 
 Marching Along (Browning) 289 
 
 Marching Morrows, The (Carman).. 369 
 
 Marmion and Douglas (Scott) 51 
 
 Marshes of Glynn, The (Lanier) 354 
 
 Match, A (Swinburne) 341
 
 404 
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Menagerie, The (Moody) 379 
 
 Merry-Go-Round, The (Woods) 387 
 
 Michael (Wordsworth) 43 
 
 Milk for the Cat (Monro) 393 
 
 Milkmaid, The (Dobson) 359 
 
 Mimma Bella (Lee-Hamilton) 383 
 
 More Ancient Mariner, A (Carman). 369 
 
 Mother, The (Tynan) 388 
 
 My Heart Leaps Up (Wordsworth) . . 263 
 
 My Last Duchess (Browning) 86 
 
 My Lost Youth (Longfellow) 322 
 
 My Strawberry (Jackson) 347 
 
 Nature (Longfellow) 349 
 
 Nod (De la Mare) 395 
 
 Nymphidia : The Court of Faery (Dray- 
 ton) 12 
 
 O Captain! My Captain! (Whitman). 335 
 
 O Mistress Mine (Shakespeare) 228 
 
 O Sweet Content (Dekker) 227 
 
 O Youth whose Hope is High (Bridges) 356 
 
 Ode: How sleep the brave (Collins).. 248 
 Ode: Intimations of Immortality 
 
 (Wordsworth) 265 
 
 Ode: We are the music- makers 
 
 (O'Shaughnessy) 348 
 
 Ode on a Grecian Urn (Keats) 276 
 
 Ode on the Death of the Duke of 
 
 Wellington (Tennyson) 309 
 
 Ode Recited at the Harvard Commem- 
 oration (Lowell) 336 
 
 Ode to a Nightingale (Keats) 275 
 
 Ode to Duty (Wordsworth) 264 
 
 Ode to Evening (Collins) 248 
 
 Ode to the North-East Wind (Kings- 
 ley) 313 
 
 Ode to the West Wind (Shelley) 278 
 
 Old Clock on the Stairs, The (Long- 
 fellow) 304 
 
 Old Familiar Faces, The (Lamb) 261 
 
 Old Ironsides (Holmes) 285 
 
 On First Looking into Chapman's 
 
 Homer (Keats) 271 
 
 On his being Arrived at the Age of 
 
 Twenty-three (Milton) 240 
 
 On his Blindness (Milton) 244 
 
 On Julia's Clothes (Herrick) 242 
 
 On the Grasshopper and the Cricket 
 
 (Keats) 271 
 
 Opportunity (Sill) 205 
 
 Our Country (Howe) 328 
 
 Ozymandias (Shelley) 274 
 
 Painter who Pleased Nobody, The 
 
 (Gay) 29 
 
 Panama Hymn (Stafford) 391 
 
 Pardoner's Tale, The (Chaucer) i 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Passing of Arthur, The (Tennyson).. 181 
 
 Patriot, The (Browning) 316 
 
 Peacock, the Turkey, and the Goose, 
 
 The (Gay) 29 
 
 Phantoms (Tabb) 370 
 
 Pheidippides (Browning) 194 
 
 Poor-House, The (Teasdale) 390 
 
 Prelude (Cawein) 378 
 
 Present Crisis, The (Lowell) 301 
 
 Prisoner of Chillon, The (Byron) .... 53 
 
 Prospice (Browning) 335 
 
 Proud Maisie (Scott) 274 
 
 Psalm of Life, A (Longfellow) 286 
 
 Pulley, The (Herbert) 232 
 
 Rabbi Ben Ezra (Browning) 332 
 
 Railway Train, The (Dickinson) 363 
 
 Rape of the Lock, The (Pope) 17 
 
 Raven, The (Poe) 100 
 
 Reason Why, The (Locker-Lampson) . 349 
 
 Recessional (Kipling) 376 
 
 Red Fisherman, The (Praed) 67 
 
 Redbird, The (Cawein) 367 
 
 Requiem (Stevenson) 359 
 
 Revenge, The (Tennyson) 191 
 
 Rhodora, The (Emerson) 287 
 
 Rhoecus (Lowell) 87 
 
 Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Cole- 
 ridge) 33 
 
 Rime of the Duchess May (Browning) 90 
 
 Robert of Lincoln (Bryant) 323 
 
 Robin, The (Dickinson) 364 
 
 Rondeau (Hunt) 300 
 
 Rugby Chapel (Arnold) 342 
 
 Rule Britannia (Thomson) 247 
 
 Sacrament of Fire, The (Oxenham).. 395 
 
 St. John Baptist (O'Shaughnessy) 346 
 
 Saturday Night (Oppenheim) 384 
 
 Say Not the Struggle Nought Avail- 
 
 eth ( Clough ) 329 
 
 School-Days (Bridges) 368 
 
 Scots Wha Hae (Burns) 260 
 
 "Scum o' the Earth" (Schauffler) 386 
 
 Sea Fever (Masefield) 381 
 
 Secret, The (Woodberry) 375 
 
 Self-Dependence (Arnold) 313 
 
 Shakespeare (Arnold) 306 
 
 She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways 
 
 (Wordsworth) 263 
 
 She Walks in Beauty (Byron) 270 
 
 She was a Phantom of Delight (Words- 
 worth ) 263 
 
 Shepherd of King Admetus, The 
 
 (Lowell) 87 
 
 Silent Tower of Bottreau, The 
 
 (Hawker) 73 
 
 Simon Lee (Wordsworth) 41
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 405 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sir Galahad (Tennyson) 296 
 
 Sir Humphrey Gilbert (Longfellow).. 104 
 
 Sir Patrick Spence (Anon.) 4 
 
 Skeleton in Armor, The (Longfellow) . 78 
 
 Skipper Ireson's Ride (Whittier) 123 
 
 Slaying of Urgan, The (Swinburne).. 204 
 
 Snow-Storm, The (Emerson) 287 
 
 Sohrab and Rustum (Arnold) 106 
 
 Solitary Reaper, The (Wordsworth) . . 263 
 
 Sometimes (Jones) 382 
 
 Son of God Goes Forth to War, The 
 
 (Heber) 284 
 
 Song (Beddoes) 307 
 
 Song: When I am dead (Rossetti) .... 329 
 Song: The glories of our blood (Shir- 
 ley) 244 
 
 Song: Why so pale and wan (Suck- 
 ling) 240 
 
 Song for St, Cecilia's Day (Dryden) . 244 
 
 Song of Palms (O'Shaughnessy) 348 
 
 Song of the Shirt, The (Hood) 297 
 
 Song of To-day (Lathbury) 357 
 
 Songs of Seven (Ingelow) 330 
 
 Sonnet: But be contented (Shake- 
 speare ) 230 
 
 Sonnet: Composed upon Westminster 
 
 Bridge (Wordsworth) 269 
 
 Sonnet: It is not to be thought of 
 
 (Wordsworth) 269 
 
 Sonnet: Let me not to the marriage 
 
 (Shakespeare) 230 
 
 Sonnet: London, 1802 (Wordsworth).. 265 
 Sonnet: Since there's no help (Dray- 
 ton) 231 
 
 Sonnet: That time of year (Shake- 
 speare) 229 
 
 Sonnet: When in disgrace with For- 
 tune (Shakespeare) 228 
 
 Sonnet: When in the chronicles (Shake- 
 speare) 229 
 
 Sonnet: When to the sessions (Shake- 
 speare) 229 
 
 Sonnet: Written in London, September, 
 
 1802 (Wordsworth) 269 
 
 Spacious Firmament on High, The 
 
 (Addison) 247 
 
 Splendor Falls, The (Tennyson) 308 
 
 Star, The (Teasdale) 218 
 
 Steam Threshing Machine, The (Ten- 
 nyson) 344 
 
 Sun-Day Hymn, A (Holmes) 326 
 
 Sweet and Low (Tennyson) 307 
 
 Tam o'Shanter (Burns) 31 
 
 Thanatopsis (Bryant) 272 
 
 Thanksgiving to God for his House, 
 
 A (Herrick) 242 
 
 PAGE 
 
 There was a Child Went Forth (Whit- 
 man) 320 
 
 Three Years She Grew (Wordsworth) 262 
 
 Tiger, The (Blake) 260 
 
 To a Greek Bootblack (Firkins) 382 
 
 To a Louse (Burns) 258 
 
 To a Mouse (Burns) 259 
 
 To a Skylark (Shelley) 280 
 
 To a Skylark (Wordsworth) 265 
 
 To a Waterfowl (Bryant) 273 
 
 To Althea from Prison (Lovelace) .... 243 
 To an Athlete Dying Young (Hous- 
 
 man) 373 
 
 To Autumn (Keats) 277 
 
 To Celia (Jonson) 230 
 
 To Daffodils (Herrick) 242 
 
 To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars 
 
 (Lovelace) 243 
 
 To the Dandelion (Lowell) 303 
 
 To the Grasshopper and the Cricket 
 
 (Hunt) 272 
 
 To the Man-of-War Bird (Whitman) 350 
 
 Toys, The (Patmore) 351 
 
 Trees (Kilmer) 393 
 
 Twa Sisters, The (Anon.) 8 
 
 Two Taverns (Markham) 378 
 
 Two Voyagers (Dickinson) 364 
 
 Ultima Veritas (Gladden) 353 
 
 Ulysses (Tennyson) 295 
 
 Unconquered Air, The (Coates) 385 
 
 Under the Greenwood Tree (Shake- 
 speare ) 228 
 
 Unguarded Gates (Aldrich) 366 
 
 Unmanifest Destiny (Hovey) 377 
 
 Up at a Villa — Down in the City 
 
 (Browning) 317 
 
 Up-Hill (Rossetti) 329 
 
 Virtue (Herbert) 231 
 
 Water-Lily, The (Tabb) 370 
 
 Way to Arcady, The (Bunner) 358 
 
 When Burbage Played (Dobson) 363 
 
 When I Saw You Last, Rose (Dobson) 351 
 When the Great Gray Ships Come In 
 
 (Carryl) 377 
 
 White Ship, The (Rossetti) 197 
 
 Who is Sylvia? (Shakespeare) 227 
 
 Who Robbed the Woods? (Dickinson) 364 
 Winter in Northumberland (Swin- 
 burne) 351 
 
 Ye Mariners of England (Campbell) . 269 
 Year's at the Spring, The (Browning) 288 
 Young and Old (Kingsley) 330
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 A child said, What is the grass? 321 
 
 A cloud possessed the hollow field.... 206 
 
 A fire-mist and a planet 373 
 
 A fleet with flags arrayed 193 
 
 A late lark twitters from the quiet skies 349 
 
 A man must live ! We justify 367 
 
 A man went down to Panama 391 
 
 A mile behind is Gloucester town 378 
 
 A white star born in the evening glow 218 
 Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe in- 
 crease!) 89 
 
 Across the fields of yesterday 382 
 
 Across the grass I see her pass 359 
 
 Across the seas of Wonderland to 
 
 Magadore we plodded 214 
 
 And the first gray of morning fiU'd the 
 
 east 106 
 
 Announced by all the trumpets of the 
 
 sky 287 
 
 Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves?... 370 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden 
 
 slumbers ? 227 
 
 As a fond mother, when the day is o'er 349 
 
 Ask why I love the roses fair 349 
 
 At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard 
 
 Grenville lay 191 
 
 At the gate of the West I stand 386 
 
 At the midnight in the silence of the 
 
 sleep-time 362 
 
 Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!... 285 
 
 Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! 315 
 
 Behold her single in the field 263 
 
 Big iron horse with lifted head.... 394 
 
 Blessings on thee, little man 324 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 227 
 
 Break, break, break 289 
 
 Burly, dozing humble-bee 286 
 
 Bury the Great Duke 309 
 
 But be contented: when that fell arrest 229 
 But Tristram by dense hills and deep- 
 ening vales 204 
 
 By none but me can the tale be told. . 197 
 By the rude bridge that arched the 
 flood 286 
 
 Close his eyes; his work is done! 329 
 
 Coldly, sadly descends 342 
 
 Come, dear children, let us away 104 
 
 Come into the garden, Maud 314 
 
 Come round me, little children 209 
 
 Comrades, leave me here a little 290 
 
 Comrades, pour the wine to-night. . . . 368 
 Contemplate all this work of Time... 309 
 
 Darkly, as by some gloomed mirror 
 glassed 368 
 
 Daughters of Time, the hypocritic 
 Days 325 
 
 Dear common flower, that grow'st be- 
 side the way 303 
 
 Death, be not proud, though some have 
 called thee 236 
 
 Do ye hear the children weeping, O my 
 brothers 298 
 
 Does the road wind up-hill all the 
 way ? 329 
 
 Drake he's in his hammock, an' a thou- 
 sand miles away 375 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes 230 
 
 Earth has not anything to show more 
 
 fair 268 
 
 Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable... 160 
 England, queen of the waves whose 
 green inviolate girdle enrings thee 
 
 round 361 
 
 Ere frost-flower and snow-blossom 
 
 faded and fell 360 
 
 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 242 
 
 Fair stood the wind for France 11 
 
 Fear death? — to feel the fog in my 
 
 throat 335 
 
 First I salute this soil of the blessed, 
 
 river and rock! I94 
 
 Flush with the pond the lurid furnace 
 
 burned 344 
 
 Fresh from his fastnesses 366 
 
 From harmony, from heavenly har- 
 mony 244 
 
 Get up, get up for shame ! 241 
 
 Glad that I live am 1 383 
 
 Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful 
 
 braided and woven 354 
 
 Gloomy night embraced the place.... 240 
 
 Go down to Kew in lilac-time 382 
 
 God of our fathers, known of old.... 376 
 
 406
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 407 
 
 PAGE 
 
 God made Him birds in a pleasant 
 
 humor 389 
 
 God made sech nights, all white an' 
 
 still 128 
 
 God sends his teachers into every age 87 
 
 Good folk, for gold or hire 231 
 
 Grandmother's mother: her age, I 
 
 guess 346 
 
 Green little vaulter in the sunny grass 272 
 
 Grow old along with me ! 332 
 
 Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie? 258 
 Had I but plenty of money, money 
 
 enough and to spare 317 
 
 Half a league, half a league 119 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 280 
 
 Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate 
 
 sings 228 
 
 He flies with flirt and fluting 367 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy 232 
 
 Hence, vain deluding Joys 234 
 
 Here is eternal spring: for you 368 
 
 Hope went by and Peace went by 390 
 
 How happy is he born and taught. . . . 230 
 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 248 
 How soon hath Time, the subtle thief 
 
 of youth 240 
 
 I bring fresh showers for the thirsting 
 
 flowers 279 
 
 I fear that Puck is dead, — it is so long 210 
 
 I fill this cup to one made up 283 
 
 I have had playmates, I have had 
 
 companions 261 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes 261 
 
 I hid my heart in a nest of flowers... 350 
 
 I know not what the future hath 3 
 
 I like to see it lap the miles 363 
 
 I met a traveller from an antique land 274 
 
 I must go down to the sea again 381 
 
 I never saw a moor 363 
 
 I remember how I lay 378 
 
 I ride on the mountain tops, I ride... 371 
 
 I saw him once before 285 
 
 I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and 
 
 he 96 
 
 I think he had not heard of the far 
 
 towns 346 
 
 I think that I shall never see 393 
 
 I wandered lonely as a cloud 264 
 
 I will arise and go now, and go to 
 
 Innisfree 367 
 
 If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 248 
 If from the public way you turn your 
 
 steps 43 
 
 If I can stop one heart from breaking. 363 
 
 If I could hold within my hand 388 
 
 If love were what the rose is 341 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I'll tell you how the sun rose 363 
 
 In a dusk and scant retreat 382 
 
 In beauty faults conspicuous grow... 29 
 In Flanders once there dwelt a com- 
 pany I 
 
 In May, when sea-winds pierced our 
 
 solitudes 287 
 
 In the bitter waves of woe 353 
 
 In the cool of the evening 382 
 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan 41 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 270 
 
 Into the woods my Master went 357 
 
 Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom. 103 
 "Is there anybody there?" said the 
 
 Traveller 215 
 
 Is there for honest poverty 260 
 
 It happened once, some men of Italy. . 130 
 
 It is an ancient Mariner 33 
 
 It is not growing like a tree 230 
 
 It is not to be thought of that the flood 269 
 
 It is the mountain to the sea 370 
 
 It little profits that an idle king 295 
 
 It was many and many a year ago. . . 306 
 
 It was roses, roses, all the way 316 
 
 Jenny kissed me when we met 300 
 
 Kamal is out with twenty men 207 
 
 Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King. . . 289 
 King Solomon stood, in his crown of 
 
 gold 124 
 
 Kneel always when you light a fire!. . 395 
 
 Lars Porsena of Clusium 80 
 
 Leafless, stemless, floating flower 370 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true 
 
 minds 230 
 
 Let not our town be large 390 
 
 Like a meteor, large and bright 370 
 
 Lilacs glow, and jasmines climb 359 
 
 Lo, through the open window of the 
 
 room 383 
 
 Lord Cassar, when you sternly wrote.. 372 
 
 Lord of all being! throned afar 326 
 
 Lord, thou hast given me a cell 242 
 
 Love bade me welcome ; yet my soul 
 
 drew back 231 
 
 Maiden! with the meek brown eyes.. 288 
 
 Merrily swinging on brier and weed.. 323 
 
 Merry-go-round is a-turning, turning. 387 
 
 Mighty, luminous, and calm 348 
 
 Milton! Thou should'st be living at 
 
 this hour 268 
 
 Mine eyes have seen the glory of the 
 
 coming of the Lord 328 
 
 Morning, evening, noon, and night... 97
 
 408 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Much have I travel'd in the realms of 
 
 gold 271 
 
 My fairest child, I have no song to 
 
 give you 325 
 
 My good blade carves the casques of 
 
 men 296 
 
 My hair is gray, but not with years. . 53 
 My heart aches, and a drowsy numb- 
 ness pains 275 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold.... 263 
 My little Son, who looked from 
 
 thoughtful eyes 351 
 
 My soul to-day 327 
 
 My true-love hath my heart 227 
 
 Nightingales warble about it 375 
 
 No matter what my birth may be 390 
 
 Nobly, nobly. Cape Saint Vincent to the 
 
 Northwest died away 305 
 
 Nor force nor fraud shall sunder us.. 319 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral 
 
 note 60 
 
 Not far advanced was morning day. . 51 
 
 Not in the world of light alone 326 
 
 Now all the youth of England are on 
 
 fire 9 
 
 Now gird thee well for courage 369 
 
 O Captain! my Captain! our fearful 
 
 trip is done 335 
 
 O friend ! I know not which way I 
 
 must look 269 
 
 O God, beneath thy guiding hand 285 
 
 O have ye na heard o' the false Sa- 
 
 kelde? 6 
 
 O marvel, fruit of fruits, I pause 347 
 
 O Mistress mine, where are you roam- 
 ing ? 228 
 
 O Thou whose equal purpose runs... 392 
 O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms. . 6i 
 "O, whither sail you. Sir John Frank- 
 lin?" 121 
 
 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Au- 
 tumn's being 278 
 
 O, yet we trust that somehow good... 308 
 
 O youth whose hope is high 356 
 
 Of all the rides since the birth of time 123 
 
 Of Nelson and the North 52 
 
 Of the million or two, more or less. . . 120 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray 43 
 
 Often I think of the beautiful town.. 322 
 
 Oh, to be in England 305 
 
 Oh, what's the way to Arcady? 358 
 
 Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of 
 
 the west 50 
 
 Old Adam, the carrion crew 307 
 
 Old Chaucer doth of Thopas tell 12 
 
 FAOE 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary 100 
 
 On either side the river lie 74 
 
 On primal rocks she wrote her name.. 328 
 On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen 
 
 hundred ninety-two 189 
 
 Others abide our question. Thou art 
 
 free 306 
 
 Others endure Man's rule: he there- 
 fore deems 385 
 
 Outside the garden 351 
 
 Over the turret, shut in his iron-clad 
 tower 212 
 
 Proud Maisie is in the wood 274 
 
 Riding at dawn, riding alone 213 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky. . 309 
 Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Ur- 
 bane 125 
 
 Rough wind, that moanest loud 281 
 
 St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! 62 
 
 Say, lad, have you things to do? 374 
 
 Say not the struggle nought availeth.. 329 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled.... 260 
 Season of mists and mellow fruitful- 
 
 ness 277 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways 263 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night... 270 
 
 She was a phantom of delight 263 
 
 Since there's no help, come let us kiss 
 
 and part 231 
 
 Sing paeans over the Past! 357 
 
 So the night passed, but then no morn- 
 ing came 216 
 
 So very like a painter drew 29 
 
 Softly along the road of evening 395 
 
 Somewhat back from the village street 304 
 
 Southward with fleet of ice 104 
 
 Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! 78 
 
 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!. . 264 
 
 Still sits the school-house by the road 345 
 
 Strephon kissed me in the spring 393 
 
 Strong Son of God, immortal Love... 308 
 
 Sunset and evening star 362 
 
 Sweet and low, sweet and low 307 
 
 Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the 
 
 plain 251 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright. 231 
 
 Tell me not, in mournful numbers.... 286 
 
 Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind 243 
 
 Thank God my brain is not inclined 
 
 to cut 379 
 
 That story which the bold Sir Bedi- 
 
 vere 181 
 
 That second time they hunted me 98
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 409 
 
 PAGE 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me 
 
 behold 229 
 
 That's my last duchess painted on the 
 
 wall 86 
 
 The Abbot arose, and closed his book 67 
 The Assyrian came down like the wolf 
 
 on the fold 53 
 
 The breaking waves dashed high.... 284 
 The charge of the gallant three hun- 
 dred, the Heavy Brigade! 196 
 
 The country of the Crows 219 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting 
 
 day 249 
 
 The embers of the day are red 373 
 
 The folk who lived in Shakespeare's 
 
 day 374 
 
 The glories of our blood and state... 244 
 
 "The God of things as they are" 376 
 
 The groves were God's first temples.. 282 
 The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's 
 
 chair! 76 
 
 The king sits in Dumferling town ... 4 
 The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent. 137 
 The lights of Saturday night beat 
 
 golden 384 
 
 The Lord let the house of a brute to 
 
 the soul of a man 361 
 
 The lost days of my life until to-day. . 345 
 
 The old priest Peter Gilligan 209 
 
 The poetry of earth is never dead.... 271 
 
 The robin is the one 364 
 
 The Son of God goes forth to war... 284 
 
 The spacious firmament on high 247 
 
 The splendor falls on castle walls.... 308 
 The summer and autumn had been so 
 
 wet 42 
 
 The swarthy bee is a buccaneer 369 
 
 The time you won your town the race. 373 
 The winds were yelling, the waves 
 
 were swelling 76 
 
 The word of the Lord by night 331 
 
 The world is too much with us! late 
 
 and soon 269 
 
 The year's at the spring 288 
 
 There came a youth upon the earth. . . 87 
 There fared a mother driven forth... 394 
 
 There is a bird, who, by his coat 258 
 
 There is no escape by the river 374 
 
 There is no height, no depth, that could 
 
 set us apart 388 
 
 There is no rhyme that is half so sweet 378 
 
 There was a child went forth 320 
 
 There was a time when meadow, 
 
 grove, and stream 265 
 
 There was twa sisters in a bowr 8 
 
 There's no dew left on the daisies and 
 
 clover 330 
 
 There's no replying 357 
 
 PAGE 
 
 They wheeled me up the snow-cleared 
 gardenway 210 
 
 This I beheld, or dreamed it in a 
 dream 205 
 
 This is the Arsenal, From floor to 
 ceiling 303 
 
 This is the ship of pearl, which, poets 
 feign 325 
 
 Thou still unravished bride of quiet- 
 ness 276 
 
 Thou who hast slept all night upon 
 the storm 350 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and 
 shower 262 
 
 Thus said the Lord in the Vault above 
 the Cherubim 211 
 
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright 260 
 
 Tintadgel bells ring o'er the tide.... 73 
 
 'Tis the middle of night by the castle 
 clock 57 
 
 To be free, to be alone 392 
 
 To eastward ringing, to westward 
 singing, o'er mapless miles of sea.. 377 
 
 To him who in the love of Nature 
 holds 272 
 
 To the Lords of Convention 'twas Cla- 
 ver'se who spoke 72 
 
 To what new fates, my country, far.. 377 
 
 'Twas a Duke's fair orphan girl 90 
 
 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia 
 won 245 
 
 'Twas August, and the fierce sun over- 
 head 344 
 
 'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot 201 
 
 Two butterflies went out at noon 364 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 228 
 
 Under the wide and starry sky 359 
 
 Up Johnnie rose in a May morning. . . 5 
 
 Up the airy mountain 306 
 
 Up with me! up with me into the 
 clouds! 265 
 
 We are the music-makers 348 
 
 We join to-day the East and West. . . 371 
 
 Weak-winged is song 336 
 
 Weary of myself, and sick of asking.. 313 
 Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie. 259 
 
 Welcome, wild North-easter! 313 
 
 What dire offence from amorous causes 
 
 springs 17 
 
 What is the strength of England, and 
 
 her pride 375 
 
 What sweeter music can we bring. . . . 243 
 When a deed is done for Freedom.... 301 
 When all the world is young, lad.... 330 
 When Britain first at Heaven's com- 
 mand 247
 
 410 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 FAGB 
 
 When Burbage played, the stage was 
 
 bare 363 
 
 When chapman billies leave the street 31 
 When do I see thee most, beloved one? 345 
 When Freedom from her mountain 
 
 height 274 
 
 When God at first made Man 232 
 
 When I am dead, my dearest 329 
 
 When I consider how my light is spent 244 
 
 When I saw you last. Rose 351 
 
 When I was a beggarly boy 345 
 
 When in disgrace with Fortune and 
 
 men's eyes 228 
 
 When in the chronicles of wasted time 229 
 When Love with unconfined wings... 243 
 When men were all asleep the snow 
 
 came flying 356 
 
 When the British warrior queen 30 
 
 Whence, O fragrant form of light 370 
 
 Where the quiet-colored end of eve- 
 ning smiles 318 
 
 When the tea is brought at five o'clock 393 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent 
 
 thought 229 
 
 When tulips bloom in Union Square. . . 242 
 
 Whenas in silk my Julia goes 242 
 
 Where are the cities of the plain?.... 353 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Where are the friends that I knew in 
 
 my Maying 384 
 
 Where the thistle lifts a purple crown 371 
 
 Whither, midst falling dew 273 
 
 Who is Sylvia? What is she 227 
 
 Who robbed the woods 364 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover. . . . 240 
 Wide open and unguarded stand our 
 
 gates 366 
 
 With fingers weary and worn 297 
 
 Winds of the World, give answer... 364 
 
 With a thunder-driven heart 385 
 
 With locks of gold to-day 370 
 
 Words that have tumbled and tossed 
 
 from the Avon and Clyde 394 
 
 Ye banks, and braes, and streams 
 
 around 262 
 
 Ye mariners of England 269 
 
 Years, years ago, ere yet my dreams. 71 
 Yes — "on our brows we feel the 
 
 breath" — 396 
 
 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once 
 
 more 236 
 
 You know, we French stormed Ratis- 
 
 bon 98 
 
 Your ghost will walk, you lover of 
 
 trees 36
 
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