The Three Friends
The sword slew one in deadly strife ;
One perished by the bowl ;
The third lies self-slain by the knife ;
For three the bells may toll—
I loved her better than my life,
And better than my soul.
Aye, father ! hast thou come at last ?
'Tis somewhat late to pray ;
Life's crimson tides are ebbing fast,
They drain my soul away ;
Mine eyes with film are overcast,
The lights are waning grey.
This curl from her bright head I shore,
And this her hands gave mine ;
See, one is stained with purple gore,
And one with poison'd wine ;
Give these to her when all is o'er—
How serpent-like they twine !
We three were brethren in arms,
And sworn companions we ;
We held this motto, 'Whoso harms
The one shall harm the three !'
Till, matchless for her subtle charms,
Beloved of each was she.
(These two were slain that I might kiss
Her sweet mouth. I did well ;
I said, 'There is no greater bliss
For those in heaven that dwell' ;
I lost her ; then I said, 'There is
No fiercer pang in hell !')
We have upheld each other's rights,
Shared purse, and borrow'd blade ;
Have stricken side by side in fights ;
And side by side have prayed
In churches. We were Christian knights,
And she a Christian maid.
We met at sunrise, he and I,
My comrade—'twas agreed
The steel our quarrel first should try,
The poison should succeed ;
For two of three were doom'd to die,
And one was doomed to bleed.
We buckled to the doubtful fray,
At first, with some remorse ;
But he who must be slain—or slay,
Soon strikes with vengeful force.
He fell ; I left him where he lay,
Among the trampled gorse.
Did passion warp my heart and head
To madness ? And, if so,
Can madness palliate bloodshed ?—
It may be—I shall know
When God shall gather up the dead
From where the four winds blow.
We met at sunset, he and I—
My second comrade true ;
Two cups with wine were brimming high,
And one was drugg'd—we knew
Not which, nor sought we to descry ;
Our choice by lot we drew.
And there I sat with him to sup :
I heard him blithely speak
Of bygone days—the fatal cup
Forgotten seem'd—his cheek
Was ruddy : father, raise me up,
My voice is waxing weak.
We drank ; his lips turned livid white,
His cheeks grew leaden ash ;
He reel'd—I heard his temples smite
The threshold with a crash !
And from his hand, in shivers bright,
I saw the goblet flash.
The morrow dawn'd with fragrance rare,
The May-breeze, from the west,
Just fann'd the sleepy olives, where
She heard and I confess'd ;
My hair entangled with her hair,
Her breast strained to my breast.
On the dread verge of endless gloom
My soul recalls that hour ;
Skies languishing with balm of bloom,
And fields aflame with flower ;
And slow caresses that consume,
And kisses that devour.
Ah ! now with storm the day seems rife,
My dull ears catch the roll
Of thunder, and the far sea strife,
On beach and bar and shoal—
I loved her better than my life,
And better than my soul.
She fled ! I cannot prove her guilt,
Nor would I an I could ;
See, life for life is fairly spilt !
And blood is shed for blood ;
Her white hands neither touched the hilt,
Nor yet the potion brew'd.
Aye ! turn me from the sickly south,
Towards the gusty north ;
The fruits of sin are dust and drouth,
The end of crime is wrath—
The lips that pressed her rose-like mouth
Are choked with blood-red froth.
Then dig the grave-pit deep and wide,
Three graves thrown into one,
And lay three corpses side by side,
And tell their tale to none ;
But bring her back in all her pride
To see what she hath done.
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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In The Orchard
LEAVE go my hands, let me catch breath and see;
Let the dew-fall drench either side of me;
Clear apple-leaves are soft upon that moon
Seen sidelong like a blossom in the tree;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
The grass is thick and cool, it lets us lie.
Kissed upon either cheek and either eye,
I turn to thee as some green afternoon
Turns toward sunset, and is loth to die;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Lie closer, lean your face upon my side,
Feel where the dew fell that has hardly dried,
Hear how the blood beats that went nigh to swoon;
The pleasure lives there when the sense has died;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
O my fair lord, I charge you leave me this:
Is it not sweeter than a foolish kiss?
Nay take it then, my flower, my first in June,
My rose, so like a tender mouth it is:
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire,
Dividing my delight and my desire,
The crescent life and love the plenilune,
Love me though dusk begin and dark retire;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Ah, my heart fails, my blood draws back; I know,
When life runs over, life is near to go;
And with the slain of love love’s ways are strewn,
And with their blood, if love will have it so;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Ah, do thy will now; slay me if thou wilt;
There is no building now the walls are built,
No quarrying now the corner-stone is hewn,
No drinking now the vine’s whole blood is spilt;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Nay, slay me now; nay, for I will be slain;
Pluck thy red pleasure from the teeth of pain,
Break down thy vine ere yet grape-gatherers prune,
Slay me ere day can slay desire again;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Yea, with thy sweet lips, with thy sweet sword; yea,
Take life and all, for I will die, I say;
Love, I gave love, is life a better boon?
For sweet night’s sake I will not live till day;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Nay, I will sleep then only; nay, but go.
Ah sweet, too sweet to me, my sweet, I know
Love, sleep, and death go to the sweet same tune;
Hold my hair fast, and kiss me through it so.
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Desolate City
DARK to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens.
Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars?
Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city.
A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain.
Sadly I rose at dawn, undid the latch of my shutters,
Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love.
Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen'd to their chaunting;
Each one sang to his love; only I was alone.
This, I said in my heart, is the hour of life and of pleasure.
Now each creature on earth has his joy, and lives in the sun,
Each in another's eyes finds light, the light of compassion,
This is the moment of pity, this is the moment of love.
Speak, O desolate city! Speak, O silence in sadness!
Where is she that I loved in my strength, that spoke to my soul?
Where are those passionate eyes that appeal'd to my eyes in passion?
Where is the mouth that kiss'd me, the breast I laid to my own?
Speak, thou soul of my soul, for rage in my heart is kindled.
Tell me, where didst thou flee in the day of destruction and fear?
See, my arms still enfold thee, enfolding thus all heaven,
See, my desire is fulfill'd in thee, for it fills the earth.
Thus in my grief I lamented. Then turn'd I from the window,
Turn'd to the stair, and the open door, and the empty street,
Crying aloud in my grief, for there was none to chide me,
None to mock my weakness, none to behold my tears.
Groping I went, as blind. I sought her house, my beloved's.
There I stopp'd at the silent door, and listen'd and tried the
latch.
Love, I cried, dost thou slumber? This is no hour for slumber,
This is the hour of love, and love I bring in my hand.
I knew the house, with its windows barr'd, and its leafless fig-tree,
Climbing round by the doorstep, the only one in the street;
I knew where my hope had climb'd to its goal and there encircled
All that those desolate walls once held, my beloved's heart.
There in my grief she consoled me. She loved me when I loved not.
She put her hand in my hand, and set her lips to my lips.
She told me all her pain and show'd me all her trouble.
I, like a fool, scarce heard, hardly return'd her kiss.
Love, thy eyes were like torches. They changed as I beheld them.
Love, thy lips were like gems, the seal thou settest on my life.
Love, if I loved not then, behold this hour thy vengeance;
This is the fruit of thy love and thee, the unwise grown wise.
Weeping strangled my voice. I call'd out, but none answer'd;
Blindly the windows gazed back at me, dumbly the door;
See whom I love, who loved me, look'd not on my yearning,
Gave me no more her hands to kiss, show'd me no more her soul.
Therefore the earth is dark to me, the sunlight blackness,
Therefore I go in tears and alone, by night and day;
Therefore I find no love in heaven, no light, no beauty,
A heaven taken by storm, where none are left but the slain!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Les Noyades
WHATEVER a man of the sons of men
Shall say to his heart of the lords above,
They have shown man verily, once and again,
Marvellous mercies and infinite love.
In the wild fifth year of the change of things,
When France was glorious and blood-red, fair
With dust of battle and deaths of kings,
A queen of men, with helmeted hair,
Carrier came down to the Loire and slew,
Till all the ways and the waves waxed red:
Bound and drowned, slaying two by two,
Maidens and young men, naked and wed.
They brought on a day to his judgment-place
One rough with labour and red with fight,
And a lady noble by name and face,
Faultless, a maiden, wonderful, white.
She knew not, being for shame’s sake blind,
If his eyes were hot on her face hard by.
And the judge bade strip and ship them, and bind
Bosom to bosom, to drown and die.
The white girl winced and whitened; but he
Caught fire, waxed bright as a great bright flame
Seen with thunder far out on the sea,
Laughed hard as the glad blood went and came.
Twice his lips quailed with delight, then said,
“I have but a word to you all, one word;
Bear with me; surely I am but dead;”
And all they laughed and mocked him and heard.
“Judge, when they open the judgment-roll,
I will stand upright before God and pray:
‘Lord God, have mercy on one man’s soul,
For his mercy was great upon earth, I say.
“‘Lord, if I loved thee—Lord, if I served—
If these who darkened thy fair Son’s face
I fought with, sparing not one, nor swerved
A hand’s-breadth, Lord, in the perilous place—
“‘I pray thee say to this man, O Lord,
Sit thou for him at my feet on a throne.
I will face thy wrath, though it bite as a sword,
And my soul shall burn for his soul, and atone.
“‘For, Lord, thou knowest, O God most wise,
How gracious on earth were his deeds towards me.
Shall this be a small thing in thine eyes,
That is greater in mine than the whole great sea?’
“I have loved this woman my whole life long,
And even for love’s sake when have I said
‘I love you’? when have I done you wrong,
Living? but now I shall have you dead.
“Yea, now, do I bid you love me, love?
Love me or loathe, we are one not twain.
But God be praised in his heaven above
For this my pleasure and that my pain!
“For never a man, being mean like me,
Shall die like me till the whole world dies.
I shall drown with her, laughing for love; and she
Mix with me, touching me, lips and eyes.
“Shall she not know me and see me all through,
Me, on whose heart as a worm she trod?
You have given me, God requite it you,
What man yet never was given of God.”
O sweet one love, O my life’s delight,
Dear, though the days have divided us,
Lost beyond hope, taken far out of sight,
Not twice in the world shall the gods do thus.
Had it been so hard for my love? but I,
Though the gods gave all that a god can give,
I had chosen rather the gift to die,
Cease, and be glad above all that live.
For the Loire would have driven us down to the sea,
And the sea would have pitched us from shoal to shoal;
And I should have held you, and you held me,
As flesh holds flesh, and the soul the soul.
Could I change you, help you to love me, sweet,
Could I give you the love that would sweeten death,
We should yield, go down, locked hands and feet,
Die, drown together, and breath catch breath;
But you would have felt my soul in a kiss,
And known that once if I loved you well;
And I would have given my soul for this
To burn for ever in burning hell.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fragoletta
O LOVE! what shall be said of thee?
The son of grief begot by joy?
Being sightless, wilt thou see?
Being sexless, wilt thou be
Maiden or boy?
I dreamed of strange lips yesterday
And cheeks wherein the ambiguous blood
Was like a rose’s—yea,
A rose’s when it lay
Within the bud.
What fields have bred thee, or what groves
Concealed thee, O mysterious flower,
O double rose of Love’s,
With leaves that lure the doves
From bud to bower?
I dare not kiss it, lest my lip
Press harder than an indrawn breath,
And all the sweet life slip
Forth, and the sweet leaves drip,
Bloodlike, in death.
O sole desire of my delight!
O sole delight of my desire!
Mine eyelids and eyesight
Feed on thee day and night
Like lips of fire.
Lean back thy throat of carven pearl,
Let thy mouth murmur like the dove’s;
Say, Venus hath no girl,
No front of female curl,
Among her Loves.
Thy sweet low bosom, thy close hair,
Thy strait soft flanks and slenderer feet,
Thy virginal strange air,
Are these not over fair
For Love to greet?
How should he greet thee? what new name,
Fit to move all men’s hearts, could move
Thee, deaf to love or shame,
Love’s sister, by the same
Mother as Love?
Ah sweet, the maiden’s mouth is cold,
Her breast-blossoms are simply red,
Her hair mere brown or gold,
Fold over simple fold
Binding her head.
Thy mouth is made of fire and wine,
Thy barren bosom takes my kiss
And turns my soul to thine
And turns thy lip to mine,
And mine it is.
Thou hast a serpent in thine hair,
In all the curls that close and cling;
And ah, thy breast-flower!
Ah love, thy mouth too fair
To kiss and sting!
Cleave to me, love me, kiss mine eyes,
Satiate thy lips with loving me;
Nay, for thou shalt not rise;
Lie still as Love that dies
For love of thee.
Mine arms are close about thine head,
My lips are fervent on thy face,
And where my kiss hath fed
Thy flower-like blood leaps red
To the kissed place.
O bitterness of things too sweet!
O broken singing of the dove!
Love’s wings are over fleet,
And like the panther’s feet
The feet of Love.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The King Of Denmark's Sons
In Denmark gone is many a year,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,
Two sons of Gorm the King there were,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
Both these were gotten in lawful bed
Of Thyrre Denmark’s Surety-head.
Fair was Knut of face and limb
As the breast of the Queen that suckled him.
But Harald was hot of hand and heart
As lips of lovers ere they part.
Knut sat at home in all men’s love,
But over the seas must Harald rove.
And for every deed by Harald won,
Gorm laid more love on Knut alone.
On a high-tide spake the King in hall,
“Old I grow as the leaves that fall.
“Knut shall reign when I am dead,
So shall the land have peace and aid.
“But many a ship shall Harald have,
For I deem the sea well wrought for his grave.”
Then none spake save the King again,
“If Knut die all my days be vain.
“And whoso the tale of his death shall tell,
Hath spoken a word to gain him hell.
“Lo here a doom I will not break,”
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
“For life or death or any man’s sake,”
So grey is the sea when the day is done.
O merry days in the summer-tide!
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
When the ships sail fair and the young men ride.
So grey is the sea when day is done.
Now Harald has got him east away,
And each morrow of fight was a gainful day.
But Knut is to his fosterer gone
To deal in deeds of peace alone.
So wear the days, and well it is
Such lovely lords should dwell in bliss.
O merry in the winter-tide
When men to Yule-feast wend them wide.
And here lieth Knut in the Lima-firth
When the lift is low o’er the Danish earth.
“Tell me now, Shipmaster mine,
What are yon torches there that shine?”
“Lord, no torches may these be
But golden prows across the sea.
“For over there the sun shines now
And the gold worms gape from every prow.”
The sun and the wind came down o’er the sea,
“Tell them over how many they be!”
“Ten I tell with shield-hung sides.
Nought but a fool his death abides.”
“Ten thou tellest, and we be three,
Good need that we do manfully.
“Good fellows, grip the shield and spear,
For Harald my brother draweth near.
“Well breakfast we when night is done,
And Valhall’s cock crows up the sun.”
Up spoke Harald in wrathful case:
“I would have word with this waxen face!
“What wilt thou pay, thou hucksterer,
That I let thee live another year?
“For oath that thou wilt never reign
Will I let thee live a year or twain.”
“Kisses and love shalt thou have of me
If yet my liegeman thou wilt be.
“But stroke of sword, and dint of axe,
Or ere thou makest my face as wax.”
As thick the arrows fell around
As fall sere leaves on autumn ground.
In many a cheek the red did wane
No maid might ever kiss again.
“Lay me aboard,” Lord Harald said,
“The winter day will soon be dead!
“Lay me aboard the bastard’s ship,
And see to it lest your grapnels slip!”
Then some they knelt and some they drowned,
And some lay dead Lord Knut around.
“Look here at the wax-white corpse of him,
As fair as the Queen in face and limb!
“Make now for the shore, for the moon is bright,
And I would be home ere the end of night.
“Two sons last night had Thyrre the Queen,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
And both she may lack ere the woods wax green,”
So grey is the sea when day is done.
A little before the morning tide,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,
Queen Thyrre looked out of her window-side,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
“O men-at-arms, what men be ye?”
“Harald thy son come over the sea.”
“Why is thy face so pale, my son?”
“It may be red or day is done.”
“O evil words of an evil hour!
Come, sweet son, to thy mother’s bower!”
None from the Queen’s bower went that day
Till dark night over the meadows lay.
None thenceforth heard wail or cry
Till the King’s feast was waxen high.
Then into the hall Lord Harald came
When the great wax lights were all aflame.
“What tidings, son, dost thou bear to me?
Speak out before I drink with thee.”
“Tidings small for a seafarer.
Two falcons in the sea-cliff’s were;
“And one was white and one was grey
And they fell to battle on a day;
“They fought in the sun, they fought in the wind,
No boot the white fowl’s wounds to bind.
“They fought in the wind, they fought in the sun,
And the white fowl died when the play was done.”
“Small tidings these to bear o’er the sea!
Good hap that nothing worser they be!
“Small tidings for a travelled man!
Drink with me, son, whiles yet ye can!
“Drink with me ere thy day and mine,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,
Be nought but a tale told over the wine.”
So grey is the sea when day is done.
Now fareth the King with his men to sleep,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,
And dim the maids from the Queen’s bower creep,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
And in the hall is little light,
And there standeth the Queen with cheeks full white.
And soft the feet of women fall
From end to end of the King’s great hall.
These bear the gold-wrought cloths away,
And in other wise the hall array;
Till all is black that hath been gold
So heavy a tale there must be told.
The morrow men looked on King Gorm and said
“Hath he dreamed a dream or beheld the dead?
“Why is he sad who should be gay?
Why are the old man’s lips so grey?”
Slow paced the King adown the hall,
Nor looked aside to either wall,
Till in high-seat there he sat him down,
And deadly old men deemed him grown.
“O Queen, what thrall’s hands durst do this,
To strip my hall of mirth and bliss?”
“No thrall’s hands in the hangings were,
No thrall’s hands made the tenters bare.
“King’s daughters’ hands have done the deed,
The hands of Denmark’s Surety-head.”
“Nought betters the deed thy word unsaid.
Tell me that Knut my son is dead!”
She said: “The doom on thee, O King!
For thine own lips have said the thing.”
Men looked to see the King arise,
The death of men within his eyes.
Men looked to see his bitter sword
That once cleared ships from board to board.
But in the hall no sword gleamed wide,
His hand fell down along his side.
No red there came into his cheek,
He fell aback as one made weak.
His wan cheek brushed the high-seat’s side,
And in the noon of day he died.
So lieth King Gorm beneath the grass,
But from mouth to mouth this tale did pass.
And Harald reigned and went his way,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
And still is the story told to-day,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mentana
'Mother, I hear a word
In the air!'
Play on, play on, my son,
The word thou hast heard is some bright sweet bird
That singeth, why and where
Who knows?
As who knows why and whither
The little wind blows
That bloweth hither and thither
But hardly stirs thy hair,
Hardly stirs the gossamers
Or a film of thy golden hair.
'Oh Mother, Mother dear,
Bend down, bend down to me!
Ah Mother, what dost thou hear?'
Hush, hush, my son,
I hear a word in the air.
'Ah Mother, why is thy face so white?
Ah Mother, Mother, why
Are thine eyes alight?
Ah Mother, why is thy face so red?
Mother, Mother, the hair of thine head-'
Silence, boy, we are near them,
Silence, boy, the dead, the dead,
I hear them, I hear them, I hear them!
They come, they come, they are here, they are gone,
And they cried, with a single cry,
'Mentana!'
The word is said, the night is fled,
Ere we knew it dawn 'tis day,
The graves are wide, the dead are up and away,
On the racing winds they race
To call the living land.
Boy, I am again a wife!
Boy, I saw thy father's face!
Round him rode the self-same band,
That went round him that great day
To Glory's latest Altar-place-
Went around and fell around,
When the red-legged assassin on the hill
With conjurations bloody and base
Jabbered the slanting sunset to his will,
And by such pests did so incriminate
The air with murder, that, when, weary and late,
Upon the well-won field the conqueror stood
Masters of all the eye could see,
The star-cracked and berotted victory
Burst in each glorious hand
And tore the sacred limits of sweet life,
And sluiced the dear heart's blood.
Ah God! if such blood could sink into the ground!
Up, up, my son, up, up, my soldier-son!
On with thy white-cross cap, while I
Bind me around with tri-colour
And let us go.
Whither? Whither they have gone before!
Haste! The dead have fleeter feet than ours.
See, the answering vales already move!
What is that, that like a moving sea
Floods towards the citied lilies of the towers
That soon shall ring
'Mentana!'
Well done, well done,
Thy little sword and gun,
Thou shalt wave the sword while I will cry
'Mentana!'
See, as we run the hamlets run,
The little towns are waving in the sun,
'Mentana!'
Hark the bells thunder, hark the trumpets blow
'Mentana!'
The mountains hear, the mists divide,
Look, look, on high,
The great tops crowned with joy and pride
Clang to the clanging vales below,
'Mentana!'
A thousand clarions blaze from side to side
'Mentana!'
What, must we rest again the little feet?
Cub of the Lion is thy dam too fleet?
Yet thou hast proved thy kind,
For see the misty miles behind,
And lo, before us what was dim is clear.
The city-walls, the city-gate,
The towers, the towers
That from our mountain seemed like flowers,
But hence like Pedestals that wait
The Statue of our Italy divine.
That Italy who, tho' she hath been hewn
In pieces,-as when the demons hew
An angel, whose immortal substance true
To his Eternal Image is not slain,
But from a thòusand falchions rears again
Still undivided by division
His everlasting beauty, whole and one-
When sounds the trump whereat the nations rise
Shall lift her unseamed body to the skies
And in her flesh see (God)-
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mentana : First Anniversary
At the time when the stars are grey,
And the gold of the molten moon
Fades, and the twilight is thinned,
And the sun leaps up, and the wind,
A light rose, not of the day,
A stronger light than of noon.
As the light of a face much loved
Was the face of the light that clomb;
As a mother's whitened with woes
Her adorable head that arose;
As the sound of a God that is moved,
Her voice went forth upon Rome.
At her lips it fluttered and failed
Twice, and sobbed into song,
And sank as a flame sinks under;
Then spake, and the speech was thunder,
And the cheek as he heard it paled
Of the wrongdoer grown grey with the wrong.
"Is it time, is it time appointed,
Angel of time, is it near?
For the spent night aches into day
When the kings shall slay not or pray,
And the high-priest, accursed and anointed,
Sickens to deathward with fear.
"For the bones of my slain are stirred,
And the seed of my earth in her womb
Moves as the heart of a bud
Beating with odorous blood
To the tune of the loud first bird
Burns and yearns into bloom.
"I lay my hand on her bosom,
My hand on the heart of my earth,
And I feel as with shiver and sob
The triumphant heart in her throb,
The dead petals dilate into blossom,
The divine blood beat into birth.
"O my earth, are the springs in thee dry?
O sweet, is thy body a tomb?
Nay, springs out of springs derive,
And summers from summers alive,
And the living from them that die;
No tomb is here, but a womb.
"O manifold womb and divine,
Give me fruit of my children, give!
I have given thee my dew for thy root,
Give thou me for my mouth of thy fruit;
Thine are the dead that are mine,
And mine are thy sons that live.
"O goodly children, O strong
Italian spirits, that wear
My glories as garments about you,
Could time or the world misdoubt you,
Behold, in disproof of the wrong,
The field of the grave-pits there.
"And ye that fell upon sleep,
We have you too with us yet.
Fairer than life or than youth
Is this, to die for the truth:
No death can sink you so deep
As their graves whom their brethren forget.
"Were not your pains as my pains?
As my name are your names not divine?
Was not the light in your eyes
Mine, the light of my skies,
And the sweet shed blood of your veins,
O my beautiful martyrs, mine?
"Of mine earth were your dear limbs made,
Of mine air was your sweet life's breath;
At the breasts of my love ye were fed,
O my children, my chosen, my dead,
At my breasts where again ye are laid,
At the old mother's bosom, in death.
"But ye that live, O their brothers,
Be ye to me as they were;
Give me, my children that live,
What these dead grudged not to give,
Who alive were sons of your mother's,
Whose lips drew breath of your air.
"Till darkness by dawn be cloven,
Let youth's self mourn and abstain;
And love's self find not an hour,
And spring's self wear not a flower,
And Lycoris, with hair unenwoven,
Hail back to the banquet in vain.
"So sooner and surer the glory
That is not with us shall be,
And stronger the hands that smite
The heads of the sons of night,
And the sound throughout earth of our story
Give all men heart to be free."
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Redemption Poem
When satan fell,
for one wrong mistake.
He was thrown in hell,
it was all he could take.
For there was still light in him,
but with it was now doubt.
Upon his face grew a grin,
all he did was rage and shout.
He yelled to God 'Why did it have to be me? ',
but he didnt answer,
and satan did see.
That hell was his to rule,
with unimaginable pain,
he would truly be cruel.
To all the lost souls,
he was their Dark King.
With their blood in his bowl,
in their pain,
for him they would sing.
Over the eons he became insane,
but there was still light in him.
Hidden in a deep part of his soul,
a place he forgot to know.
And one day their blood spilled out of the bowl,
he felt something stir.
A sadness so deep,
with a pain so true.
He could never sleep,
so the pain was all he could know.
As he sat there,
with tears in his eyes,
he thought noone was there,
noone to hear his cries.
He heard a voice,
and this is what it said 'Son why do you cry? '
He couldnt believe what he heard,
and was voiceless.
God said 'Son your here by your own choice'.
And with that he felt,
in numerous times,
all the pain he had delt.
And now he seen,
that little light,
he could find that little gleam.
He fell to his knees,
for all to see.
He prayed to God,
saying 'Father can i be saved? '.
'Am i doomed to live a life in this darkness? '.
And God said to satan 'My son all you had to do was accept your choice',
and then he said 'My son ive forgiven all your sins, and i will make your soul pure again'.
And satan said 'My father i have waited eons to come home'.
And God said unto him 'You are forgiven, but this shall be your home, for this realm has made you strong'.
And then he felt all the pain gone,
with a heart now light.
His soul was now strong,
his black wings now turned white.
He knew now what his job was,
he was here to punish the evil.
But now he knew kindness,
but also he knew,
those that were evil,
were the ones he slew.
As God looked down at his son,
he seen what he knew would be.
His fallen son was now a keeper,
of all that was worldly bound.
His son did his duty,
and never uttered a sound.
For satan was white and new,
doing a job God could never do.
Satan could punish now,
with justice and right.
He finally accepted the choices he did sow,
he was God's beautiful angel,
so truly bright,
he was God's most beautiful shining light.
And God thought to himself 'There is hope for all my children.For I will always be there in their hheart and soul.I am their forgiveness and salvation'.
And as time went on,
satan did his job without break.
His heart was growing long,
he finally had all he could take.
He fell to his knees,
and said to God 'Evil is all i see, and my light has grown dim'.
He prayed for peace of mind,
and a life,
where he satan could be kind.
He prayed for a life without strief,
so simple and nice.
And God said to him 'Satan my son, you have done what no other would, your love for me let you do what you could'.
And satan said to him 'Father please, hear me in this.My only goal was to serve you forever.But this task you gave me could not be done for all time'.
And God sat there and thought,
for long he could not see.
This terrible gift he had bought,
given to satan alone from me.
And God said to him 'My son you have a pure heart and soul'.
He thought of his gift to him,
a job he thought his son could handle.
But his son's heart had grown heavy and dim,
soon it was to be but a flickering candle.
So God said to him 'My son i have done a terrible thing.I have given you a job, that has caused you pain.Your strenght has kept you sane.This i give you son, ask of me one thing and i will see to it it's done'.
As satan was on his knees,
he thought of what God promised.
Satan made his cries heard,
and this is what he said.
'Father I love you with all my soul, you are what saved me, you again made me whole.This is what I ask of you, give me peace of mind, and a place at your side, give me an angel to love, make her my bride'.
Satan said to him 'Father this is all I ask, this is all I want.For me to be back at your side, with my love for you I will not hide'.
God looked upon his son,
with tears in his eyes.
His son was home,
with his father in the sky.
And God said to his son 'You have lived a life in pain and misery, but I now see that you were always pure and whole.My son I will give you this, come home to me, and be by my side, come home, and find love, and piece of mind.My son now you can be gentle and kind'.
Satan looked upon his father,
with tears in his eyes.
He went a little further,
into God's light,
to be with him in the skies.
All satan could say was 'Father I am home, with you my Lord.My mind is now at peace.Father you have given me the greatest gift.You gave me your love and light.You haved saved me from the dark, with you at my side, I will never again be trapped in this eternal night.I will be your son, always at your side.I will do your bidding, but I ask of you.Please Father never make me kill again.This is all I ask of you father'.
God was not surprised by this,
for he knew his son was pure and true.
This was not something he would miss,
for his son was now new.
For the rest of time forever,
satan stood at God's side,
For his love for God would fade never,
his son glowed from his love for him,
his love for his Father he would never hide.
Satan was evermore pure and white,
he was God's greatest angel,
he shone so bright,
with his radiant light.
Gone was the darkness in his soul,
and eyes clear and blue.
His love for his father had made him whole,
he loved everything he knew.
When time was coming to an end,
and all was doomed to die.
Satan now with a heart so kind,
and he asks his father for a gift.
He asked God 'Father you have granted me peace, and love, and being by your side.But why will you let mankind die? '
And God said to his son 'My son, mankind has become evil, and corrupt.They have shunned me for far to long'.
As god said this to him, he noticed his son's eyes dim.
And he could not understand why,
that this little event,
would make his sone cry.
And satan looked upon his Father,
his Saviour,
his light.
Satan said to God 'Father at one time I forsaked your name, I cursed your very being.I was more evil than any human being that has ever been born.But as with me they can be taught, the lessons that there actions have brought.Please Father forgive them, and be their light.Your the only one that can save their souls.For me do this Father'.
As gos looked in his son's eyes,
all he could see was true love.
As his son fell to his knees,
with his wings white as a dove.
His son looked him in the eyes, and satan began to cry.
He said to God 'Father I will give my soul to help mankind.For they are like me, they just need peace of mind.For them I will die, so they can be forgiven.I do this for you Father, this im my choice.Let your heart hear your son's voice.Do this for me Father, spare mankind.I will give all I am, to teach them to be true of heart, to love eachother, to be in your flock and find your light.Father I give them my soul, and you my life.Just stop this disaster from happening, and spare their lives.If you do this for me Father I will be at peace to give my soul and life to save them all.I do this for them, to prevent their fall.Please Father do this for me'.
As God listened to these words,
he truly couldnt believe,
these words he heard.
For his son couldnt bear,
to see them in pain.With so much ove in his heart,
all satan could was care.
He would give his life,
to end their strief.
To bring all the lost children,
into his Fathers light.
God could see,
with clarity of mind.
That his son on his knees,
was truly kind.
More so then his Father,
who had given up on mankind.
His son would lose it all,
to prevent their fall.
So there stood and thought,
what his actions had bought.
He would now lose his son,
satan was gonna die.
He put his hands on his son's head,
and he began to cry.
For his son he got back,
was asking to die.
His son wanted to banish their dark,
with his love so pure.
And God said to satan 'My son if this is your wish, than i grant it to you.Your life for theirs, a second chance they will get.To come into the light, and know my love.My son with the soul of a dove, you will be apart of their hearts.This I do for you for a fresh new start.For I cannot bear to lose you.Especially now that you are so kind.But I onlt do this for you, because my love for you knows no bounds.You are my true son, the kindest around.So son know this for your life they will live, but you will be with them, a part of their souls.For this way I will not truly lose you'.
As satan heard these words,
his heart filled with joy.
For through him,
they would live.
For his heart and soul,
and love for them unbound.
He would save their lives,
his love would make them whole.
He would be a part of them,
his love would be spread around.
He would save them all,
with his radiant light.
He would stop their fall,
he would bring them out of the night.
Satan looked at God,
and as he rose he said 'Father im ready.To give my life and soul for them.I know your sad Father, but remember I will be apart of them all.I will be the light and love in their hearts and soul.I will always be with you my Father, but it is my time to prove to you my love.Let the light rain from Heaven, a healing from above.Father it is my time to go, but remember this, we all fall from the path, we all shy from the light, but we also can be forgiven.By you my Lord'.
As God heard his son say bye,
he knew he would be lonely now,
all by himeself in the sky.
His son that was once evil,
and shunned his name.
Was giving his life,
to get rid of all their pain.
The son who served with all his heart,
was walking into the light,
to give them a new start.
God's heart broke a little,
as he seen his son die.
Everything now seemed brittle,
and he began to cry.
Fo Heaven had lost a soul,
who was truly selfless,
to die for them,
to make them once again whole.
God said to himself 'Mankind you have been forgiven, ..through my son's sacrifice for you.He gave his life, so I would spare you all.Satan gave himself to stop your fall.His soul and love now live in everyone of you.Though I never thought that it would be a fallen ones soul, a soul that was truthfully was always pure, even though he was evil, and did terrible things.My son showed me everyone could be forgiven.His love and wisdom saved you all.Now in Heaven I hear the angels call.For they have lost a brother.Be happy humans, for now your souls are white and pure now.Through my son's actions, his ultimate sacrifice for you.You are all now in my light.Be at peace my children, and remember the sacrifice satan made for you.Remember that his love for you, made me lose a son.But I forgive you for all.With your hearts now light, sing for him and stand tall.Now I will grieve for my lost son.Satan come back to me'.
As the world began anew,
people woke with light to see.
The world was fresh,
like the morning dew.
Satans sacrifice had saved them all,
he gave everything,
for mankind to love again,
and save them from their fall.
With their souls now white and pure,
they mahe the world great.
With his soul and love,
now apiece of everyone.
Mankinds souls soared,
as white as a dove.
They praised God's name,
with love and joy.
Satans sacrifice was not in vain,
as he kept his promise to his Father.
His life had made the world sane,
with his light and love,
within their heart.
Satans sacrifice was for love,
his life gave them all a new start.
As God sat and cried,
for his son he lost.
Mabey he wouldnt have died,
if he hadnt given up.
His actions had brought this on,
the one mistake he ever made.
Something his son couldnt take,
for his soul was to pure.
His heart broke as he seen,
what was happening to mankind.
Mabey if I hadnt given up on them,
this wouldnt of been.
Now my son is gone out of love,
for he cared for everyone but himself.
He was my son,
my light,
my dove.
As God cried,
he heard a voice in his head.
It said this 'Father remember I will always be with you in your heart.When I seen you give up on mankind, it broke my heart.I loved them to much to let them die.So I made the choice to give everything I was, all my light, soul, and love to save them.So do not be sad Father, for I have redeemed myself for everything ive done bad.I gave myself for them to remind you that everyone, no matter how bad or evil they were, or the sins they commited, can all be forgived.This is why im now apart of them all, to guide them on the right path.The path to the Kingdom of Heaven, to you my Father, my Lord.Always remember what I did for them Father, was because I loved them all, and needed to remind you that we cant give up on the ones we love.Always remember me Father, your son will always be with you in your heart'.
As God heard his son's voice,
in his soul and heart.
He knew satans choice,
was all about a new start.
As he realized this,
he couldnt cry.
For now he knew,
that his son had to die.
For satans love was bright,
and blue.
And it showed God,
his son's true light.
In the end,
with satans sacrifice for humankind.
He helped the world to began again,
and his sacrifice was for all of them
He put his Fathers mind at peace,
and saved all humankind.
And God would love them all,
for his son's sacrifice of love.
He would never give up on them again,
so he set free one white dove,
they knew they had been forgiven,
they knew they were loved..
poem by Nick Wingler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Feud: A Border Ballad
PLATE I
Rixa super mero
They sat by their wine in the tavern that night,
But not in good fellowship true :
The Rhenish was strong and the Burgundy bright,
And hotter the argument grew.
'I asked your consent when I first sought her hand,
Nor did you refuse to agree,
Tho' her father declared that the half of his land
Her dower at our wedding should be.'
'No dower shall be given (the brother replied)
With a maiden of beauty so rare,
Nor yet shall my father my birthright divide,
Our lands with a foeman to share.'
The knight stood erect in the midst of the hall,
And sterner his visage became,
'Now, shame and dishonour my 'scutcheon befall
If thus I relinquish my claim.'
The brother then drained a tall goblet of wine,
And fiercely this answer he made—
'Before like a coward my rights I resign
I'll claim an appeal to the blade.
'The passes at Yarrow are rugged and wide,
There meet me to-morrow alone ;
This quarrel we two with our swords will decide,
And one shall this folly atone.'
They've settled the time and they've settled the place,
They've paid for the wine and the ale,
They've bitten their gloves, and their steps they retrace
To their castles in Ettrick's Vale.
PLATE II
Morituri (te) salutant
Now, buckle my broadsword at my side
And saddle my trusty steed ;
And bid me adieu, my bonnie bride,
To Yarrow I go with speed.
'I've passed through many a bloody fray,
Unharmed in health or limb ;
Then why's your brow so sad this day
And your dark eye so dim ?'
'Oh, belt not on your broadsword bright,
Oh ! leave your steed in the stall,
For I dreamt last night of a stubborn fight,
And I dreamt I saw you fall.'
'On Yarrow's braes there will be strife,
Yet I am safe from ill ;
And if I thought it would cost my life
I must take this journey still.'
He turned his charger to depart
In the misty morning air,
But he stood and pressed her to his heart
And smoothed her glossy hair.
And her red lips he fondly kissed
Beside the castle door,
And he rode away in the morning mist,
And he never saw her more !
PLATE III
Heu ! deserta domus
She sits by the eastern casement now,
And the sunlight enters there,
And settles on her ivory brow
And gleams in her golden hair.
On the deerskin rug the staghound lies
And dozes dreamily,
And the quaint carved oak reflects the dyes
Of the curtain's canopy.
The lark has sprung from the new-mown hay,
And the plover's note is shrill
And the song of the mavis far away
Comes from the distant hill ;
And in the wide courtyard below
She heard the horses neigh,
The men-at-arms pass to and fro
The scraps of border-lay.
She heard each boisterous oath and jest
The rough moss-troopers made,
Who scoured the rust from spur or crest,
Or polished bit or blade.
They loved her well, those rugged men,—
How could they be so gay
When he perchance in some lone glen
Lay dying far away ?
She was a fearless Border girl,
Who from her earliest days
Had seen the banners oft unfurl
And the war-beacons blaze—
Had seen her father's men march out,
Roused by the trumpet's call,
And heard the foeman's savage shout
Close to their fortress wall.
And when her kin were arming fast,
Had belted many a brand—
Why was her spirit now o'ercast ?
Where was her self-command ?
She strove to quell those childish fears,
Unworthy of her name ;
She dashed away the rising tears,
And, flushed with pride and shame,
She rose and hurried down the stair,
The castle yard to roam ;
And she met her elder sister there,
Come from their father's home,
'Sister, I've ridden here alone,
Your lord and you to greet.'
'Sister, to Yarrow he has gone
Our brother there to meet ;
I dreamt last night of a stubborn fray
Where I saw him fall and bleed,
And he rode away at break of day
With his broadsword and his steed.'
'Oh ! sister dear, there will be strife :
Our brother likes him ill,
And one or both must forfeit life
On Yarrow's lonely hill.'
A stout moss-trooper, standing near,
Spoke with a careless smile :
'Now, have no fear for my master dear,—
He may travel many a mile,
And those who ride on the Border side,
Albeit they like him not,
They know his mettle has oft been tried
Where blows were thick and hot.
He left command that none should go
From hence till home he came ;
But, lady, the truth you soon shall know
If you will bear the blame.
Your palfrey fair I'll saddle with care,
Your sister shall ride the grey,
And I'll mount myself on the sorrel mare,
And to Yarrow we'll haste away.'
The sun was low in the western sky,
And steep was the mountain track,
But they rode from the castle rapidly—
Oh ! how will they travel back ?
PLATE IV
Gaudia certaminis
He came to the spot where his foe had agreed
To meet him in Yarrow's dark glade,
And there he drew rein amd dismounted his steed,
And fastened him under the shade.
Close by in the greenwood the ambush was set,
And scarce had he entered the glen
When, armed for the combat, the brother he met,
And with him were eight of his men.
'Now, swear to relinquish all claim to our land,
Or to give as a hostage your bride !
Or fly if you're able, or yield where you stand,
Or die as your betters have died !'
His doublet and hat on the greensward he threw,
He wrapt round the left arm his cloak ;
And out of its scabbard his broadsword he drew,
And stood with his back to an oak.
'My claim to your land I refuse to deny,
Nor will I restore you my bride,
Now will I surrender, nor yet will I fly :
Come on, and the steel shall decide !'
Oh ! sudden and sure were the blows that he dealt !
Like lightning the sweep of his blade !
Cut and thrust, point and edge, all around him they fell,
They fell one by one in the glade !
And pierced in the gullet their leader goes down !
And sinks with a curse on the plain ;
And his squire falls dead ! cut through headpiece and crown !
And his groom by a back stroke is slain.
Now five are stretched lifeless ; disabled are three !
Hard pressed, see the last caitiff reel !
The brother behind struggles up on one knee,
And drives through his body the steel.
PLATE V
Non habeo mihi facta adhuc cur Herculis uxor
Credar coniugii mors mihi pignus erit.
The traitor's father heard the tale,
In haste he mounted then,
And spurred his horse from Ettrick Vale
To Yarrow's lonely glen,
Some troopers followed in his track—
For them he tarried not,
He neither halted nor looked back
Until he found the spot.
The earth was trod and trampled bare,
And stained with dark red dew,
A broken blade lay here, and there
A bonnet cut in two ;
And stretched in ghastly shapes around
The lifeless corpses lie,
Some with their faces to the ground,
And some towards the sky.
And there the ancient Border chief
Stood silent and alone—
Too stubborn to give way to grief,
Too stern remorse to own.
A soldier in the midst of strife
Since he had first drawn breath,
He'd grown to undervalue life
And feel at home with death.
And yet he shuddered when he saw
The work that had been done ;
He knew his fearless son-in-law,
He knew his dastard son.
Despite the failings of his race
A brave old man was he,
Who would not stoop to actions base,
And hated treachery.
He loved his younger daughter well,
And though severe and rude,
For her sake he had tried to quell
That foolish Border feud.
Her brother all his schemes had marred,
And given his pledge the lie,
And sense of justice struggled hard
With nature's stronger tie.
He knew his son had richly earned
The stroke that laid him low,
Yet had not quite forgiveness learned
For him that dealt the blow.
There came a tramp of horses' feet :
He raised his startled eyes,
And felt his pulses throb and beat
With sorrow and surprise.
He saw his daughter riding fast,
And from her steed she sprung,
And on her lover's corpse she cast
Herself, and round him clung.
Her head she pillowed on his waist,
And all her clustering hair
Hung down, disordered by her haste
In silken masses there.
Her sister and their sturdy guide
Dismounted and drew nigh,
The elder daughter stood aside—
Her tears fell silently.
The stout moss-trooper glanced around
But not a word he said ;
He knelt upon the battered ground
And raised his master's head.
The face had set serene and sad,
Nor was there on the clay
The stamp of that fierce soul which had
In anger passed away.
With dagger blade he ripped the skirt,
The fatal wound to show,
And wiped the stains of blood and dirt
From throat and cheek and brow.
And all the while she did not stir,
She lay there calm and still,
Nor could he hope to comfort her,—
Her case was past his skill.
The father first that silence broke ;
His voice was firm and clear,
And every accent that he spoke
Fell on the listener's ear.
'Daughter, this quarrel to forgo,
I offered half our land
A dower to him—a feudal foe—
When first he sought your hand.
I only asked for some brief while,
Some few short weeks' delay,
Till I my son could reconcile ;
For this he would not stay.
He was your husband, so I'm told ;
But you yourself must own
He took you to his fortress-hold
With your consent alone.
Of late the strife broke out anew ;
They blame your brother there ;
But he was hot and headstrong, too—
He doubtless did his share.
Oh ! stout of heart, and strong of hand,
With all his faults was he,
The champion of his Border land ;
I ne'er his judge will be !
Now, grieve no more for what is done ;
Alike we share the cost ;
For, girl, I too have lost a son,
If you your love have lost.
Forget the deed ! and learn to call
A worthier man your lord
Than he whose arm has vexed us all ;
Here lies his fatal sword.
Think, when you seek his guilt to cloak,
Whose blood has dyed it red.
Who fell beneath its deadly stroke,
Whose life is forfeited.'
The old man paused, for while he spoke
The girl had raised her head.
Her silken hair she proudly dashed
Back from her crimson face !
And in her bright eyes once more flashed
The spirit of her race !
He beauty made her stand abashed !
Her voice rang thro' the place !
'Who held the treacherous dagger's hilt
When against odds he fought ?
My brother's blood was fairly spilt !
But his was basely sought !
Now, Christ absolve his soul from guilt ;
He sinned as he was taught !
'His next of kin by blood and birth
May claim his house and land !
His groom may slack his saddle-girth,
Or bid his charger stand !
But never a man on God's wide earth
Shall touch his darling's hand !'
The colour faded from her cheek,
Her eyelids drooped and fell,
And when again she sought to speak
Her accents came so low and weak
Her words they scarce could tell.
'Oh ! father, all I ask is rest,—
Here let me once more lie !'
She stretched upon the dead man's breast
With one long weary sigh ;
And the old man bowed his lofty crest
And hid his troubled eye !
They called her, but she spoke no more,
And when they raised her head
She seemed as lovely as before,
Though all her bloom had fled ;
But they grew pale at that they saw—
They knew that she was dead !
PLATE VI
Dies irae : dies illa
The requiem breaks the midnight air, the funeral bell they toll,—
A mass or prayer we well may spare, for a brave moss-trooper's soul ;
And the fairest bride on the Border side, may she too be forgiven !
The dirge we ring, the chant we sing, the rest we leave to Heaven !
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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Death
He, born of my girlhood, is dead, while my life is yet young in my heart
Ere the breasts where his baby lips fed have forgotten their softness, we part.
We part. He was mine, he was here, though he travelled by land and by sea,
My son who could trample on fear, my babe who was moulded in me.
As I sat in the darkness, it seemed I could still feel his touch on my head;
He came in the night as I dreamed, and he knelt at the side of my bed;
He murmured the words I had taught when his lips were the lips of a child,
Ere the strength of his arm had been bought and the love that upheld him defiled;
Then my faltering spirit grew bold, and my heart had forgotten its drouth,
And I crooned little songs as of old, till I woke at his kiss on my mouth.
Now waking and sleeping are pain. Nevermore will he kiss, nevermore
Shall I hear his low whistle again at the gate, or his step on the floor,
For to-night he was here while I slept, and this is the end of it all.
Now that welter of darkness has swept us apart, can he come if I call?
Can he come, little chap with the eyes that brought light out of heaven to earth?
Can he come, though the soul of me cries for the joy that I bought by his birth?
I can see but the horror that bids the heart of the mother despair,
The vision that burns on my lids, the face that will always be there,
For he holds out his hands to me, red, and his eyes tell the truth as he stands.
He is dead. He is dead. He is dead. He is dead, with the blood on his hands.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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In Memory of Walter Savage Landor
Back to the flower-town, side by side,
The bright months bring,
New-born, the bridegroom and the bride,
Freedom and spring.
The sweet land laughs from sea to sea,
Filled full of sun;
All things come back to her, being free;
All things but one.
In many a tender wheaten plot
Flowers that were dead
Live, and old suns revive; but not
That holier head.
By this white wandering waste of sea,
Far north, I hear
One face shall never turn to me
As once this year:
Shall never smile and turn and rest
On mine as there,
Nor one most sacred hand be prest
Upon my hair.
I came as one whose thoughts half linger,
Half run before;
The youngest to the oldest singer
That England bore.
I found him whom I shall not find
Till all grief end,
In holiest age our mightiest mind,
Father and friend.
But thou, if anything endure,
If hope there be,
O spirit that man's life left pure,
Man's death set free,
Not with disdain of days that were
Look earthward now;
Let dreams revive the reverend hair,
The imperial brow;
Come back in sleep, for in the life
Where thou art not
We find none like thee. Time and strife
And the world's lot
Move thee no more; but love at least
And reverent heart
May move thee, royal and released,
Soul, as thou art.
And thou, his Florence, to thy trust
Receive and keep,
Keep safe his dedicated dust,
His sacred sleep.
So shall thy lovers, come from far,
Mix with thy name
As morning-star with evening-star
His faultless fame.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Confessional, The
[SPAIN.]
I.
It is a lie---their Priests, their Pope,
Their Saints, their ... all they fear or hope
Are lies, and lies---there! through my door
And ceiling, there! and walls and floor,
There, lies, they lie---shall still be hurled
Till spite of them I reach the world!
II.
You think Priests just and holy men!
Before they put me in this den
I was a human creature too,
With flesh and blood like one of you,
A girl that laughed in beauty's pride
Like lilies in your world outside.
III.
I had a lover---shame avaunt!
This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt,
Was kissed all over till it burned,
By lips the truest, love e'er turned
His heart's own tint: one night they kissed
My soul out in a burning mist.
IV.
So, next day when the accustomed train
Of things grew round my sense again,
``That is a sin,'' I said: and slow
With downcast eyes to church I go,
And pass to the confession-chair,
And tell the old mild father there.
V.
But when I falter Beltran's name,
``Ha?'' quoth the father; ``much I blame
``The sin; yet wherefore idly grieve?
``Despair not---strenuously retrieve!
``Nay, I will turn this love of thine
``To lawful love, almost divine;
VI.
``For he is young, and led astray,
``This Beltran, and he schemes, men say,
``To change the laws of church and state
``So, thine shall be an angel's fate,
``Who, ere the thunder breaks, should roll
``Its cloud away and save his soul.
VII.
``For, when he lies upon thy breast,
``Thou mayst demand and be possessed
``Of all his plans, and next day steal
``To me, and all those plans reveal,
``That I and every priest, to purge
``His soul, may fast and use the scourge.''
VIII.
That father's beard was long and white,
With love and truth his brow seemed bright;
I went back, all on fire with joy,
And, that same evening, bade the boy
Tell me, as lovers should, heart-free,
Something to prove his love of me.
IX.
He told me what he would not tell
For hope of heaven or fear of hell;
And I lay listening in such pride!
And, soon as he had left my side,
Tripped to the church by morning-light
To save his soul in his despite.
X.
I told the father all his schemes,
Who were his comrades, what their dreams;
``And now make haste,'' I said, ``to pray
``The one spot from his soul away;
``To-night he comes, but not the same
``Will look!'' At night he never came.
XI.
Nor next night: on the after-morn,
I went forth with a strength new-born.
The church was empty; something drew
My steps into the street; I knew
It led me to the market-place:
Where, lo, on high, the father's face!
XII.
That horrible black scaffold dressed,
That stapled block ... God sink the rest!
That head strapped back, that blinding vest,
Those knotted hands and naked breast,
Till near one busy hangman pressed,
And, on the neck these arms caressed ...
XIII.
No part in aught they hope or fear!
No heaven with them, no hell!---and here,
No earth, not so much space as pens
My body in their worst of dens
But shall bear God and man my cry,
Lies---lies, again---and still, they lie!
poem by Robert Browning
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On The Field Of Waterloo
So then, the name which travels side by side
With English life from childhood—Waterloo—
Means this. The sun is setting. “Their strife grew
Till the sunset, and ended,” says our guide.
It lacked the “chord” by stage-use sanctified,
Yet I believe one should have thrilled. For me,
I grinned not, and 'twas something;—certainly
These held their point, and did not turn but died:
So much is very well. “Under each span
Of these ploughed fields” ('tis the guide still) “there rot
Three nations' slain, a thousand-thousandfold.”
Am I to weep? Good sirs, the earth is old:
Of the whole earth there is no single spot
But hath among its dust the dust of man.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Confessional
I
It is a lie—their Priests, their Pope,
Their Saints, their . . . all they fear or hope
Are lies, and lies—there! through my door
And ceiling, there! and walls and floor,
There, lies, they lie—shall still be hurled
Till spite of them I reach the world!
II
You think Priests just and holy men!
Before they put me in this den
I was a human creature too,
With flesh and blood like one of you,
A girl that laughed in beauty's pride
Like lilies in your world outside.
III
I had a lover—shame avaunt!
This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt,
Was kissed all over till it burned,
By lips the truest, love e'er turned
His heart's own tint: one night they kissed
My soul out in a burning mist.
IV
So, next day when the accustomed train
Of things grew round my sense again,
"That is a sin," I said: and slow
With downcast eyes to church I go,
And pass to the confession-chair,
And tell the old mild father there.
V
But when I falter Beltran's name,
"Ha?" quoth the father; "much I blame
"The sin; yet wherefore idly grieve?
"Despair not—strenuously retrieve!
"Nay, I will turn this love of thine
"To lawful love, almost divine;
VI
"For he is young, and led astray,
"This Beltran, and he schemes, men say,
"To change the laws of church and state
"So, thine shall be an angel's fate,
"Who, ere the thunder breaks, should roll
"Its cloud away and save his soul.
VII
"For, when he lies upon thy breast,
"Thou mayst demand and be possessed
"Of all his plans, and next day steal
"To me, and all those plans reveal,
"That I and every priest, to purge
"His soul, may fast and use the scourge."
VIII
That father's beard was long and white,
With love and truth his brow seemed bright;
I went back, all on fire with joy,
And, that same evening, bade the boy
Tell me, as lovers should, heart-free,
Something to prove his love of me.
IX
He told me what he would not tell
For hope of heaven or fear of hell;
And I lay listening in such pride!
And, soon as he had left my side,
Tripped to the church by morning-light
To save his soul in his despite.
X
I told the father all his schemes,
Who were his comrades, what their dreams;
"And now make haste," I said, "to pray
"The one spot from his soul away;
"To-night he comes, but not the same
"Will look!" At night he never came.
XI
Nor next night: on the after-morn,
I went forth with a strength new-born.
The church was empty; something drew
My steps into the street; I knew
It led me to the market-place:
Where, lo, on high, the father's face!
XII
That horrible black scaffold dressed,
That stapled block . . . God sink the rest!
That head strapped back, that blinding vest,
Those knotted hands and naked breast,
Till near one busy hangman pressed,
And, on the neck these arms caressed . . .
XIII
No part in aught they hope or fear!
No heaven with them, no hell!—and here,
No earth, not so much space as pens
My body in their worst of dens
But shall bear God and man my cry,
Lies—lies, again—and still, they lie!
poem by Robert Browning from Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On His Father's Side
On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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No Name
“A stone upon her heart and head,
But no name written on that stone;
Sweet neighbours whisper low instead,
This sinner was a loving one.”
— Mrs. Browning.
'Tis a nameless stone that stands at your head —
The gusts in the gloomy gorges whirl
Brown leaves and red till they cover your bed —
Now I trust that your sleep is a sound one, girl!
I said in my wrath, when his shadow cross'd
From your garden gate to your cottage door,
“What does it matter for one soul lost?
Millions of souls have been lost before.”
Yet I warn'd you — ah! but my words came true —
“Perhaps some day you will find him out.”
He who was not worthy to loosen your shoe,
Does his conscience therefore prick him? I doubt.
You laughed and were deaf to my warning voice —
Blush'd and were blind to his cloven hoof —
You have had your chance, you have taken your choice
How could I help you, standing aloof?
He has prosper'd well with the world — he says
I am mad — if so, and if he be sane,
I, at least, give God thanksgiving and praise
That there lies between us one difference plain.
* * * * *
You in your beauty above me bent
In the pause of a wild west country ball —
Spoke to me — touched me without intent —
Made me your servant for once and all.
Light laughter rippled your rose-red lip,
And you swept my cheek with a shining curl,
That stray'd from your shoulder's snowy tip —
Now I pray that your sleep is a sound one, girl!
From a long way off to look at your charms
Made my blood run redder in every vein,
And he — he has held you long in his arms,
And has kiss'd you over and over again.
Is it well that he keeps well out of my way?
If we met, he and I — we alone — we two —
Would I give him one moment's grace to pray?
Not I, for the sake of the soul he slew.
A life like a shuttlecock may be toss'd
With the hand of fate for a battledore;
But it matters much for your sweet soul lost,
As much as a million souls and more.
And I know that if, here or there, alone,
I found him, fairly and face to face,
Having slain his body, I would slay my own,
That my soul to Satan his soul might chase.
He hardens his heart in the public way —
Who am I? I am but a nameless churl;
But God will put all things straight some day —
Till then may your sleep be a sound one, girl!
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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The Messenger
She rose up in the early dawn,
And white and silently she moved
About the house. Four men had gone
To battle for the land they loved,
And she, the mother and the wife,
Waited for tidings from the strife.
How still the house seemed! and her tread
Was like the footsteps of the dead.
The long day passed; the dark night came.
She had not seen a human face.
Some voice spoke suddenly her name.
How loud it echoed in that place,
Where, day on day, no sound was heard
But her own footsteps. 'Bring you word,'
She cried to whom she could not see,
'Word from the battle-plain to me?'
A soldier entered at the door,
And stood within the dim firelight;
'I bring you tidings of the four,'
He said, 'who left you for the fight.'
'God bless you, friend,' she cried, 'speak on!
For I can bear it. One is gone?'
'Ay, one is gone!' he said. 'Which one?'
'Dear lady, he, your eldest son.'
A deathly pallor shot across
Her withered face; she did not weep.
She said: 'It is a grievous loss,
But God gives His belovèd sleep.
What of the living-of the three?
And when can they come back to me?'
The soldier turned away his head:
'Lady, your husband, too, is dead.'
She put her hand upon her brow;
A wild, sharp pain was in her eyes.
'My husband! Oh, God, help me now!'
The soldier heard her shuddering sighs.
The task was harder than he thought.
'Your youngest son, dear madam, fought
Close at his father's side; both fell
Dead, by the bursting of a shell.'
She moved her lips and seemed to moan.
Her face had paled to ashen gray:
'Then one is left me-one alone,'
She said, 'of four who marched away.
Oh, overruling, All-wise God,
How can I pass beneath Thy rod!'
The soldier walked across the floor,
Paused at the window, at the door,
Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek
And sought the mourner's side again.
'Once more, dear lady, I must speak:
Your last remaining son was slain
Just at the closing of the fight,
'Twas he who sent me here to-night.'
'God knows,' the man said afterward,
'The fight itself was not so hard.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Ballad Of The White Lady
SIR GEOFFREY met the white lady
Upon his marriage morn,
Her eyes were blue as cornflowers are,
Her hair was gold like corn.
Sir Geoffrey gave the white lady
A posy of roses seven,
'You are the fairest May,' said he,
'That ever strayed from Heaven.'
Sir Geoffrey by the white lady
Was lured away to shame,
For seven long years of prayers and tears
No tidings of him came.
Then she who should have been his bride
A mighty oath she swore,
'For seven long years I have wept and prayed,
Now I will pray no more.
'Since God and all the saints of Heaven
Bring not my lord to me,
I will go down myself to hell
And bring him back,' said she.
She crept to the white lady's bower,
The taper's flame was dim,
And there Sir Geoffrey lay asleep,
And the white witch sat by him.
Her arm was laid across his neck,
Her gold hair on his face,
And there was silence in the room
As in a burial-place.
And there were gems and carven cups,
And 'broidered bridal gear--
'Whose bridal is this?' the lady said,
'And what knight have ye here?'
'The good knight here ye know full well,
He was your lord, I trow,
But I have taken him from your side,
And I am his lady now.
'This seven year with right good cheer
We twain our bridal keep,
So take for your mate another knight
And let my dear lord sleep.'
Then up and spake Sir Geoffrey's bride,
'What bridal cheer is this?
I would think scorn to have the lips
Who could not have the kiss!
'I would think scorn to take the half
Who could not have the whole;
I would think scorn to steal the body
Who could not take the soul!
'For, though ye hold his body fast
This seven weary year,
His soul walks ever at my side
And whispers in my ear.
'I would think scorn to hold in sleep
What, if it waked, would flee,
So let his body join his soul
And both fare forth with me;
'For I have learned a spell more strong
Than yours that laid him low,
And I will speak it for his sake
Because I love him so!'
The white lady threw back her hair,
Her eyes began to shine--
'His soul is thine these seven years?--
To-night it shall be mine!
'I have been brave to hold him here
While seven long years befell,
Rather than let a bridal be
Whose seed should flower in hell.
'I have not looked into his eyes
Nor joined my lips to his,
For fear his soul should spring to flame
And shrivel at my kiss.
'I have been brave to watch his sleep
While the long hours come and go,
To hold the body without the soul,
Because I love him so.
'But since his soul this seven year
Has sat by thee,' she said,
'His body and soul to-night shall lie
Upon my golden bed.
'Thou hast no need to speak the spell
That thou hast learned,' said she,
'For I will wake him from his sleep
And take his soul from thee.'
She stooped above him where he lay,
She laid her lips on his;
He stirred, he spake: 'These seven long years
I have waited for thy kiss.
'My soul has hung upon thy lips
And trembled at thy breath,
Thou hast given me life in a cup to drink,
As God will give me death.
'Why didst thou fear to kill my soul
Which only lives for thee?
Thou hast put seven wasted years,
O love, 'twixt thee and me.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Two Lovers
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime!
Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!
Two faces o'er a cradle bent:
Two hands above the head were locked:
These pressed each other while they rocked,
Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
O hidden power!
Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
O tender strife!
The two still sat together there,
The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!
The red light shone upon the floor
And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!
O past that is!
poem by George Eliot
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