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diff --git a/old/13364-8.txt b/old/13364-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..17e0656 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13364-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9279 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum and +Other Poems, by Matthew Arnold + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum and Other Poems + +Author: Matthew Arnold + +Release Date: September 3, 2004 [EBook #13364] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MATTHEW ARNOLD POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Lesley Halamek and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +MATTHEW ARNOLD'S + + +SOHRAB AND RUSTUM + + +AND OTHER POEMS + + + + +EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES + +BY + +JUSTUS COLLINS CASTLEMAN + +HEAD OF ENGLISH DEPARTMENT, SOUTH DIVISION +HIGH SCHOOL, MILWAUKEE + + + + +1905 + + + +CONTENTS + + PREFACE + + INTRODUCTION + A Short Life of Arnold + Arnold the Poet + Arnold the Critic + Chronological List of Arnold's Works + Contemporary Authors + Bibliography + + SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD'S POETICAL WORKS + + NARRATIVE POEMS + + Sohrab and Rustum + Saint Brandan + The Forsaken Merman + Tristram and Iseult + + + LYRICAL POEMS + + The Church of Brou + Requiescat + Consolation + A Dream + Lines written in Kensington Gardens + The Strayed Reveller + Morality + Dover Beach + Philomela + Human Life + Isolation--To Marguerite + Kaiser Dead + The Last Word + Palladium + Revolutions + Self-Dependence + A Summer Night + Geist's Grave + Epilogue--To Lessing's Laocoön + + + SONNETS + + Quiet Work + Shakespeare + Youth's Agitations + Austerity of Poetry + Worldly Place + East London + West London + + + ELEGIAC POEMS + + Memorial Verses + The Scholar-Gipsy + Thyrsis + Rugby Chapel + + + NOTES + + INDEX + + * * * * * + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +A SHORT LIFE OF ARNOLD + +Matthew Arnold, poet and critic, was born in the village of Laleham, +Middlesex County, England, December 24, 1822. He was the son of Dr. +Thomas Arnold, best remembered as the great Head Master at Rugby and +in later years distinguished also as a historian of Rome, and of Mary +Penrose Arnold, a woman of remarkable character and intellect. + +Devoid of stirring incident, and, on the whole, free from the +eccentricities so common to men of genius, the story of Arnold's life +is soon told. As a boy he lived the life of the normal English lad, +with its healthy routine of task and play. He was at school at both +Laleham and Winchester, then at Rugby, where he attracted attention +as a student and won a prize for poetry. In 1840 he was elected to +an open scholarship at Balliol College, Oxford, and the next year +matriculated for his university work. Arnold's career at Oxford was a +memorable one. While here he was associated with such men as John Duke +Coleridge, John Shairp, Dean Fraser, Dean Church, John Henry Newman, +Thomas Hughes, the Froudes, and, closest of all, with Arthur Hugh +Clough, whose early death he lamented in his exquisite elegiac +poem--_Thyrsis_. Among this brilliant company Arnold moved with ease, +the recognized favorite. Having taken the Newdigate prize for English +verse, and also having won a scholarship, he was graduated with +honors in 1844, and in March of the following year had the additional +distinction of being elected a Fellow of Oriel, the crowning glory of +an Oxford graduate. He afterward taught classics for a short time at +Rugby, then in 1847 accepted the post of private secretary to the +Marquis of Lansdowne, Lord President of the Council, which position he +occupied until 1851, when he was appointed Lay Inspector of Schools +by the Committee on Education. The same year he married Frances Lucy +Wightman, daughter of Sir William Wightman, judge of the Court of the +Queen's Bench. + +Arnold's record as an educator is unparalleled in the history of +England's public schools. For more than thirty-five years he served as +inspector and commissioner, which offices he filled with efficiency. +As inspector he was earnest, conscientious, versatile; beloved alike +by teachers and pupils. The Dean of Salisbury likened his appearance +to inspect the school at Kiddermaster, to the admission of a ray +of light when a shutter is suddenly opened in a darkened room. +All-in-all, he valued happy-appearing children, and kindly sympathetic +teachers, more than excellence in grade reports. In connection with +the duties of his office as commissioner, he travelled frequently on +the Continent to inquire into foreign methods of primary and secondary +education. Here he found much that was worth while, and often carried +back to London larger suggestions and ideas than the national mind was +ready to accept. Under his supervision, however, the school system of +England was extensively revised and improved. He resigned his position +under the Committee of Council on Education, in 1886, two years before +his death. + +In the meantime Arnold's pen had not been idle. His first volume of +verse, _The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems_, appeared (1848), and +although quietly received, slowly won its way into public favor. The +next year the narrative poem, _The Sick King in Bokhara_, came out, +and was followed in turn by a third volume in 1853, under the title of +_Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems_. By this time Arnold's reputation +as a poet was established, and in 1857 he was elected Professor of +Poetry at Oxford, where he began his career as a lecturer, in which +capacity he twice visited America. _Merope, a Tragedy_ (1856) and a +volume under the title of _New Poems_ (1869) finish the list of his +poetical works, with the exception of occasional verses. + +Arnold's prose works, aside from his letters, consist wholly of +critical essays, in which he has dealt fearlessly with the greater +issues of his day. As will be seen by their titles (see page xxxviii +of this volume), the subject-matter of these essays is of very great +scope, embracing in theme literature, politics, social conduct, and +popular religion. By them Arnold has exerted a remarkable influence on +public thought and stamped himself as one of the ablest critics and +reformers of the last century. Arnold's life was thus one of many +widely diverse activities and was at all times deeply concerned with +practical as well as with literary affairs; and on no side was it +deficient in human sympathies and relations. He won respect and +reputation while he lived, and his works continue to attract men's +minds, although with much unevenness. It has been said of him that, of +all the modern poets, except Goethe, he was the best critic, and of +all the modern critics, with the same exception, he was the best poet. +He died at Liverpool, where he had gone to meet his daughter returning +from America, April 15, 1888. By his death the world lost an acute and +cultured critic, a refined writer, an earnest educational reformer, +and a noble man. He was buried in his native town, Laleham. + +Agreeably to his own request, Arnold has never been made the subject +for a biography. By means of his letters, his official reports, +and statements of his friends, however, one is able to trace the +successive stages of his career, as he steadily grew in honor and +public usefulness. Though somewhat inadequate, the picture thus +presented is singularly pleasing and attractive. The subjoined +appreciations have been selected with a view of giving the student a +glimpse of Arnold as he appeared to unprejudiced minds. + +One who knew him at Oxford wrote of him as follows: "His perfect +self-possession, the sallies of his ready wit, the humorous turn which +he could give to any subject that he handled, his gaiety, audacity, +and unfailing command of words, made him one of the most popular and +successful undergraduates that Oxford has ever known." + +"He was beautiful as a young man, strong and manly, yet full of dreams +and schemes. His Olympian manners began even at Oxford: there was no +harm in them: they were natural, not put on. The very sound of his +voice and wave of his arm were Jove-like."--PROFESSOR MAX MÜLLER. + +"He was most distinctly on the side of human enjoyment. He conspired +and contrived to make things pleasant. Pedantry he abhorred. He was +a man of this life and this world. A severe critic of this world he +indeed was; but, finding himself in it, and not precisely knowing what +is beyond it, like a brave and true-hearted man, he set himself to +make the best of it. Its sights and sounds were dear to him. The +'uncrumpling fern, the eternal moonlit snow,' the red grouse springing +at our sound, the tinkling bells of the 'high-pasturing kine,' the +vagaries of men, of women, and dogs, their odd ways and tricks, +whether of mind or manner, all delighted, amused, tickled him. + + * * * * * + +"In a sense of the word which is noble and blessed, he was of the +earth earthy.... His mind was based on the plainest possible things. +What he hated most was the fantastic--the far-fetched, all-elaborated +fancies and strained interpretations. He stuck to the beaten track of +human experience, and the broader the better. He was a plain-sailing +man. This is his true note."--MR. AUGUSTINE BIRRELL. + +"He was incapable of sacrificing the smallest interest of anybody to +his own; he had not a spark of envy or jealousy; he stood well aloof +from all the bustlings and jostlings by which selfish men push on; +he bore life's disappointments--and he was disappointed in some +reasonable hopes--with good nature and fortitude; he cast no burden +upon others, and never shrank from bearing his own share of the daily +load to the last ounce of it; he took the deepest, sincerest, and +most active interest in the well-being of his country and his +countrymen."--MR. JOHN MORLEY. + +In his essay on Arnold, George E. Woodberry speaks of the poet's +personality as revealed by his letters in the following beautiful +manner: "Few who did not know Arnold could have been prepared for +the revelation of a nature so true, so amiable, so dutiful. In every +relation of private life he is shown to have been a man of exceptional +constancy and plainness.... Every one must take delight in the mental +association with Arnold in the scenes of his existence ... and in his +family affections. A nature warm to its own, kindly to all, cheerful, +fond of sport and fun, and always fed from pure fountains, and with +it a character so founded upon the rock, so humbly serviceable, so +continuing in power and grace, must wake in all the responses of happy +appreciation and leave the charm of memory. + +"He did his duty as naturally as if it required neither resolve nor +effort, nor thought of any kind for the morrow, and he never failed, +seemingly, in act or word of sympathy, in little or great things; and +when to this one adds the clear ether of the intellectual life where +he habitually moved in his own life apart, and the humanity of his +home, the gift that these letters bring may be appreciated. That gift +is the man himself, but set in the atmosphere of home, with sonship +and fatherhood, sisters and brothers, with the bereavements of years +fully accomplished, and those of babyhood and boyhood--a sweet and +wholesome English home, with all the cloud and sunshine of the English +world drifting over its roof-trees, and the soil of England beneath +its stones, and English duties for the breath of its being. To add +such a home to the household rights of English Literature is perhaps +something from which Arnold would have shrunk, but it endears his +memory." + + "It may be overmuch + He shunned the common stain and smutch, + From soilure of ignoble touch + Too grandly free, + Too loftily secure in such + Cold purity; + But he preserved from chance control + The fortress of his established soul, + In all things sought to see the whole; + Brooked no disguise, + And set his heart upon the goal, + Not on the prize." + + --MR. WILLIAM WATSON, _In Laleham Churchyard_. + + + +ARNOLD THE POET + +Matthew Arnold was essentially a man of the intellect. No other author +of modern times, perhaps no other English author of any time, appeals +so directly as he to the educated classes. Even a cursory reading of +his pages, prose or verse, reveals the scholar and the critic. He is +always thinking, always brilliant, never lacks for a word or phrase; +and on the whole, his judgments are good. Between his prose and verse, +however, there is a marked difference, both in tone and spiritual +quality. True, each possesses the note of a lofty, though stoical +courage; reveals the same grace of finish and exactness of phrase and +manner; and is, in equal degree, the output of a singularly sane and +noble nature; but here the comparison ends; for, while his prose +is often stormy and contentious, his poetry has always about it an +atmosphere of entire repose. The cause of this difference is not far +to seek. His poetry, written in early manhood, reflects his inner +self, the more lovable side of his nature; while his prose presents +the critic and the reformer, pointing out the good and bad, and +permitting at times a spirit of bitterness to creep in, as he +endeavors to arouse men out of their easy contentment with themselves +and their surroundings. + +With the exception of occasional verses, Arnold's poetical career +began and ended inside of twenty years. The reason for this can only +be conjectured, and need not be dwelt upon here. But although his +poetic life was brief, it was of a very high order, his poems ranking +well up among the literary productions of the last century. As a +popular poet, however, he will probably never class with Tennyson or +Longfellow. His poems are too coldly classical and too unattractive in +subject to appeal to the casual reader, who is, generally speaking, +inclined toward poetry of the emotions rather than of the +intellect--Arnold's usual kind. That he recognized this himself, +witness the following quiet statements made in letters to his friends: +"My poems are making their way, I think, though slowly, and are +perhaps never to make way very far. There must always be some people, +however, to whom the literalness and sincerity of them has a charm.... +They represent, on the whole, the main movement of mind of the last +quarter of a century, and thus they will probably have their day, as +people become conscious to themselves of what that movement of mind +is, and interested in the literary productions which reflect it." Time +has verified the accuracy of this judgment. In short, Arnold has made +a profound rather than a wide impression. To a few, however, of each +generation, he will continue to be a "voice oracular,"--a poet with a +purpose and a message. + +=Arnold's Poetic Culture=.--Obviously, the sources of Arnold's culture +were classical. As one critic has tersely said, "He turned over his +Greek models by day and by night." Here he found his ideal standards, +and here he brought for comparison all questions that engrossed his +thoughts. Homer (he replied to an inquirer) and Epictetus (of mood +congenial with his own) were props of his mind, as were Sophocles, +"who saw life steadily and saw it whole," and Marcus Aurelius, whom he +called the purest of men. These like natures afforded him repose and +consolation. Greek epic and dramatic poetry and Greek philosophy +appealed profoundly to him. Of the Greek poets he wrote: "No other +poets have lived so much by the imaginative reason; no other poets +have made their works so well balanced; no other poets have so well +satisfied the thinking power; have so well satisfied the religious +sense." More than any other English poet he prized the qualities of +measure, proportion, and restraint; and to him lucidity, austerity, +and high seriousness, conspicuous elements of classic verse, were the +substance of true poetry. In explaining his own position as to his +art, he says: "In the sincere endeavor to learn and practise, amid the +bewildering confusion of our times, what is sound and true in poetic +art, I seem, to myself to find the only sure guidance, the only solid +footing, among the ancients. They, at any rate, knew what they wanted +in Art, and we do not. It is this uncertainty which is disheartening, +and not hostile criticism." And again: "The radical difference between +the poetic theory of the Greeks and our own is this: that with them, +the poetical character of the action in itself, and the conduct of it, +was the first consideration; with us, attention is fixed mainly on the +value of separate thoughts and images which occur in the treatment of +an action. They regard the whole; we regard the parts. We have poems +which seem to exist merely for the sake of single lines and passages, +and not for the sake of producing any total impression. We have +critics who seem to direct their attention merely to detached +expressions, to the language about the action, not the action itself. +I verily believe that the majority of them do not believe that there +is such a thing as a total impression to be derived from a poem at +all, or to be demanded from a poet. They will permit the poet to +select any action he pleases, and to suffer that action to go as +it will, provided he gratifies them with occasional bursts of fine +writing, and with a show of isolated thoughts and images; that is, +they permit him to leave their poetic sense ungratified, provided that +he gratifies their rhetorical sense and their curiosity." + +Arnold has illustrated, with remarkable success, his ideas of that +unity which gratifies the poetical sense, and has approached very +close to his Greek models in numerous instances; most notably so in +his great epic or narrative poem, _Sohrab and Rustum_, which is dealt +with elsewhere in this introduction. Perhaps we could not do better +than to quote for our consideration at this time, a fine synthesis +of Mr. Arthur Galton. He says: "In Matthew Arnold's style and in his +manner, he seems to me to recall the great masters, and this in a +striking and in an abiding way.... To recall them at all is a rare +gift, but to recall them naturally, and with no strained sense nor +jarring note of imitation, is a gift so exceedingly rare that it is +almost enough in itself to place a writer among the great masters; to +proclaim that he is one of them. To recall them at all is a rare gift, +though not a unique gift; a few other modern poets recall them too; +but with these, with every one of them, it is the exception when they +resemble the great masters. They have their own styles, which abide +with them; it is only now and then, by a flash of genius, that they +break through their own styles, and attain the one immortal style. +Just the contrary of this is true of Matthew Arnold. It is his own, +his usual, and his most natural style which recalls the great masters; +and only when he does not write like himself, does he cease to +resemble them.... No man who attains to this great style can fail to +have a distinguished function; and Matthew Arnold, like Milton, will +be 'a leaven and a power,' because he, too, has made the great style +current in English. With his desire for culture and for perfection, +there is no destiny he would prefer to this, for which his nature, his +training, and his sympathies, all prepared him. To convey the message +of those ancients whom he loved so well, in that English tongue which +he was taught by them to use so perfectly;--to serve as an eternal +protest against charlatanism and vulgarity;--is exactly the mission +he would have chosen for himself.... The few writers of our language, +therefore, who give us 'an ideal of excellence, the most high and the +most rare,' have an important function; we should study their works +continually, and it should be a matter of passionate concern with us, +that the 'ideals,' that is, the definite and perfect models, should +abide with us forever." The Greeks recognized three kinds of +poetry,--Lyric, Dramatic, and Epic. Arnold tried all three. First, +then, as a lyricist. + +=Arnold as a Lyricist=.--Lyric poetry is the artistic expression of +the poet's individual sentiments and emotions, hence it is subjective. +The action is usually vapid, the verse musical, the time quick. Unlike +the Epic and Drama, it has no preferred verse or meter, but leaves the +poet free to choose or invent appropriate forms. In this species of +verse Arnold was not wholly at ease. As has been said, one searches in +vain through the whole course of his poetry for a blithe, musical, gay +or serious, offhand poem, the true lyric kind. The reason for this is +soon discovered. Obviously, it lies in the fundamental qualities +of the poet's mind and temperament. Though by no means lacking in +emotional sensibility, Arnold was too intellectually self-conscious to +be carried away by the impulsiveness common to the lyrical moods. With +him the intellect was always master; the emotions, subordinate. With +the lyricist, the order is, in the main, at least, reversed. The poet +throws off intellectual restraint, and "lets his illumined being +o'errun" with music and song. This Arnold could not or would not +do. Then, too, Arnold's lyrics are often at fault metrically. +This, combined with frequent questionable rhymes, argues a not too +discriminating poetical ear. He also lacked genius in inventing verse +forms, and hence found himself under the necessity of employing or +adapting those already in use. In this respect he was notably inferior +to Tennyson, many of whose measures are wholly his own. Again, +considerable portions of his lyric verse consist merely of prose, cut +into lines of different length, in imitation of the unrhymed measures +of the Greek poet, Pindar. The Bishop of Derry, commenting on these +rhythmic novelties, likens them to the sound of a stick drawn by a +city gamin sharply across the area railings,--a not inapt comparison. +That they were not always successful, witness the following stanza +from _Merope_:-- + + "Thou confessest the prize + In the rushing, blundering, mad, + Cloud-enveloped, obscure, + Unapplauded, unsung + Race of Calamity, mine!" + +Surely this is but the baldest prose. At intervals, however, Arnold +was nobly lyrical, and strangely, too, at times, in those same uneven +measures in which are found his most signal failures--the unrhymed +Pindaric. _Philomela_ written in this style is one of the most +exquisite bits of verse in the language. As one critic has put it, +"It ought to be written in silver and bound in gold." In urbanity of +phrase and in depth of genuine pathos it is unsurpassed and shows +Arnold at his best. _Rugby Chapel, The Youth of Nature, The Youth of +Man_, and _A Dream_ are good examples of his longer efforts in this +verse form. In the more common lyric measures, Arnold was, at times, +equally successful. Saintsbury, commenting on _Requiescat_, says that +the poet has "here achieved the triple union of simplicity, pathos, +and (in the best sense) elegance"; and adds that there is not a +false note in the poem. He also speaks enthusiastically of the +"honey-dropping trochees" of the _New Sirens_, and of the "chiselled +and classic perfection" of the lines of _Resignation_. Herbert W. +Paul, writing of _Mycerinus_, declares that no such verse has been +written in England since Wordsworth's _Laodamia_; and continues, +"The poem abounds in single lines of haunting charm." Among his more +successful longer lyrics are _The Sick King in Bokhara, Switzerland, +Faded Leaves_, and _Tristram and Iseult_, and _Epilogue to Lessing's +Laocoön_, included in this volume. + +=Arnold as a Dramatist=.--The drama is imitated human action, and is +intended to exhibit a picture of human life by means of dialogue, +acting, and stage accessories. In nature, it partakes of both lyric +and epic, thus uniting sentiment and action with narration. Characters +live and act before us, and speak in our presence, the interest being +kept up by constantly shifting situations tending toward some striking +result. As a dramatist, Arnold achieved no great success. Again the +fundamental qualities of his mind stood in the way. An author so +subjective, so absorbed in self-scrutiny and introspection as he, +is seldom able to project himself into the minds of others to any +considerable extent. His dramas are brilliant with beautiful phrases, +his pictures of landscapes and of nature in her various aspects +approach perfection; but in the main, he fails to handle his plots in +a dramatic manner and, as a result, does not secure the totality of +impression so vital to the drama. Frequently, too, his characters are +tedious, and in their dialogue manage to be provokingly unnatural or +insipid. They also lack in individuality and independence in speech +and action. Many of his situations, likewise, are at fault. For +instance, one can scarcely conceive of such characters as Ulysses and +Circe playing the subordinate roles assigned to them in _The Strayed +Reveller_. A true dramatist would hardly have committed so flagrant a +blunder. _Merope_ is written in imitation of the Greek tragedians. It +has dignity of subject, nobility of sentiment, and a classic brevity +of style; but it is frigid and artificial, and fails in the most +essential function of drama--to stir the reader's emotions. +_Empedocles on Etna_, a half-autobiographical drama, is in some +respects a striking poem. It is replete with brilliant passages, and +contains some of Arnold's best lyric verses and most beautiful nature +pictures; but the dialogue is colorless, the rhymes poor, the plot, +such as it contains, but indifferently handled, and even Empedocles, +the principal character, is frequently tedious and unnatural. Arnold's +dramas show that his forte was not in character-drawing nor in +dialogue. + +=Arnold as a Writer of Epic and Elegy=.--Epic poetry narrates in grand +style the achievements of heroes--the poet telling the story as if +present. It is simple in construction and uniform in meter, yet it +admits of the dialogue and the episode, and though not enforcing a +moral it may hold one in solution. Elegiac poetry is plaintive in +tone and expresses sorrow or lamentation. Both epic and elegy are +inevitably serious in mood, and slow and stately in action. In these +two forms of verse Arnold was at his best. Stockton pronounced _Sohrab +and Rustum_ the noblest poem in the English language. Another critic +has said that "it is the nearest analogue in English to the rapidity +of action, plainness of thought, plainness of diction, and nobleness +of Homer." Combining, as it does, classic purity of style with +romantic ardor of feeling, it stands a direct exemplification of +Arnold's poetic theories, as set forth in the preface of his volume of +1853. Especially is it successful in emphasizing his idea of unity of +impression; "while the truth of its oriental color, the deep pathos +of the situation, the fire and intensity of the action, the strong +conception of character, and the full, solemn music of the verse, make +it unquestionably the masterpiece of Arnold's longer poems, among +which it is the largest in bulk and also the most ambitious in +scheme." _Balder Dead_, a characteristic Arnoldian production, founded +upon the Norse legend of Balder, Lok, and Hader, though not so great +as _Sohrab and Rustum_, has much poetic worth and ranks high among its +kind; and _Tristram and Iseult_, with its infinite tragedy, and _The +Sick King in Bokhara_, gorgeous in oriental color, are rare examples +of the lyrical epic. _The Forsaken Merman_ and _Saint Brandan_, which +are dealt with elsewhere in this volume, are good examples of his +shorter narrative poems. In _Thyrsis_, the beautiful threnody in which +he celebrated his dead friend, Clough, Arnold gave to the world one of +its greatest elegies. One finds in this poem and its companion piece, +_The Scholar-Gipsy_, the same unity of classic form with romantic +feeling present in _Sohrab and Rustum_. Both are crystal-clear without +coldness, and restrained without loss of a full volume of power. +Mr. Saintsbury, writing of _The Scholar-Gipsy_, says: "It has +everything--a sufficient scheme, a definite meaning and purpose, a +sustained and adequate command of poetical presentation, and passages +and phrases of the most exquisite beauty;" and no less praise is due +_Thyrsis_. Other of his elegiac poems are _Heine's Grave, Stanzas from +the Grande Chartreuse, Stanzas in Memory of the Author of "Obermann," +Obermann Once More, Rugby Chapel_, and _Memorial Verses_, the two last +named being included in this volume. In such measures as are used in +these poems, in the long, stately, swelling measures, whose graver +movements accord with a serious and elevated purpose, Arnold was most +at ease. + +=Greek Spirit in Arnold=.--But it is not alone in the fact that he +selects classic subjects, and writes after the manner of the great +masters, that Arnold's affinity with the Greeks is manifested. His +poems in spirit, as in form, reflect the moods common to the ancient +Hellenes, "One feels the (Greek) quality," writes George E. Woodberry, +"not as a source, but as a presence. In Tennyson, Keats, and Shelley +there was Greek influence, but in them the result was modern. In +Arnold the antiquity remains--remains in mood, just as in Landor it +remains in form. The Greek twilight broods over all his poetry. It is +pagan in philosophic spirit, not Attic, but of later and stoical time; +with the patience, endurance, suffering, not in the Christian types, +but as they now seem to a post-Christian imagination, looking back to +the past." Even when his poems treat of modern or romantic subjects, +one is impressed with the feeling that he presents them with the same +quality of imagination as would the Greek masters themselves: and in +the same form. + +=Arnold's Attitude toward Nature=.--In his attitude toward Nature +Arnold is often compared to Wordsworth. A close study, however, +reveals a wide difference, both in the way Nature appealed to them +and in their mood in her presence. To Arnold she offered a temporary +refuge from the doubts and distractions of our modern life,--a +soothing, consoling, uplifting power; to Wordsworth she was an +inspiration,--a presence that disturbed him "with the joy of elevated +thoughts." Conscious of the help he found in her association, Arnold +urged all men to follow Nature's example; to possess their souls in +quietude, despite the storm and turmoil without. Pancoast says: "He +delights in leading us to contemplate the infinite calm of Nature, +beside which man's transitory woes are reduced to a mere fretful +insignificance. All the beautiful poem of _Tristram and Iseult_ is +built upon the skilful alternation of two themes. We pass from the +feverish, wasting, and ephemeral struggle of human passions and +desire, into an atmosphere that shames its heat and fume by an +immemorial coolness and repose;" and the same comparison constitutes +the theme for a considerable portion of his poetical work. In his +method of approaching Nature, Arnold also differed widely from +Wordsworth, in that he saw with the outward eye, that is objectively; +while Wordsworth saw rather with the inward eye, or subjectively. +In this Arnold is essentially Greek and more Tennysonian than +Wordsworthian. Many of his poems, in full or in part, are mere nature +pictures, and are artistic in the extreme. The pictures of the Oxus +stream at the close of _Sohrab and Rustum_; the English garden in +_Thyrsis_; and the hunter on the arras, in _Tristram and Iseult_, are +all notable examples. This pictorial method Wordsworth seldom used. +In spirit, too, the poets differed widely. To Wordsworth, Nature was, +first of all, the abiding place of God; but Arnold "finds in the +wood and field no streaming forth of beauty and wisdom from the +fountainhead of beauty," no habitancy of Nature's God. + +=Arnold's Attitude toward Life=.--Arnold's attitude toward life has +been dwelt upon in the appreciations under the biographical sketch in +this volume and need only briefly be summed up here. To him, human +life in its higher developments presented itself as a stern and +strenuous affair; but he never faltered nor sought to escape from his +share of the burden. "On the contrary, the prevailing note of his +poetry is self-reliance; help must come from the soul itself, for + + "The fountains of life are all within." + +He preaches fortitude and courage in the face of the mysterious and +the inevitable--a courage, indeed, forlorn and pathetic in the eyes of +many--and he constantly takes refuge from the choking cares of life, +in a kind of stoical resignation." As a reformer, his function +was especially to stir people up, to make them dissatisfied with +themselves and their institutions, and to force them to think, to +become individual. Everywhere in his works one is confronted by his +unvarying insistence upon the supremacy of conduct and duty. The +modern tendency to drift away from the old, established religious +faith was a matter of serious thought to him and led him to give to +the world a rational creed that would satisfy the sceptics and attract +the indifferent. We cannot do better than quote for our closing +thought the following pregnant lines from the author's sonnet entitled +_The Better Part_:-- + + "Hath man no second life? _Pitch this one high!_ + Sits there no judge in Heaven, our sin to see? + _More strictly, then, the inward judge obey_! + Was Christ a man like us? _Ah! let us try + If we then, too, can be such men as he!_" + + * * * * * + + + +ARNOLD THE CRITIC + +The following extracts on Arnold as a critic are quoted from +well-known authorities. + +"Arnold's prose has little trace of the wistful melancholy of his +verse. It is almost always urbane, vivacious, light-hearted. The +classical bent of his mind shows itself here, unmixed with the +inheritance of romantic feeling which colors his poetry. Not only is +his prose classical in quality, by virtue of its restraint, of its +definite aim, and of the dry white light of intellect which suffuses +it; but the doctrine which he spent his life in preaching is based +upon a classical ideal, the ideal of symmetry, wholeness, or, as he +daringly called it, _perfection_.... Wherever, in religion, politics, +education, or literature, he saw his countrymen under the domination +of narrow ideals, he came speaking the mystic word of deliverance, +'Culture.' Culture, acquaintance with the best which has been thought +and done in the world, is his panacea for all ills.... In almost all +of his prose writing he attacks some form of 'Philistinism,' by which +word he characterized the narrow-mindedness and self-satisfaction of +the British middle class. + +"Arnold's tone is admirably fitted to the peculiar task he had to +perform.... In _Culture and Anarchy_ and many successive works, he +made his plea for the gospel of ideas with urbanity and playful grace, +as befitted the Hellenic spirit, bringing 'sweetness and light' into +the dark places of British prejudice. Sometimes, as in _Literature and +Dogma_, where he pleads for a more liberal and literary reading of the +Bible, his manner is quiet, suave, and gently persuasive. At other +times, as in _Friendship's Garland_, he shoots the arrows of his +sarcasm into the ranks of the Philistines with a delicate raillery and +scorn, all the more exasperating to his foes, because it is veiled by +a mock humility, and is scrupulously polite. + +"Of Arnold's literary criticism, the most notable single piece is the +famous essay _On Translating Homer_, which deserves careful study +for the enlightenment it offers concerning many of the fundamental +questions of style. The essays on Wordsworth and on Byron from _Essays +in Criticism_, and that on Emerson, from _Discourses in America_, +furnish good examples of Arnold's charm of manner and weight of matter +in this province. + +"The total impression which Arnold makes in his prose may be described +as that of a spiritual man-of-the-world. In comparison with Carlyle, +Buskin, and Newman, he is worldly. For the romantic passion and mystic +vision of these men he substitutes an ideal of balanced cultivation, +the ideal of the trained, sympathetic, cosmopolitan gentleman. He +marks a return to the conventions of life after the storm and stress +of the romantic age. Yet in his own way he also was a prophet and a +preacher, striving whole-heartedly to release his countrymen from +bondage to mean things, and pointing their gaze to that symmetry and +balance of character which has seemed to many noble minds the true +goal of human endeavor."--MOODY AND LOVETT, _A History of English +Literature_. + +"As a literary critic, his taste, his temper, his judgment were pretty +nearly infallible. He combined a loyal and reasonable submission +to literary authority, with a free and even daring use of private +judgment. His admiration for the acknowledged masters of human +utterance--Homer, Sophocles, Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe--was genuine +and enthusiastic, and incomparably better informed than that of some +more conventional critics. Yet this cordial submission to recognized +authority, this honest loyalty to established reputation, did not +blind him to defects; did not seduce him into indiscriminating praise; +did not deter him from exposing the tendency to verbiage in Burke and +Jeremy Taylor, the excess blankness of much of Wordsworth's blank +verse, the undercurrent of mediocrity in Macaulay, the absurdities of +Mr. Ruskin's etymology. And as in great matters, so in small. Whatever +literary production was brought under Matthew Arnold's notice, his +judgment was clear, sympathetic, and independent. He had the readiest +appreciation of true excellence, a quick intolerance of turgidity and +inflation--of what he called endeavors to render platitude endurable +by making it pompous, and lively horror of affectation and +unreality."--Mr. GEORGE RUSSELL. + +"In his work as literary critic Arnold has occupied a high place +among the foremost prose writers of the time. His style is in marked +contrast to the dithyrambic eloquence of Carlyle, or to Ruskin's +pure and radiant coloring. It is a quiet style, restrained, clear, +discriminating, incisive, with little glow of ardor or passion. +Notwithstanding its scrupulous assumption of urbanity, it is often +a merciless style, indescribably irritating to an opponent by +its undercurrent of sarcastic humor, and its calm air of assured +superiority. By his insistence on a high standard of technical +excellence, and by his admirable presentation of certain principles of +literary judgment, Arnold performed a great work for literature. On +the other hand, we miss here, as in his poetry, the human element, the +comprehensive sympathy that we recognize in the criticism of Carlyle. +Yet Carlyle could not have written the essay _On Translating Homer_, +with all its scholarly discrimination in style and technique, any +more than Arnold could have produced Carlyle's large-hearted essay on +_Burns_. Arnold's varied energy and highly trained intelligence +have been felt in many different fields. He has won a peculiar and +honorable place in the poetry of the century; he has excelled as +literary critic, he has labored in the cause of education, and +finally, in his _Culture and Anarchy_, he has set forth his scheme of +social reform, and in certain later books has made His contribution +to contemporary thought."--PANCOAST, _Introduction to English +Literature_. + + * * * * * + + + +CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF ARNOLD'S WORKS + +1840. Alaric at Rome. (Prize poem at Rugby.) +1843. Cromwell. (Prize poem at Oxford.) +1849. The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems. + Mycerinus. + The Strayed Reveller. + Fragment of an Antigone. + The Sick King in Bokhara. + Religious Isolation. + To my Friends. + A Modern Sappho. + The New Sirens. + The Voice. + To Fausta. + Stagyrus. + To a Gipsy Child. + The Hayswater Boat. + The Forsaken Merman. + The World and the Quietist. + In Utrumque Paratus. + Resignation. + Sonnets. + Quiet Work. + To a Friend. + Shakespeare. + To the Duke of Wellington. + Written in Butler's Sermons. + Written in Emerson's Essays. + To an Independent Preacher. + To George Cruikshank. + To a Republican Friend. + +1852. Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems. + Empedocles on Etna. + The River. + Excuse. + Indifference. + Too Late. + On the Rhine. + Longing. + The Lake. + Parting. + Absence. + Destiny. (Not reprinted.) + To Marguerite. + Human Life. + Despondency. + Youth's Agitations--A Sonnet. + Self-Deception. + Lines written by a Death-bed. (Afterward, Youth and Calm.) + Tristram and Iseult. + Memorial Verses. (Previously published in _Fraser's + Magazine_.) + Courage. (Not reprinted.) + Self-Dependence. + A Summer Night. + The Buried Life. + A Farewell. + Stanzas in Memory of the Author of _Obermann_. + Consolation. + Lines written in Kensington Gardens. + The World's Triumphs--A Sonnet. + The Second Best. + Revolutions. + The Youth of Nature. + The Youth of Man. + Morality. + Progress. + The Future. +1853. Poems. + Sohrab and Rustum. + Cadmus and Harmonia. (A fragment of Empedocles on Etna.) + Philomela. + Thekla's Answer. + The Church of Brou. + The Neckan. + Switzerland. + Richmond Hill. (A fragment of The Youth of Man.) + Requiescat. + The Scholar-Gipsy. + Stanzas in Memory of the Late Edward Quillman. + Power of Youth. (A fragment of The Youth of Man.) +1854. A Farewell. +1855. Poems. + Balder Dead + Separation. +1858. Merope: A Tragedy. +1867. New Poems. + Persistency of Poetry. + Saint Brandan. _(Fraser's Magazine_, July, 1860.) + Sonnets. + A Picture of Newstead. + Rachel. (Three Sonnets.) + East London. + West London. + Anti-Desperation. + Immorality. + Worldly Place. + The Divinity. + The Good Shepherd with the Kid. + Austerity of Poetry. + East and West. + Monica's Last Prayer. + Calais Sands. + Dover Beach. + The Terrace at Berne. + Stanzas composed at Carnæ. + A Southern Night. (Previously published in the + _Victoria Regia_, 1861.) + Fragment of Chorus of a "Dejaneira." + Palladium. + Early Death and Fame. + Growing Old. + The Progress of Poesy. + A Nameless Epitaph. + The Last Word. + A Wish. + A Caution to Poets. + Pis-Aller. + Epilogue to Lessing's Laocoön. + Bacchanalia. + Rugby Chapel. + Heine's Grave. + Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse. +1860. The Lord's Messengers. (_Cornhill Magazine_, July.) +1866. Thyrsis. (_Macmillan's Magazine_, April.) +1868. Obermann Once More. +1873. New Rome. (_Cornhill Magazine_, June.) +1877. Haworth Churchyard with Epilogue. (_Fraser's Magazine_, May.) +1881. Geist's Grave. (_Fortnightly Review_, January.) +1882. Westminster Abbey. (_Nineteenth Century Magazine_, + January.) + Poor Matthais. (_Macmillan's Magazine_, December.) +1887. Horatian Echo. (_The Century Guild Hobby Horse_, July.) + Kaiser Dead. (_Fortnightly Review_, July.) + + + +PROSE WORKS + +1859. England and the Italian Question. +1861. Popular Education in France. + On Translating Homer. +1864. A French Eton. +1865. Essays in Criticism. +1867. On Study of Celtic Literature. +1868. Schools and Universities on the Continent. +1869. Culture and Anarchy. +1870. St. Paul and Protestantism. +1871. Friendship's Garland. +1873. Literature and Dogma. +1874. Higher Schools and Universities in Germany. +1875. God and the Bible. +1877. Last Essays on Church and Religion. +1879. Mixed Essays. +1882. Irish Essays. +1885. Discourses in America. +1888. Essays in Criticism, Second Series. + Special Report on Elementary Education Abroad. + Civilization in the United States. + + + +CONTEMPORARY AUTHORS + +Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881). +Thomas B. Macaulay (1800-1859). +Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861). +Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892). +Charles R. Darwin (1809-1882). +William M. Thackeray (1811-1863). +Robert Browning (1812-1889). +Charles Dickens (1812-1870). +George Eliot (1819-1880). +John Ruskin (1819-1900). +Herbert Spencer (1820-1903). + +William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878). +Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882). +Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864). +John G. Whittier (1807-1892). +Henry W. Longfellow (1807-1882). +Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894). +James Russell Lowell (1819-1891). + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHY + +_The Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold_ (The Macmillan Company, + one volume). +_The English Poets_, Vol. I, by T.H. Ward. +_Matthew Arnold and the Spirit of the Age_, edited by the English + Club of Sewanee, Tennessee. +_Matthew Arnold_, by Sir J.G. Fitch. +_Tennyson, Ruskin, and Other Literary Estimates_, by Frederic + Harrison. +_Studies in Interpretation_, by W.H. Hudson. +_Corrected Impressions on Matthew Arnold_, by G.E.B. Saintsbury. +_Matthew Arnold_, by Herbert W. Paul. +_Matthew Arnold_, by G.E.B. Saintsbury. +_Arnold's Letters_, collected and arranged by G.W.E. Russell. +_The Bibliography of Matthew Arnold_, edited by T.B. Smart. +_Matthew Arnold_, by Andrew Lang, in _Century Magazine_, + 1881-1882, p. 849. + +_The Poetry of Matthew Arnold_, by R.H. Hutton, in + _Essays Theological and Literary_, Vol. II. +_Religion and Culture_, by John Shairp. +_Arnold_, in _Victorian Poets_, by Stedman. +_Matthew Arnold, New Poems_, in _Essays and Studies_, by + A.C. Swinburne. +_Arnold_, in _Our Living Poets_, by Forman. + + + + * * * * * + + + +SOHRAB AND RUSTUM + +AND OTHER POEMS + + + * * * * * + + + + +NARRATIVE POEMS + + + + +SOHRAB AND RUSTUM° + +AN EPISODE + + +And the first grey of morning fill'd the east,° °1 +And the fog rose out of the Oxus° stream. °2 +But all the Tartar camp° along the stream °3 +Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep; +Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long 5 +He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed; +But when the grey 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, 10 +Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's° tent. °11 + +Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood +Clustering like bee-hives on the low flat strand +Of Oxus, where the summer-floods o'erflow +When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere° °15 +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 fall'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, 25 +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 dull'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 35 +Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie +Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. +For so did King Afrasiab° bid me seek °38 +Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son, +In Samarcand,° before the army march'd; °40 +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. °45 +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 55 +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 rumour of a common fight,° °60 +Where host meets host, and many names are sunk°; °61 +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! 65 +Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, +And share the battle's common chance° with us °67 +Who love thee, but must press for ever first, +In single fight incurring single risk, +To find a father thou hast never seen°? °70 +That were far best, my son, to stay with us +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! 75 +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 I was young, +When Rustum was in front of every fray; 80 +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.° °85 +There go°!--Thou wilt not? Yet my heart forebodes °86 +Danger or 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 90 +In vain;--but who can keep the lion's cub +From ravening, and who govern Rustum's son? +Go, I will grant thee what thy heart desires." + +So said he, and dropp'd Sohrab's hand, and left +His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay; 95 +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 staff, no sword°; °99 +And on his head he set his sheep-skin cap, 100 +Black, glossy, curl'd, the fleece of Kara-Kul°; °101 +And raised the curtain of his 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. 105 +And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed +Into the open plain; so Haman° bade-- °107 +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; +As when some grey November morn the files, 111 +In marching order spread, of long-neck'd cranes +Stream over Casbin° and the southern slopes °113 +Of Elburz,° from the Aralian estuaries, °114 +Or some frore° Caspian reed-bed, southward bound °115 +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 Bokhara° come °119 +And Khiva,° and ferment the milk of mares.° °120 +Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns° of the south, °121 +The Tukas,° and the lances of Salore, °122 +And those from Attruck° and the Caspian sands; °123 +Light men and on light steeds, who only drink +The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. 125 +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 °128 +Of the Jaxartes,° men with scanty beards °129 +And close-set skull-caps; and those wilder hordes 130 +Who roam o'er Kipchak° and the northern waste, °131 +Kalmucks° and unkempt Kuzzaks,° tribes who stray °132 +Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes,° °133 +Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere; +These all filed out from camp into the plain. 135 +And on the other side the Persians form'd;-- +First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seem'd. +The Ilyats of Khorassan°; and behind, °138 +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, 145 +He took his spear, and to the front he came, +And check'd his ranks, and fix'd° them where they stood. °147 +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, 155 +A shiver runs through the deep corn° for joy-- °156 +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. + +But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool,° °160 +Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus,° °161 +That vast sky-neighbouring 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 165 +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'erhanging 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°; °173 +These came and counsell'd, and then Gudurz said:-- + +"Ferood, shame bids us take their challenge up, 175 +Yet champion have we none to match this youth. +He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart.° °177 +But Rustum came last night; aloof he sits° °178 +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. +Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up." + +So spake he; and Ferood stood forth and cried:-- +"Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said! 185 +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 195 +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 Rustum sate° °199 +Listless, and held a falcon° on his wrist, °200 +And play'd with it; but Gudurz came and stood +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 better sight. 205 +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. +O Rustum, like thy might is this young man's! 215 +He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart; +And he is young, and Iran's° chiefs are old, °217 +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 °221 +Am older; if the young are weak, the King +Errs strangely; for the King, for Kai Khosroo,° °223 +Himself is young, and honours younger men, +And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 225 +Rustum he loves no more, but loves the young-- +The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. +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,° °232 +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. 235 +There would I go, and hang my armour 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, 245 +Hidest thy face? Take heed lest men should say: +_Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame, +And shuns to peril it with younger men."_° °248 + +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? 255 +Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his fame! +But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms°; °257 +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 265 +Were plain, and on his shield was no device,° °266 +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, 275 +And rear'd him; a bright bay, with lofty crest, +Dight° with a saddle-cloth of broider'd green °277 +Crusted with gold, and on the ground were work'd +All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. +So follow'd, Rustum left his tents, and cross'd 280 +The camp, and to the Persian host appear'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, 285 +By sandy Bahrein,° in the Persian Gulf, °286 +Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, +Having made up his tale° of precious pearls, °288 +Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands-- +So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. 290 + +And Rustum to the Persian front advanced, +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, 295 +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 300 +Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came. + +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, 305 +When the frost flowers° the whiten'd window-panes-- +And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts +Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum eyed +The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar +Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 310 +All the most valiant chiefs; long he perused° °311 +His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was. +For very young he seem'd, tenderly rear'd; +Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, +Which in a queen's secluded garden throws 315 +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. °318 +And a deep pity enter'd Rustum's soul +As he beheld him coming; and he stood, 320 +And beckon'd to him with his hand, and said:-- + +"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, °325 +And tried°; and I have stood on many a field +Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe-- +Never was that field lost, or that foe saved.° °327 +O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? +Be govern'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 youths in Iran brave as thou." + +So he spake, mildly; Sohrab heard his voice, +The mighty voice of Rustum, and he saw 335 +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 grey hairs;--hope filled 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! °343 +Art thou not Rustum°? speak! art thou not he?" °344 + +But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, 345 +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_! 350 +He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, +But he will find some pretext not to fight, +And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts +A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. +And on a feast-tide, in Afrasiab's hall, 355 +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 applaud; +Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through me." + +And then he turn'd, and sternly spake aloud:-- +"Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus 365 +Of Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast call'd +By challenge forth; make good thy vaunt,° or yield! °367 +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 reveal'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, 375 +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 +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, 385 +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 knowest sure +Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. +For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 390 +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, 395 +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, +As on some partridge, in the corn a hawk, 400 +That long has tower'd° in the airy clouds, °401 +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 Sohrab threw 405 +In turn, and full struck° Rustum's shield; sharp rang, °406 +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 treeless plains 410 +To build them boats fish from the flooded rivers, +Hyphasis° or Hydaspes,° when, high up °412 +By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time +Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack,° °414 +And strewn the channels with torn boughs--so huge 415 +The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck +One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang aside, +Lithe as the glancing° snake, and the club came °418 +Thundering to earth, and leapt 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, 425 +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; °435 +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, 440 +And pledge each other in red wine, like friends, +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 445 +Mayst fight; fight _them_, when they confront thy spear! +But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me!" + +He ceased, but while he spake, Rustum had risen, +And stood erect, trembling with rage; his club +He left to lie, but had regain'd his spear, 450 +Whose fiery point now in his mail'd right-hand +Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn-star,° °452 +The baleful sign of fevers; dust had soil'd +His stately crest,° and dimm'd his glittering arms. °454 +His breast heaved, his lips foam'd, and twice his voice 455 +Was choked 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 more! +Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 460 +With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance; +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! 465 +Remember all thy valour°; try thy feints °466 +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.°" °468 + +He spoke, and Sohrab kindled° at his taunts, °470 +And he too drew his sword; at once they rush'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 +Bash'd with a clang together, and a din 475 +Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters +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° °481 +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. 485 +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. °489 +But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes 490 +And labouring 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 Rustum's helm,° °495 +Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest +He shore° away, and that proud horsehair plume, °497 +Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; +And Rustum bow'd his head°; but then the gloom °499 +Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, 500 +And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse, +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, 505 +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. °508 +But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rush'd on, +And struck again; and again Rustum bow'd 510 +His head; but this time all the blade, like glass, +Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, +And in the hand the hilt remain'd alone. +Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes +Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, 515 +And shouted: _Rustum_°!--Sohrab heard that shout, °516 +And shrank amazed; back he recoil'd one step, +And scann'd with blinking eyes the advancing 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 dispersed, 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, 525 +And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand. + +Then, with a bitter smile,° Rustum began:-- °527 +"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. 530 +Or else that the great Rustum would come down +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, 535 +To glad° thy father in his weak old age. °536 +Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man! +Dearer to the red jackals° shalt thou be °538 +Than to thy friends, and to thy father old." + +And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied:-- 540 +"Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain +Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful 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, 545 +They should be lying here, I standing there +But that belovéd name unnerved 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 unarm'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!" 555 + +As when some hunter° in the spring hath found °556 +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 descries +His huddling young left sole°; at that, he checks °563 +His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps +Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 565 +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; °570 +Never the black and dripping precipices +Echo her stormy scream as she sails by-- +As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss, +So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood +Over his dying son, and knew him not. 575 + +But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said:-- +"What prate is this of fathers and revenge? +The mighty Rustum never had a son." + +And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied:-- +"Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I. 580 +Surely the news will one day reach his ear, +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. 585 +Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son! +What will that grief, what will that vengeance 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 590 +With that old king, her father, who grows grey +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 honour, when the war is done. 595 +But a dark rumour will be bruited up,° °596 +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, 600 +By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." + +He spoke; and as he ceased, he wept aloud, +Thinking of her he left, and his own death. +He spoke; but Rustum listen'd, plunged in thought. +Nor did he yet believe it was his son 605 +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; °613 +Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. +So deem'd he; yet he listen'd, plunged in thought 615 +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; +For he remember'd his own early youth, +And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn, 620 +The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries +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 °625 +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, °632 +Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand; +Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe +Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, 635 +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 Rustum's son. +For Rustum had no son; one child he had-- 645 +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 +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? 655 +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 °658 +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 Rustum'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; °663 +And to his heart he press'd the other hand, 665 +And in a hollow voice he spake, and said:-- + +"Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie! +If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son." + +Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed +His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, 670 +And show'd a sign in faint vermilion points +Prick'd; as a cunning° workman, in Pekin, °672 +Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase, +An emperor's gift--at early morn he paints, +And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp 675 +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, °679 +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 mournful eyes, 685 +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 cry: 690 +_O boy_--_thy father!_--and his voice choked 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, 695 +And with fond faltering fingers stroked 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 glittering arms; +And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast, +And his sobs choked him; and he clutch'd his sword, +To draw it, and for ever let life out. 705 +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 unconscious hand.° °710 +Surely my heart cried out that it was thou, +When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke too, +I know it! but fate trod those promptings down +Under its iron heel; fate, fate engaged +The strife, and hurl'd me on my father's spear. 715 +But let us speak no more of this! I find +My father; let me feel that I have found!° °717 +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.° °724 +But it was writ in Heaven that this should be." 725 + +So said he, and his voice released the heart +Of Rustum, and his tears brake 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, compassionate eyes, 735 +The big warm tears roll'd down, and caked° the sand. °736 +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. 745 +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, 750 +And seen the River of Helmund,° and the Lake °751 +Of Zirrah°; and the aged Zal himself °752 +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 755 +Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face, +Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, +Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund 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,° °763 +Kohik,° and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, +The northern Sir°; and this great Oxus stream, °765 +The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die." + +Then, with a heavy groan, Rustum bewail'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, 775 +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 follow'd me, my hope, my fame, my star. +Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. +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, 785 +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, °788 +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:-- 795 +"Fear not! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, +So shall it be; for I will burn 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. 805 +And I will spare thy host; yea, let them go! +Let them all cross the Oxus back in 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 common man, +A poor, mean soldier, and without renown, +So thou mightest live too, my son, my son! 815 +Or rather would that I, even I 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; 820 +And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine; +And say: _O son, I weep thee not too sore, +For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end!_ +But now in blood and battles was my youth, +And full of blood and battles is my age, 825 +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 Khosroo, +Returning home over the salt blue sea, +From laying thy dear master in his grave." + +And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said:-- 835 +"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 their native bank, 845 +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 +Convulsed 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, 855 +And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world. + +So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead; +And the great Rustum drew his horseman'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 °861 +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, 865 +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 loosed, 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, 875 +Out of the mist and hum of that low land, +Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, +Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian° waste, °878 +Under the solitary moon;--he flow'd +Right for the polar star,° past Orgunjè,° °880 +Brimming, and bright, and large; then sands begin +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-- 885 +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-bathed stars° °891 +Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. + + + + +SAINT BRANDAN° + + +Saint Brandan sails the northern main; +The brotherhood of saints are glad. +He greets them once, he sails again; +So late!--such storms!--The Saint is mad! + +He heard, across the howling seas, 5 +Chime convent-bells on wintry nights; +He saw, on spray-swept Hebrides,° °7 +Twinkle the monastery-lights; + +But north, still north, Saint Brandan steer'd-- +And now no bells, no convents more! 10 +The hurtling Polar lights° are near'd, °11 +The sea without a human shore. + +At last--(it was the Christmas night; +Stars shone after a day of storm)-- +He sees float past an iceberg white, 15 +And on it--Christ!--a living form. + +That furtive mien, that scowling eye, +Of hair that red° and tufted fell-- °18 +It is--Oh, where shall Brandan fly?-- +The traitor Judas, out of hell! 20 + +Palsied with terror, Brandan sate°; °21 +The moon was bright, the iceberg near. +He hears a voice sigh humbly: "Wait! +By high permission I am here. + +"One moment wait, thou holy man 25 +On earth my crime, my death, they knew; +My name is under all men's ban-- +Ah, tell them of my respite too! + +"Tell them, one blessed Christmas-night-- +(It was the first after I came, 30 +Breathing self-murder,° frenzy, spite, °31 +To rue my guilt in endless flame)-- + +"I felt, as I in torment lay +'Mid the souls plagued by heavenly power, +An angel touch my arm, and say: 35 +_Go hence, and cool thyself an hour!_ + +"'Ah, whence this mercy, Lord?' I said. +_The Leper recollect,_° said he, °38 +_Who ask'd the passers-by for aid, +In Joppa,° and thy charity._ °40 + +"Then I remember'd how I went, +In Joppa, through the public street, +One morn when the sirocco spent +Its storms of dust with burning heat; + +"And in the street a leper sate, 45 +Shivering with fever, naked, old; +Sand raked his sores from heel to pate, +The hot wind fever'd him five-fold. + +"He gazed upon me as I pass'd +And murmur'd: _Help me, or I die!_-- 50 +To the poor wretch my cloak I cast, +Saw him look eased, and hurried by. + +"Oh, Brandan, think what grace divine, +What blessing must full goodness shower, +When fragment of it small, like mine, 55 +Hath such inestimable power! + +"Well-fed, well-clothed, well-friended, I +Did that chance act of good, that one! +Then went my way to kill and lie-- +Forgot my good as soon as done. 60 + +"That germ of kindness, in the womb +Of mercy caught, did not expire; +Outlives my guilt, outlives my doom, +And friends me in the pit of fire. + +"Once every year, when carols wake, 65 +On earth, the Christmas-night's repose, +Arising from the sinner's lake, +I journey to these healing snows. + +"I stanch with ice my burning breast, +With silence balm my whirling brain. 70 +Oh, Brandan! to this hour of rest +That Joppan leper's ease was pain."-- + +Tears started to Saint Brandan's eyes; +He bow'd his head, he breathed a prayer-- +Then look'd, and lo, the frosty skies! 75 +The iceberg, and no Judas there! + + + + +THE FORSAKEN MERMAN° + + +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; 5 +Now the wild white horses° play, °6 +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!" °13 +Children's voices should be dear +(Call once more) to a mother's ear; 15 +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, 25 +And the little grey church on the windy shore; +Then come down! +She will not come though you call all day; +Come away, come away! + +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, 35 +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, °39 +Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; 40 +Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, +Dry their mail° and bask in the brine; °42 +Where great whales come sailing by, +Sail and sail, with unshut eye, +Round the world for ever and aye? 45 +When did music come this way? +Children dear, was it yesterday? + +Children dear, was it yesterday +(Call yet once) that she went away? +Once she sate with you and me, 50 +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.° °54 +She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea; 55 +She said: "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray +In the little grey 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." +I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the waves; 60 +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; 65 +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; +Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 70 +To the little grey 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. 75 +She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: +"Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here! +Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone; +The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." +But, ah, she gave me never a look, 80 +For her eyes were seal'd° to the holy book! °81 +Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. +Come away, children, call no more! +Come away, come down, call no more! + + Down, down, down! 85 +Down to the depths of the sea! +She sits at her wheel in the humming town, +Singing most joyfully. +Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, +For the humming street, and the child with its toy! 90 +For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well; +For the wheel where I spun, +And the blessed light of the sun°!" °93 +And so she sings her fill, +Singing most joyfully, 95 +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; +And her eyes are set in a stare; 100 +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; 105 +For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden +And the gleam of her golden hair. + + Come away, away, children; +Come children, come down! +The hoarse wind blows coldly; 110 +Lights shine in the town. +She will start from her slumber +When gusts shake the door; +She will hear the winds howling, +Will hear the waves roar. 115 +We shall see, while above us +The waves roar and whirl, +A ceiling of amber, +A pavement of pearl. +Singing: "Here came a mortal, 120 +But faithless was she! +And alone dwell for ever +The kings of the sea." + +But, children, at midnight, +When soft the winds blow, 125 +When clear falls the moonlight, +When spring-tides are low; +When sweet airs come seaward +From heaths starr'd with broom,° °129 +And high rocks throw mildly 130 +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. 135 +We will gaze, from the sand-hills, +At the white, sleeping town; +At the church on the hill-side-- +And then come back down. +Singing: "There dwells a loved one, 140 +But cruel is she! +She left lonely for ever +The kings of the sea." + + + + +TRISTRAM AND ISEULT° + +I + +TRISTRAM + + +_Tristram_. Is she not come°? The messenger was sure-- +Prop me upon the pillows once again-- +Raise me, my page! this cannot long endure. +--Christ, what a night! how the sleet whips the pane! +What lights will those out to the northward be°? °5 + +_The Page_. The lanterns of the fishing-boats at sea. + +_Tristram_. Soft--who is that, stands by the dying fire? + +_The Page_. Iseult.° °8 + +_Tristram_. Ah! not the Iseult I desire. + + * * * * * + +What Knight is this so weak and pale, +Though the locks are yet brown on his noble head, 10 +Propt on pillows in his bed, +Gazing seaward for the light +Of some ship that fights the gale +On this wild December night? +Over the sick man's feet is spread 15 +A dark green forest-dress; +A gold harp leans against the bed, +Ruddy in the fire's light. +I know him by his harp of gold, +Famous in Arthur's court° of old; °20 +I know him by his forest-dress-- +The peerless hunter, harper, knight, +Tristram of Lyoness.° °23 +What Lady is this, whose silk attire +Gleams so rich in the light of the fire? 25 +The ringlets on her shoulders lying +In their flitting lustre vying +With the clasp of burnish'd gold +Which her heavy robe doth hold. +Her looks are mild, her fingers slight 30 +As the driven snow are white°; °31 +But her cheeks are sunk and pale. +Is it that the bleak sea-gale +Beating from the Atlantic sea +On this coast of Brittany, 35 +Nips too keenly the sweet flower? +Is it that a deep fatigue +Hath come on her, a chilly fear, +Passing all her youthful hour +Spinning with her maidens here, 40 +Listlessly through the window-bars +Gazing seawards many a league, +From her lonely shore-built tower, +While the knights are at the wars? +Or, perhaps, has her young heart 45 +Felt already some deeper smart, +Of those that in secret the heart-strings rive, +Leaving her sunk and pale, though fair? +Who is this snowdrop by the sea?-- +I know her by her mildness rare, 50 +Her snow-white hands, her golden hair; +I know her by her rich silk dress, +And her fragile loveliness-- +The sweetest Christian soul alive, +Iseult of Brittany. 55 + +Iseult of Brittany?--but where +Is that other Iseult fair, +That proud, first Iseult, Cornwall's queen? +She, whom Tristram's ship of yore +From Ireland to Cornwall bore, 60 +To Tyntagel,° to the side °61 +Of King Marc,° to be his bride? °62 +She who, as they voyaged, quaff'd +With Tristram that spiced magic draught, +Which since then for ever rolls 65 +Through their blood, and binds their souls, +Working love, but working teen°?--. °67 +There were two Iseults who did sway +Each her hour of Tristram's day; +But one possess'd his waning time, 70 +The other his resplendent prime. +Behold her here, the patient flower, +Who possess'd his darker hour! +Iseult of the Snow-White Hand +Watches pale by Tristram's bed. 75 +She is here who had his gloom, +Where art thou who hadst his bloom? +One such kiss as those of yore +Might thy dying knight restore! +Does the love-draught work no more? 80 +Art thou cold, or false, or dead, +Iseult of Ireland? + + * * * * * + +Loud howls the wind, sharp patters the rain, +And the knight sinks back on his pillows again. +He is weak with fever and pain; 85 +And his spirit is not clear. +Hark! he mutters in his sleep, +As he wanders° far from here, °88 +Changes place and time of year, +And his closéd eye doth sweep 90 +O'er some fair unwintry sea,° °91 +Not this fierce Atlantic deep, +While he mutters brokenly:-- + +_Tristram_. The calm sea shines, loose hang the vessel's sails; +Before us are the sweet green fields of Wales, 95 +And overhead the cloudless sky of May.-- +_"Ah, would I were in those green fields at play, +Not pent on ship-board this delicious day! +Tristram, I pray thee, of thy courtesy, +Reach me my golden phial stands by thee, 100 +But pledge me in it first for courtesy."_-- +Ha! dost thou start? are thy lips blanch'd like mine? +Child, 'tis no true draught this, 'tis poison'd wine! +Iseult!... + + * * * * * + +Ah, sweet angels, let him dream! 105 +Keep his eyelids! let him seem +Not this fever-wasted wight +Thinn'd and paled before his time, +But the brilliant youthful knight +In the glory of his prime, 110 +Sitting in the gilded barge, +At thy side, thou lovely charge, +Bending gaily o'er thy hand, +Iseult of Ireland! +And she too, that princess fair, 115 +If her bloom be now less rare, +Let her have her youth again-- +Let her be as she was then! +Let her have her proud dark eyes, +And her petulant quick replies-- 120 +Let her sweep her dazzling hand +With its gesture of command, +And shake back her raven hair +With the old imperious air! +As of old, so let her be, 125 +That first Iseult, princess bright, +Chatting with her youthful knight +As he steers her o'er the sea, +Quitting at her father's will +The green isle° where she was bred, °130 +And her bower in Ireland, +For the surge-beat Cornish strand +Where the prince whom she must wed +Dwells on loud Tyntagel's hill,° °134 +High above the sounding sea. 135 +And that potion rare her mother +Gave her, that her future lord, +Gave her, that King Marc and she, +Might drink it on their marriage-day, +And for ever love each other-- 140 +Let her, as she sits on board, +Ah, sweet saints, unwittingly! +See it shine, and take it up, +And to Tristram laughing say: +"Sir Tristram, of thy courtesy, 145 +Pledge me in my golden cup!" +Let them drink it--let their hands +Tremble, and their cheeks be flame, +As they feel the fatal bands +Of a love they dare not name, 150 +With a wild delicious pain, +Twine about their hearts again! +Let the early summer be +Once more round them, and the sea +Blue, and o'er its mirror kind 155 +Let the breath of the May-wind, +Wandering through their drooping sails, +Die on the green fields of Wales! +Let a dream like this restore +What his eye must see no more!° °160 + +_Tristram_. Chill blows the wind, the pleasaunce-walks° are drear-- °161 +Madcap, what jest was this, to meet me here? +Were feet like those made for so wild a way? +The southern winter-parlour, by my fay,° °164 +Had been the likeliest trysting-place to-day! 165 +_"Tristram!--nay, nay--thou must not take my hand!-- +Tristram!--sweet love!--we are betray'd--out-plann'd. +Fly--save thyself--save me!--I dare not stay."_-- +One last kiss first!--_"'Tis vain--to horse--away!"_ + + * * * * * + +Ah! sweet saints, his dream doth move 170 +Faster surely than it should, +From the fever in his blood! +All the spring-time of his love +Is already gone and past, +And instead thereof is seen 175 +Its winter, which endureth still-- +Tyntagel on its surge-beat hill, +The pleasaunce-walks, the weeping queen, +The flying leaves, the straining blast, +And that long, wild kiss--their last.° °180 +And this rough December-night, +And his burning fever-pain, +Mingle with his hurrying dream, +Till they rule it, till he seem +The press'd fugitive again, 185 +The love-desperate banish'd knight +With a fire in his brain +Flying o'er the stormy main. +--Whither does he wander now? +Haply in his dreams the wind 190 +Wafts him here, and lets him find +The lovely orphan child° again° °192 +In her castle by the coast; +The youngest, fairest chatelaine,° °194 +Whom this realm of France can boast, 195 +Our snowdrop by the Atlantic sea, +Iseult of Brittany. +And--for through the haggard air, +The stain'd arms, the matted hair +Of that stranger-knight ill-starr'd,° °200 +There gleam'd something, which recall'd +The Tristram who in better days +Was Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard°-- °203 +Welcomed here,° and here install'd, °204 +Tended of his fever here, 205 +Haply he seems again to move +His young guardian's heart with love +In his exiled loneliness, +In his stately, deep distress, +Without a word, without a tear. 210 +--Ah! 'tis well he should retrace +His tranquil life in this lone place; +His gentle bearing at the side +Of his timid youthful bride; +His long rambles by the shore 215 +On winter-evenings, when the roar +Of the near waves came, sadly grand, +Through the dark, up the drown'd sand, +Or his endless reveries +In the woods, where the gleams play 220 +On the grass under the trees, +Passing the long summer's day +Idle as a mossy stone +In the forest-depths alone, +The chase neglected, and his hound 225 +Couch'd beside him on the ground.° °226 +--Ah! what trouble's on his brow? +Hither let him wander now; +Hither, to the quiet hours +Pass'd among these heaths of ours. 230 +By the grey Atlantic sea; +Hours, if not of ecstasy, +From violent anguish surely free! + +_Tristram_. All red with blood the whirling river flows, +The wide plain rings, the dazed air throbs with blows. 235 +Upon us are the chivalry of Rome-- +Their spears are down, their steeds are bathed in foam.° °237 +"Up, Tristram, up," men cry, "thou moonstruck knight°! °238 +What foul fiend rides thee°? On into the fight!" °239 +--Above the din her° voice is in my ears; °240 +I see her form glide through the crossing spears.-- +Iseult!... + + * * * * * + +Ah! he wanders forth again°; °243 +We cannot keep him; now, as then, +There's a secret in his breast° °245 +Which will never let him rest. +These musing fits in the green wood +They cloud the brain, they dull the blood! +--His sword is sharp, his horse is good; +Beyond the mountains will he see 250 +The famous towns of Italy, +And label with the blessed sign° °252 +The heathen Saxons on the Rhine. +At Arthur's side he fights once more +With the Roman Emperor.° °255 +There's many a gay knight where he goes +Will help him to forget his care; +The march, the leaguer,° Heaven's blithe air, °258 +The neighing steeds, the ringing blows-- +Sick pining comes not where these are. 260 +Ah! what boots it,° that the jest °261 +Lightens every other brow, +What, that every other breast +Dances as the trumpets blow, +If one's own heart beats not light 265 +On the waves of the toss'd fight, +If oneself cannot get free +From the clog of misery? +Thy lovely youthful wife grows pale +Watching by the salt sea-tide 270 +With her children at her side +For the gleam of thy white sail. +Home, Tristram, to thy halls again! +To our lonely sea complain, +To our forests tell thy pain! 275 + +_Tristram_. All round the forest sweeps off, black in shade, +But it is moonlight in the open glade; +And in the bottom of the glade shine clear +The forest-chapel and the fountain near. +--I think, I have a fever in my blood; 280 +Come, let me leave the shadow of this wood, +Ride down, and bathe my hot brow in the flood. +--Mild shines the cold spring in the moon's clear light; +God! 'tis _her_ face plays in the waters bright. +"Fair love," she says, "canst thou forget so soon, 285 +At this soft hour under this sweet moon?"-- +Iseult!... + + * * * * * + + Ah, poor soul! if this be so, + Only death can balm thy woe. + The solitudes of the green wood 290 + Had no medicine for thy mood; + The rushing battle clear'd thy blood + As little as did solitude. + --Ah! his eyelids slowly break + Their hot seals, and let him wake; 295 + What new change shall we now see? + A happier? Worse it cannot be. + +_Tristram_. Is my page here? Come, turn me to the fire! +Upon the window-panes the moon shines bright; +The wind is down--but she'll not come to-night. 300 +Ah no! she is asleep in Cornwall now, +Far hence; her dreams are fair--smooth is her brow +Of me she recks not,° nor my vain desire. °303 + +--I have had dreams, I have had dreams, my page, +Would take a score years from a strong man's age; 305 +And with a blood like mine, will leave, I fear, +Scant leisure for a second messenger. + +--My princess, art thou there? Sweet, do not wait! +To bed, and sleep! my fever is gone by; +To-night my page shall keep me company. 310 +Where do the children sleep? kiss them for me! +Poor child, thou art almost as pale as I; +This comes of nursing long and watching late. +To bed--good night!° °314 + + * * * * * + +She left the gleam-lit fireplace, 315 +She came to the bed-side; +She took his hands in hers--her tears +Down on his wasted fingers rain'd. +She raised her eyes upon his face-- +Not with a look of wounded pride, 320 +A look as if the heart complained-- +Her look was like a sad embrace; +The gaze of one who can divine +A grief, and sympathise. +Sweet flower! thy children's eyes 325 +Are not more innocent than thine. + But they sleep in shelter'd rest, +Like helpless birds in the warm nest, +On the castle's southern side; +Where feebly comes the mournful roar 330 +Of buffeting wind and surging tide +Through many a room and corridor. +--Full on their window the moon's ray +Makes their chamber as bright as day. +It shines upon the blank white walls, 335 +And on the snowy pillow falls, +And on two angel-heads doth play +Turn'd to each other--the eyes closed, +The lashes on the cheeks reposed. +Round each sweet brow the cap close-set 340 +Hardly lets peep the golden hair; +Through the soft-open'd lips the air +Scarcely moves the coverlet. +One little wandering arm is thrown +At random on the counterpane, 345 +And often the fingers close in haste +As if their baby-owner chased +The butterflies again. +This stir they have, and this alone; 350 +But else they are so still! +--Ah, tired madcaps! you lie still; +But were you at the window now, +To look forth on the fairy sight +Of your illumined haunts by night, 355 +To see the park-glades where you play +Far lovelier than they are by day, +To see the sparkle on the eaves, +And upon every giant-bough +Of those old oaks, whose wet red leaves 360 +Are jewell'd with bright drops of rain-- +How would your voices run again! +And far beyond the sparkling trees +Of the castle-park one sees +The bare heaths spreading, clear as day, 365 +Moor behind moor, far, far away, +Into the heart of Brittany. +And here and there, lock'd by the land, +Long inlets of smooth glittering sea, +And many a stretch of watery sand 370 +All shining in the white moon-beams-- +But you see fairer in your dreams! + +What voices are these on the clear night-air? +What lights in the court--what steps on the stair? + + + +II + +ISEULT OF IRELAND° + + +_Tristram_. Raise the light, my page! that I may see her.-- + Thou art come at last, then, haughty Queen! +Long I've waited, long I've fought my fever; + Late thou comest, cruel thou hast been. + +_Iseult_. Blame me not, poor sufferer! that I tarried; 5 + Bound I was, I could not break the band. +Chide not with the past, but feel the present! + I am here--we meet--I hold thy hand. + +_Tristram_. Thou art come, indeed--thou hast rejoin'd me; + Thou hast dared it--but too late to save. 10 +Fear not now that men should tax thine honour! + I am dying: build--(thou may'st)--my grave! + +_Iseult_. Tristram, ah, for love of Heaven, speak kindly! + What, I hear these bitter words from thee? +Sick with grief I am, and faint with travel-- 15 + Take my hand--dear Tristram, look on me! + +_Tristram_. I forgot, thou comest from thy voyage-- + Yes, the spray is on thy cloak and hair. +But thy dark eyes are not dimm'd, proud Iseult! + And thy beauty never was more fair. 20 + +_Iseult_. Ah, harsh flatterer! let alone my beauty! + I, like thee, have left my youth afar. +Take my hand, and touch these wasted fingers-- + See my cheek and lips, how white they are! + +_Tristram_. Thou art paler--but thy sweet charm, Iseult! 25 + Would not fade with the dull years away. +Ah, how fair thou standest in the moonlight! + I forgive thee, Iseult!--thou wilt stay? + +_Iseult_. Fear me not, I will be always with thee; + I will watch thee, tend thee, soothe thy pain; 30 +Sing thee tales of true, long-parted lovers, + Join'd at evening of their days again. + +_Tristram_. No, thou shalt not speak! I should be finding + Something alter'd in thy courtly tone. +Sit--sit by me! I will think, we've lived so 35 + In the green wood, all our lives, alone. + +_Iseult_. Alter'd, Tristram? Not in courts, believe me, + Love like mine is alter'd in the breast; +Courtly life is light and cannot reach it-- + Ah! it lives, because so deep-suppress'd! 40 + +What, thou think'st men speak in courtly chambers + Words by which the wretched are consoled? +What, thou think'st this aching brow was cooler, + Circled, Tristram, by a band of gold? + +Royal state with Marc, my deep-wrong'd husband-- 45 + That was bliss to make my sorrows flee! +Silken courtiers whispering honied nothings°-- + Those were friends to make me false to thee! + +Ah, on which, if both our lots were balanced, + Was indeed the heaviest burden thrown-- 50 +Thee, a pining exile in thy forest, + Me, a smiling queen upon my throne? + +Vain and strange debate, where both have suffer'd, + Both have pass'd a youth consumed and sad, +Both have brought their anxious day to evening, 55 + And have now short space for being glad! + +Join'd we are henceforth; nor will thy people, + Nor thy younger Iseult take it ill, +That a former rival shares her office, + When she sees her humbled, pale, and still. 60 + +I, a faded watcher by thy pillow, + I, a statue on thy chapel-floor, +Pour'd in prayer before the Virgin-Mother, + Rouse no anger, make no rivals more. + +She will cry: "Is this the foe I dreaded? 65 + This his idol? this that royal bride? +Ah, an hour of health would purge his eyesight! + Stay, pale queen! for ever by my side." + +Hush, no words! that smile, I see, forgives me. + I am now thy nurse, I bid thee sleep. 70 +Close thine eyes--this flooding moonlight blinds them!-- + Nay, all's well again! thou must not weep. + +_Tristram_. I am happy! yet I feel, there's something + Swells my heart, and takes my breath away. +Through a mist I see thee; near--come nearer! 75 + Bend--bend down!--I yet have much to say. + +_Iseult_. Heaven! his head sinks back upon the pillow-- + Tristram! Tristram! let thy heart not fail! +Call on God and on the holy angels! + What, love, courage!--Christ! he is so pale. 80 + +_Tristram_. Hush, 'tis vain, I feel my end approaching! + This is what my mother said should be, +When the fierce pains took her in the forest, + The deep draughts of death, in bearing me. + +"Son," she said, "thy name shall be of sorrow; 85 + Tristram art thou call'd for my death's sake." +So she said, and died in the drear forest. + Grief since then his home with me doth make.° °88 + +I am dying.--Start not, nor look wildly! + Me, thy living friend, thou canst not save. 90 +But, since living we were ununited, + Go not far, O Iseult! from my grave. + +Close mine eyes, then seek the princess Iseult; + Speak her fair, she is of royal blood! +Say, I will'd so, that thou stay beside me-- 95 + She will grant it; she is kind and good. + +Now to sail the seas of death I leave thee-- + One last kiss upon the living shore! + +_Iseult_. Tristram!--Tristram!--stay--receive me with thee! + Iseult leaves thee, Tristram! never more.° °100 + + * * * * * + +You see them clear--the moon shines bright. +Slow, slow and softly, where she stood, +She sinks upon the ground;--her hood +Has fallen back; her arms outspread +Still hold her lover's hand; her head 105 +Is bow'd, half-buried, on the bed. +O'er the blanch'd sheet her raven hair +Lies in disorder'd streams; and there, +Strung like white stars, the pearls still are, +And the golden bracelets, heavy and rare, 110 +Flash on her white arms still. +The very same which yesternight +Flash'd in the silver sconces'° light, °113 +When the feast was gay and the laughter loud +In Tyntagel's palace proud. 115 +But then they deck'd a restless ghost +With hot-flush'd cheeks and brilliant eyes, +And quivering lips on which the tide +Of courtly speech abruptly died, +And a glance which over the crowded floor, 120 +The dancers, and the festive host, +Flew ever to the door.° °122 +That the knights eyed her in surprise, +And the dames whispered scoffingly: +"Her moods, good lack, they pass like showers! 125 +But yesternight and she would be +As pale and still as wither'd flowers, +And now to-night she laughs and speaks +And has a colour in her cheeks; +Christ keep us from such fantasy!"-- 130 +Yes, now the longing is o'erpast, +Which, dogg'd° by fear and fought by shame, °132 +Shook her weak bosom day and night, +Consumed her beauty like a flame, +And dimm'd it like the desert-blast. 135 +And though the bed-clothes hide her face, +Yet were it lifted to the light, +The sweet expression of her brow +Would charm the gazer, till his thought +Erased the ravages of time, 140 +Fill'd up the hollow cheek, and brought +A freshness back as of her prime-- +So healing is her quiet now. +So perfectly the lines express +A tranquil, settled loveliness, 145 +Her younger rival's purest grace. + +The air of the December-night +Steals coldly around the chamber bright, +Where those lifeless lovers be; +Swinging with it, in the light 150 +Flaps the ghostlike tapestry. +And on the arras wrought you see +A stately Huntsman, clad in green, +And round him a fresh forest-scene. +On that clear forest-knoll he stays, 155 +With his pack round him, and delays. +He stares and stares, with troubled face, +At this huge, gleam-lit fireplace, +At that bright, iron-figured door, +And those blown rushes on the floor. 160 +He gazes down into the room +With heated cheeks and flurried air, +And to himself he seems to say: +_"What place is this, and who are they? +Who is that kneeling Lady fair? 165 +And on his pillows that pale Knight +Who seems of marble on a tomb? +How comes it here, this chamber bright, +Through whose mullion'd windows clear +The castle-court all wet with rain, 170 +The drawbridge and the moat appear, +And then the beach, and, mark'd with spray, +The sunken reefs, and far away +The unquiet bright Atlantic plain? +--What, has some glamour made me sleep, 175 +And sent me with my dogs to sweep, +By night, with boisterous bugle-peal, +Through some old, sea-side, knightly hall, +Not in the free green wood at all? +That Knight's asleep, and at her prayer 180 +That Lady by the bed doth kneel-- +Then hush, thou boisterous bugle-peal!"_ +--The wild boar rustles in his lair; +The fierce hounds snuff the tainted air; +But lord and hounds keep rooted there. 185 + +Cheer, cheer thy dogs into the brake, +O Hunter! and without a fear +Thy golden-tassell'd bugle blow, +And through the glades thy pastime take-- +For thou wilt rouse no sleepers here! 190 +For these thou seest are unmoved; +Cold, cold as those who lived and loved +A thousand years ago.° °193 + + + +III + +ISEULT OF BRITTANY° + + +A year had flown, and o'er the sea away, +In Cornwall, Tristram and Queen Iseult lay; +In King Marc's chapel, in Tyntagel old-- +There in a ship they bore those lovers cold. + +The young surviving Iseult, one bright day, 5 +Had wander'd forth. Her children were at play +In a green circular hollow in the heath +Which borders the sea-shore--a country path +Creeps over it from the till'd fields behind. +The hollow's grassy banks are soft-inclined, 10 +And to one standing on them, far and near +The lone unbroken view spreads bright and clear +Over the waste. This cirque° of open ground °13 +Is light and green; the heather, which all round +Creeps thickly, grows not here; but the pale grass 15 +Is strewn with rocks, and many a shiver'd mass +Of vein'd white-gleaming quartz, and here and there +Dotted with holly-trees and juniper.° °18 +In the smooth centre of the opening stood +Three hollies side by side, and made a screen, 20 +Warm with the winter-sun, of burnish'd green +With scarlet berries gemm'd, the fell-fare's° food. °22 +Under the glittering hollies Iseult stands, +Watching her children play; their little hands +Are busy gathering spars of quartz, and streams 25 +Of stagshorn° for their hats; anon, with screams °26 +Of mad delight they drop their spoils, and bound +Among the holly-clumps and broken ground, +Racing full speed, and startling in their rush +The fell-fares and the speckled missel-thrush 30 +Out of their glossy coverts;--but when now +Their cheeks were flush'd, and over each hot brow, +Under the feather'd hats of the sweet pair, +In blinding masses shower'd the golden hair-- +Then Iseult call'd them to her, and the three 35 +Cluster'd under the holly-screen, and she +Told them an old-world Breton history.° °37 + +Warm in their mantles wrapt the three stood there, +Under the hollies, in the clear still air-- +Mantles with those rich furs deep glistering 40 +Which Venice ships do from swart Egypt bring. +Long they stay'd still--then, pacing at their ease, +Moved up and down under the glossy trees. +But still, as they pursued their warm dry road, +From Iseult's lips the unbroken story flow'd, 45 +And still the children listen'd, their blue eyes +Fix'd on their mother's face in wide surprise; +Nor did their looks stray once to the sea-side, +Nor to the brown heaths round them, bright and wide, +Nor to the snow, which, though 'twas all away 50 +From the open heath, still by the hedgerows lay, +Nor to the shining sea-fowl, that with screams +Bore up from where the bright Atlantic gleams, +Swooping to landward; nor to where, quite clear, +The fell-fares settled on the thickets near. 55 +And they would still have listen'd, till dark night +Came keen and chill down on the heather bright; +But, when the red glow on the sea grew cold, +And the grey turrets of the castle old +Look'd sternly through the frosty evening-air, 60 +Then Iseult took by the hand those children fair, +And brought her tale to an end, and found the path, +And led them home over the darkening heath. + +And is she happy? Does she see unmoved +The days in which she might have lived and loved 65 +Slip without bringing bliss slowly away, +One after one, to-morrow like to-day? +Joy has not found her yet, nor ever will-- +Is it this thought which, makes her mien so still, +Her features so fatigued, her eyes, though sweet, 70 +So sunk, so rarely lifted save to meet +Her children's? She moves slow; her voice alone +Hath yet an infantine and silver tone, +But even that comes languidly; in truth, +She seems one dying in a mask of youth. 75 +And now she will go home, and softly lay +Her laughing children in their beds, and play +Awhile with them before they sleep; and then +She'll light her silver lamp, which fishermen +Dragging their nets through the rough waves, afar, 80 +Along this iron coast,° know like a star,° °81 +And take her broidery-frame, and there she'll sit +Hour after hour, her gold curls sweeping it; +Lifting her soft-bent head only to mind +Her children, or to listen to the wind. 85 +And when the clock peals midnight, she will move +Her work away, and let her fingers rove +Across the shaggy brows of Tristram's hound +Who lies, guarding her feet, along the ground; +Or else she will fall musing, her blue eyes 90 +Fixt, her slight hands clasp'd on her lap; then rise, +And at her prie-dieu° kneel, until she have told °92 +Her rosary-beads of ebony tipp'd with gold, +Then to her soft sleep--and to-morrow'll be +To-day's exact repeated effigy. 95 + +Yes, it is lonely for her in her hall. +The children, and the grey-hair'd seneschal,° °97 +Her women, and Sir Tristram's aged hound, +Are there the sole companions to be found. +But these she loves; and noiser life than this 100 +She would find ill to bear, weak as she is. +She has her children, too, and night and day +Is with them; and the wide heaths where they play, +The hollies, and the cliff, and the sea-shore, +The sand, the sea-birds, and the distant sails, 105 +These are to her dear as to them; the tales +With which this day the children she beguiled +She gleaned from Breton grandames, when a child, +In every hut along this sea-coast wild. +She herself loves them still, and, when they are told, 110 +Can forget all to hear them, as of old. + +Dear saints, it is not sorrow, as I hear, +Not suffering, which shuts up eye and ear +To all that has delighted them before, +And lets us be what we were once no more. 115 +No, we may suffer deeply, yet retain +Power to be moved and soothed, for all our pain, +By what of old pleased us, and will again. +No, 'tis the gradual furnace of the world, +In whose hot air our spirits are upcurl'd 120 +Until they crumble, or else grow like steel-- +Which kills in us the bloom, the youth, the spring-- +Which leaves the fierce necessity to feel, +But takes away the power--this can avail, +By drying up our joy in everything, 125 +To make our former pleasures all seem stale. +This, or some tyrannous single thought, some fit +Of passion, which subdues our souls to it, +Till for its sake alone we live and move-- +Call it ambition, or remorse, or love-- 130 +This too can change us wholly, and make seem +All which we did before, shadow and dream. + +And yet, I swear, it angers me to see +How this fool passion gulls° men potently; °134 +Being, in truth, but a diseased unrest, 135 +And an unnatural overheat at best. +How they are full of languor and distress +Not having it; which when they do possess, +They straightway are burnt up with fume and care, +And spend their lives in posting here and there° °140 +Where this plague drives them; and have little ease, +Are furious with themselves, and hard to please. +Like that bold Cæsar,° the famed Roman wight, °143 +Who wept at reading of a Grecian knight +Who made a name at younger years than he; 145 +Or that renown'd mirror of chivalry, +Prince Alexander,° Philip's peerless son, °147 +Who carried the great war from Macedon +Into the Soudan's° realm, and thundered on °149 +To die at thirty-five in Babylon. 150 + +What tale did Iseult to the children say, +Under the hollies, that bright-winter's day? +She told them of the fairy-haunted land +Away the other side of Brittany, +Beyond the heaths, edged by the lonely sea; 155 +Of the deep forest-glades of Broce-liande,° °156 +Through whose green boughs the golden sunshine creeps +Where Merlin by the enchanted thorn-tree sleeps. +For here he came with the fay° Vivian, °158 +One April, when the warm days first began. +He was on foot, and that false fay, his friend, 160 +On her white palfrey; here he met his end, +In these lone sylvan glades, that April-day. +This tale of Merlin and the lovely fay° °163 +Was the one Iseult chose, and she brought clear +Before the children's fancy him and her. 165 + +Blowing between the stems, the forest-air +Had loosen'd the brown locks of Vivian's hair, +Which play'd on her flush'd cheek, and her blue eyes +Sparkled with mocking glee and exercise. +Her palfrey's flanks were mired and bathed in sweat, 170 +For they had travell'd far and not stopp'd yet. +A brier in that tangled wilderness +Had scored her white right hand, which she allows +To rest ungloved on her green riding-dress; +The other warded off the drooping boughs. 175 +But still she chatted on, with her blue eyes +Fix'd full on Merlin's face, her stately prize. +Her 'haviour had the morning's fresh clear grace, +The spirit of the woods was in her face. +She look'd so witching fair, that learned wight 180 +Forgot his craft, and his best wits took flight; +And he grew fond, and eager to obey +His mistress, use her empire° as she may. °184 +They came to where the brushwood ceased, and day 185 +Peer'd 'twixt the stems; and the ground broke away, +In a sloped sward down to a brawling brook; +And up as high as where they stood to look +On the brook's farther side was clear, but then +The underwood and trees began again. 190 +This open glen was studded thick with thorns +Then white with blossom; and you saw the horns, +Through last year's fern, of the shy fallow-deer +Who come at noon down to the water here. +You saw the bright-eyed squirrels dart along 195 +Under the thorns on the green sward; and strong +The blackbird whistled from the dingles near, +And the weird chipping of the woodpecker +Rang lonelily and sharp; the sky was fair, +And a fresh breath of spring stirr'd everywhere. 200 +Merlin and Vivian stopp'd on the slope's brow, +To gaze on the light sea of leaf and bough +Which glistering plays all round them, lone and mild. +As if to itself the quiet forest smiled. +Upon the brow-top grew a thorn, and here 205 +The grass was dry and moss'd, and you saw clear +Across the hollow; white anemones +Starr'd the cool turf, and clumps of primroses +Ran out from the dark underwood behind. +No fairer resting-place a man could find. 210 +"Here let us halt," said Merlin then; and she +Nodded, and tied her palfrey to a tree. + +They sate them down together, and a sleep +Fell upon Merlin, more like death, so deep. +Her finger on her lips, then Vivian rose 215 +And from her brown-lock'd head the wimple throws, +And takes it in her hand, and waves it over +The blossom'd thorn-tree and her sleeping lover. +Nine times she waved the fluttering wimple° round, °219 +And made a little plot of magic ground. 220 +And in that daised circle, as men say, +Is Merlin prisoner° till the judgment-day; °222 +But she herself whither she will can rove-- +For she was passing weary of his love.° °224 + + + + + + +LYRICAL POEMS + + + + +THE CHURCH OF BROU° + +I + +THE CASTLE + + +Down the Savoy° valleys sounding, °1 + Echoing round this castle old, +'Mid the distant mountain-chalets° °3 + Hark! what bell for church is toll'd? + +In the bright October morning 5 + Savoy's Duke had left his bride. +From the castle, past the drawbridge, + Flow'd the hunters' merry tide. + +Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering; + Gay, her smiling lord to greet, 10 +From her mullion'd chamber-casement + Smiles the Duchess Marguerite. + +From Vienna, by the Danube, + Here she came, a bride, in spring. +Now the autumn crisps the forest; 15 + Hunters gather, bugles ring. + +Hounds are pulling, prickers° swearing, °17 + Horses fret, and boar-spears glance. +Off!--They sweep the marshy forests. + Westward, on the side of France. 20 + +Hark! the game's on foot; they scatter!-- + Down the forest-ridings lone, +Furious, single horsemen gallop---- + Hark! a shout--a crash--a groan! + +Pale and breathless, came the hunters; 25 + On the turf dead lies the boar-- +God! the Duke lies stretch'd beside him, + Senseless, weltering in his gore. + + * * * * * + +In the dull October evening, + Down the leaf-strewn forest-road, 30 +To the castle, past the drawbridge, + Came the hunters with their load. + +In the hall, with sconces blazing, + Ladies waiting round her seat, +Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais° °35 + Sate the Duchess Marguerite. + +Hark! below the gates unbarring! + Tramp of men and quick commands! +"--'Tis my lord come back from hunting--" + And the Duchess claps her hands. 40 + +Slow and tired, came the hunters-- + Stopp'd in darkness in the court. +"--Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters! + To the hall! What sport? What sport?"-- + +Slow they enter'd with their master; 45 + In the hall they laid him down. +On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, + On his brow an angry frown. + +Dead her princely youthful husband + Lay before his youthful wife, 50 +Bloody, 'neath the flaring sconces-- + And the sight froze all her life. + + * * * * * + +In Vienna, by the Danube, + Kings hold revel, gallants meet. +Gay of old amid the gayest 55 + Was the Duchess Marguerite. + +In Vienna, by the Danube, + Feast and dance her youth beguiled. +Till that hour she never sorrow'd; + But from then she never smiled. 60 + +'Mid the Savoy mountain valleys + Far from town or haunt of man, +Stands a lonely church, unfinish'd, + Which the Duchess Maud began; + +Old, that Duchess stern began it, 65 + In grey age, with palsied hands; +But she died while it was building, + And the Church unfinish'd stands-- + +Stands as erst° the builders left it, °69 + When she sank into her grave; 70 +Mountain greensward paves the chancel,° °71 + Harebells flower in the nave.° °72 + +"--In my castle all is sorrow," + Said the Duchess Marguerite then; +"Guide me, some one, to the mountain! 75 + We will build the Church again."-- + +Sandall'd palmers,° faring homeward, °78 + Austrian knights from Syria came. +"--Austrian wanderers bring, O warders! + Homage to your Austrian dame."-- 80 + +From the gate the warders answer'd: + "--Gone, O knights, is she you knew! +Dead our Duke, and gone his Duchess; + Seek her at the Church of Brou!"-- + +Austrian knights and march-worn palmers 85 + Climb the winding mountain-way.-- +Reach the valley, where the Fabric + Rises higher day by day. + +Stones are sawing, hammers ringing; + On the work the bright sun shines, 90 +In the Savoy mountain-meadows, + By the stream, below the pines. + +On her palfry white the Duchess + Sate and watch'd her working train-- +Flemish carvers, Lombard gilders, 95 + German masons, smiths from Spain. + +Clad in black, on her white palfrey, + Her old architect beside-- +There they found her in the mountains, + Morn and noon and eventide. 100 + +There she sate, and watch'd the builders, + Till the Church was roof'd and done. +Last of all, the builders rear'd her + In the nave a tomb of stone. + +On the tomb two forms they sculptured, 105 + Lifelike in the marble pale-- +One, the Duke in helm and armour; + One, the Duchess in her veil. + +Round the tomb the carved stone fretwork° °109 + Was at Easter-tide put on. 110 +Then the Duchess closed her labours; + And she died at the St. John. + + + +II + +THE CHURCH + + +Upon the glistening leaden roof +Of the new Pile, the sunlight shines; + The stream goes leaping by. +The hills are clothed with pines sun-proof; +'Mid bright green fields, below the pines, 5 + Stands the Church on high. +What Church is this, from men aloof?-- +'Tis the Church of Brou. + +At sunrise, from their dewy lair +Crossing the stream, the kine are seen 10 + Round the wall to stray-- +The churchyard wall that clips the square +Of open hill-sward fresh and green + Where last year they lay. +But all things now are order'd fair 15 +Round the Church of Brou. + +On Sundays, at the matin-chime,° °17 +The Alpine peasants, two and three, + Climb up here to pray; +Burghers and dames, at summer's prime, 20 +Ride out to church from Chambery,° °21 + Dight° with mantles gay. °22 +But else it is a lonely time +Round the Church of Brou. + +On Sundays, too, a priest doth come 25 +From the wall'd town beyond the pass, + Down the mountain-way; +And then you hear the organ's hum, +You hear the white-robed priest say mass, + And the people pray. 30 +But else the woods and fields are dumb +Round the Church of Brou. + +And after church, when mass is done, +The people to the nave repair + Round the tomb to stray; 35 +And marvel at the Forms of stone, +And praise the chisell'd broideries° rare-- °37 + Then they drop away. +The princely Pair are left alone +In the Church of Brou. 40 + + + +III + +THE TOMB + + +So rest, for ever rest, O princely Pair! +In your high church, 'mid the still mountain-air, +Where horn, and hound, and vassals never come. +Only the blessed Saints are smiling dumb, +From the rich painted windows of the nave, 5 +On aisle, and transept,° and your marble grave; °6 +Where thou, young Prince! shalt never more arise +From the fringed mattress where thy Duchess lies, +On autumn-mornings, when the bugle sounds, +And ride across the drawbridge with thy hounds 10 +To hunt the boar in the crisp woods till eve; +And thou, O Princess! shalt no more receive, +Thou and thy ladies, in the hall of state, +The jaded hunters with their bloody freight, +Coming benighted to the castle-gate. 15 + + So sleep, for ever sleep, O marble Pair! +Or, if ye wake, let it be then, when fair +On the carved western front a flood of light +Streams from the setting sun, and colours bright +Prophets, transfigured Saints, and Martyrs brave, 20 +In the vast western window of the nave, +And on the pavement round the Tomb there glints +A chequer-work of glowing sapphire-tints, +And amethyst, and ruby--then unclose +Your eyelids on the stone where ye repose, 25 +And from your broider'd pillows lift your heads, +And rise upon your cold white marble beds; +And, looking down on the warm rosy tints, +Which chequer, at your feet, the illumined flints, +Say: _What is this? we are in bliss--forgiven--_ 30 +_Behold the pavement of the courts of Heaven!_ +Or let it be on autumn nights, when rain +Doth rustlingly above your heads complain +On the smooth leaden roof, and on the walls +Shedding her pensive light at intervals 35 +The moon through the clere-story windows shines, +And the wind washes through the mountain-pines. +Then, gazing up 'mid the dim pillars high, +The foliaged marble forest° where ye lie, °39 +_Hush_, ye will say, _it is eternity!_ 40 +_This is the glimmering verge of Heaven, and these +The columns of the heavenly palaces!_ +And, in the sweeping of the wind, your ear +The passage of the Angels' wings will hear, +And on the lichen-crusted leads° above °45 +The rustle of the eternal rain of love. + + + + +REQUIESCAT° + + +Strew on her roses, roses, + And never a spray of yew! +In quiet she reposes; + Ah, would that I did too! + +Her mirth the world required; 5 + She bathed it in smiles of glee. +But her heart was tired, tired, + And now they let her be. + +Her life was turning, turning, + In mazes of heat and sound. 10 +But for peace her soul was yearning, + And now peace laps her round. + +Her cabin'd,° ample spirit, °13 + It flutter'd and fail'd for breath +To-night it doth inherit 15 + The vasty° hall of death. °16 + + + + +CONSOLATION + + +Mist clogs the sunshine. +Smoky dwarf houses +Hem me round everywhere; +A vague dejection +Weighs down my soul. 5 + +Yet, while I languish, +Everywhere countless +Prospects unroll themselves, +And countless beings +Pass countless moods. 10 + +Far hence, in Asia, +On the smooth convent-roofs, +On the gilt terraces, +Of holy Lassa,° °14 +Bright shines the sun. 15 + +Grey time-worn marbles +Hold the pure Muses°; °17 +In their cool gallery,° °18 +By yellow Tiber,° °19 +They still look fair. 20 + +Strange unloved uproar° °21 +Shrills round their portal; +Yet not on Helicon° °23 +Kept they more cloudless +Their noble calm. 25 + +Through sun-proof alleys +In a lone, sand-hemm'd +City of Africa, +A blind, led beggar, +Age-bow'd, asks alms. 30 + +No bolder robber +Erst° abode ambush'd °32 +Deep in the sandy waste; +No clearer eyesight +Spied prey afar. 35 + +Saharan sand-winds +Sear'd his keen eyeballs; +Spent is the spoil he won. +For him the present +Holds only pain. 40 + +Two young, fair lovers, +Where the warm June-wind, +Fresh from the summer fields +Plays fondly round them, +Stand, tranced in joy. 45 + +With sweet, join'd voices, +And with eyes brimming: +"Ah," they cry, "Destiny,° °48 +Prolong the present! +Time, stand still here!" 50 + +The prompt stern Goddess +Shakes her head, frowning; +Time gives his hour-glass +Its due reversal; +Their hour is gone. 55 + +With weak indulgence +Did the just Goddess +Lengthen their happiness, +She lengthen'd also +Distress elsewhere. 60 + +The hour, whose happy +Unalloy'd moments +I would eternalise, +Ten thousand mourners +Well pleased see end. 65 + +The bleak, stern hour, +Whose severe moments +I would annihilate, +Is pass'd by others +In warmth, light, joy. 70 + +Time, so complain'd of, +Who to no one man +Shows partiality, +Brings round to all men +Some undimm'd hours. 75 + + + + +A DREAM + + +Was it a dream? We sail'd, I thought we sail'd, +Martin and I, down the green Alpine stream, +Border'd, each bank, with pines; the morning sun, +On the wet umbrage of their glossy tops, +On the red pinings of their forest-floor, 5 +Drew a warm scent abroad; behind the pines +The mountain-skirts, with all their sylvan change +Of bright-leaf'd chestnuts and moss'd walnut-trees +And the frail scarlet-berried ash, began. +Swiss chalets glitter'd on the dewy slopes, 10 +And from some swarded shelf, high up, there came +Notes of wild pastoral music--over all +Ranged, diamond-bright, the eternal wall of snow. +Upon the mossy rocks at the stream's edge, +Back'd by the pines, a plank-built cottage stood, 15 +Bright in the sun; the climbing gourd-plant's leaves +Muffled its walls, and on the stone-strewn roof +Lay the warm golden gourds; golden, within, +Under the eaves, peer'd rows of Indian corn. +We shot beneath the cottage with the stream. 20 +On the brown, rude-carved balcony, two forms +Came forth--Olivia's, Marguerite! and thine. +Clad were they both in white, flowers in their breast; +Straw hats bedeck'd their heads, with ribbons blue, +Which danced, and on their shoulders, fluttering, play'd. 25 +They saw us, they conferred; their bosoms heaved, +And more than mortal impulse fill'd their eyes. +Their lips moved; their white arms, waved eagerly, +Flash'd once, like falling streams; we rose, we gazed. +One moment, on the rapid's top, our boat 30 +Hung poised--and then the darting river of Life +(Such now, methought, it was), the river of Life, +Loud thundering, bore us by; swift, swift it foam'd, +Black under cliffs it raced, round headlands shone. +Soon the plank'd cottage by the sun-warm'd pines 35 +Faded--the moss--the rocks; us burning plains, +Bristled with cities, us the sea received. + + + + +LINES° + +WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS + + +In this lone, open glade I lie, +Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand; +And at its end, to stay the eye, +Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees° stand! °4 + +Birds here make song, each bird has his, 5 +Across the girdling city's hum. +How green under the boughs it is! +How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come! + +Sometimes a child will cross the glade +To take his nurse his broken toy; 10 +Sometimes a thrush flit overhead +Deep in her unknown day's employ. + +Here at my feet what wonders pass, +What endless, active life is here°! °14 +What blowing daisies, fragrant grass! 15 +An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear. + +Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod +Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out, +And, eased of basket and of rod, +Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout. 20 + +In the huge world,° which roars hard by, °21 +Be others happy if they can! +But in my helpless cradle I +Was breathed on by the rural Pan.° °24 + +I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd, 25 +Think often, as I hear them rave, +That peace has left the upper world +And now keeps only in the grave. + +Yet here is peace for ever new! +When I who watch them am away, 30 +Still all things in this glade go through +The changes of their quiet day. + +Then to their happy rest they pass! +The flowers upclose, the birds are fed, +The night comes down upon the grass, 35 +The child sleeps warmly in his bed. + +Calm soul of all things! make it mine +To feel, amid the city's jar, +That there abides a peace of thine, +Man did not make, and cannot mar. 40 + +The will to neither strive nor cry, +The power to feel with others give°! +Calm, calm me more! nor let me die +Before I have begun to live. + + + + +THE STRAYED REVELLER° + +_The Portico of Circe's Palace. Evening._ + +A YOUTH. CIRCE.° + + + _The Youth_. Faster, faster, +O Circe, Goddess, +Let the wild, thronging train, +The bright procession +Of eddying forms, 5 +Sweep through my soul! + +Thou standest, smiling +Down on me! thy right arm, +Lean'd up against the column there, +Props thy soft cheek; 10 +Thy left holds, hanging loosely, +The deep cup, ivy-cinctured,° °12 +I held but now. + +Is it, then, evening +So soon? I see, the night-dews, 15 +Cluster'd in thick beads, dim +The agate brooch-stones +On thy white shoulder; +The cool night-wind, too, +Blows through the portico, 20 +Stirs thy hair, Goddess, +Waves thy white robe! + + _Circe_. Whence art thou, sleeper? + + _The Youth_. When the white dawn first +Through the rough fir-planks 25 +Of my hut, by the chestnuts, +Up at the valley-head, +Came breaking, Goddess! +I sprang up, I threw round me +My dappled fawn-skin; 30 +Passing out, from the wet turf, +Where they lay, by the hut door, +I snatch'd up my vine-crown, my fir-staff, +All drench'd in dew-- +Came swift down to join 35 +The rout° early gather'd °36 +In the town, round the temple, +Iacchus'° white fane° °38 +On yonder hill. + +Quick I pass'd, following 40 +The wood-cutters' cart-track +Down the dark valley;--I saw +On my left, through, the beeches, +Thy palace, Goddess, +Smokeless, empty! 45 +Trembling, I enter'd; beheld +The court all silent, +The lions sleeping,° °47 +On the altar this bowl. +I drank, Goddess! 50 +And sank down here, sleeping, +On the steps of thy portico. + + _Circe_. Foolish boy! Why tremblest thou? +Thou lovest it, then, my wine? +Wouldst more of it? See, how glows, 55 +Through the delicate, flush'd marble, +The red, creaming liquor, +Strown with dark seeds! +Drink, then! I chide thee not, +Deny thee not my bowl. 60 +Come, stretch forth thy hand, then--so! +Drink--drink again! + + _The Youth_. Thanks, gracious one! +Ah, the sweet fumes again! +More soft, ah me, 65 +More subtle-winding +Than Pan's flute-music!° °67 +Faint--faint! Ah me, +Again the sweet sleep! + + _Circe_. Hist! Thou--within there! 70 +Come forth, Ulysses°! °71 +Art° tired with hunting? °72 +While we range° the woodland, °73 +See what the day brings.° °74 + + _Ulysses_. Ever new magic! 75 +Hast thou then lured hither, +Wonderful Goddess, by thy art, +The young, languid-eyed Ampelus, +Iacchus' darling-- +Or some youth beloved of Pan, 80 +Of Pan and the Nymphs°? °81 +That he sits, bending downward +His white, delicate neck +To the ivy-wreathed marge +Of thy cup; the bright, glancing vine-leaves 85 +That crown his hair, +Falling forward, mingling +With the dark ivy-plants-- +His fawn-skin, half untied, +Smear'd with red wine-stains? Who is he, 90 +That he sits, overweigh'd +By fumes of wine and sleep, +So late, in thy portico? +What youth, Goddess,--what guest +Of Gods or mortals? 95 + + _Circe_. Hist! he wakes! +I lured him not hither, Ulysses. +Nay, ask him! + + _The Youth_. Who speaks? Ah, who comes forth +To thy side, Goddess, from within? 100 +How shall I name him? +This spare, dark-featured, +Quick-eyed stranger? +Ah, and I see too +His sailor's bonnet, 105 +His short coat, travel-tarnish'd, +With one arm bare°!-- °107 +Art thou not he, whom fame +This long time rumours +The favour'd guest of Circe,° brought by the waves? °110 +Art thou he, stranger? +The wise Ulysses, +Laertes' son? + +_Ulysses_. I am Ulysses. +And thou, too, sleeper? 115 +Thy voice is sweet. +It may be thou hast follow'd +Through the islands some divine bard, +By age taught many things, +Age and the Muses°; °120 +And heard him delighting +The chiefs and people +In the banquet, and learn'd his songs, +Of Gods and Heroes, +Of war and arts, 125 +And peopled cities, +Inland, or built +By the grey sea.--If so, then hail! +I honour and welcome thee. + + _The Youth_. The Gods are happy. 130 +They turn on all sides +Their shining eyes, +And see below them +The earth and men.° °134 + +They see Tiresias° °135 +Sitting, staff in hand, +On the warm, grassy +Asopus° bank, °138 +His robe drawn over +His old, sightless head, 140 +Revolving inly +The doom of Thebes.° °142 + +They see the Centaurs° °143 +In the upper glens +Of Pelion,° in the streams, °145 +Where red-berried ashes fringe +The clear-brown shallow pools, +With streaming flanks, and heads +Rear'd proudly, snuffing +The mountain wind. 150 + +They see the Indian +Drifting, knife in hand, +His frail boat moor'd to +A floating isle thick-matted +With large-leaved, low-creeping melon-plants, 155 +And the dark cucumber. +He reaps, and stows them, +Drifting--drifting;--round him, +Round his green harvest-plot, +Flow the cool lake-waves, 160 +The mountains ring them.° + +They see the Scythian +On the wide stepp, unharnessing +His wheel'd house at noon. +He tethers his beast down, and makes his meal-- 165 +Mares' milk, and bread +Baked on the embers°;--all around °167 +The boundless, waving grass-plains stretch, thick-starr'd +With saffron and the yellow hollyhock +And flag-leaved iris-flowers. 170 +Sitting in his cart, +He makes his meal; before him, for long miles, +Alive with bright green lizards, +And the springing bustard-fowl, +The track, a straight black line, 175 +Furrows the rich soil; here and there +Clusters of lonely mounds +Topp'd with rough-hewn, +Grey, rain-blear'd statues, overpeer +The sunny waste.° °180 + +They see the ferry +On the broad, clay-laden. +Lone Chorasmian stream°;--thereon, °183 +With snort and strain, +Two horses, strongly swimming, tow 185 +The ferry-boat, with woven ropes +To either bow +Firm harness'd by the mane; a chief, +With shout and shaken spear, +Stands at the prow, and guides them; but astern 190 +The cowering merchants, in long robes, +Sit pale beside their wealth +Of silk-bales and of balsam-drops, +Of gold and ivory, +Of turquoise-earth and amethyst, 195 +Jasper and chalcedony, +And milk-barr'd onyx-stones.° °197 +The loaded boat swings groaning +In the yellow eddies; +The Gods behold them. 200 +They see the Heroes +Sitting in the dark ship +On the foamless, long-heaving +Violet sea, +At sunset nearing 205 +The Happy Islands.° °206 + + These things, Ulysses, +The wise bards also +Behold and sing. +But oh, what labour! 210 +O prince, what pain! + +They too can see +Tiresias;--but the Gods, +Who give them vision, +Added this law: 215 +That they should bear too +His groping blindness, +His dark foreboding, +His scorn'd white hairs; +Bear Hera's anger° °220 +Through a life lengthen'd +To seven ages. + +They see the Centaurs +On Pelion;--then they feel, +They too, the maddening wine 225 +Swell their large veins to bursting; in wild pain +They feel the biting spears +Of the grim Lapithæ,° and Theseus,° drive, °228 +Drive crashing through their bones°; they feel °229 +High on a jutting rock in the red stream 230 +Alcmena's dreadful son° °231 +Ply his bow;--such a price +The Gods exact for song: +To become what we sing. + +They see the Indian 235 +On his mountain lake; but squalls +Make their skiff reel, and worms +In the unkind spring have gnawn +Their melon-harvest to the heart.--They see +The Scythian; but long frosts 240 +Parch them in winter-time on the bare stepp, +Till they too fade like grass; they crawl +Like shadows forth in spring. + +They see the merchants +On the Oxus stream°;--but care °245 +Must visit first them too, and make them pale. +Whether, through whirling sand, +A cloud of desert robber-horse have burst +Upon their caravan; or greedy kings, +In the wall'd cities the way passes through, 250 +Crush'd them with tolls; or fever-airs, +On some great river's marge, +Mown them down, far from home. + +They see the Heroes° °254 +Near harbour;--but they share 255 +Their lives, and former violent toil in Thebes, +Seven-gated Thebes, or Troy°; °257 +Or where the echoing oars +Of Argo first +Startled the unknown sea.° °260 + +The old Silenus° °261 +Came, lolling in the sunshine, +From the dewy forest-coverts, +This way, at noon. +Sitting by me, while his Fauns 265 +Down at the water-side +Sprinkled and smoothed +His drooping garland, +He told me these things. + +But I, Ulysses, 270 +Sitting on the warm steps, +Looking over the valley, +All day long, have seen, +Without pain, without labour, +Sometimes a wild-hair'd Mænad°-- °275 +Sometimes a Faun with torches°-- °276 +And sometimes, for a moment, +Passing through the dark stems +Flowing-robed, the beloved, +The desired, the divine, 280 +Beloved Iacchus. + +Ah, cool night-wind, tremulous stars! +Ah, glimmering water, +Fitful earth-murmur, +Dreaming woods! 285 +Ah, golden-hair'd, strangely smiling Goddess, +And thou, proved, much enduring, +Wave-toss'd Wanderer! +Who can stand still? +Ye fade, ye swim, ye waver before me-- 290 +The cup again! + +Faster, faster, +O Circe, Goddess, +Let the wild, thronging train, +The bright procession 295 +Of eddying forms, +Sweep through my soul! + + + + +MORALITY + + +We cannot kindle when we will +The fire which in the heart resides, +The spirit bloweth and is still, +In mystery our soul abides. + But tasks in hours of insight will'd 5 + Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd. + +With aching hands and bleeding feet +We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; +We bear the burden and the heat +Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. 10 + Not till the hours of light return, + All we have built do we discern. + +Then, when the clouds are off the soul, +When thou dost bask in Nature's eye, +Ask, how _she_ view'd thy self-control, 15 +Thy struggling, task'd morality-- + Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air. + Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair. + +And she, whose censure thou dost dread, +Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek, 20 +See, on her face a glow is spread, +A strong emotion on her cheek! + "Ah, child!" she cries, "that strife divine, + Whence was it, for it is not mine? + +"There is no effort on _my_ brow-- 25 +I do not strive, I do not weep; +I rush with the swift spheres and glow +In joy, and when I will, I sleep. + Yet that severe, that earnest air, + I saw, I felt it once--but where? 30 + +"I knew not yet the gauge of time, +Nor wore the manacles of space; +I felt it in some other clime, +I saw it in some other place. + 'Twas when the heavenly house I trod, 35 + And lay upon the breast of God." + + + + +DOVER BEACH + + +The sea is calm to-night. +The tide is full, the moon lies fair +Upon the straits;--on the French coast the light +Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, +Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. 5 +Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! +Only, from the long line of spray +Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land, +Listen! you hear the grating roar +Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, 10 +At their return, up the high strand, +Begin, and cease, and then again begin, +With tremulous cadence slow, and bring +The eternal note of sadness in. + +Sophocles° long ago °15 +Heard it on the Ægæan,° and it brought °16 +Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow +Of human misery; we +Find also in the sound a thought, +Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 20 + +The Sea of Faith +Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore +Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. +But now I only hear +Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, 25 +Retreating, to the breath +Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear +And naked shingles of the world. +Ah, love, let us be true +To one another! for the world, which seems 30 +To lie before us like a land of dreams, +So various, so beautiful, so new, +Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, +Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; +And we are here as on a darkling plain 35 +Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, +Where ignorant armies clash by night. + + + + +PHILOMELA° + + +Hark! ah, the nightingale-- +The tawny-throated! +Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst! +What triumph! hark!--what pain°! °4 + +O wanderer from a Grecian shore,° °5 +Still, after many years, in distant lands, +Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain +That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world pain°-- °8 +Say, will it never heal? +And can this fragrant lawn 10 +With its cool trees, and night, +And the sweet, tranquil Thames, +And moonshine, and the dew, +To thy rack'd heart and brain +Afford no balm? 15 + +Dost thou to-night behold, +Here, through the moonlight on this English grass, +The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild°? °18 +Dost thou again peruse +With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes 20 +The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame°? °21 +Dost thou once more assay +Thy flight, and feel come over thee, +Poor fugitive, the feathery change +Once more, and once more seem to make resound 25 +With love and hate, triumph and agony, +Lone Daulis,° and the high Cephissian vale°? °27 +Listen, Eugenia-- +How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves°! °29 +Again--thou hearest? 30 +Eternal passion! +Eternal pain°! °32 + + + + +HUMAN LIFE + + +What mortal, when he saw, +Life's voyage done, his heavenly Friend, +Could ever yet dare tell him fearlessly: +"I have kept uninfringed my nature's law°; °4 +The inly-written chart° thou gavest me, 5 +To guide me, I have steer'd by to the end"? + +Ah! let us make no claim, +On life's incognisable° sea, °8 +To too exact a steering of our way; +Let us not fret and fear to miss our aim, 10 +If some fair coast have lured us to make stay, +Or some friend hail'd us to keep company. + +Ay! we would each fain drive +At random, and not steer by rule. +Weakness! and worse, weakness bestow'd in vain 15 +Winds from our side the unsuiting consort rive, +We rush by coasts where we had lief remain; +Man cannot, though he would, live chance's fool. + +No! as the foaming swath +Of torn-up water, on the main, 20 +Falls heavily away with long-drawn roar +On either side the black deep-furrow'd path +Cut by an onward-labouring vessel's prore,° °23 +And never touches the ship-side again; + +Even so we leave behind, 25 +As, charter'd by some unknown Powers +We stem° across the sea of life by night °27 +The joys which were not for our use design'd;-- +The friends to whom we had no natural right, +The homes that were not destined to be ours. 30 + + + + +ISOLATION + +TO MARGUERITE + + +Yes°! in the sea of life enisled, °1 +With echoing straits between us thrown, +Dotting the shoreless watery wild, +We mortal millions live _alone_. +The islands feel the enclasping flow, 5 +And then their endless bounds they know. + +But when the moon° their hollows lights, °7 +And they are swept by balms of spring, +And in their glens, on starry nights, +The nightingales divinely sing; 10 +And lovely notes, from shore to shore, +Across the sounds and channels pour-- + +Oh! then a longing like despair +Is to their farthest caverns sent; +For surely once, they feel, we were 15 +Parts of a single continent! +Now round us spreads the watery plain-- +Oh might our marges meet again! + +Who order'd, that their longing's fire +Should be, as soon as kindled, cool'd? 20 +Who renders vain their deep desire?-- +A God, a God their severance ruled! +And bade betwixt their shores to be +The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea.° °24 + + + + +KAISER DEAD° + +_April_ 6, 1887 + + +What, Kaiser dead? The heavy news +Post-haste to Cobham° calls the Muse, °2 +From where in Farringford° she brews °3 + The ode sublime, +Or with Pen-bryn's bold bard° pursues °5 + A rival rhyme. + +Kai's bracelet tail, Kai's busy feet, +Were known to all the village-street. +"What, poor Kai dead?" say all I meet; + "A loss indeed!" 10 +O for the croon pathetic, sweet, + Of Robin's reed°! °12 + +Six years ago I brought him down, +A baby dog, from London town; +Round his small throat of black and brown 15 + A ribbon blue, +And vouch'd by glorious renown + A dachshound true. + +His mother, most majestic dame, +Of blood-unmix'd, from Potsdam° came; °20 +And Kaiser's race we deem'd the same-- + No lineage higher. +And so he bore the imperial name. + But ah, his sire! + +Soon, soon the days conviction bring. 25 +The collie hair, the collie swing, +The tail's indomitable ring, + The eye's unrest-- +The case was clear; a mongrel thing + Kai stood confest. 30 + +But all those virtues, which commend +The humbler sort who serve and tend, +Were thine in store, thou faithful friend. + What sense, what cheer! +To us, declining tow'rds our end, 35 + A mate how dear! + +For Max, thy brother-dog, began +To flag, and feel his narrowing span. +And cold, besides, his blue blood ran, + Since, 'gainst the classes, 40 +He heard, of late, the Grand Old Man° °41 + Incite the masses. + +Yes, Max and we grew slow and sad; +But Kai, a tireless shepherd-lad, +Teeming with plans, alert, and glad 45 + In work or play, +Like sunshine went and came, and bade + Live out the day! + +Still, still I see the figure smart-- +Trophy in mouth, agog° to start, °50 +Then, home return'd, once more depart; + Or prest together +Against thy mistress, loving heart, + In winter weather. + +I see the tail, like bracelet twirl'd, 55 +In moments of disgrace uncurl'd, +Then at a pardoning word re-furl'd, + A conquering sign; +Crying, "Come on, and range the world, + And never pine." 60 + +Thine eye was bright, thy coat it shone; +Thou hast thine errands, off and on; +In joy thy last morn flew; anon, + A fit! All's over; +And thou art gone where Geist° hath gone, °65 + And Toss, and Rover. + +Poor Max, with downcast, reverent head, +Regards his brother's form outspread; +Full well Max knows the friend is dead + Whose cordial talk, 70 +And jokes in doggish language said, + Beguiled his walk. + +And Glory, stretch'd at Burwood gate, +Thy passing by doth vainly wait; +And jealous Jock, thy only hate, 75 + The chiel° from Skye,° °76 +Lets from his shaggy Highland pate + Thy memory die. + +Well, fetch his graven collar fine, +And rub the steel, and make it shine, 80 +And leave it round thy neck to twine, + Kai, in thy grave. +There of thy master keep that sign, + And this plain stave. + + + + +THE LAST WORD° + + +Creep into thy narrow bed, +Creep, and let no more be said! +Vain thy onset! all stands fast. +Thou thyself must break at last. + +Let the long contention cease! 5 +Geese are swans, and swans are geese. +Let them have it how they will! +Thou art tired; best be still. + +They out-talk'd thee, hiss'd thee, tore thee? +Better men fared thus before thee; 10 +Fired their ringing shot and pass'd, +Hotly charged--and sank at last. + +Charge once more, then, and be dumb! +Let the victors, when they come, +When the forts of folly fall, 15 +Find thy body by the wall! + + + + +PALLADIUM° + + +Set where the upper streams of Simois° flow °1 +Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood; +And Hector° was in Ilium° far below, °3 +And fought, and saw it not--but there it stood! + +It stood, and sun and moonshine rain'd their light 5 +On the pure columns of its glen-built hall. +Backward and forward roll'd the waves of fight +Round Troy--but while this stood, Troy could not fall. + +So, in its lovely moonlight, lives the soul. +Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin air; 10 +Cold plashing, past it, crystal waters roll; +We visit it by moments, ah, too rare! + +We shall renew the battle in the plain +To-morrow;--red with blood will Xanthus° be; °14 +Hector and Ajax° will be there again, °15 +Helen° will come upon the wall to see. °16 + +Then we shall rust in shade, or shine in strife, +And fluctuate 'twixt blind hopes and blind despairs, +And fancy that we put forth all our life, +And never know how with the soul it fares. 20 + +Still doth the soul, from its lone fastness high, +Upon our life a ruling effluence send. +And when it fails, fight as we will, we die; +And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end. + + + + +REVOLUTIONS + + +Before man parted for this earthly strand, +While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood, +God put a heap of letters in his hand, +And bade him make with them what word he could. + +And man has turn'd them many times; made Greece, 5 +Rome, England, France;--yes, nor in vain essay'd +Way after way, changes that never cease! +The letters have combined, something was made. + +But ah! an inextinguishable sense +Haunts him that he has not made what he should; 10 +That he has still, though old, to recommence, +Since he has not yet found the word God would. + +And empire after empire, at their height +Of sway, have felt this boding sense come on; +Have felt their huge frames not constructed right, 15 +And droop'd, and slowly died upon their throne. + +One day, thou say'st, there will at last appear +The word, the order, which God meant should be. +--Ah! we shall know _that_ well when it comes near; +The band will quit man's heart, he will breathe free. 20 + + + + +SELF-DEPENDENCE° + + +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 5 +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, +On my heart your mighty charm renew; 10 +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 answer: 15 +"Wouldst thou _be_ as these are? _Live_ as they. + +"Unaffrighted by the silence round them, +Undistracted by the sights they see, +These demand not that the things without 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 unregardful 25 +In what state God's other works may be, +In their own tasks all their powers pouring, +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!" + + + + +A SUMMER NIGHT + + +In the deserted, moon-blanch'd street, +How lonely rings the echo of my feet! +Those windows, which I gaze at, frown, +Silent and white, unopening down, +Repellent as the world;--but see, 5 +A break between the housetops shows +The moon! and, lost behind her, fading dim +Into the dewy dark obscurity +Down at the far horizon's rim, +Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose! 10 + +And to my mind the thought +Is on a sudden brought +Of a past night, and a far different scene. +Headlands stood out into the moonlit deep +As clearly as at noon; 15 +The spring-tide's brimming flow +Heaved dazzlingly between; +Houses, with long white sweep, + +Girdled the glistening bay; +Behind, through the soft air, 20 +The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away, +The night was far more fair-- +But the same restless pacings to and fro, +And the same vainly throbbing heart was there, +And the same bright, calm moon. 25 + +And the calm moonlight seems to say: +_Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast, +Which neither deadens into rest, +Nor ever feels the fiery glow +That whirls the spirit from itself away_, 30 +_But fluctuates to and fro, +Never by passion quite possess'd +And never quite benumb'd by the world's sway?--_ +And I, I know not if to pray +Still to be what I am, or yield and be 35 +Like all the other men I see. + +For most men in a brazen prison live, +Where, in the sun's hot eye, +With heads bent o'er their toil, they languidly +Their lives to some unmeaning taskwork give, 40 +Dreaming of nought beyond their prison-wall. +And as, year after year, +Fresh products of their barren labour fall +From their tired hands, and rest +Never yet comes more near, 45 +Gloom settles slowly down over their breast; +A while they try to stem +The waves of mournful thought by which they are prest, +And the rest, a few, +Escape their prison and depart 50 +On the wide ocean of life anew. +There the freed prisoner, where'er his heart +Listeth, will sail; +Nor doth he know how these prevail, +Despotic on that sea, 55 +Trade-winds which cross it from eternity. +Awhile he holds some false way, undebarr'd +By thwarting signs, and braves +The freshening wind and blackening waves +And then the tempest strikes him; and between 60 +The lightning-bursts is seen +Only a driving wreck. +And the pale master on his spar-strewn deck +With anguished face and flying hair, +Grasping the rudder hard, 65 +Still bent to make some port he knows not where, +Still standing for some false, impossible shore. +And sterner comes the roar +Of sea and wind, and through the deepening gloom +Fainter and fainter wreck and helmsman loom 70 +And he, too, disappears and comes no more. + +Is there no life, but there alone? +Madman or slave, must man be one? +Plainness and clearness without shadow of stain! +Clearness divine. 75 +Ye heavens, whose pure dark regions have no sign +Of languor, though so calm, and though so great +Are yet untroubled and unpassionate; +Who though so noble, share in the world's toil. +And, though so task'd, keep free from dust and soil! 80 + +I will not say that your mild deeps retain +A tinge, it may be, of their silent pain +Who have longed deeply once, and longed in vain-- +But I will rather say that you remain +A world above man's head, to let him see 85 +How boundless might his soul's horizon be, +How vast, yet of which clear transparency! +How it were good to live there, and breathe free! +How fair a lot to fill +Is left to each man still! 90 + + + + +GEIST'S GRAVE° + + +Four years!--and didst thou stay above +The ground, which hides thee now, but four? +And all that life, and all that love, +Were crowded, Geist! into no more? + +Only four years those winning ways, 5 +Which make me for thy presence yearn, +Call'd us to pet thee or to praise, +Dear little friend! at every turn? + +That loving heart, that patient soul, +Had they indeed no longer span, 10 +To run their course, and reach their goal, +And read their homily° to man? °12 + +That liquid, melancholy eye, +From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs +Seem'd surging the Virgilian cry,° °15 +The sense of tears in mortal things-- + +That steadfast, mournful strain, consoled +By spirits gloriously gay, +And temper of heroic mould-- +What, was four years their whole short day? 20 + +Yes, only four!--and not the course +Of all the centuries yet to come, +And not the infinite resource +Of Nature, with her countless sum + +Of figures, with her fulness vast 25 +Of new creation evermore, +Can ever quite repeat the past, +Or just thy little self restore. + +Stern law of every mortal lot! +Which man, proud man, finds hard to bear, 30 +And builds himself I know not what +Of second life I know not where. + +But thou, when struck thine hour to go, +On us, who stood despondent by, +A meek last glance of love didst throw, 35 +And humbly lay thee down to die. + +Yet would we keep thee in our heart-- +Would fix our favourite on the scene, +Nor let thee utterly depart +And be as if thou ne'er hadst been. 40 + +And so there rise these lines of verse +On lips that rarely form them now°; °42 +While to each other we rehearse: +Such ways, such arts, such looks hadst thou! + +We stroke thy broad brown paws again, 45 +We bid thee to thy vacant chair, +We greet thee by the window-pane, +We hear thy scuffle on the stair. + +We see the flaps of thy large ears +Quick raised to ask which way we go; 50 +Crossing the frozen lake, appears +Thy small black figure on the snow! + +Nor to us only art thou dear +Who mourn thee in thine English home; +Thou hast thine absent master's° tear, 55 +Dropt by the far Australian foam. + +Thy memory lasts both here and there, +And thou shalt live as long as we. +And after that--thou dost not care! +In us was all the world to thee. 60 + +Yet, fondly zealous for thy fame, +Even to a date beyond our own +We strive to carry down thy name, +By mounded turf, and graven stone. + +We lay thee, close within our reach, 65 +Here, where the grass is smooth and warm, +Between the holly and the beech, +Where oft we watch'd thy couchant form, + +Asleep, yet lending half an ear +To travellers on the Portsmouth road;-- 70 +There build we thee, O guardian dear, +Mark'd with a stone, thy last abode! + +Then some, who through this garden pass, +When we too, like thyself, are clay, +Shall see thy grave upon the grass, 75 +And stop before the stone, and say: + +_People who lived here long ago +Did by this stone, it seems, intend +To name for future times to know +The dachs-hound, Geist, their little friend._ 80 + + + + +EPILOGUE + +TO LESSING'S LAOCOÖN° + + +One morn as through Hyde Park° we walk'd, °1 +My friend and I, by chance we talk'd +Of Lessing's famed Laocoön; +And after we awhile had gone +In Lessing's track, and tried to see 5 +What painting is, what poetry-- +Diverging to another thought, +"Ah," cries my friend, "but who hath taught +Why music and the other arts +Oftener perform aright their parts 10 +Than poetry? why she, than they, +Fewer fine successes can display? + +"For 'tis so, surely! Even in Greece, +Where best the poet framed his piece, +Even in that Phoebus-guarded ground° °15 +Pausanias° on his travels found °16 +Good poems, if he look'd, more rare +(Though many) than good statues were-- +For these, in truth, were everywhere. +Of bards full many a stroke divine 20 +In Dante's,° Petrarch's,° Tasso's° line, °21 +The land of Ariosto° show'd; °22 +And yet, e'en there, the canvas glow'd +With triumphs, a yet ampler brood, +Of Raphael° and his brotherhood. °25 +And nobly perfect, in our day +Of haste, half-work, and disarray, +Profound yet touching, sweet yet strong, +Hath risen Goethe's,° Wordsworth's° song; °29 +Yet even I (and none will bow 30 +Deeper to these) must needs allow, +They yield us not, to soothe our pains, +Such multitude of heavenly strains +As from the kings of sound are blown, +Mozart,° Beethoven,° Mendelssohn.°" °35 + +While thus my friend discoursed, we pass +Out of the path, and take the grass. +The grass had still the green of May, +And still the unblackan'd elms were gay; +The kine were resting in the shade, 40 +The flies a summer-murmur made. +Bright was the morn and south° the air; °42 +The soft-couch'd cattle were as fair +As those which pastured by the sea, +That old-world morn, in Sicily, 45 +When on the beach the Cyclops lay, +And Galatea from the bay +Mock'd her poor lovelorn giant's lay.° °48 +"Behold," I said, "the painter's sphere! +The limits of his art appear. 50 +The passing group, the summer-morn, +The grass, the elms, that blossom'd thorn-- +Those cattle couch'd, or, as they rise, +Their shining flanks, their liquid eyes-- +These, or much greater things, but caught 55 +Like these, and in one aspect brought! +In outward semblance he must give +A moment's life of things that live; +Then let him choose his moment well, +With power divine its story tell." 60 + +Still we walk'd on, in thoughtful mood, +And now upon the bridge we stood. +Full of sweet breathings was the air, +Of sudden stirs and pauses fair. +Down o'er the stately bridge the breeze 65 +Came rustling from the garden-trees +And on the sparkling waters play'd; +Light-plashing waves an answer made, +And mimic boats their haven near'd. +Beyond, the Abbey-towers° appear'd, °70 +By mist and chimneys unconfined, +Free to the sweep of light and wind; +While through their earth-moor'd nave below +Another breath of wind doth blow, +Sound as of wandering breeze--but sound 75 +In laws by human artists bound. + +"The world of music°!" I exclaimed:-- °77 +"This breeze that rustles by, that famed +Abbey recall it! what a sphere +Large and profound, hath genius here! 80 +The inspired musician what a range, +What power of passion, wealth of change +Some source of feeling he must choose +And its lock'd fount of beauty use, +And through the stream of music tell 85 +Its else unutterable spell; +To choose it rightly is his part, +And press into its inmost heart. + +"_Miserere Domine°!_ °89 +The words are utter'd, and they flee. 90 +Deep is their penitential moan, +Mighty their pathos, but 'tis gone. +They have declared the spirit's sore +Sore load, and words can do no more. +Beethoven takes them then--those two 95 +Poor, bounded words--and makes them new; +Infinite makes them, makes them young; +Transplants them to another tongue, +Where they can now, without constraint, +Pour all the soul of their complaint, 100 +And roll adown a channel large +The wealth divine they have in charge. +Page after page of music turn, +And still they live and still they burn, +Eternal, passion-fraught, and free-- 105 +_Miserere Domine°!"_ °106 + +Onward we moved, and reach'd the Ride° °107 +Where gaily flows the human tide. +Afar, in rest the cattle lay; +We heard, afar, faint music play; 110 +But agitated, brisk, and near, +Men, with their stream of life, were here. +Some hang upon the rails, and some +On foot behind them go and come. +This through the Ride upon his steed 115 +Goes slowly by, and this at speed. +The young, the happy, and the fair, +The old, the sad, the worn, were there; +Some vacant,° and some musing went, +And some in talk and merriment. 120 +Nods, smiles, and greetings, and farewells! +And now and then, perhaps, there swells +A sigh, a tear--but in the throng +All changes fast, and hies° along. °124 +Hies, ah, from whence, what native ground? 125 +And to what goal, what ending, bound? +"Behold, at last the poet's sphere! +But who," I said, "suffices here? + +"For, ah! so much he has to do; +Be painter and musician too°! °130 +The aspect of the moment show, +The feeling of the moment know! +The aspect not, I grant, express +Clear as the painter's art can dress; +The feeling not, I grant, explore 135 +So deep as the musician's lore-- +But clear as words can make revealing, +And deep as words can follow feeling. +But, ah! then comes his sorest spell +Of toil--he must life's _movement_° tell! °140 +The thread which binds it all in one, +And not its separate parts alone. +The _movement_ he must tell of life, +Its pain and pleasure, rest and strife; +His eye must travel down, at full, 145 +The long, unpausing spectacle; +With faithful unrelaxing force +Attend it from its primal source, +From change to change and year to year +Attend it of its mid career, 150 +Attend it to the last repose +And solemn silence of its close. + +"The cattle rising from the grass +His thought must follow where they pass; +The penitent with anguish bow'd 155 +His thought must follow through the crowd. +Yes! all this eddying, motley throng +That sparkles in the sun along, +Girl, statesman, merchant, soldier bold, +Master and servant, young and old, 160 +Grave, gay, child, parent, husband, wife, +He follows home, and lives their life. + +"And many, many are the souls +Life's movement fascinates, controls; +It draws them on, they cannot save 165 +Their feet from its alluring wave; +They cannot leave it, they must go +With its unconquerable flow. +But ah! how few, of all that try +This mighty march, do aught but die! 170 +For ill-endow'd for such a way, +Ill-stored in strength, in wits, are they. +They faint, they stagger to and fro, +And wandering from the stream they go; +In pain, in terror, in distress, 175 +They see, all round, a wilderness. +Sometimes a momentary gleam +They catch of the mysterious stream; +Sometimes, a second's space, their ear +The murmur of its waves doth hear. 180 +That transient glimpse in song they say, +But not of painter can pourtray-- +That transient sound in song they tell, +But not, as the musician, well. +And when at last their snatches cease, 185 +And they are silent and at peace, +The stream of life's majestic whole +Hath ne'er been mirror'd on their soul. + +"Only a few the life-stream's shore +With safe unwandering feet explore; 190 +Untired its movement bright attend, +Follow its windings to the end. +Then from its brimming waves their eye +Drinks up delighted ecstasy, +And its deep-toned, melodious voice 195 +For ever makes their ear rejoice. +They speak! the happiness divine +They feel, runs o'er in every line; +Its spell is round them like a shower-- +It gives them pathos, gives them power. 200 +No painter yet hath such a way, +Nor no musician made, as they, +And gather'd on immortal knolls +Such lovely flowers for cheering souls. +Beethoven, Raphael, cannot reach 205 +The charm which Homer, Shakespeare, teach. +To these, to these, their thankful race +Gives, then, the first, the fairest place; +And brightest is their glory's sheen, +For greatest hath their labour been.°" °210 + + + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +QUIET WORK° + + +One lesson,° Nature, let me learn of thee, °1 +One lesson which in every wind is blown, +One lesson of two duties kept at one +Though the loud° world proclaim their enmity-- °4 + +Of toil unsever'd from tranquillity! 5 +Of labour, that in lasting fruit outgrows +Far noisier° schemes, accomplish'd in repose, °7 +Too great for haste, too high for rivalry! + +Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring, +Man's fitful uproar mingling with his toil, 10 +Still do thy sleepless ministers move on, + +Their glorious tasks in silence perfecting; +Still working, blaming still our vain turmoil, +Labourers that shall not fail, when man is gone. + + + + +SHAKESPEARE° + + +Others abide our question. Thou art free. +We ask and ask--Thou smilest and art still, +Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, +Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, + +Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, 5 +Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, +Spares but the cloudy border of his base +To the foil'd searching of mortality; + +And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know +Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self-secure, 10 +Didst tread on earth unguess'd at.--Better so! + +All pains the immortal spirit must endure, +All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow +Find their sole speech in that victorious brow. + + + + +YOUTH'S AGITATIONS° + + +When I shall be divorced, some ten years hence, +From this poor present self which I am now; +When youth has done its tedious vain expense +Of passions that for ever ebb and flow; + +Shall I not joy° youth's heats° are left behind, °5 +And breathe more happy in an even clime°?-- °6 +Ah no, for then I shall begin to find +A thousand virtues in this hated time! + +Then I shall wish its agitations back, +And all its thwarting currents of desire; 10 +Then I shall praise the heat which then I lack, +And call this hurrying fever,° generous fire; °12 + +And sigh that one thing only has been lent +To youth and age in common--discontent. + + + + +AUSTERITY OF POETRY° + + +That son of Italy° who tried to blow, °1 +Ere Dante° came, the trump of sacred song, °2 +In his light youth° amid a festal throng °3 +Sate with his bride to see a public show. + +Fair was the bride, and on her front did glow 5 +Youth like a star; and what to youth belong-- +Gay raiment, sparkling gauds, elation strong. +A prop gave way! crash fell a platform! lo, + +'Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death, she lay! +Shuddering, they drew her garments off--and found 10 +A robe of sackcloth° next the smooth, white skin. °11 + +Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse! young, gay, +Radiant, adorn'd outside; a hidden ground +Of thought and of austerity within. + + + + +WORLDLY PLACE + + +_Even in a palace, life may be led well!_ +So spake the imperial sage, purest of men, +Marcus Aurelius.° But the stifling den °3 +Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell, + +Our freedom for a little bread we sell, 5 +And drudge under some foolish° master's ken.° °6 +Who rates° us if we peer outside our pen-- °7 +Match'd with a palace, is not this a hell? + +_Even in a palace!_ On his truth sincere, +Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came; 10 +And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame + +Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, +I'll stop, and say: "There were no succour here! +The aids to noble life are all within." + + + + +EAST LONDON + + +'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead +Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,° °2 +And the pale weaver, through his windows seen +In Spitalfields,° look'd thrice dispirited. °4 + +I met a preacher there I knew, and said: 5 +"Ill and o'erwork'd, how fare you in this scene?"-- +"Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been, +Much cheer'd 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 labourest through the night! +Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home. + + + + +WEST LONDON + + +Crouch'd on the pavement, close by Belgrave Square,° °1 +A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied. +A babe was in her arms, and at her side +A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare. + +Some labouring men, whose work lay somewhere there, 5 +Pass'd opposite; she touch'd her girl, who hied +Across and begg'd, and came back satisfied. +The rich she had let pass with frozen stare. + +Thought I: "Above her state this spirit towers; +She will not ask of aliens but of friends, 10 +Of sharers in a common human fate. + +"She turns from that cold succour, which attends +The unknown little from the unknowing great, +And points us to a better time than ours." + + + + + + +ELEGIAC POEMS + + + + +MEMORIAL VERSES° + +_April_, 1850 + + +Goethe in Weimar sleeps,° and Greece, °1 +Long since, saw Byron's° struggle cease. °2 +But one such death remain'd to come; +The last poetic voice is dumb-- +We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb. 5 + +When Byron's eyes were shut in death, +We bow'd our head and held our breath. +He taught us little; but our soul +Had _felt_ him like the thunder's roll. +With shivering heart the strife we saw 10 +Of passion with eternal law; +And yet with reverential awe +We watch'd the fount of fiery life +Which served for that Titanic strife. + +When Goethe's death was told, we said: 15 +Sunk, then, is Europe's sagest head. +Physician of the iron age,° °17 +Goethe has done his pilgrimage. +He took the suffering human race, +He read each wound, each weakness clear; 20 +And struck his finger on the place, +And said: _Thou ailest here, and here!_ +He look'd on Europe's dying hour +Of fitful dream and feverish power; +His eye plunged down the weltering strife, 25 +The turmoil of expiring life-- +He said: _The end is everywhere, +Art still has truth, take refuge there!_ +And he was happy, if to know +Causes of things, and far below 30 +His feet to see the lurid flow +Of terror, and insane distress, +And headlong fate, be happiness. + +And Wordsworth!--Ah, pale ghosts, rejoice! +For never has such soothing voice 35 +Been to your shadowy world convey'd, +Since erst, at morn, some wandering shade +Heard the clear song of Orpheus° come °38 +Through Hades, and the mournful gloom. +Wordsworth has gone from us--and ye, 40 +Ah, may ye feel his voice as we! +He too upon a wintry clime +Had fallen--on this iron time +Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears. +He found us when the age had bound 45 +Our souls in its benumbing round; +He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears. +He laid us as we lay at birth +On the cool flowery lap of earth, +Smiles broke from us and we had ease; 50 +The hills were round us, and the breeze +Went o'er the sun-lit fields again; +Our foreheads felt the wind and rain. +Our youth returned; for there was shed +On spirits that had long been dead, 55 +Spirits dried up and closely furl'd, +The freshness of the early world. + +Ah! since dark days still bring to light +Man's prudence and man's fiery might, +Time may restore us in his course 60 +Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force; +But where will Europe's latter hour +Again find Wordsworth's healing power? +Others will teach us how to dare, +And against fear our breast to steel; 65 +Others will strengthen us to bear-- +But who, ah! who, will make us feel +The cloud of mortal destiny? +Others will front it fearlessly-- +But who, like him, will put it by? 70 + +Keep fresh the grass upon his grave +O Rotha,° with thy living wave! °72 +Sing him thy best! for few or none +Hears thy voice right, now he is gone. + + + + +THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY° + + +Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; + Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes°! °2 + No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed, + Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats, + Nor the cropp'd herbage shoot another head. 5 + But when the fields are still, + And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest, + And only the white sheep are sometimes seen; + Cross and recross° the strips of moon-blanch'd green, °9 + Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest! 10 + +Here, where the reaper was at work of late-- + In this high field's dark corner, where he leaves + His coat, his basket, and his earthen cruse,° °13 + And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves, + Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use-- 15 + Here will I sit and wait, + While to my ear from uplands far away + The bleating of the folded flocks is borne, + With distant cries of reapers in the corn°-- °19 + All the live murmur of a summer's day. 20 + +Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field, + And here till sun-down, shepherd! will I be. + Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep, + And round green roots and yellowing stalks I see + Pale pink convolvulus in tendrils creep; 25 + And air-swept lindens yield + Their scent, and rustle down their perfumed showers + Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid, + And bower me from the August sun with shade; + And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers.° °30 + +And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book°-- °31 + Come, let me read the oft-read tale again! + The story of the Oxford scholar poor, + Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain, + Who, tired of knocking at preferment's door, 35 + One summer-morn forsook + His friends, and went to learn the gipsy-lore, + And roam'd the world with that wild brotherhood, + And came, as most men deem'd, to little good, + But came to Oxford and his friends no more. 40 + +But once, years after, in the country-lanes, + Two scholars, whom at college erst° he knew, °42 + Met him, and of his way of life enquired; + Whereat he answer'd, that the gipsy-crew, + His mates, had arts to rule as they desired 45 + The workings of men's brains, + And they can bind them to what thoughts they will. + "And I," he said, "the secret of their art, + When fully learn'd, will to the world impart; + But it needs heaven-sent moments for this skill.°" °50 + +This said, he left them, and return'd no more.-- + But rumours hung about the country-side, + That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray, + Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tongue-tied, + In hat of antique shape, and cloak of grey, 55 + The same the gipsies wore. + Shepherds had met him on the Hurst° in spring; °57 + At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors,° °58 + On the warm ingle-bench, the smock-frock'd boors + Had found him seated at their entering. 60 + +But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he would fly. + And I myself seem half to know, thy looks, + And put the shepherds, wanderer! on thy trace; + And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks + I ask if thou hast pass'd their quiet place; 65 + Or in my boat I lie + Moor'd to the cool bank in the summer-heats, + 'Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. + And watch the warm, green-muffled° Cumner hills, °69 + And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. 70 + +For most, I know, thou lov'st retired ground! + Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe, + Returning home on summer-nights, have met + Crossing the stripling Thames at Bab-lock-hithe,° °74 + Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet, 75 + As the punt's rope chops round; + And leaning backward in a pensive dream, + And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers + Pluck'd in shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers + And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream. 80 + +And then they land, and thou art seen no more!-- + Maidens, who from the distant hamlets come; + To dance around the Fyfield elm in May,° °83 + Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam + Or cross a stile into the public way. + Oft thou hast given them store 85 + Of flowers--the frail-leaf'd, white anemony, + Dark bluebells drench'd with dews of summer eves + And purple orchises with spotted leaves-- + But none hath words she can report of thee. 90 + +And, above Godstow Bridge,° when hay-time's here + In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames, + Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass + Where black-wing'd swallows haunt the glittering Thames, + To bathe in the abandon'd lasher pass,° °95 + Have often pass'd thee near + Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown; + Mark'd thine outlandish° garb, thy figure spare, °98 + Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air-- + But, when they came from bathing, thou wast gone! 100 + +At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills, + Where at her open door the housewife darns, + Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a gate + To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. + Children, who early range these slopes and late 105 + For cresses from the rills, + Have known thee eying, all an April-day, + The springing pastures and the feeding kine; + And mark'd thee, when the stars come out and shine, + Through the long dewy grass move slow away. 110 + +In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood°-- °111 + Where most the gipsies by the turf-edged way + Pitch their smoked tents, and every bush you see + With scarlet patches tagg'd° and shreds of grey, °114 + Above the forest-ground called Thessaly°-- °115 + The blackbird, picking food, + Sees thee, nor stops his meal, nor fears at all; + So often has he known thee past him stray + Rapt, twirling in thy hand a wither'd spray, + And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall. 120 + +And once, in winter, on the causeway chill + Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go, + Have I not pass'd thee on the wooden bridge, + Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow, + Thy face tow'rd Hinksey° and its wintry ridge? °125 + And thou hast climb'd the hill, + And gain'd the white brow of the Cumner range; + Turn'd once to watch, while thick the snowflakes fall + The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall°-- °129 + Then sought thy straw in some sequester'd grange. °130 + +But what--I dream! Two hundred years are flown + Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls, + And the grave Glanvil° did the tale inscribe °133 + That thou wert wander'd from the studious walls + To learn strange arts, and join a gipsy-tribe; 135 + And thou from earth art gone + Long since, and in some quiet churchyard laid-- + Some country-nook, where o'er thy unknown grave + Tall grasses and white-flowering nettles wave, + Under a dark red-fruited yew-tree's° shade. °140 + +--No, no, thou hast not felt the lapse of hours! + For what wears out the life of mortal men? + 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls + 'Tis that repeated shocks, again, again, + Exhaust the energy of strongest souls 145 + And numb the elastic powers. + Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen,° °147 + And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit, + To the just-pausing Genius° we remit °149 + Our worn-out life, and are--what we have been. 150 + +Thou hast not lived,° why should'st thou perish, so? °151 + Thou hadst _one_ aim, _one_ business, _one_ desire°; °152 + Else wert thou long since number'd with the dead! + Else hadst thou spent, like other men, thy fire! + The generations of thy peers are fled, 155 + And we ourselves shall go; + But thou possessest an immortal lot, + And we imagine thee exempt from age + And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page, + Because thou hadst--what we, alas! have not.° °160 + +For early didst thou leave the world, with powers + Fresh, undiverted to the world without, + Firm to their mark, not spent on other things; + Free from the sick fatigue, the languid doubt, + Which much to have tried, in much been baffled, brings°. °165 + O life unlike to ours! + Who fluctuate idly without term or scope, + Of whom each strives, nor knows for what he strives, + And each half lives a hundred different lives; + Who wait like thee, but not, like thee, in hope.° °170 + +Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we, + Light half-believers of our casual creeds, + Who never deeply felt, nor clearly will'd, + Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds, + Whose vague resolves never have been fulfill'd; 175 + For whom each year we see + Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new; + Who hesitate and falter life away, + And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day-- + Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too° °180 + +Yes, we await it!--but it still delays, + And then we suffer! and amongst us one, + Who most has suffer'd, takes dejectedly + His seat upon the intellectual throne; + And all his store of sad experience he 185 + Lays bare of wretched days; + Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs, + And how the dying spark of hope was fed, + And how the breast was soothed, and how the head, + And all his hourly varied anodynes.° °190 + +This for our wisest! and we others pine, + And wish the long unhappy dream would end, + And waive all claim to bliss, and try to bear; + With close-lipp'd patience for our only friend, + Sad patience, too near neighbour to despair-- 195 + But none has hope like thine! + Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray, + Roaming the country-side, a truant boy, + Nursing thy project in unclouded joy, + And every doubt long blown by time away. 200 + +O born in days when wits were fresh and clear, + And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames; + Before this strange disease of modern life, + With its sick hurry, its divided aims, + Its head o'ertax'd, its palsied hearts, was rife-- 205 + Fly hence, our contact fear! + Still fly, plunge deeper in the bowering wood! + Averse, as Dido° did with gesture stern° °208 + From her false friend's approach in Hades turn, + Wave us away, and keep thy solitude! 210 + +Still nursing the unconquerable hope, + Still clutching the inviolable shade,° °212 + With a free, onward impulse brushing through, + By night, the silver'd branches° of the glade-- °214 + Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue, 215 + On some mild pastoral slope + Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales + Freshen thy flowers as in former years + With dew, or listen with enchanted ears, + From the dark dingles,° to the nightingales! 220 + +But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly! + For strong the infection of our mental strife, + Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest; + And we should win thee from thy own fair life, + Like us distracted, and like us unblest. 225 + Soon, soon thy cheer would die, + Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfix'd thy powers, + And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made; + And then thy glad perennial youth would fade, + Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours. 230 + +Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles! + --As some grave Tyrian° trader, from the sea, + Descried at sunrise an emerging prow + Lifting the cool-hair'd creepers stealthily, + The fringes of a southward-facing brow 235 + Among the Ægæan isles°; °236 + And saw the merry Grecian coaster come, + Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine,° °238 + Green, bursting figs, and tunnies° steep'd in brine-- °239 + And knew the intruders on his ancient home, 240 + +The young light-hearted masters of the waves-- + And snatch'd his rudder, and shook out more sail; + And day and night held on indignantly + O'er the blue Midland waters° with the gale, °244 + Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily, 245 + To where the Atlantic raves + Outside the western straits°; and unbent sails °247 + There, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam, + Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come°; °249 + And on the beach undid his corded bales.° °250 + + + + +THYRSIS° + +A MONODY, TO COMMEMORATE THE AUTHOR'S FRIEND +ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, WHO DIED AT FLORENCE, 1861 + + +How changed is here each spot man makes or fills°! °1 + In the two Hinkseys° nothing keeps the same; °2 + The village street its haunted mansion lacks, + And from the sign is gone Sibylla's name,° °4 + And from the roofs the twisted chimney-stacks-- 5 + Are ye too changed, ye hills°? °6 + See, 'tis no foot of unfamiliar men + To-night from Oxford up your pathway strays! + Here came I often, often, in old days-- + Thyrsis and I; we still had Thyrsis then. 10 + +Runs it not here, the track by Childsworth Farm, + Past the high wood, to where the elm-tree crowns + The hill behind whose ridge the sunset flames + The signal-elm, that looks on Ilsley Downs°? °14 + The Vale,° the three lone weirs,° the youthful Thames?--, °15 + This winter-eve is warm, + Humid the air! leafless, yet soft as spring, + The tender purple spray on copse and briers! + And that sweet city with her dreaming spires,° °19 + She needs not June for beauty's heightening,° °20 + +Lovely all times she lies, lovely to-night!-- + Only, methinks, some loss of habit's power + Befalls me wandering through this upland dim,° °23 + Once pass'd I blindfold here, at any hour°; °24 + Now seldom come I, since I came with him. 25 + That single elm-tree bright + Against the west--I miss it! is it gone? + We prized it dearly; while it stood, we said, + Our friend, the Gipsy-Scholar, was not dead; + While the tree lived, he in these fields lived on.° °30 + +Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here, + But once I knew each field, each flower, each stick; + And with the country-folk acquaintance made + By barn in threshing-time, by new-built rick. + Here, too, our shepherd-pipes° we first assay'd. °35 + Ah me! this many a year + My pipe is lost, my shepherd's holiday! + Needs must I lose them, needs with heavy heart + Into the world and wave of men depart; + But Thyrsis of his own will went away.° °40 + +It irk'd° him to be here, he could not rest. °41 + He loved each simple joy the country yields, + He loved his mates; but yet he could not keep,° °43 + For that a shadow lour'd on the fields, + Here with the shepherds and the silly° sheep. °45 + Some life of men unblest + He knew, which made him droop, and fill'd his head. + He went; his piping took a troubled sound + Of storms° that rage outside our happy ground; + He could not wait their passing, he is dead.° °50 + +So, some tempestuous morn in early June, + When the year's primal burst of bloom is o'er, + Before the roses and the longest day-- + When garden-walks and all the grassy floor + With blossoms red and white of fallen May° °55 + And chestnut-flowers are strewn-- + So have I heard the cuckoo's parting cry, + From the wet field, through the vext garden-trees, + Come with the volleying rain and tossing breeze: + _The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I°!_ °60 + +Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go? + Soon will the high Midsummer pomps° come on, °62 + Soon will the musk carnations break and swell, + Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon, + Sweet-William with his homely cottage-smell, 65 + And stocks in fragrant blow; + Roses that down the alleys shine afar, + And open, jasmine-muffled lattices, + And groups under the dreaming garden-trees, + And the full moon, and the white evening-star. 70 + +He hearkens not! light comer,° he is flown! °71 + What matters it? next year he will return, + And we shall have him in the sweet spring-days. +With whitening hedges, and uncrumpling fern, + And blue-bells trembling by the forest-ways, 75 + And scent of hay new-mown. + But Thyrsis never more we swains° shall see; °77 + See him come back, and cut a smoother reed,° °78 + And blow a strain the world at last shall heed°-- °79 + For Time, not Corydon,° hath conquer'd thee! °80 + +Alack, for Corydon no rival now!-- + But when Sicilian shepherds lost a mate, + Some good survivor with his flute would go, + Piping a ditty sad for Bion's fate°; °84 + And cross the unpermitted ferry's flow,° °85 + And relax Pluto's brow, + And make leap up with joy the beauteous head + Of Proserpine,° among whose crowned hair °88 + Are flowers first open'd on Sicilian air, + And flute his friend, like Orpheus, from the dead.° °90 + +O easy access to the hearer's grace + When Dorian shepherds sang to Proserpine! + For she herself had trod Sicilian fields, + She knew the Dorian water's gush divine,° °94 + She knew each lily white which Enna yields, 95 + Each rose with blushing face°; °96 + She loved the Dorian pipe, the Dorian strain.° °97 + But ah, of our poor Thames she never heard! + Her foot the Cumner cowslips never stirr'd; + And we should tease her with our plaint in vain! 100 + +Well! wind-dispersed and vain the words will be, + Yet, Thyrsis, let me give my grief its hour + In the old haunt, and find our tree-topp'd hill! + Who, if not I, for questing here hath power? + I know the wood which hides the daffodil, 105 + I know the Fyfield tree,° °106 + I know what white, what purple fritillaries + The grassy harvest of the river-fields, + Above by Ensham,° down by Sandford,° yields, °109 + And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries; 110 + +I know these slopes; who knows them if not I?-- + But many a dingle on the loved hill-side, + With thorns once studded, old, white-blossom'd trees + Where thick the cowslips grew, and far descried + High tower'd the spikes of purple orchises, 115 + Hath since our day put by + The coronals of that forgotten time; + Down each green bank hath gone the ploughboy's team, + And only in the hidden brookside gleam + Primroses, orphans of the flowery prime. 120 + +Where is the girl, who by the boatman's door, + Above the locks, above the boating throng, + Unmoor'd our skiff when through the Wytham flats,° °123 + Red loosestrife and blond meadow-sweet among + And darting swallows and light water-gnats, 125 + We track'd the shy Thames shore? + Where are the mowers, who, as the tiny swell + Of our boat passing heaved the river-grass, + Stood with suspended scythe to see us pass?-- + They all are gone, and thou art gone as well! 130 + +Yes, thou art gone! and round me too the night + In ever-nearing circle weaves her shade. + I see her veil draw soft across the day, + I feel her slowly chilling breath invade + The cheek grown thin, the brown hair sprent° with grey; °135 + I feel her finger light + Laid pausefully upon life's headlong train;-- + The foot less prompt to meet the morning dew, + The heart less bounding at emotion new, + And hope, once crush'd, less quick to spring again. 140 + +And long the way appears, which seem'd so short + To the less practised eye of sanguine youth; + And high the mountain-tops, in cloudy air, +The mountain-tops where is the throne of Truth, + Tops in life's morning-sun so bright and bare! 145 + Unbreachable the fort + Of the long-batter'd world uplifts its wall; + And strange and vain the earthly turmoil grows, + And near and real the charm of thy repose, + And night as welcome as a friend would fall.° °150 + +But hush! the upland hath a sudden loss + Of quiet!--Look, adown the dusk hill-side, + A troop of Oxford hunters going home, +As in old days, jovial and talking, ride! + From hunting with the Berkshire° hounds they come. °155 + Quick! let me fly, and cross + Into yon farther field!--'Tis done; and see, + Back'd by the sunset, which doth glorify + The orange and pale violet evening-sky, + Bare on its lonely ridge, the Tree! the Tree! 160 + +I take the omen! Eve lets down her veil, + The white fog creeps from bush to bush about, + The west unflushes, the high stars grow bright, + And in the scatter'd farms the lights come out. + I cannot reach the signal-tree to-night, 165 + Yet, happy omen, hail! + Hear it from thy broad lucent Arno-vale° °167 + (For there thine earth-forgetting eyelids keep + The morningless and unawakening sleep + Under the flowery oleanders pale), 170 + +Hear it, O Thyrsis, still our tree is there!-- + Ah, vain! These English fields, this upland dim, + These brambles pale with mist engarlanded, + That lone, sky-pointing tree, are not for him; + To a boon southern country he is fled,° °175 + And now in happier air, + Wandering with the great Mother's° train divine °177 + (And purer or more subtle soul than thee, + I trow, the mighty Mother doth not see) + Within a folding of the Apennine, 180 + +Thou hearest the immortal chants of old!-- + Putting his sickle to the perilous grain + In the hot cornfield of the Phrygian king, + For thee the Lityerses-song again + Young Daphnis with his silver voice doth sing; 185 + Sings his Sicilian fold, + His sheep, his hapless love, his blinded eyes-- + And how a call celestial round him rang, + And heavenward from the fountain-brink he sprang, + And all the marvel of the golden skies.° °190 + +There thou art gone, and me thou leavest here + Sole° in these fields! yet will I not despair. + Despair I will not, while I yet descry + 'Neath the mild canopy of English air + That lonely tree against the western sky. 195 + Still, still these slopes, 'tis clear, + Our Gipsy-Scholar haunts, outliving thee + Fields where soft sheep° from cages pull the hay, + Woods with anemonies in flower till May, + Know him a wanderer still; then why not me?° °200 + +A fugitive and gracious light he seeks, + Shy to illumin; and I seek it too.° °202 + This does not come with houses or with gold, + With place, with honour, and a flattering crew; + 'Tis not in the world's market bought and sold-- 205 + But the smooth-slipping weeks + Drop by, and leave its seeker still untired; + Out of the heed of mortals he is gone, + He wends unfollow'd, he must house alone; + Yet on he fares, by his own heart inspired. 210 + +Thou too, O Thyrsis, on like quest was bound; + Thou wanderedst with me for a little hour! + Men gave thee nothing; but this happy quest, + If men esteem'd thee feeble, gave thee power, + If men procured thee trouble, gave thee rest. 215 + And this rude Cumner ground, + Its fir-topped Hurst, its farms, its quiet fields, + Here cam'st thou in thy jocund youthful time, + Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime! + And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields. 220 + +What though the music of thy rustic flute + Kept not for long its happy, country tone; + Lost it too soon, and learnt a stormy note + Of men contention-tost, of men who groan, + Which task'd thy pipe too sore, and tired thy throat-- 225 + It fail'd, and thou wast mute! + Yet hadst thou alway visions of our light, + And long with men of care thou couldst not stay, + And soon thy foot resumed its wandering way, + Left human haunt, and on alone till night. 230 + +Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here! + 'Mid city-noise, not, as with thee of yore, + Thyrsis! in reach of sheep-bells is my home. + Then through the great town's harsh, heart-wearying roar, + Let in thy voice a whisper often come, 235 + To chase fatigue and fear: + _Why faintest thou? I wandered till I died. + Roam on! The light we sought is shining still. + Dost thou ask proof? our tree yet crowns the hill, + Our scholar travels yet the loved hill-side._ 240 + + + + +RUGBY CHAPEL° + +_November 1857_ + + +Coldly, sadly descends +The autumn-evening. The field +Strewn with its dank yellow drifts +Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, +Fade into dimness apace, 5 +Silent;--hardly a shout +From a few boys late at their play! +The lights come out in the street, +In the school-room windows;--but cold, +Solemn, unlighted, austere, 10 +Through the gathering darkness, arise +The chapel-walls, in whose bound +Thou, my father! art laid.° °13 + +There thou dost lie, in the gloom +Of the autumn evening. But ah! 15 +That word, _gloom,°_ to my mind °16 +Brings thee back, in the light +Of thy radiant vigour, again; +In the gloom of November we pass'd +Days not dark at thy side; 20 +Seasons impair'd 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. 25 + +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 °33 +Sunshine and rain as we might, +Bare, unshaded, alone, 35 +Lacking the shelter of thee. + +O strong soul, by what shore° °37 +Tarriest thou now? For that force, +Surely, has not been left vain! +Somewhere, surely, afar, 40 +In the sounding labour-house vast +Of being, is practised that strength, +Zealous, beneficent, firm! + +Yes, in some far-shining sphere, +Conscious or not of the past, 45 +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, doth rouse +Those who with half-open eyes +Tread the border-land dim +'Twixt vice and virtue; reviv'st, 55 +Succourest!--this was thy work, +This was thy life upon earth.° °57 + +What is the course of the life +Of mortal men on the earth°?-- °59 +Most men eddy about 60 +Here and there--eat and drink, +Chatter and love and hate, +Gather and squander, are raised +Aloft, are hurl'd in the dust, +Striving blindly, achieving 65 +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 swell'd, +Foam'd for a moment, and gone. + +And there are some, whom a thirst +Ardent, unquenchable, fires, +Not with the crowd to be spent, 75 +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, 85 +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.° °93 +Roaring torrents have breach'd +The track, the stream-bed descends 95 +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 105 +Sternly compress'd, 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 110 +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? 115 +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 +Stripp'd, without friends, as we are. +Friends, companions, and train, +The avalanche swept from our side.° °123 + +But thou would'st not _alone_ +Be saved, my father! _alone_ 125 +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, 135 +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.° °144 + +And through thee I believe 145 +In the noble and great who are gone; +Pure souls honour'd and blest +By former ages, who else-- +Such, so soulless, so poor, +Is the race of men whom I see-- 150 +Seem'd but a dream of the heart, +Seem'd but a cry of desire. +Yes! I believe that there lived +Others like thee in the past, +Not like the men of the crowd 155 +Who all round me to-day +Bluster or cringe, and make life +Hideous, and arid, and vile; +But souls temper'd 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, 165 +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 +Marshall'd them, gave them their goal. 175 +Ah, but the way is so long! +Years they have 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 +That army, not one shall arrive; +Sole they shall stray: in the rocks 185 +Stagger for ever 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 with ardour divine! +Beacons of hope, ye appear! +Languor is not in your heart, +Weakness is not in your word, +Weariness not on your brow. 195 +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, 205 +Stablish, continue our march, +On, to the bound of the waste, +On, to the City of God.° °208 + + + + + + + + + * * * * * + [149] + +NOTES + + * * * * * + + + + +SOHRAB AND RUSTUM + +"I am occupied with a thing that gives me more pleasure than anything +I have ever done yet, which is a good sign, but whether I shall not +ultimately spoil it by being obliged to strike it off in fragments +instead of at one heat, I cannot quite say." (Arnold, in a letter to +Mrs. Foster, April, 1853.) + +"All my spare time has been spent on a poem which I have just finished +and which I think by far the best thing I have yet done, and I think +it will be generally liked; though one can never be sure of this. I +have had the greatest pleasure in composing it, a rare thing with me, +and, as I think, a good test of the pleasure what you write is likely +to afford to others. But the story is a very noble and excellent one." +(Arnold, in a letter to his mother, May, 1853.) + +The following synopsis of the story of Sohrab and Rustum the "tale +replete with tears," is gathered from several sources, chiefly +Benjamin's _Persia_, in _The Story of the Nations_, Sir John Malcolm's +_History of Persia_, and the great Persian epic poem, _Shah Nameh_. +The _Shah Nameh_ the original source of the story, and which purports +to narrate the exploits of Persia's kings and champions over a space +of thirty-six centuries, bears the same relation to Persian literature +as the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ to the Greek, and the _Æneid_ to the +Latin, though in structure it more nearly resembles _Morte d'Arthur_, +which records in order the achievements of various heroes. In it +the native poet Mansur ibn Ahmad, afterwards known to literature +as Firdausi, the Paradisaical, has set down the early tales and +traditions of his people with all the vividness and color common to +oriental writers. The principal hero of the poem is the mighty Rustum, +who, mounted on his famous horse Ruksh, performed prodigies of valor +in defence of the Persian throne. Of all his adventures his encounter +with Sohrab is the most dramatic. The poem was probably written in +the latter half of the tenth century. As will be seen, the incidents +narrated in Arnold's poem form but an episode in the complete story of +the two champions. [150] + +Rustum (or Rustem), having killed a wild ass while hunting on the +Turanian frontier, and having feasted on its flesh, composed himself +to sleep, leaving his faithful steed, Ruksh (or Raksh), to graze +untethered. On awakening, he found his horse had disappeared, and +believing it had been stolen, the warrior proceeded towards Semenjan, +a near-by city, in hopes of recovering his property. On the way, he +learned that Ruksh had been found by the servants of the king and was +stabled at Semenjan, as he had surmised. Upon Rustum's demand, the +steed was promptly restored to him, and he was about to depart when he +was prevailed upon to accept the king's invitation to tarry awhile and +rest himself in feasting and idleness. + +Now the king of Semenjan had a fair daughter named Tahmineh, who had +become enamoured of Rustum because of his mighty exploits. Susceptible +as she was beautiful, she made her attachment so evident that the +young hero, who was as ardent as he was brave, readily yielded to +the power of her fascination. The consent of the king having been +obtained, Rustum and Tahmineh were married with all the rites +prescribed by the laws of the country. A peculiar feature of this +alliance lay in the fact that the king of Semenjan was feudatory to +Afrasiab, the deadly enemy of Persia, while Rustum was her greatest +champion. At this time, however, the two countries were at peace. + [151] +For a time all went happily, then Rustum found it necessary to leave +his bride, as he thought, for only a short time. At parting he gave +her an onyx, which he wore on his arm, bidding her, if a daughter +should be born to their union, to twine the gem in her hair under a +fortunate star; but if a son, to bind it on his arm, and he would be +insured a glorious career. Rustum then mounted Ruksh and rode away--as +time proved, never to return. + +The months went by, and to the lonely bride was born a marvellous son, +whom, because of his comely features, she named Sohrab. Fearing Rustum +would send for the boy when he grew older, and thus rob her of her +treasure, Tahmineh sent word to him that the child was a girl--"no +son," and Rustum took no further interest in it. + +While still of tender years, Sohrab showed signs of his noble lineage. +He early displayed a love for horses, and at the age of ten years, +according to the tradition, was large and handsome and highly +accomplished in the use of arms. Realizing at length that he was of +lofty descent, he insisted that his mother, who had concealed the +fact, should inform him of the name of his father. Being told that it +was the renowned Rustum, he exclaimed, "Since he is my father, I shall +go to his aid; he shall become king of Persia and together we shall +rule the world." After this the youth caused a horse worthy of him to +be found, and with the aid of his grandfather, the king of Semenjan, +he prepared to go on the quest, attended by a mighty host. + +When Afrasiab, the Turanian ruler, learned that Sohrab was going to +war with the Persians, he was greatly pleased, and after counselling +with his wise men, decided openly to assist him in his enterprises, +with the expectation that both Rustum and Sohrab would fall in battle +and Persia be at his mercy. He accordingly sent an army of auxiliaries +to Sohrab, accompanied by two astute courtiers, Houman and Barman, +who, under the guise of friendship, were to act as counsellors to +the young leader. These he ordered to keep the knowledge of their +relationship from father and son and to seek to bring about an +encounter between them, in the hope that Sohrab would slay Rustum, +Afrasiab's most dreaded foeman, after which the unsuspecting youth +might easily be disposed of by treachery. [152] + +Sohrab, with his army and that of Afrasiab, set out, intending to +fight his way until Rustum should be sent against him, when he would +reveal himself to his father and form an alliance with him that would +place the line of Seistan on the throne. On the way southward, Sohrab +overthrew and captured the Persian champion, Hujir, and the same +day conquered the warrior maiden Gurdafrid, whose beauty and tears, +however, prevailed upon him to release her. Guzdehern, father of +Gurdafrid, recognizing Sohrab's prowess, and alarmed for the safety +of the Persian throne, secretly despatched a courier to the king Kai +Kaoos to warn him of the young Tartar's approach. Kaoos, in great +terror, sent for Rustum to hurry to his aid. Regardless of the king's +request, Rustum spent eight days in feasting, then presented himself +at the court. Kaoos, angered at the delay, ordered both the champion +and the messenger to be executed forthwith; but Rustum effected his +escape on Ruksh, and returned to Seistan, leaving Persia to her fate. +The king's wrath, however, soon gave place to fear; and recognizing +the danger of his throne unsupported by Rustum's valor, he despatched +messengers to him with humble petitions and apologies. After much +protesting, Rustum finally yielded and accompanied the Persian army, +under the king Kai Kaoos, which at once set forth to encounter Sohrab. + +The morning before the opening of hostilities, Sohrab, taking the +Persian Hujir, whom he still held a prisoner, to the top of a rocky +eminence, ordered him to point out the tents of the chief warriors +of the Persian army, particularly Rustum's. But Hujir, fearing lest +Sohrab should attack Rustum unexpectedly and so overcome him, declared +that the great chieftain's tent was not among those on the plain +below. Disappointed at his failure to find his father, Sohrab led his +army in a fierce onslaught on the Persians, driving them in confusion +before him. In this dire extremity Kai Kaoos sent for Rustum, who was +somewhat apart from the main troop. Exclaiming that the king never +sent for him except when he had got himself into trouble, the warrior +armed, mounted Ruksh, and rushed to the combat. By mutual consent the +two champions withdrew to a retired spot, where, unmolested, they +might fight out their quarrel hand to hand. As they approached each +other, Rustum, moved with compassion by the youth of his foe, tried +to dissuade Sohrab from his purpose, and counselled him to retire. +Sohrab, filled with sudden hope,--an instinctive feeling that the +father whom he was seeking stood before him,--eagerly demanded whether +this were Rustum. But Rustum, fearing treachery, said he was only an +ordinary man, having neither palace nor princely kingdom--not Rustum. + +They marked off the lists, and, mounted on their powerful horses, +fought first with javelins, then with swords, clubs, and bows and +arrows. After several hours of fighting both were exhausted, and by +tacit consent they retired to opposite sides of the lists for rest. +When the combat was renewed, Sohrab gained a slight advantage. A truce +was then made for the night, and the warriors returned to their tents +to prepare for the morrow. + +With daybreak the struggle was renewed. To prevent the armies from +intervening or engaging in battle, they were removed to a distance of +several miles. Midway between, Sohrab and Rustum met in the midst of a +lonely, treeless waste. More convinced than before that his adversary +was Rustum, Sohrab sought to bring about a reconciliation, but Rustum +refused. This time they fought on foot. From morning till afternoon +they fought, neither gaining any decided advantage. At last Sohrab +succeeded in felling Rustum to the earth, and was about to slay him, +when the Persian called out that it was not the custom in chivalrous +warfare to slay a champion until he was thrown the second time. +Sohrab, generous as brave, released his prostrate foe; and again +father and son parted. [154] + +Rustum, scarcely believing himself alive after such an escape, +purified himself with water, and prayed that his wounds might be +healed and his accustomed strength restored to him. Never before had +he been so beset in battle. + +With morning came the renewal of the combat, both champions +determining to end it that day. Late in the evening Rustum, by a +supreme effort, seized Sohrab around the waist and hurled him to the +ground. Then, fearing lest the youth prove too strong for him in the +end, he drew his blade and plunged it into Sohrab's bosom. + +Sohrab forgave Rustum, but warned him to beware the vengeance of his +father, the mighty Rustum, who must soon learn that he had slain his +son Sohrab. "I went out to seek my father," cried the dying youth, +"for my mother had told me by what tokens I should know him, and I +perish for longing after him.... Yet I say unto thee, if thou shouldst +become a fish that swimmeth in the depths of the ocean, if thou +shouldst change into a star that is concealed in the farthest heaven, +my father would draw thee forth from thy hiding-place, and avenge my +death upon thee, when he shall learn that the earth is become my bed. +For my father is Rustum the Pehliva, and it shall be told unto him, +how that Sohrab his son perished in the quest after his face." These +words were as death to the aged hero, who fell senseless at the side +of his wounded son. When he had recovered he called in despair for +proofs of what Sohrab had said. The now dying youth tore open his mail +and showed his father the onyx which his mother had bound on his arm +as directed. [155] + +The sight of his own signet rendered Rustum quite frantic; he cursed +himself, and would have put an end to his existence but for the +efforts of his expiring son. After Sohrab's death he burnt his tents +and carried the corpse to his father's home in Seistan, and buried +it there. The Tartar army, agreeable to Sohrab's last request, was +permitted to return home unmolested. When the tidings of Sohrab's +death reached his mother, she was inconsolable, and died in less than +a year. + +In the main the story as told by Arnold follows the original +narrative. A careful investigation of the alterations made, and the +effect thus produced, will lend added interest to the study of the +poem and give ample theme for composition work. + + +=1. And the first grey of morning fill'd the east.= Note the abrupt +opening. What is gained by its use? At what point in the story as told +in the introductory note does the poem take up the narrative? Be sure +to get a clear mental picture of the initiative scene. _And_ is here +used in a manner common in the Scriptures. Cf. "And the Lord spake +unto Moses," etc. + +=2. Oxus.= The chief river of Central Asia, which separated Turan from +Iran or the Persian Empire, called Oxus by the Greeks and Romans, and +the Jihun or Amu by the Arabs and Persians. It takes its source in +Lake Sir-i-Kol, in the Pamir table-land, at a height of 15,600 feet, +flows northwest, and empties into the Aral Sea on the south. Its +length is about 1300 miles. + +"The introduction of the tranquil pictures of the Oxus, both at the +beginning and close of the poem (ll. 875-892), flowing steadily on, +unmoved by the tragedy which has been enacted on her shore, forms one +of the most artistic features in the setting of the poem." + +=3. Tartar camp.= The Tartars were nomadic tribes of Central Asia and +southern Russia. The so-called Black Tartars, identified with the +Scythians of the Greek historians, inhabited the basin of the Aral and +Caspian Seas, and are the tribe referred to in the poem. They are a +fierce, warlike people; hence our expression, "caught a Tartar." + [156] +=11. Peran-Wisa.= A celebrated Turanian chief, here in command of +Afrasiab's army, which was composed of representatives of many Tartar +tribes, as indicated in ll. 119-134. + +=15. Pamere=, or Pamir. An extensive plateau region of Central Asia, +called by the natives the "roof of the world." Among the rivers having +their source in this plateau are the Oxus, l. 2, and the Jaxartes, l. +129. + +=38. Afrasiab.= The king of the Tartars, and one of the principal +heroes of the _Shah Nameh_, the Persian "Book of Kings." He is reputed +to have been strong as a lion and to have had few equals as a warrior. + +=40. Samarcand.= A city in the district of Serafshan, Turkestan, to +the east of Bokhara; now a considerable commercial and manufacturing +centre, and a centre of Mohammedan learning. + +=42. Ader-baijan.= The northwest province of Persia, on the Turanian +frontier. + +=45. At my boy's years.= See introductory note to poem. + +=60. common fight.= In the sense of a general engagement. Be sure to +catch the reason why Sohrab makes his request. + +=61. sunk.= That is, lost sight of. + +=67. common chance.= See note, l. 60. Which would be the more +dangerous, a "single" or "common" combat? Why? + +=70. To find a father thou hast never seen.= See introductory note to +poem. + +=82. Seistan.= A province of southwest Afghanistan bordering on the +Persian province of Yezd. It is intersected by the Helmund River (l. +751), which flows into the Hamoon Lake, now scarcely more than a +morass. On an island in this lake are ruins of fortifications called +Fort Rustum. This territory was long held by Rustum's family, +feudatory to the Persian kings. =Zal.= Rustum's father, ruler of +Seistan. See note, l. 232. [157] + +=83-85. Whether that ... or in some quarrel=, etc. Either because his +mighty strength ... or because of some quarrel, etc. + +=85. Persian King.= That is, Kai Kaoos (or Kai Khosroo). See +introductory note to poem; also note, l. 223. + +=86-91. There go!= etc. The touching solicitation of these lines is +wholly Arnold's. + +=99. Why ruler's staff, no sword?= + +=101. Kara Kul.= A district some thirty miles southwest of Bokhara, +noted for the excellence of its pasturage, and for its fleeces. + +=107. Haman.= Next to Peran-Wisa in command of Tartar army. See +Houman, in introductory note to poem. + +=113-114. Casbin.= A fortified city in the province of Irak-Ajemi, +Persia, situated on the main route from Persia to Europe, and at one +time the capital of the Iranian empire. Just to the north of the city +rise the =Elburz Mountains= (l. 114), which separate the Persian +Plateau from the depression containing the Caspian and Aral Seas. + +=115. frore.= Frozen, from the Anglo-Saxon _froren_. + + "... the parching air + Burns frore, and cold performs the effect of fire." + + --MILTON. _Paradise Lost_, ll. 594-595, Book II. + +=119. Bokhara.= Here the state of Bokhara, an extensive region of +Central Asia, touching the Aral Sea to the north, the Oxus to the +south, and Khiva to the west. It has an estimated area of 235,000 +square miles, and contains nineteen cities of considerable size, of +which the capital, Bokhara, is most important. + +=120. Khiva.= A khanate situated in the valley of the lower Oxus, +bordering Bokhara on the southeast. =ferment the milk of mares.= An +intoxicating drink, _Koumiss_, made of camel's or mare's milk, is in +wide use among the steppe tribes. + [158] +=121. Toorkmuns.= A branch of the Turkish race found chiefly in +northern Persia and Afghanistan. + +=122. Tukas.= From the province of Azer-baijan. + +=123. Attruck.= A river of Khorassan, near the frontier of Khiva; it +has a west course, and enters the Caspian Sea on the east side. + +=128. Ferghana.= A khanate of Turkestan, north of Bokhara, in the +upper valley of the Sir Daria. + +=129. Jaxartes.= The ancient name of the Sir Daria River. It takes its +source in the Thian Shan Mountains, one of the Pamir Plateau ranges, +and flows with a general direction north, emptying into the Aral Sea +on the east side. + +=131. Kipchak.= A khanate some seventy miles below Khiva on the Oxus. + +=132. Kalmucks.= A nomadic branch of the Mongolian race, dwelling in +western Siberia. =Kuzzaks.= Now commonly called Cossacks; a warlike +people inhabiting the steppes of southern Russia and extensive +portions of Asia. Their origin is uncertain. + +=133. Kirghizzes.= A rude nomadic people of Mongolian-Tartar race +found in northern Turkestan. + +=138. Khorassan.= (That is, the region of the sun.) A province of +northeastern Persia, largely desert. The origin of the name is + prettily suggested by Moore in the opening poem of _Lalla Rookh_:-- + + "In the delightful province of the sun + The first of Persian lands he shines upon," etc. + +=147. fix'd.= Stopped suddenly, halted. + +=154-169.= Note the effect the challenge has on the two armies. + +=156. corn.= Here used with its European sense of "grain." It is only +in America that the word signifies Indian corn or "maize." + [159] +=160. Cabool.= Capital of northern Afghanistan, and an important +commercial city. + +=161. Indian Caucasus.= A lofty mountain range north of Cabool, which +forms the boundary between Turkestan and Afghanistan. + +=173. King.= See note, l. 85. + +=177. lion's heart.= Explain the line. Why are the terms here used so +forcible in the mouth of Gudurz? + +=178-183. Aloof he sits, etc.= One is reminded by Rustum's deportment +here, of Achilles sulking in his tent and nursing his wrath against +Agamemnon.--_Iliad_, Book I. + +=199. sate.= Old form of "sat," common in poetry. + +=200. falcon.= A kind of hawk trained to catch game birds. + +=217. Iran.= The official name of Persia. + +=221. Go to!= Hebraic expression. Frequently found in Shakespeare. + +=223. Kai Khosroo.= According to the _Shah Nameh_, the thirteenth +Turanian king. He reigned in the sixth century B.C., and has been +identified with Cyrus the Great. + +=230. Not that one slight helpless girl, etc.= See ll. 609-611, also +introduction to the poem. + +=232. snow-haired Zal.= According to tradition, Zal was born with +snow-white hair. His father Lahm, believing this an ill omen, doomed +the unfortunate babe to be exposed on the loftiest summit of the +Elburz Mountains. The Simurgh, a great bird or griffin, found him and +cared for him till grown, then restored him to his repentant parent. +He subsequently married the Princess Rudabeh of Seistan, by whom he +became father of Rustum. + +=243-248. He spoke ... men.= Note carefully Gudurz's argument. Why so +effective with Rustum? + +=257. But I will fight unknown and in plain arms.= The shields and +arms of the champions were emblazoned with mottoes and devices. Why +does Rustum determine to lay aside his accustomed arms and fight +incognito? What effect does this determination have upon the ultimate +outcome of the situation? Read the story of the arming of Achilles +(Book XIX., Homer's _Iliad_), and compare with Rustum's preparation +for battle. [160] + +=266. device.= See note, l. 257. + + =277. Dight.= Adorned, dressed. + + "The clouds in thousand liveries dight." + --MILTON. _L'Allegro,_ l. 62. + +=286. Bahrein= or Aval. A group of islands in the Persian Gulf, +celebrated for its pearl fisheries. + + =288. tale.= Beckoning, number. + + "And every shepherd tells his _tale_, + Under the hawthorn in the dale." + --MILTON. _L'Allegro,_ ll. 67-68. + +=306. flowers.= Decorates, beautifies with floral designs. + +=311. perused.= Studied, observed closely. + +=318.= In a letter dated November, 1852, Mr. Arnold speaks of the +figures in his poem as follows: "I can only say that I took a great +deal of trouble to orientalize them, because I thought they looked +strange, and jarred, if western." What is gained by their use? + +=325. vast.= Large, mighty. + +=326. tried.= Proved, experienced. + +=328. Never was that field lost or that foe saved.= Note the power +gained in this line by the use of the alliteration. + +=330. Be govern'd.= Be influenced, persuaded. + +=343. by thy father's head!= Such oaths are common to the extravagant +speech of the oriental peoples. + +=344. Art thou not Rustum?= See introductory note to poem. + +=367. vaunt.= Boast implied in the challenge. + +=380. Thou wilt not fright me so!= That is, by such talk. + +=401. tower'd.= Remained stationary, poised. + +=406. full struck.= Struck squarely. + [161] +=412. Hyphasis, Hydaspes.= Two of the rivers of the Punjab in northern +India, now known as the Beas and Jhylum. In 326 B.C. Alexander +defeated Porus on the banks of the latter stream. + +=414. wrack.= Ruin, havoc. (Poetical.) + +=418. glancing.= In the sense of darting aside. + +=435. hollow.= Unnatural in tone. + +=452. like that autumn-star.= Probably Sirius, the Dog Star, under +whose ascendency, according to ancient beliefs, epidemic diseases +prevailed. + +=454. crest.= That is, helmet and plume. + +=466. Remember all thy valour.= That is, summon up all your courage. + +=469. girl's wiles.= Explain the line. + +=470. kindled.= Roused, angered. + +=481. unnatural.= because of the kinship of the combatants. + +=481-486. for a cloud=, etc. A distinctly Homeric imitation. Cf. the +cloud that enveloped Paris--Book III., ll. 465-469, of the _Iliad_. + +=489. And the sun sparkled=, etc. Why this reference to the clear Oxus +stream at this moment of intense tragedy? + +=495. helm.= Helmet; defensive armor for the head. + +=497. shore.= Past tense of _shear_, to cut. + +=499. bow'd his head:= because of the force of the blow. + +=508. curdled.= Thickened as with fear. + +=516. Rustum!= Why did this word so affect Sohrab? Note the author's +skill in working up to this climax in the narrative. + +=527-539. Then with a bitter smile=, etc. Compare these words of +the victor, Rustum, with the words of Sohrab, ll. 427-447, when the +advantage was with him. + +=536. glad.= Make happy. + + "That which _gladded_ all the warrior train." + --DRYDEN. + [162] +=538. Dearer to the red jackals=, etc. Cf. I. Sam. xvii. 44: "Come to +me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the +beasts of the field." Careful investigation will show the poem to +abound with Biblical as well as classical parallelisms. + +=556-575. As when some hunter, etc.= One of the truly great similes in +the English language. + +=563. sole.= Alone, solitary. From the Latin _solus_. + +=570. glass.= Reflect as in a mirror. + +=596. bruited up.= Noised abroad. + +=613. the style.= The name or title. + +=625. that old king.= The king of Semenjan. See introductory note to +poem. + +=632. Of age and looks=, etc. That is, of such age as he (Sohrab) +would be, if born of his (Rustum's) union with Tahmineh. + +=658-660. I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm=, etc. This is Arnold's +conception. In the original story Sohrab wore an onyx stone as an +amulet. The onyx was supposed to incite the wearer to deeds of valor. + +=664. corselet.= Protective armor for the body. + +=673. cunning.= Skilful, deft. + +=679. griffin.= In the natural history of the ancients, an imaginary +animal, half lion and half eagle. Here the Simurgh. See note, l. 232. + +=708-710. unconscious hand.= Note how the dying Sohrab seeks to + console the grief-stricken Rustum. + + "Such is my destiny, such is the will of fortune. + It was decreed that I should perish by the hand of my father." + + --_Shah Nameh_. + +=717. have found= (him). Note the ellipsis. + +=723-724. I came ... passing wind.= The _Shah Nameh_ has-- + + "I came like a flash of lightning, and now I depart like the wind." + +=736. caked the sand.= Hardened into cakes. + +=751. Helmund.= See note, l. 82. [163] + +=752. Zirrah.= Another lake in Seistan, southeast of Hamoon, now +almost dry. + +=763-765. Moorghab, Tejend and Kohik.= Rivers of Turkestan which lose +themselves in the deserts to the south of Bokhara. The northern Sir is +the Sir Daria, or Jaxartes. See note, l. 129. + +=788. And heap a stately mound=, etc. Persian tradition says that a +large monument, in shape like the hoof of a horse, was placed over the +spot where Sohrab was buried. + +=830. on that day.= Shortly after the death of Afrasiab, the Persian +monarch Kai Khosroo, accompanied by a large number of his nobles, went +to a spring far to the north, the location fixed upon as a place +for their repose. Here the king died, and those who went with him +afterward perished in a tempest. Sohrab predicted Rustum would be one +of those lost, but tradition does not have it so. + +=861. Persepolis.= An ancient capital of Persia, the ruins of which +are known as "the throne of Jemshid," after a mythical king. + +=878. Chorasma.= A region of Turkestan, the seat of a powerful empire +in the twelfth century, but now greatly reduced. Its present limits +are about the same as those of Khiva. See note, l. 120. + +=880. Right for the polar star.= That is, due north. =Orgunje.= A +village on the Oxus some seventy miles below Khiva, and near the head +of its delta. + +=890. luminous home.= The Aral Sea. + +=891. new bathed stars.= As the stars appear on the horizon, they seem +to have come up out of the sea. + +=875-892.= Discuss the poet's purpose in introducing the remarkable +word-picture of these closing lines of the poem. See also note, ll. +231-250, _The Scholar-Gipsy._ + + + + +SAINT BRANDAN [164] + +In this poem Arnold has vividly presented a quaint legend of Judas +Iscariot, popular in the Middle Ages. Saint Brandan (490-577) was +a celebrated Irish monk, famous for his voyages. "According to the +legendary accounts of his travels, he set sail with others to seek the +terrestrial paradise which was supposed to exist in an island of the +Atlantic. Various miracles are related of the voyage, but they are +always connected with the great island where the monks are said to +have landed. The legend was current in the time of Columbus and +long after, and many connected St. Brandan's island with the newly +discovered America. He is commemorated on May 16."--_The Century +Cyclopedia of Names_. + + +=7. Hebrides.= A group of islands off the northwestern coast of +Scotland. + +=11. hurtling Polar lights.= A reference to the rapid, changing +movements of the Aurora Borealis. + +=18. Of hair that red.= According to tradition, Judas Iscariot's hair +was red. + +=21. sate.= See note, l. 199, _Sohrab and Rustum_. (Old form of "sat," +common in poetry.) + + +=31. self-murder.= After betraying Christ, Judas hanged himself. See +Matt, xxvii. 5 and Acts i. 18. + +=38. The Leper recollect.= There is no scriptural authority for this +incident. + +=40. Joppa=, or Jaffa. A small maritime town of Palestine--the ancient +port of Jerusalem. There is also a small village called Jaffa in +Galilee, some two miles southwest of Nazareth, which may have been the +place the poet had in mind. + + +Image the situation as presented in the first several stanzas. Why +locate in the sea without a "human shore," l. 12? Is there any +especial reason for having the time Christmas night? Note the dramatic +introduction of Judas. What effect did his appearance have on the +saint? How was the latter reassured? Give reasons why Judas felt +impelled to tell his story. Tell the story. Does he praise or belittle +his act of charity? Why does he say "that _chance_ act of good"? How +was it rewarded? Explain his last expression. Was he about to say +more? If so, what? What effect did Judas's story have on Saint +Brandan? Why? What is the underlying thought in the poem? Discuss the +form of verse used and its appropriateness to the theme. [165] + + + + +THE FORSAKEN MERMAN + +"The title of this poem inevitably brings to mind Tennyson's two +poems, _The Merman_ and _The Mermaid_. A comparison will show that, in +this instance at least, the Oxford poet has touched his subject not +less melodiously and with finer and deeper feeling.--Margaret will not +listen to her 'Children's voices, wild with pain';--dearer to her is +the selfish desire to save her own soul than is the light in the eyes +of her little Mermaiden, dearer than the love of the king of the sea, +who yearns for her with sorrow-laden heart. Here is there an infinite +tenderness and an infinite tragedy." + --L. DUPONT SYLE, _From Milton to Tennyson_. + +Legends of this kind abound among the sea-loving Gaelic and Cymric +people. Nowhere, perhaps, have they been given a more pleasing and +touching expression than in Arnold's poem. Note carefully the dramatic +manner in which the pathos of the story is presented and developed. + + +=6. wild white horses.= Breakers, whitecaps. + +=13. Margaret.= A favorite name with Arnold. See _Isolation_ and _A +Dream_ in this volume. + +=39. ranged.= See note, l. 73, _The Strayed Reveller_. (wander +aimlessly about.) + +=42. mail.= Protective covering. + +=54.= Why "down swung the sound of a far-off bell"? [166] + +=81. seal'd.= Fastened; fixed intently upon, as though spellbound. + +=89-93. Hark ... sun.= In her song Margaret shows she is still keenly +alive to human interests, temporal and spiritual. The priest, bell, +and holy well (l. 91) symbolize the church, here Roman Catholic. The +bell is used in the Roman Church to call especial attention to the +more important portions of the service; the well is the holy-water +font. + +=129. heaths starr'd with broom.= The flower of the broom plant, +common in England, is yellow; hence, _starr'd_. + +In his work on Matthew Arnold, George Saintsbury speaks of this poem +as follows: "It is, I believe, not so 'correct' as it once was to +admire this [poem]; but I confess indocility to correctness, at least +the correctness which varies with fashion. _The Forsaken Merman_ is +not a perfect poem--it has _tongueurs_, though it is not long; it has +its inadequacies, those incompetences of expression which are so oddly +characteristic of its author; and his elaborate simplicity, though +more at home here than in some other places, occasionally gives a +dissonance. But it is a great poem,--one by itself,--one which finds +and keeps its own place in the fore-ordained gallery or museum, with +which every true lover of poetry is provided, though he inherits it by +degrees. None, I suppose, will deny its pathos; I should be sorry for +any one who fails to perceive its beauty. The brief picture of the +land, and the fuller one of the sea, and that (more elaborate still) +of the occupations of the fugitive, all have their charm. But the +triumph of the piece is in one of those metrical coups, which give +the triumph of all the greatest poetry, in the sudden change from the +slower movements of the earlier stanzas, or strophes, to the quicker +sweep of the famous conclusions." + [167] +What is the opening situation in the poem? Have the merman and his +children just reached the shore, or have they been there some time? +Why so? Why does the merman still linger, when he is convinced that +further delay will count for nothing? Why does he urge the children to +call? What is shown by his repeated question--"was it yesterday"? Tell +the story of Margaret's departure for the upper world, and discuss the +validity of her reason for going. Do you think she intended to return? +What is the significance of her smile just before departing? Give +a word picture of what the sea-folk saw as they lingered in the +churchyard. Will Margaret ever grieve for the past? If so, when? Why? +Who has your sympathy most, Margaret, the forsaken merman, or the +children? Why? Do you condemn Margaret for the way she has done, or do +you feel she was justified in her actions? Discuss the versification, +giving special attention to its effect on the movement of the poem. + + + + +TRISTRAM AND ISEULT + +The story of Tristram and Iseult is one of the most vivid and +passionate of the Arthurian cycle of legends, and is a favorite with +the poets. The following version is abridged from Dunlop's _History of +Fiction_. + +"In the court of his uncle, King Marc, the king of Cornwall, who at +this time resided at the castle of Tyntagel, Tristram became expert +in all knightly exercises.... The king of Ireland, at Tristram's +solicitation, promised to bestow his daughter Iseult in marriage on +King Marc.... The mother of Iseult gave to her daughter's confidante +a philtre, or love-potion, to be administered on the night of her +nuptials. Of this beverage Tristram and Iseult unfortunately partook. +Its influence, during the remainder of their lives, regulated the +affections and destiny of the lovers. + [168] +"After the arrival of Tristram and Iseult in Cornwall, and the +nuptials of the latter with King Marc, a great part of the romance +is occupied with their contrivances to procure secret interviews ... +Tristram, being forced to leave Cornwall on account of the displeasure +of his uncle, repaired to Brittany, where lived Iseult with the White +Hands. He married her, more out of gratitude than love. Afterwards +he proceeded to the dominions of Arthur which became the theatre of +unnumbered exploits. + +"Tristram, subsequent to these events, returned to Brittany and to +his long-neglected wife. There, being wounded and sick, he was soon +reduced to the lowest ebb. In this situation he despatched a confidant +to the queen of Cornwall to try if he could induce her to follow him +to Brittany. + +"Meanwhile Tristram awaited the arrival of the queen with such +impatience that he employed one of his wife's damsels to watch at the +harbor. Through her, Iseult learned Tristram's secret, and filled with +jealousy, flew to her husband as the vessel which bore the queen of +Cornwall was wafted toward the harbor, and reported that the sails +were black (the signal that Iseult, Marc's queen, had refused +Tristram's request to come to him). Tristram, penetrated with +inexpressible grief, died. The account of Tristram's death was the +first intelligence which the queen of Cornwall heard on landing. She +was conducted to his chamber, and expired holding him in her arms." + + +=1. Is she not come?= That is, Iseult of Ireland. Arnold's poem takes +up the story at the point where Tristram, now on his death-bed, is +watching eagerly for the coming of Iseult, Marc's queen, for whom he +had sent his confidant to Cornwall. Evidently he has just awakened +and is still somewhat confused; see l. 7. Surely none will fail to +appreciate so dramatic a situation. + +=5. What ... be?= That is, what lights are those to the northward, the +direction from which Iseult would come? + [169] +=8. Iseult.= Here Iseult of the White Hands, daughter of King Hoel of +Brittany and wife of Tristram. + +=20. Arthur's court.= Arthur, the half-mythical king of the Britons, +set up his court at Camelot, which Caxton locates in Wales and Malory +near Winchester. Here was gathered the famous company of champions +known as the "Knights of the Round Table," whose feats have been +extensively celebrated in song and story. Among these knights Tristram +held high rank, both as a warrior and a harpist. See ll. 17-19. + +=23. Lyoness.= A mythical region near Cornwall, the home country of +Arthur and Tristram. + +=30-31.= Hence the name, Iseult of the White Hands. + +=56-68.= See introductory note to poem for explanation. =Tyntagel.= +A village in Cornwall near the sea. Near it is the ruined Tyntagel +Castle, the reputed birthplace of Arthur. In the romance of Sir +Tristram it is the castle of King Marc, the cowardly and treacherous +king of Cornwall, the southwest county of England. =teen=. See note, +l. 147, _The Scholar-Gipsy_. (Grief, sorrow; from the old English +_teona_, meaning injury.) + + +=88. wanders=, in fancy. Note how the wounded knight's mind flits from +scene to scene, always centring around Iseult of Ireland. + +=91. O'er ... sea.= The Irish Sea. He is dreaming of his return trip +from Ireland with Iseult, "under the cloudless sky of May" (l. 96). + +=129-132.= See introductory note to poem. The green isle, Ireland is +noted for its green fields; hence the name, Emerald (green) Isle. + +=134. on loud Tyntagel's hill.= A high headland on the coast of Wales. +Discuss the force of the adjective "loud" in this connection. + +=137-160. And that ... more.= See introductory note to poem. + +=161. pleasaunce-walks.= A pleasure garden, screened by trees, shrubs, +and close hedges--here a trysting-place. After the marriage of +Iseult to King Marc, she and Tristram contrived to continue their +relationship in secret. [170] + +=164. fay.= Faith. (Obsolete except in poetry.) + +=180.= Tristram, having been discovered by King Marc in his intrigues +with Iseult, was forced to leave Cornwall; hence his visit to Brittany +and subsequent marriage to Iseult of the White Hands. See introductory +note to poem. + +=192. lovely orphan child.= Iseult of Brittany. + +=194. chatelaine.= From the French, meaning the mistress of a +château--a castle or fortress. + +=200. stranger-knight, ill-starr'd.= That is, Tristram, whose many +mishaps argued his being born under an unlucky star. See also the +account of his birth, note, ll. 81-88, Part II. + +=203. Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard.= Prior to his visit to +Brittany, Tristram had imprisoned his uncle, King Marc, and eloped +with Iseult to the domains of King Arthur. While there he resided +at Joyous Gard, the favorite castle of Launcelot, which that knight +assigned to the lovers as their abode. + +=204. Welcomed here.= That is, in Brittany, where he was nursed back +to health by Iseult of the White Hands. See introductory note to poem. + +=215-226. His long rambles ... ground.= Account for Tristram's +discontent, as indicated in these lines. + +=234-237. All red ... bathed in foam.= The kings of Britain agreed +with Arthur to make war upon Rome. Arthur, leaving Modred in charge +of his kingdom, made war upon the Romans, and, after a number +of encounters, Lucius Tiberius was killed and the Britons were +victorious.--GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, Book IV, Chapter XV; Book X, +Chapters I-XIII. According to Malory, Arthur captured many French and +Italian cities (see ll. 250-251); during this continental invasion, +and was finally crowned king at Rome. It seems that he afterward +despatched a considerable number of his knights to carry the Christian +faith among the heathen German tribes. See ll. 252-253. [171] + +=238. moonstruck knight.= A reference to the mystical influence the +ancients supposed the moon to exert over men's minds and actions. + +=239. What foul fiend rides thee?= What evil spirit possesses you and +keeps you from the fight? + +=240. her.= That is, Iseult of Ireland. + +=243. wanders forth again=, in fancy. + +=245. secret in his breast.= What secret? + +=250-253.= See note, ll. 234-237. =blessed sign.= The cross. + +=255. Roman Emperor.= That is, Lucius Tiberius. See note, ll. 234-237. + +=258. leaguer.= Consult dictionary. + +=261. what boots it?= That is, what difference will it make? + +=303. recks not.= Has no thought of (archaic). + +=308-314. My princess ... good night.= Are Tristram's words sincere, +or has he a motive in thus dismissing Iseult? + +=373-374.= From a dramatic standpoint, what is the purpose of these +two lines? + + + +PART II + +With the opening of Part II the lovers are restored to each other. +The dying Tristram, worn with fever and impatient with long waiting, +unjustly charges Iseult with cruelty for not having come to him with +greater haste. Her gentle, loving words, however, quickly dispel his +doubts as to her loyalty to her former vows. A complete reconciliation +takes place, and they die in each other's embrace. The picture of the +Huntsman on the arras is one of the most notable in English poetry. + + +=47. honied nothings=. Explain. Compare with + + "his tongue Dropt manna." [172] + --_Paradise Lost_, ll. 112-113, Book II. + +=81-88=. Tristram was born in the forest, where his mother Isabella, +sister to King Marc, had gone in search of her recreant husband. + +=97-100=. Tennyson, in _The Last Tournament_, follows Malory in the +story of Tristram's and Iseult's death. "That traitor, King Mark, slew +the noble knight, Sir Tristram, as he sat harping before his lady, +La Beale Isoud, with a trenchant glaive, for whose death was much +bewailing of every knight that ever was in Arthur's days ... and La +Beale Isoud died swooning upon the cross of Sir Tristram, whereof was +great pity."--Malory's _Morte d' Arthur._ + +=113. sconce=. Consult dictionary. + +=116-122=. Why this restlessness on the part of Iseult? Why her +frequent glances toward the door? + +=132. dogg'd=. Worried, pursued. Coleridge uses the epithet +"star-dogged moon," l. 212, Part III, _The Ancient Mariner._ + +=147-193=. For the poet's purpose in introducing the remarkable +word-picture of these lines, see notes on the Tyrian trader, ll. +231-250, 232, _The Scholar-Gipsy._ + + + +PART III + +After the death of Tristram and Iseult of Ireland, our thoughts +inevitably turn to Iseult of the White Hands. The infinite pathos of +her life has aroused our deepest sympathy, and we naturally want to +know further concerning her and Tristram's children. + + +=13. cirque=. A circle (obsolete or poetical). See l. 7, Part III. + +=18. holly-trees and juniper=. Evergreen trees common in Europe and +America. + [173] +=22. fell-fare= (or field-fare). A small thrush found in Northern +Europe. + +=26. stagshorn.= A common club-moss. + +=37. old-world Breton history.= That is, the story of Merlin and +Vivian, ll. 153-224, Part III. + +=79-81=. Compare with the following lines from Wordsworth's +_Michael_:-- + + "This light was famous in its neighborhood. + ... For, as it chanced, + Their cottage on a plot of rising ground + Stood single.... + And from this constant light so regular + And so far seen, the House itself, by all + Who dwelt within the limits of the vale + ... was named _The Evening Star_." + +=81. iron coast.= This line inevitably calls to mind a stanza from +Tennyson's _Palace of Art_:-- + + "One show'd an iron coast and angry waves. + You seemed to hear them climb and fall + And roar, rock-thwarted, under bellowing caves, + Beneath the windy wall." + +=92. prie-dieu.= Praying-desk. From the French _prier_, pray; _dieu_, +God. + +=97. seneschal.= A majordomo; a steward. Originally meant _old_ (that +is, _chief) servant_; from the Gothic _sins_, old, and _salks_, a +servant.--SKEAT. + +=134. gulls.= Deceives, tricks. + + "The vulgar, _gulled_ into rebellion, armed," + --DRYDEN. + +=140.= posting here and there. That is, restlessly changing from place +to place and from occupation to occupation. + +=143-145. Like that bold Cæsar=, etc. Julius Cæsar (100?-44 B.C.). +The incident here alluded to Is mentioned in Suetonius' _Life of the +Deified Julius_, Chapter VII. "Farther Spain fell to the lot of Cæsar +as questor. When, at the command of the Roman people, he was holding +court and had come to Cadiz, he noticed in the temple of Hercules a +statue of Alexander the Great. At sight of this statue he sighed, +as if disgusted at his own lack of achievement, because he had done +nothing of note by the time in life (Cæsar was then thirty-two) that +Alexander had conquered the world." (Free translation.) [174] + +=146-150. Prince Alexander, etc.= Alexander III., surnamed "The +Great" (356-323 B.C.), was the most famous of Macedonian generals and +conquerors, and the first in order of time of the four most celebrated +commanders of whom history makes mention. In less than fifteen years +he extended his domain over the known world and established himself as +the universal emperor. He died at Babylon, his capital city, at the +age of thirty-three, having lamented that there were no more worlds +for him to conquer. (For the boundaries of his empire, see any map of +his time.) Pope spoke of him as "The youth who all things but himself +subdued." =Soudan= (l. 149). An obsolete term for Sultan, the Turkish +ruler. + +=153-224=. The story of Merlin, King Arthur's court magician, and the +enchantress Vivian is one of the most familiar of the Arthurian cycle +of legends. =Broce-liande= (l. 156). In Cornwall. See l. 61, Part +I. =fay= (l. 159). Fairy, =empire= (l. 184). That is, power; here +supernatural power. =wimple= (l. 220). A covering for the head. =Is +Merlin prisoner=, etc. (l. 223). Merlin, the magician, is thus +entrapped by means of a charm he had himself communicated to his +mistress, the enchantress Vivian. Malory has Merlin imprisoned under a +rock; Tennyson, in an oak:-- + + "And in the hollow oak he lay as dead + And lost to life and use and name and fame." + --_Merlin and Vivian_. + [175] +=224=. For she was passing weary, etc. + + "And she was ever passing weary of him." + --MALORY. + +PART I. What is the opening situation in the poem? Why have it a +stormy night? What does Tristram's question (l. 7) reveal of his +condition physically and mentally? What is the office of the parts +of the poem coming between the intervals of conversation? How is the +wounded knight identified? How the lady? Follow the wanderings of the +sleeping Tristram's mind. Are the incidents he speaks of in the order +of their occurrence? Explain ll. 102-103; ll. 161-169. Tell the story +of Tristram and Iseult of the White Hands. What is shown by the fact +that Tristram's mind dwells on Iseult of Ireland even at the time of +battle? How account for his wanderings? For his morose frame of mind? +What change has come over nature when Tristram awakes? Why this +change? What is his mood now? Account for his addressing Iseult of +Brittany as he does. Why his order for her to retire? What is her +attitude toward him? Note the manner in which the children are +introduced into the story (ll. 324-325) PART II. Give the opening +situation. Discuss the meeting of Tristram and Iseult. What is +revealed by their conversation? What is the purpose in introducing the +Huntsman on the arras? PART III. What is the purpose of ll. 1-4? Give +the opening situation in Part III. How is Iseult trying to entertain +her children? What kind of a life does she lead? Discuss ll. 112-150 +as to meaning and connection with the theme of the poem. Tell the +story of Merlin and Vivian. Why introduced? Compare Arnold's version +of the story of Tristram and Iseult with the version given in the +introductory note to the poem. + + + + [176] +THE CHURCH OF BROU + + + +I. THE CASTLE + +The church of Brou is actually located in a treeless Burgundian plain, +and not in the mountains, as stated by the poet. + + +=1. Savoy=. A mountainous district in eastern France; formerly one of +the divisions of the Sardinian States. + +=3. mountain-chalets=. Properly, herdsmen's huts in the mountains of +Switzerland. + +=17. prickers=. Men sent into the thickets to start the game. + +=35. dais=. Here, a canopy or covering. + +=69. erst=. See note, l. 42, _The Scholar-Gipsy_. ( Formerly. +(Obsolete except in poetry.)) + +=71. chancel=. The part of a church in which the altar is placed. + +=72. nave=. See note, ll. 70-76, _Epilogue to Lessing's Laocoön_. + +=77. palmers=. Wandering religious votaries, especially those who bore +branches of palm as a token that they had visited the Holy Land and +its sacred places. + +=109. fretwork=. Representing open woodwork. + + + +II. THE CHURCH + +=17. matin-chime=. Bells for morning worship. + +=21. Chambery=. Capital of the department of Savoy Proper, on the +Leysse. + +=22. Dight=. See l. 277, _Sohrab and Rustum_. (Adorned, dressed.) + +=37. chisell'd broideries=. The carved draperies of the tombs. + + + +III. THE TOMB + +=6. transept=. The transversal part of a church edifice, which crosses +at right angles between the nave and the choir (the upper portion), +thus giving to the building the form of a cross. + + +=39. foliaged marble forest=. Note the epithet. + [177] +=45. leads=. That is, the leaden roof. See l. 1, Part II. (Upon the +glistening leaden roof). + + + + +REQUIESCAT + +This poem, one of Arnold's best-known shorter lyrics, combines with +perfect taste, simplicity and elegance, with the truest pathos. It has +been said there is not a false note in it. + + +=13. cabin'd=. Used in the sense of being cramped for space. + +=16. vasty=. Spacious, boundless. + +What is the significance of strewing on the roses? Why "never a spray +of yew"? (See note, l.140, _The Scholar-Gipsy.)_ What seems to be the +author's attitude toward death? (Read his poem, _A Wish_.) Discuss the +poem as to its lyrical qualities. + + + + +CONSOLATION + +=14. Holy Lassa= (that is, Land of the Divine Intelligence), the +capital city of Thibet and residence of the Dalai, or Grand Lama, the +pontifical sovereign of Thibet and East Asia. Here is located the +great temple of Buddha, a vast square edifice, surmounted by a gilded +dome, the temple, together with its precincts, covering an area of +many acres. Contiguous to it, on its four sides, are four celebrated +monasteries, occupied by four thousand recluses, and resorted to as +schools of the Buddhic religion and philosophy. There is, perhaps, no +other one place in the world where so much gold is accumulated for +superstitious purposes. + + +=17. Muses.= See note, l. 120, _The Strayed Reveller_. + +=18. In their cool gallery=. That is, in the Vatican art gallery at +Rome. + +=19. yellow Tiber.= So called by the ancients because of the +yellowish, muddy appearance of its waters. + [178] +=21. Strange unloved uproar.= At the time this poem was +written,--1849,--the French army was besieging Rome. + +=23. Helicon.= High mountain in Boeotia, legendary home of the +Muses. + +=32. Erst.= See note, l. 32, _The Scholar-Gipsy_. + +=48. Destiny.= That is, Fate, the goddess of human destiny. + +In what mood is the author at the opening of the poem? How does he +seek consolation? How does the calm of the Muses affect him? Can you +see how he might find help in dwelling on the pictures of the blind +beggar and happy lovers? What is the final thought of the poem? Can +you think of any other poem that has this as its central thought? What +do you think of the author's philosophy of life as set forth in this +poem? Discuss the verse form used. + + + + +LINES + +WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS + +The Kensington Gardens form one of the many beautiful public parks of +London. They are located in the Kensington parish, a western suburb of +the city, lying north of the Thames and four miles west-southwest of +St. Paul's. In his poem Arnold contrasts the serenity of nature +with the restlessness of modern life. "Not Lucan, not Vergil, +only Wordsworth, has more beautifully expressed the spirit of +Pantheism."--HERBERT W. PAUL. + + +=4.= The pine trees here mentioned are since dead. + +=14. What endless active life!= Compare with Arnold's sonnet of this +volume, entitled _Quiet Work_, ll. 4-7 and 11-12. + +=21. the huge world.= London. + +=24. Was breathed on by rural Pan.= Note Arnold's classic way of +accounting for his great love for nature, Pan being the nature god. +See note, l. 67, _The Strayed Reveller_. + [179] +=37-42.= Compare the thought here presented with the following lines + from Wordsworth:-- + + "These beauteous forms, + ... have not been to me + As is a landscape to a blind man's eye. + But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din + Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, + ... sensations sweet + Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; + And passing even into my purer mind, + With tranquil restoration." + +Read also Wordsworth's _Lines to the Daffodil_. + +What is the dominant mood of the poem? What evidently brought it to +the author's mind? How does he show his interest in nature? In human +beings? What inspiration does the author seek from nature, ll. 37-42? +Explain the meaning of the last two lines. + + + + +THE STRAYED REVELLER + +"I have such a love for these forms and this old Greek world, that +perhaps I infuse a little soul into my dealings with them, which saves +me from being entirely _ennuyx_, professorial and pedantic." (Matthew +Arnold, in a letter to his sister, dated February, 1858.) + +Circe, according to Greek mythology, was an enchantress, who dwelt in +the island of Ææa, and who possessed the power to transform men +into beasts. (See any mythological text on Ulysses' wanderings.) In +Arnold's fantastic, visionary poem, the magic potion, by which this +transformation is accomplished, affects not the body, but the mind of +the youth. + + +=12. ivy-cinctured.= That is, girdled with ivy, symbolic of Bacchus, +the god of wine and revelry, whose forehead was crowned with ivy. See +also l. 33. [180] + +=36. rout.= Consult dictionary. + +=38. Iacchus.= In the Eleusinian mysteries, Bacchus bore the name of +Iacchus. =fane.= A temple. From the Latin _fanum_, a place of worship +dedicated to any deity. + +=48. The lions sleeping.= As Ulysses' companions approached Circe's +palace, following their landing on her island, they found themselves +"surrounded by lions, tigers, and wolves, not fierce but tamed by +Circe's art, for she was a powerful magician." + +=67. Pan's flute music!= Pan, the god of pastures and woodlands, +was the inventor of the syrinx, or shepherd's flute, with which he +accompanied himself and his followers in the dance. + +=71. Ulysses.= The celebrated hero of the Trojan war; also famous for +his wanderings. One of his chief adventures, on his return voyage from +Troy, was with the enchantress Circe, with whom he tarried a year, +forgetful of his faithful wife, Penelope, at home. + +=72. Art.= That is, are you. (Now used only in solemn or poetic +style.) + +=73. range.= Wander aimlessly about. + +=74. See what the day brings.= That is, the youth. See ll. 24-52 + +=81. Nymphs.= Goddesses of the mountains, forests, meadows, or waters, +belonging to the lower rank of deities. + +=102-107.= Compare in thought with Tennyson's poem, _Ulysses_. + +=110. The favour'd guest of Circe.= Ulysses. See note, l. 71. + +=120. Muses.= Daughters of Jupiter and Minemosyne, nine in number. +According to the earliest writers the Muses were only the inspiring +goddesses of song; but later they were looked to as the divinities +presiding over the different kinds of poetry, and over the arts and +sciences. + [181] +=130-135.= Note the poet's device for presenting a series of mental +pictures. Compare with Tennyson's plan in his _Palace of Art_. Does +Arnold's plan seem more or less mechanical than Tennyson's? + +=135-142. Tiresias.= The blind prophet of =Thebes= (l. 142), the chief +city in Boeotia, near the river =Asopus= (l. 138). In his youth, +Tiresias unwittingly came upon Athene while she was bathing, and was +punished by the loss of sight. As a recompense for this misfortune, +the goddess afterward gave him knowledge of future events. The +inhabitants of Thebes looked to Tiresias for direction in times of +war. + +=143. Centaurs.= Monsters, half man, half horse. + +=145. Pelion.= A mountain in eastern Thessaly, famous in Greek +mythology. In the war between the giants and the gods, the former, in +their efforts to scale the heavens, piled Ossa upon Olympus and Pelion +upon Ossa. + +=151-161.= What in these lines enables you to determine the people and +country alluded to? + +=162-167. Scythian ... embers.= The ancient Greek term for the nomadic +tribes inhabiting the whole north and northeast Europe and Asia. As +a distinct people they built no cities, and formed no general +government, but wandered from place to place by tribes, in their rude, +covered carts (see l. 164), living upon the coarsest kind of food (ll. +166-167). + +=177-180. Clusters of lonely mounds, etc.= That is, ruins of ancient +cities. + +=183. Chorasmian stream.= See note, l. 878, _Sohrab and Rustum_. + +=197. milk-barr'd onyx-stones.= A reference to the white streaks, or +bars, common to the onyx. + +=206. Happy Islands.= Mythical islands lying far to the west, the +abode of the heroes after death. + +=220. Hera's anger.= Hera (or Juno), wife to Jupiter, was noted for +her violent temper and jealousy. She is here represented as visiting +punishment upon the bard, perhaps out of jealousy of the gods who had +endowed him with poetic power, and his life, thus afflicted, seems +lengthened to seven ages. [182] + +=228-229. Lapithæ.= In Greek legends, a fierce Thessalian race, +governed by Pirothous, a half-brother to the Centaurs. =Theseus.= The +chief hero of Attica, who, according to tradition, united the several +tribes of Attica into one state, with Athens as the capital. His life +was filled with adventure. The reference here is to the time of the +marriage of Pirothous and Hippodamia, on which occasion the Centaurs, +who were among the guests, became intoxicated, and offered indignities +to the bride. In the fight that followed, Theseus joined with the +Lapithæ, and many of the Centaurs were slain. + +=231. Alcmena's dreadful son.= Hercules. On his expedition to capture +the Arcadian boar, his third labor, Hercules became involved in a +broil with the Centaurs, and in self-defence slew several of them with +his arrows. + +=245. Oxus stream.= See note, l. 2, _Sohrab and Rustum_. + +=254. Heroes.= The demigods of mythology. + +=257. Troy.= The capital of Troas, Asia Minor; the seat of the Trojan war. + +=254-260.= Shortly after the close of the Trojan war, a party of +heroes from all parts of Greece, many of whom had participated in the +expeditions against Thebes and Troy, set out under the leadership of +Jason to capture the Golden Fleece. Leaving the shores of Thessaly, +the adventurers sailed eastward and finally came to the entrance of +the =Euxine Sea= (the =unknown sea=, l. 260), which was guarded by +the Clashing Islands. Following the instructions of the sage Phineus, +Jason let fly a dove between the islands, and at the moment of +rebound the expedition passed safely through. The ship in which the +adventurers sailed was called the Argo, after its builder, Argus; +hence our term Argonauts. + [183] +=261. Silenus.= A divinity of Asiatic origin; foster-father to Bacchus +and leader of the =Fauns= (l. 265), satyr-like divinities, half man, +half goat, sometimes represented in art as hearing torches (l. 274). + +=275. Mænad.= A bacchante,--a priestess or votary of Bacchus. + +=276. Faun with torches.= See note, l. 261. + + +What is the situation at the beginning of the poem? What effect does +the "liquor" have upon the youth? Why is the presence of Ulysses so +much in harmony with the situation? How does he greet Circe; how the +youth? What does his presence suggest to the latter? Why? Note the +vividness of the pictures he describes; also the swiftness with which +he changes from one to another. What power is ascribed to the poet? +Why his "pain"? What effect is gained by closing the poem with the +same words with which it is opened? Why the irregular verse used? + + + + +DOVER BEACH + +In this poem is expressed the peculiar turn of Arnold's mind, at once +religious and sceptical, philosophical and emotional. It is one of his +most passionate interpretations of life. + + +=15. Sophocles= (495-406 B.C.). One of the three great tragic poets of +Greece. His rivals were Æschylus (526-456 B.C.) and Euripides (486-406 +B.C.). + +=16. Ægean Sea.= See note, l. 236, _The Scholar-Gipsy_. + + * * * * * + +Image the scene in the opening stanzas. What is the author's mood? +Why does he call some one to look on the scene with him? What is the +"eternal note of sadness"? Why connect it in thought with the sea? Why +does this thought suggest Sophocles? What thought next presents itself +to the author's mind? From what source must one's help and comfort +then be drawn? Why so? Why the irregular versification? State the +theme of the poem. [184] + + + + +PHILOMELA + +"Philomela unites the sensibilities and intellectual experience of +modern Englishmen with the luminousness and simplicity of Greek +poetry."--SAINTSBURY. + +The myth of the nightingale has long been a favorite with the poets, +who have variously interpreted the bird's song. See Coleridge's, +Keats's, and Wordsworth's poems on the subject. The most common +version of the myth, the one followed by Arnold, is as follows:-- + +"Pandion (son of Erichthonius, special ward to Minerva) had two +daughters, Procne and Philomela, of whom he gave the former in +marriage to Tereus, king of Thrace (or of Daulis in Phocis). This +ruler, after his wife had borne him a son, Itys (or Itylus), wearied +of her, plucked out her tongue by the roots to insure her silence, +and, pretending that she was dead, took in marriage the other sister, +Philomela. Procne, by means of a web, into which she wove her story, +informed Philomela of the horrible truth. In revenge upon Tereus, the +sisters killed Itylus, and served up the child as food to the father; +but the gods, in indignation, transformed Procne into a swallow, +Philomela into a nightingale, forever bemoaning the murdered Itylus, +and Tereus into a hawk, forever pursuing the sisters."--GAYLEY'S +_Classic Myths_. + + +=4.= Use the subjoined questions in studying the poem. + +=5. O wanderer from a Grecian shore.= See note, l. 27. + +=8.= Note the aptness and beauty of the adjectives in this line, not +one of which could be omitted without irreparable loss. + +=18. Thracian wild.= Thrace was the name used by the early Greeks for +the entire region north of Greece. + [185] +=21. The too clear web=, etc. See introductory note to poem for +explanation of this and the following lines. + +=27. Daulis.= A city of Phocis, Greece, twelve miles northeast of +Delphi; the scene of the myth of Philomela. =Cephessian vale.= The +valley of the Cephissus, a small stream running through Doris, Phocis, +and Boeotia, into the Euboean Gulf. + +=29. How thick the bursts=, etc. Compare with the following lines from + Coleridge:-- + + "'Tis the merry nightingale + That crowds and hurries and precipitates + With fast, thick warble his delicious notes, + As he were fearful that an April night + Would be too short for him to utter forth + His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul + Of all its music!" + --_The Nightingale_. + + Also + + "O Nightingale! thou surely art + A creature of a 'fiery heart':-- + These notes of thine--they pierce and pierce; + Tumultuous harmony and fierce! + Thou sing'st as if the god of wine + Had helped thee to a Valentine." + --WORDSWORTH. + + =31-32. Eternal passion! + Eternal pain!= Compare:-- + + "Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains." + --COLERIDGE, _To a Nightingale_. + + and + + "Sweet bird ... + Most musical, most melancholy!" + --MILTON, _Il Penseroso_. + + +Image the scene in the poem. How does the author secure the proper +atmosphere for the theme of the poem? Account for the note of triumph +in the nightingale's song; note of pain. What is shown by the poet's +question, ll. 10-15? What new qualities are added to the nightingale's +song, l. 25? Account for them. Why _eternal_ passion, _eternal_ pain? +Do you feel the form of verse used (Pindaric blank) to be adapted to +the theme? [186] + + + + +HUMAN LIFE + +=4. kept uninfringed my nature's law.= That is, have lived a perfect +life. + +=5. inly-written chart.= The conscience. + +=8. incognisable.= Not to be comprehended by finite mind. + +=23. prore.= Poetical word for _prow_, the fore part of a ship. + +=27. stem.= Consult dictionary. + +What important incident in the destiny of the soul is alluded to in +stanza 1? Interpret ll. 13-14, and apply to your own experience. Why +cannot we live "chance's fool"? Is there any hint of fatalism in the +poem, or are we held accountable for our own destiny? + + + + +ISOLATION + +TO MARGUERITE, ON RETURNING A VOLUME OF THE LETTERS OF ORTIS + +This poem, the fifth in a loosely connected group of lyrics, under the +general name _Switzerland_, is a continuation of the preceding +poem, _Isolation--to Marguerite_, and is properly entitled, _To +Marguerite--Continued_. When printed separately, the above title is +used. + +Jacopo Ortis was a pseudonym of the Italian poet, Ugo Foscolo. His +_Ultime Lettere di Ortis_ was translated into the English in 1818. + + [187] +=1. Yes!= Used in answer to the closing thought of the preceding poem. + +=7. moon.= Note the frequency with which reference to the moon, with +its light effects, appears in Arnold's lines. Can you give any reason +for this? + +=24.= Mr. Herbert W. Paul, commenting on this line, says: "_Isolation_ +winds up with one of the great poetic phrases of the century--one of +the 'jewels five (literally five) words long' of English verse--a +phrase complete and final, with epithets in unerring cumulation." + +Give the poem's theme. To what is each individual likened? Discuss l.2 +as to meaning. In what sense do we live "alone," l.4? Why "endless +bounds," l.6? How account for the feeling of despair, l.13? Answer the +questions asked in the last stanza. In what frame of mind does the +poem leave you? + + + + +KAISER DEAD + +APRIL 6, 1887 + +Arnold's love for animals, especially his household pets, was most +sincere. Despite the playful irony of his poem, there is in the minor +key an undertone of genuine sorrow. "We have just lost our dear, dear +mongrel, Kaiser," he wrote in a letter dated from his home in Cobham, +Kent, April 7, 1887, "and we are very sad." The poem was written the +following July, and was published in the _Fortnightly Review_ for that +month. + + +=2. Cobham.= See note above. + +=3. Farringford,= in the Isle of Wight, was the home of Lord Tennyson. + +=5. Pen-bryn's bold bard.= Sir Lewis Morris, author of the _Epic of +Hades_, lived at Pen-bryn, in Caermarthanshire. + [188] +=11-12.= In Burns's poem, _Poor Mailie's Elegy_, occur the following +lines:-- + + "Come, join the melancholious croon + O' Robin's reed." + +=20. Potsdam.= The capital of the government district of Potsdam, in +the province of Brandenburg, Prussia; hence the dog's name, _Kaiser_. + +=41. the Grand Old Man.= Gladstone. + +=50. agog.= In a state of eager excitement. + +=65. Geist.= Also remembered in a poem entitled _Geist's Grave_, +included in this volume. + +=76. chiel.= A Scotch word meaning lad, fellow. + + "Buirdly _chiels_ an clever hizzies." + --BURNS, _The Twa Dogs_. + +=Skye.= The largest of the Inner Hebrides. See note, l. 7, _Saint +Brandan_. + + + + +THE LAST WORD + +In this poem Arnold describes the plight of one engaged in a hopeless +struggle against an uncompromising, Philistine world too strong for +him. + +State the central thought in the poem. To whom is it addressed? What +is the _narrow bed_, l. 1? Why give up the struggle? With whom has it +been waged? Explain fully l. 4. What is implied in l. 6? What is meant +by _ringing shot_, l. 11? Who are the victors, l. 14? What would they +probably say on finding the body near the wall? Can you think of any +historical characters of whom the poem might aptly have been written? + + + + [189] +PALLADIUM + +At the time of the Trojan war there was in the citadel of Troy a +celebrated statue of Pallas Athene, called the Palladium. It was +reputed to have fallen from heaven as the gift of Zeus, and the belief +was that the city could not be taken so long as this statue remained +within it. Ulysses and Diomedes, two of the Greek champions, succeeded +in entering the city in disguise, stole the Palladium and carried it +off to the besiegers' camp at Argos. It was some time, however, before +the city fell. + +=1. Simois.= A small river of the Troad which takes its rise in the +rocky, wooded eminence which, according to Greek tradition, formed +the acropolis of Troy. The Palladium was set up on its banks near its +source, in a temple especially erected for it (l. 6), and from this +lofty position was supposed to watch over the safety of the city and +her defenders on the plains below. + +=3. Hector.= Hector, son of Priam, king of Troy (Ilium), and his +wife, Hecuba, was the leader and champion of the Trojan armies. He +distinguished himself in numerous single combats with the ablest of +the Greek heroes; and to him was principally due the stubborn defence +of the Trojan capital. He was finally slain by Achilles, aided by +Athene, and his body dragged thrice around the walls of Troy behind +the chariot of his conqueror. + +=14. Xanthus.= The Scamander, the largest and most celebrated river of +the Troad, near which Troy was situated, was presided over by a deity +known to the gods as Xanthus. His contest with Achilles, whom he so +nearly overwhelmed, forms a notable incident of the _Iliad_. + +=15. Ajax, or Aiax.= One of the leading Greek heroes in the siege of +Troy, famous for his size, physical strength, and beauty. In bravery +and feats of valor he was second only to Achilles. Not being awarded +the armor of Achilles after that hero's death, he slew himself. + [190] +=16.= Helen, the wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta, was celebrated for +her beauty, by reason of which frequent references are made to her by +both classic and modern writers. Goethe introduces her in the second +part of _Faust_, and Faustus, in Marlowe's play of that name, +addresses her thus:-- + + "Oh! thou art fairer than the evening air + Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars." + +Her abduction by Paris, son of Priam (see note, l. 3), was the cause +of the Trojan war, the most notable incident of Greek mythology, which +forms the theme of Homer's greatest poem, the _Iliad_. + +What is the central thought of the poem? Of what is the Palladium +typical? Explain the thought in stanza 3. What is the force of the +references of stanza 4? Discuss the use of the words "rust" and +"shine," l. 17. Just what is meant by "soul" as the word is used in +the poem? + + + + +SELF-DEPENDENCE + +_Self-Dependence_ is a poem in every respect characteristic of its +author. In it Arnold exhorts mankind to seek refuge from human +troubles in the example of nature. + +Picture the situation in the poem. What is the poet's mood as shown +in the opening stanzas? From what source does he seek aid? Why? What +answer does he receive? What is the source of nature's repose? Where +and how must the human soul find its contentment? + + + + [191] +GEIST'S GRAVE + +This poem appeared in the January number of the _Fortnightly Review_ +for 1881. + + +=12. homily.= Sermon. + +=15. the Virgilian cry.= _Sunt lacrimæ rerum!_ These words are +interpreted in the following line. + +=42. On lips that rarely form them now.= Arnold wrote but little +poetry after 1867. + +=55-56. thine absent master.= Richard Penrose Arnold, the poet's only +surviving son. + + + + +EPILOGUE TO LESSING'S LAOCOÖN + +Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729-1781) was a celebrated German dramatist +and critic. For a time he studied theology at Leipsic, then turned his +attention to the stage, and later to criticism. His greatest critical +work (1766) is a treatise on Art, the famous Greek statuary group, +the Laocoön, which gives the work its name, forming the basis for a +comparative discussion of Sculpture, Poetry, Painting, and Music. + + +=1. Hyde Park.= The largest park in London, and the principal +recreation ground of that city. + +=15. Phoebus-guarded ground.= Greece. Phoebus, a name often given +Apollo, the sun god. + +=16. Pausanias.= A noted Greek geographer and writer on art who lived +in the second century. "His work, _The Gazetteer of Hellas_, is our +best repertory of information for the topography, local history, +religious observances, architecture, and sculpture of the different +states of Greece."--K.O. MÜLLER, _History of the Literature of Ancient +Greece_. + [192] +=21-22. Dante= (1265-1321), =Petrarch= (1304-1374), =Tasso= (1544-; +1595), =Ariosto= (1475-1533). Celebrated Italian poets. + +=25. Raphael= (1483-1520). The famous Italian painter. + +=29. Goethe= (1749-1832). The greatest name in German literature. +His works include poetry, dramas, and criticisms. =Wordsworth= +(1770-1850). See the poem, _Memorial Verses_, of this volume. + +=35. Mozart= (1766-1791), =Beethoven= (1770-1827), =Mendelssohn= +(1809-1847). Noted musicians and composers. + +=42. south.= Warm. + +=43-48.= Cyclops Polyphemus, famous in the story of Ulysses, was +a persistent and jealous suitor of Galatea, the fairest of sea +divinities. So ardent was he in his wooings, that he would leave his +flocks to wander at will, while he sang his uncouth lays from the +hilltops to Galatea in the bay below. Her only answers were words of +scorn and mockery. See Andrew Lang's translation of Theocritus, Idyl +VI, for further account. + +=70-76. Abbey towers.= That is, Westminster Abbey, a mile's distance +to the south and east of Hyde Park. The abbey is built in the form of +a cross, the body or lower part of which is termed the nave (l. 73). +The upper portion is occupied by the choir, the anthems of which, with +their organ accompaniments, are alluded to in ll. 74-77. + +=89-106. Miserere Domine!= _Lord, have mercy!_ These words are from +the service of the Church of England. The meaning in these lines is +that Beethoven, in his masterpieces, has transferred the thoughts and +feelings, above inadequately expressed in words, into another and more +emotional tongue; that is, music. + +=107. Ride.= A famous driveway in Hyde Park, commonly called Rotten +Row. + +=119. vacant.= Thoughtless; not occupied with study or reflection. + + "For oft, when on my couch I lie + In _vacant_ or in pensive mood." + --WORDSWORTH'S _Lines to the Daffodils_, ll. 19-20. + +=124. hies.= Hastens (poetical). + [193] +=130. painter and musician too!= Arnold held poetry to be equal to +painting and music combined. + +=140. movement.= Activities. Explained in the following lines. + +=163-210.= Note carefully the argument used to prove that poetry +interprets life more accurately and effectively than any of the other +arts. =Homer=, the most renowned of all Greek poets. The time in which +he lived is not definitely known. =Shakespeare= (1504-1616). + +Give the setting of the story. What was the topic of conversation? +What stand did the poet's friend take regarding poetry? Why turn to +Greece in considering the arts? What limitations of the painter's art +are pointed out by the poet? What is his attitude toward music? +What finally is "the poet's sphere," l. 127? Wherein then is poetry +superior to the other arts? Does the author prove his point by his +poem? Discuss the poem as to movement, diction, etc. + + + + + +QUIET WORK + +No poet, not even Wordsworth, was more passionately fond of nature +than Arnold. Note his attitude in the poem. + + +=1. One lesson.= What lesson? + +=4.= Discuss the use of the adjective "loud"; also "noisier," l. 7. + + +Note the essential elements of sonnet structure in metre, rhyme +formula, and number of lines. See the introduction to Sharp's _Sonnets +of this Century_. + + + + +SHAKESPEARE + +Despite this tribute, Arnold considered Homer Shakespeare's equal, if +not his superior. What do Shakespeare's smile and silence imply on +his part? Explain in full the figure used. Do you consider it apt? Why +"Better so," l. 10? What is there in the poem that helps you to see +wherein lay Shakespeare's power to interpret life? Select the lines +which most impress you, and tell why. [194] + + + + +YOUTH'S AGITATIONS + +This sonnet was written in 1852, when the poet was in his thirtieth +year. + + +=5. joy.= Be glad. =heats.= Passions. + +=6. even clime.= That is, in the less emotional years of maturity. + +=12. hurrying fever.= See note, l. 6. + + + + +AUSTERITY OF POETRY + +=1. That son of Italy.= Giacopone di Todi. + +=2. Dante= (1265-1321). Best known as the author of _The Divine +Comedy_. + +=3. In his light youth.= Explain. + +=11. sackcloth.= Symbolic of mourning or mortification of the flesh. + + +Tell the story of the poem and make the application. Explain Arnold's +idea of poetry as set forth in ll. 12-14. + + + + +WORLDLY PLACE + +=3. Marcus Aurelius= (121-180 A.D.), commonly called "the philosopher." +A celebrated Roman emperor, prominent among the ethical teachers +of his time. Arnold himself has been aptly styled by Sharp an +"impassioned Marcus Aurelius, wrought by poetic vision and emotion to +poetic music." [195] + +=6. foolish.= In the sense of unreasonable. =ken.= The Scotch word +meaning sight. + +=7. rates.= Berates, reproves. + + +Give the poem's theme. What is implied by the word "even," l. 1? Does +the author agree with the implication? Why so? Discuss l. 5 as to its +meaning. Interpret the expressions "ill-school'd spirit," l. 11, and +"Some nobler, ampler stage of life," l. 12. Where finally are the aids +to a nobler life to be found? Do you agree with this philosophy of +life? + + + + +EAST LONDON + +=2. Bethnal Green.= An eastern suburb of London. + +=4. Spitalfields.= A part of northeast London, comprising the parishes +of Bethnal Green and Christchurch. + + +Image the scene. What is the purpose of the first four lines? Discuss +l. 6. What is the import of the preacher's response? What are the +poet's conclusions drawn in ll. 9-14? + + + + +WEST LONDON + +=1. Belgrave Square.= An important square in the western part of +London. + + +Tell the situation and the story of the poem. Why did the woman +solicit aid from the laboring men? Why not from the wealthy? Explain +ll. 9-11. What is the poet's final conclusion? + + + + [196] +MEMORIAL VERSES + +APRIL, 1850 + +Wordsworth died at Rydal Mount, in the Lake, District, April 23, 1850. +These verses, dedicated to his memory, are among Arnold's best-known +lines. For adequacy of meaning and charm of expression, they are +almost unsurpassed; they also contain some of the poet's soundest +poetical criticism. The poem was first published in _Fraser's +Magazine_ for June, 1850, and bore the date of April 27. + + +=1. Goethe in Weimar sleeps.= The tomb of Goethe, the celebrated +German author (see note, l. 29, _Epilogue to Lessing's Laocoön_), is +in Weimar, the capital of the Grand-duchy of Saxe-Weimar. Weimar is +noted as the literary centre of Germany, and for this reason is styled +the German Athens. + +=2. Byron.= George Gordon Byron (1788-1824), a celebrated English poet +of the French Revolutionary period, died at Missolonghi, Greece, where +he had gone to help the Greeks in their struggle to throw off the +Turkish yoke. He was preëminently a poet of passion, and, as such, +exerted a marked influence on the literature of his day. His petulant, +bitter rebellion against all law has become proverbial; hence the +term "Byronic." The =Titans= (l. 14) were a race of giants who warred +against the gods. The aptness of the comparison made here is at once +evident. In Arnold's sonnet, _A Picture at Newstead_, also occur these +lines:-- + + "'Twas not the thought of Byron, of his cry + Stormily sweet, his Titan-agony." + +=17. iron age.= In classic mythology, "The last of the four great ages +of the world described by Hesiod. Ovid, etc. It was supposed to +be characterized by abounding oppression, vice, and misery."-- +_International Dictionary_. The preceding ages, in order, were the +age of gold, the age of silver, and the age of brass. [197] + +=34-39=. Eurydice, wife of Orpheus, was stung to death by a serpent, +and passed to the realm of the dead--Hades. Thither Orpheus descended, +and, by the charm of his lyre and song, persuaded Pluto to restore her +to life. This he consented to do on condition that she walk behind +her husband, who was not to look at her until they had arrived in +the upper world. Orpheus, however, looked back, thus violating the +conditions, and Eurydice was caught back into the infernal regions. + + "The ferry guard + Now would not row him o'er the lake again." + --LANDOR. + +=72. Rotha=. A small stream of the English Lake Region, on which Rydal +Mount, Wordsworth's burial-place, is situated. + + + + +THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY + +"There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford who was by +his poverty forced to leave his studies there and at last to join +himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. Among these extravagant +people, by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage, he quickly got +so much of their love and esteem that they discovered to him their +mystery. After he had been a pretty while exercised in the trade, +there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars who had formerly been of +his acquaintance. They quickly spied out their old friend among the +gipsies, and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him +to that kind of life, and told them that the people he went with +were not such impostors as they were taken for, but that they had a +traditional kind of learning among them, and could do wonders by the +power of imagination, their fancy binding that of others; that himself +had learned much of their art, and when he had compassed the whole +secret, he intended, he said, to leave their company, and give the +world an account of what he had learned."--GLANVIL'S _Vanity of +Dogmatizing_, 1661. [198] + + +=2. wattled cotes=. Sheepfolds. Probably suggested by Milton's + _Comus_, l. 344:-- + + "The folded flocks, penned in their _wattled cotes_." + +=9. Cross and recross=. Infinitives depending upon seen, l. 8. + +=13. cruse=. Commonly associated in thought with the story of Elijah +and the widow of Zarephath, 1 _Kings_, xvii: 8-16. + +=19. corn=. See note, l. 156, _Sohrab and Rustum_. + +=30. Oxford towers=. "Oxford, the county town of Oxfordshire and the +seat of one of the most ancient and celebrated universities in Europe, +is situated amid picturesque environs at the confluence of the +Cherwell and the Thames (often called in its upper course the Isis). +It is surrounded by an amphitheatre of gentle hills, the tops of +which command a fine view of the city with its domes and +towers."--BAEDEKER'S _Great Britain_, in his _Handbooks for +Travellers_. In writing of Oxford, Hawthorne says: "The world, surely, +has not another place like Oxford; it is a despair to see such a place +and ever to leave it, for it would take a lifetime, and more than one, +to comprehend and enjoy it satisfactorily." See also note, l. 19, +_Thyrsis_. + +=31. Glanvil's book=. See introductory note to poem. + +=42. erst=. Formerly. (Obsolete except in poetry.) + +=44-50=. See introductory note to poem. + +=57. Hurst=. Cumner (or Cumnor) Hurst, one of the Cumnor range of +hills, some two or three miles south and west of Oxford, is crowned +with a clump of cedars; hence the name "Hurst." + +=58. Berkshire moors=. Berkshire is the county, or shire, on the south +of Oxford County. + +=69. green-muffled=. Explain the epithet. + [199] +=74. Bablockhithe=. A small town some four miles west and a little +south of Oxford, on the Thames, which at that point is a mere stream +crossed by a ferry. This and numerous other points of interest in the +vicinity of Oxford are frequented by Oxford students; hence Arnold's +familiarity with them and his reference to them in this poem and +_Thyrsis_. See any atlas. + +=79. Wychwood bowers=. That is, Wychwood Forest, ten or twelve miles +north and west of Oxford. See note, l. 74. + +=83. To dance around the Fyfield elm in May=. Fyfield, a parish in +Berkshire, about six miles southwest of Oxford. The reference here is +to the "May-day" celebrations formerly widely observed in Europe, but +now nearly disappeared. The chief features of the celebration in Great +Britain are the gathering of hawthorn blossoms and other flowers, the +crowning of the May-queen and dancing around the May-pole--here the +Fyfield elm. See note, l. 74. Read Tennyson's poem, _The Queen o' the +May_. + +=91. Godstow Bridge=. Some two miles up the Thames from Oxford. + +=95. lasher pass=. An English term corresponding to our _mill race_. +The _lasher_ is the dam, or weir. + +=98. outlandish=. Analyze the word and determine meaning. + +=111. Bagley Wood=. South and west of Oxford, beyond South Hinksey. +See note, l. 125; also note, l. 74. + +=114. tagg'd=. That is, marked; the leaves being colored by frost. + +=115. Thessaly=. The northeastern district of ancient Greece, +celebrated in mythology. Here a forest ground near Bagley Wood. See +note, l. 111; also note, l. 74. + +=125. Hinksey=. North and South Hinksey are unimportant villages a +short distance out from Oxford in the Cumnor Hills. See note, l. 74. + [200] +=129. Christ Church hall=. The largest and most fashionable college +in Oxford; founded by Cardinal Wolsey in 1525. The chapel of Christ +Church is also the cathedral of the diocese of Oxford. + +=130. grange=. Consult dictionary. + +=133. Glanvil=. Joseph Glanvil, 1636-1680. A noted English divine and +philosopher; author of a defence of belief in witchcraft. + +=140. red-fruited yew tree=. The yew tree is very common in English +burial-grounds. It grows slowly, lives long, has a dark, thick +foliage, and yields a red berry. See Wordsworth's celebrated poem, +_The Yew-Tree_. + +=141-170=. "This note of lassitude is struck often--perhaps too +often--in Arnold's poems."--DU PONT SYLE. See also _The Stanzas in +Memory of the Author of Obermann_. For the author's less despondent +mood, see his _Rugby Chapel_, included in this volume. + +=147. teen=. Grief, sorrow; from the old English _teona_, meaning +injury. + +=149. the just-pausing Genius=. Does the author here allude to death? + +=151. Thou hast not lived= (so). That is, as described in preceding +stanza. + +=152. Thou hadst one aim=, etc. What was the Scholar-Gipsy's _one_ +motive in life? + +=157-160. But thou possessest an immortal lot=, etc. Explain. + +=165. Which much to have tried=, etc. Which many attempts and many +failures bring. + +=180. do not we ... await it too=? That is, the spark from heaven. See +l. 171. + +=182-190=. Possibly Carlyle, although the author may have had in mind +a type rather than an individual. + +=208-209. Averse, as Dido did=, etc. Dido, the mythical queen of +Carthage, being deserted by her lover Æneas, slew herself. She +afterward met him on his journey through Hades, but turned from him in +scorn. + [201] + "In vain he thus attempts her mind to move + With tears and prayers and late repenting love; + Disdainfully she looked, then turning round + But fixed her eyes unmoved upon the ground, + And what he says and swears regards no more + Than the deaf rocks when the loud billows roar." + --DRYDEN'S _Translation_. + +For entire episode, see _Æneid_, vi, 450-476. + +=212. inviolable shade=. Holy, sacred, not susceptible to corruption. +Perhaps no other of Arnold's lines is so much quoted as this and the +preceding line. + +=214=. Why "silver'd" branches? + +=220=. dingles. Wooded dells. + +=231-250=. Note the force of this elaborate and exquisitely sustained +image; how the mind is carried back from these turbid days of sick +unrest to the clear dawn of a fresh and healthy civilization. In the +course of an essay on Arnold, the late Mr. Richard Holt Hutton says of +this poem and this closing picture: "That most beautiful and graceful +poem on the _Scholar-Gipsy_ (the Oxford student who is said to have +forsaken academic study in order to learn, if it might be, those +potent secrets of nature, the traditions of which the gypsies are +supposed sedulously to guard) ends in a digression of the most vivid +beauty.... Nothing could illustrate better than this [closing] passage +Arnold's genius and his art.... His whole drift having been that +care and effort and gain and pressure of the world are sapping human +strength, he ends with a picture of the old-world pride and daring, +which exhibits human strength in its freshness and vigor.... I could +quote poem after poem which Arnold closes by some such buoyant +digression: a buoyant digression intended to shake off the tone of +melancholy, and to remind us that the world of imaginative life is +still wide open to us.... This problem is insoluble, he seems to say, +but insoluble or not, let us recall the pristine force of the human +spirit, and not forget that we have access to great resources +still.... Arnold, exquisite as his poetry is, teaches us first to +feel, and then to put by, the cloud of mortal destiny. But he does not +teach us, as Wordsworth does, to bear it." [202] + +=232. As some grave Tyrian trader, etc=. Tyre, the second oldest and +most important city of Phoenicia, was, in ancient times, a strong +competitor for the commercial supremacy of the Mediterranean. + +=236. Ægean Isles=. The Ægean Sea, that part of the Mediterranean +lying between Greece on the west, European Turkey on the north, and +Asia Minor on the east, is dotted with numerous small islands, many of +which are famous in Greek mythology. + +=238. Chian wine=. Chios, or Scio, an island in the Ægean Sea (see +note above), was formerly celebrated for its wine and figs. + +=239. tunnies=. A fish belonging to the mackerel family; found in the +Mediterranean Sea. + +=244. Midland waters=. The Mediterranean Sea. + +=245. Syrtes=. The ancient name of Gulf of Sidra, off North Africa, +the chief arm of the Mediterranean on the south, =soft Sicily=. Sicily +is noted for its delightful climate; hence the term, "soft Sicily." + +=247. western straits=. Strait of Gibraltar. + +=250. Iberians=. Inhabitants of the Iberian Peninsula, formed by +Portugal and Spain. + +What atmosphere is given the poem by the first stanza? What quest is +to be begun, l. 10? What caused the "Scholar" to join himself to the +gipsies? What were his original intentions? Why, then, did he continue +with them till his death? Why would he avoid others than members of +the gipsy crew? Why his pensive air? To what truth does the author +suddenly awake? How does the Scholar-Gipsy yet live to him? Explain +fully lines 180-200. Note carefully the author's contrast between the +life led by the Scholar-Gipsy and our modern life. Which is better? +Why? Make an application of the figure of the Tyrian trader. Is it +apt? Why used by the poet? Discuss the verse form used. Is it adapted +to the theme of the poem? [203] + + + + +THYRSIS + +A monody to commemorate the author's friend, Arthur Hugh Clough, who +died at Florence, 1861. + +Throughout this poem there is reference to the preceding selection, +_The Scholar-Gipsy_, of which it is the companion piece, and, in a +sense, the sequel. It is one of the four great elegies in the English +language. + +Thyrsis is a name common to both ancient and modern literature. In +the Idyls of Theocritus it is used as the name of a herdsman; in the +Eclogues of Vergil, of a shepherd; while in later writings it has come +to mean any rustic. + +Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861), whose poetry is closely akin in spirit +to Arnold's, was a young man of genius and promise. He studied at both +Rugby and Oxford, where he and Arnold were intimately associated and +became fast friends. In 1869 his health began to fail, and two years +later he died in Florence, Italy, where he had gone in the hope of +being benefited by the climate. + +Arnold, in a letter to his mother dated April, 1866, says of his poem: +"Tell dear old Edward [Arnold] that the diction of the Thyrsis was +modelled on that of Theocritus, whom I have been much reading during +the two years this poem has been forming itself, and that I meant the +diction to be so artless as to be almost heedless. However, there is +a mean which must not be passed, and before I reprint this I will +consider well all objections. The images are all from actual +observation.... The cuckoo in the wet June morning, I heard in the +garden at Woodford, and all those three stanzas, which you like, are +reminiscences of Woodford. Edward has, I think, fixed on the two +stanzas I myself like best: 'O easy access,' and 'And long the way +appears.' I also like 'Where is the girl,' and the stanza before it; +but that is because they bring certain places and moments before +me.... It is probably too quiet a poem for the general taste, but I +think it will stand wear." To his friend, John Campbell Shairp, Arnold +wrote, a few days later: "Thyrsis is a very quiet poem, but, I think, +solid and sincere. It will not be popular, however. It had long been +in my head to connect Clough with that Cumner country, and, when I +began, I was carried irresistibly into this form. You say, truly, that +there was much in Clough (the whole prophetic side, in fact) which one +cannot deal with in this way.... Still, Clough had the idyllic side, +too; to deal with this suited my desire to deal again with that Cumner +country. Anyway, only so could I treat the matter this time. _Valeat +quantum_." [204] + + +=1.= Note how the tone of the poem is struck in the first line. + +=2. In the two Hinkseys.= That is, North and South Hinksey. See note, +l. 125, _The Scholar-Gipsy._ + +=4. Sibylla's name.= In ancient mythology the Sibyls were certain +women reputed to possess special powers of prophecy, or divination, +and who claimed to make special intercession with the gods in behalf +of those who resorted to them. Do you see why their "name" would be +used on signs as here mentioned? + +=6. ye hills.= See note, l. 30, _The Scholar-Gipsy._ + +=14. Ilsley Downs.= The surface of East and West Ilsley parishes, in +Berkshire, some twelve or fourteen miles south of Oxford, is broken by +ranges of plateau-like hills, known in England as _downs_. + +=15. The Vale.= White Horse Vale; the upper valley of the River Ock, +westward from Oxford. =weirs=. See note, l. 95, _The Scholar-Gipsy._ + [205] +=19. And that sweet city with her dreaming spires.= Arnold's intense +love for Oxford and the surrounding country appears in many of his +essays and poems. In the introduction to his _Essays on Criticism_, +Vol. I, occurs the following tribute: "Beautiful city! so venerable, +so lovely, so unravaged by the fierce intellectual life of our +century, so serene! + + 'There are our young barbarians all at play!' + +And yet, steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading her garments to +the moonlight, and whispering from her towers the last enchantment of +the Middle Age, who will deny that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, +keeps ever calling us nearer the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, +to perfection--to beauty, in a word, which is only truth seen from +another side?... Home of lost causes and forsaken beliefs and +unpopular names and impossible loyalties! what example could ever so +inspire us to keep down the Philistine in ourselves, what teacher +could ever so save us from that bondage to which we are all prone, +that bondage which Goethe, in his incomparable lines on the death of +Schiller, makes it his friend's highest praise ... to have left miles +out of sight behind him: the bondage of 'was uns alle bändigt, Das +Gemeine'?" + +=20.= Compare with Lowell's lines on June, in _The Vision of Sir +Launfal_. + +=22-23.= Explain. + +=24. Once pass'd I blindfold here.= That is, at one time I could have +passed here blindfolded, being so familiar with the country. Can you +think of any other possible interpretation? + +=26-30.= Explain. + +=31-40.= Compare the thought here to that of Milton's _Lycidas_, ll. +23-38. A comparison of the two poems entire, in thought and structure, +will be found to be both interesting and profitable. =Shepherd-pipe= +(l. 35). The term =pipe=, also reed (l. 78), is continually used in +pastoral verse as symbolic of poetry and song. [206] + +=38-45. Needs must I lose them=, etc. That is, I must lose them, etc. +Arnold's great ambition was to devote his life to literature, which +circumstances largely prevented; while Clough was eager to take a more +active part in life, not being content with the uneventful career of a +poet, =irk'd= (l. 40). Annoyed; worried. =keep= (l. 43). Here used in +the sense of remain, =silly= (l. 45). Harmless; senseless. The word has +an interesting history. + +=46-50=. Like Arnold, Clough held lofty ideals of life, and grieved to +see men living so far below their privileges. This, with his loss +of faith in God, tinged his poetry with sadness. The storms (l. 49) +allude to the spiritual, political, and social unrest of the last of +the first half, and first of the last half, of the nineteenth century. + +=51-60. So ... So....= Just as the cuckoo departs with the bloom of +the year, so he (Clough) went, l. 48. =With blossoms red and white= +(l. 55). The white thorn, or hawthorn, very common in English gardens. + +=62. high Midsummer pomps=. Explained in the following lines. + +=71. light comer=. That is, the cuckoo. Compare + + "O blithe New-comer." + --WORDSWORTH, _Lines to the Cuckoo_. + +=77. swains=. Consult dictionary. + +=78. reed=. See note, l. 35 of poem. + +=79. And blow a strain the world at last shall heed=. On the whole, +Clough's poetry was either ignored or harshly criticised by the +reviewers. + +=80. Corydon=. In the Idyls of Theocritus, Corydon and Thyrsis, +shepherd swains, compete for a prize in music. + +=84. Piping a ditty sad for Bion's fate=. Bion of Smyrna, Asia Minor, +a celebrated bucolic poet of the second century B.C., spent the later +years of his life in Sicily, where it is supposed he was poisoned. +His untimely death was lamented by his follower and pupil, Moschus of +Syracuse, in an idyl marked by melody and genuine pathos. =ditty=. +In a general sense, any song; usually confined, however, to a song +narrating some heroic deed. [207] + +=85. cross the unpermitted ferry's flow=. That is, cross the river +of Woe, over which Charon ferried the shades of the dead to Hades. +Mythology records several instances, however, of the ferry being +passed by mortals. See note, ll. 34-39, _Memorial Verses_; also ll. +207-210, _The Scholar-Gipsy_, of this volume. + +=88-89. Proserpine=, wife to Pluto (l. 86) and queen of the +underworld, was anciently honored, with flower festivals in Sicily, as +the goddess of the spring. + +=90. And flute his friend like Orpheus=, etc. See note, ll. 34-39, +_Memorial Verses_. + +=94. She knew the Dorian water's gush divine=. The river Alpheus, +in the northwestern part of the Peloponnesus--the country of the +Dorians--disappears from the surface and flows in subterranean +channels for some considerable part of its course to the sea. In +ancient Greek mythology it was reputed to rise again to the surface in +central Sicily, in the vale of Enna, the favorite haunt of Proserpine, +as the fountain of Arethusa. + +=95-96. She knew each lily white which Enna yields=, etc. According to +Greek mythology, Proserpine was gathering flowers in the vale of Enna +when carried off by Pluto. + +=97. She loved the Dorian pipe=, etc. What reason or reasons can you +give for Proserpine's love of things Dorian? + +=106. I know the Fyfield tree=. See l. 83, _The Scholar-Gipsy_. + +=109. Ensham, Sanford=. Small towns on the Thames; the former, some +four miles above Oxford; the latter, a like distance below. + +=123. Wytham flats=. Some three miles above Oxford, along the Thames. + [208] +=135. sprent. Sprinkled=. The preterit or past participle of _spreng_ +(obsolete or archaic). + +=141-150=. Explain. + +=155. Berkshire=. See note, l. 58, _The Scholar-Gipsy_. + +=167. Arno-vale=. The valley of the Arno, a river in Tuscany, Italy, +on which Florence is situated. + +=175. To a boon ... country he has fled=. That is, to Italy. + +=177. the great Mother=. Ceres, the earth goddess. + +=181-190=. Daphnis, the ideal Sicilian shepherd of Greek pastoral +poetry, was said to have followed into Phrygia his mistress Piplea, +who had been carried off by robbers, and to have found her in the +power of the king of Phrygia, Lityerses. Lityerses used to make +strangers try a contest with him in reaping corn, and to put them to +death if he overcame them. Hercules arrived in time to save Daphnis, +took upon himself the reaping contest with Lityerses, overcame him, +and slew him. The Lityerses-song connected with this tradition was, +like the Linus-song, one of the early, plaintive strains of Greek +popular poetry, and used to be sung by the corn reapers. Other +traditions represented Daphnis as beloved by a nymph, who exacted from +him an oath to love no one else. He fell in love with a princess, and +was struck blind by the jealous nymph. Mercury, who was his father, +raised him to heaven, and made a fountain spring up in the place from +which he ascended. At this fountain the Sicilians offered yearly +sacrifices. See Servius, _Comment, in Vergil. Bucol_., V, 20, and +VIII, 68. + +=191-200=. Explain the lines. =Sole= (l. 192). See l. 563, _Sohrab and +Rustum_. =soft sheep= (l. 198). Note the use of the adjective _soft_. +Cf. _soft Sicily_, l. 245, _The Scholar-Gipsy_. + +=201-202. A fugitive and gracious light=, etc. What is the light +sought by the Scholar-Gipsy and by the poet? Beginning with l. 201, +explain the succeeding stanzas, sentence by sentence, to the close of +the poem. Then sum up the thought in a few words. + [209] +What is the author's mood, as shown by the first stanza? What is his +purpose in recalling the haunts once familiar to him about Oxford? +Why the mention of the Scholar-Gipsy? What is the significance of the +"tree" so frequently alluded to in the poem? Discuss stanzas 4 and 5 +as to meaning. To what is Thyrsis (Clough) likened in stanzas 6, 7, +and 8? Where, however, is there a difference? Apply ll. 81-84 to +Clough and Arnold. How do you explain the "easy access" of the Dorian +shepherds to Proserpine, l. 91? What digression is made in ll. +131-150? What is the poet's attitude toward life? Why will he not +despair so long as the "lonely tree" remains? What comparison does +he make between Clough and the Scholar-Gipsy? What is the "gracious +light," l. 201? Where found? What voice whispers to him amid the +"heart-wearying roar" of the city? What effect does it have upon him? +Does it give him courage or fortitude? Discuss the verse form and +diction of the poem. + + + + +RUGBY CHAPEL + +_Rugby Chapel_ (1857), one of Arnold's best-known and most +characteristic productions, was written in memory of his father, Dr. +Thomas Arnold, famous as the great head-master at Rugby. Dr. Arnold +was born at East Cowes in the Isle of Wight, June 13, 1795, and as a +boy was at school at Warminster and Winchester. In 1811 he entered +Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and having won recognition as a +scholar, was awarded a fellowship of the Oriel in 1815. Three years +later he settled at Laleham, where, in 1820, he married Mary Penrose, +daughter of Justice Penrose, and where, two years later, was born +Matthew, who was destined to win marked distinction among English men +of letters. In 1827 he was elected head-master at Rugby, and shortly +afterward began those important reforms which have placed him among +the greatest educators of his century. Chief among his writings is +his _History of Rome_, published in several volumes. In 1841 he was +appointed Regius Professor of History at Oxford. He died very suddenly +on Sunday, June 12, 1842, and on the following Friday his remains +were interred in the chancel of Rugby Chapel, immediately under the +communion table. [210] + +In his poem Arnold has drawn a vivid picture of a strong, helpful, +hopeful, unselfish soul, cheering and supporting his weaker comrades +in their upward and onward march--a picture of the guide and companion +of his earlier years; and in so doing he has preserved his father's +memory to posterity in a striking and an abiding way. + + +=1-13=. Note carefully the tone of these introductory lines, and +determine the poet's purpose in opening the poem in this mood. The +picture inevitably calls to mind Bryant's lines, _The Death of +Flowers_. + +=16. gloom=. The key-word to the preceding lines. Explain why it calls +to mind the poet's father. Keats makes a similar use of the word +_forlorn_ in his _Ode to the Nightingale_. + + "... forlorn. + Forlorn! the very word is like a bell + To toll me back from thee to my sole self." + +=30-33=. Discuss the figure as to its aptness. + +=37. shore=. A word common to hymns. + +=38-57=. Discuss the poet's idea of the future life as set forth in +these lines. Can you think of any other author or authors who have +held a like view? + +=58-59=. The poet asks this question only to answer it in the lines +following. Compare and contrast the two classes of men spoken of; +their aims in life and their achievements. Why is the path of those +who have chosen a "clear-purposed goal" pictured so difficult? Who are +they that start well, but fall out by the wayside? [211] + +=90-93=. Compare with Byron's description of a storm in the Alps, +Canto III, _Childe Harold_. + + "Far along, + From peak to peak, the rattling crags among + Leaps the live thunder." + +=98-101=. So unstable is the hold of the "snow-beds" on the mountain +sides that travellers passing beneath them are forbidden by the guides +to speak, lest their voices precipitate an avalanche. See ll. 160-169, +_Sohrab and Rustum_. + +=117-123=. What human frailties are indicated in the answer to the +host's question? Note the contrast in the succeeding lines. + +=124-144=. The imagery of these lines is drawn from Dr. Arnold's +life at Rugby. Under his care frequent excursions were made into the +neighboring Westmoreland Hills. Nothing perhaps gives a better idea of +the man than the description of his "delight in those long mountain +walks, when they would start with their provisions for the day, +himself the guide and life of the party, always on the lookout how +best to break the ascent by gentle stages, comforting the little ones +in their falls and helping forward those who were tired, himself +always keeping with the laggers, that none might strain their strength +by trying to be in front with him; and then, when his assistance was +not wanted, the liveliest of all--his step so light, his eye so +quick in finding flowers to take home to those who were not of the +party."--ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY. + +=171. In the rocks=. That is, among the rocks. + +=190. Ye=. Antecedent? + +=208. City of God=. + + "There is a river the streams whereof shall make glad the _city of + God_." + --_Psalms_, xlvi: 4. + + * * * * * + + + +INDEX TO NOTES + +Abbey towers, 192. +Ader-baijan, 166. +Ægean Isles, 202, +Afrasiab, 156. +Agog, 188. +Ajax, 189. +Alcmena's dreadful son, 182. +All red ... bathed in foam, 170. +Aloof he sits, etc., 159. +And that ... more, 169, +Ariosto, 192. +Arno-vale, 208. +Art, 180. +Arthur's court, 169. +Art them not Rustum? 160. +Asopus, 181. +As some grave Tyrian trader, etc., 202 +As when some hunter, etc., 162. +At my boy's years, 156. +Attruck, 158. +_Austerity of Poetry_, 194. +Averse, as Dido did, etc., 200. + +Bablockhithe, 199. +Bagley Wood, 199. +Bahrein, 160. +Beethoven, 192. +Be govern'd, 160. +Belgrave Square, 195. +Bell, 166. +Berkshire moors, 198. +Bethnal Green, 195. +Blessed sign, 171. +Blow a strain the world at last shall heed, 206. +Bokhara, 157. +Bow'd his head, 161. +Breathed on by rural Pan, 178. +Broce-liande, 174. +Bruited up, 162. +Byron, 196. +By thy father's head, 160. + +Cabin'd, 177. +Cabool, 159. +Caked the sand, 163. +Casbin, 157. +Centaurs, 181. +Chambery, 176. +Chancel, 176. +Chatelaine, 170. +Chian wine, 202. +Chiel, 188. +Chisell'd broideries, 176. +Chorasma, 163. +Chorasmian stream, 181. +Christ Church hall, 199 +Cirque, 172. +City of God, 211. +Clusters of lonely mounds, 181 +Cobham, 187. +Common chance, 156. +Common fight, 156. +_Consolation_, 177. +Cool gallery, 177. +Corn, 158. +Corselet, 162. +Corydon,206. +Crest, 161. +Cross and recross, 198. +Cross the unpermitted ferry's flow, 207. +Cruse, 198. +Cunning, 162. +Curdled, 161. + +Dais, 176. +Dance around the Fyfield elm in May, 199. +Dante, 192. +Daphnis, 208. +Daulis, 185. +Dearer to the red jackals, etc., 162. +Destiny, 178. +Device, 160. +Dight, 160. +Dingles, 201. +Ditty, 207. +Dogg'd, 172. +Do not we ... await it too? 200. +_Dover Beach_, 183. + +_East London_, 195. +Empire, 174. +Ensham, 207. +_Epilogue to Rising's Laocoön_, 191. +Erst, 198. +Eternal passion! eternal pain! 185, +Eurydice, 197. +Even clime, 194.-- + +Falcon, 159. +Fane, 180. +Farringford, 187. +Faun with torches, 183. +Favour'd guest of Circe, 180. +Fay,170. +Fay, 174. +Fell-fare, 173. +Ferghana, 158. +Ferment the milk of mares, 157. +Fight unknown and in plain arms,159. +Find a father thou hast never seen,156. +First grey of morning fill'd the east, 155. +Fix'd, 158. +Flowers, 160. +Flute his friend, like Orpheus,' etc., 207. +Foliaged marble forest, 177. +Foolish, 195. +For a cloud, etc., 161. +Fretwork, 176. +Frore, 157. +Fugitive and gracious light, etc. 208. +Full struck, 161. + +Geist, 188. +_Geist's Grave_, 191. +Girl's wiles, 161. +Glad, 161. +Glancing, 161. +Glanvil, 200. +Glanvil's book, 198. +Glass, 162. +Gloom, 210. +Godstow Bridge, 199. +Goethe, 192. +Goethe in Weimar sleeps, 196. +Go to! 159. +Grand Old Man, 188. +Grange, 200. +Great Mother, 208. +Green isle, 169. +Green-muffled, 199. +Griffin, 162. +Gulls, 173. + +Hair that red, 164. +Haman, 157. +Happy Islands, 181. +Hark ... sun, 166. +Have found, 162. +Heap a stately mound, etc., 163. +Heaths starr'd with broom, 166. +Heats, 194. +Hebrides, 164. +Hector, 189. +Helen, 190. +Helm, 161. +Helmund, 163. +Hera's anger, 181. +Heroes, 182. +He spoke ... men, 159. +Hies, 193. +High Midsummer pomps, 206. +Hinksey, 199. +His long rambles ... ground, 170. +Hollow, 161. +Holly trees and juniper, 172. +Holy Lassa, 177. +Holy well, 166. +Homer, 193. +Homily, 191. +Honied nothings, 172. +How thick the bursts, etc., 185. +Huge world, 178. +_Human Life_,186. +Hurrying fever, 194. +Hurst, 198. +Hurtling Polar lights, 164. +Hydaspes, 161. +Hyde Park, 191. +Hyphasis, 161. + +Iacchus, 180. +Iberians, 202. +I came ... passing wind, 162. +I know the Fyfield tree, 207. +Ilsley Downs, 204. +Incognisable, 186. +Indian Caucasus, 159. +In his light youth, 194. +Inly-written chart, 186. +Inviolable shade, 201. +Iran, 159. +Irk'd, 206. +Iron age, 196. +Iron coast, 173. +Iseult, 169. +Is Merlin prisoner, etc., 174. +_Isolation_, 186. +Is she not come? 168. +Ivy-cinctured, 179. + +Jaxartes, 158. +Joppa, 164. +Joy, 194. +Just-pausing Genius, 200. + +Kai Khosroo, 159. +_Kaiser Dead_, 187. +Kalmucks, 158. +Kara Kul, 157. +Keep, 206. +Ken, 195. +Kept uninfringed my nature's law, 186. +Khiva, 157. +Khorassan, 158. +Kindled, 161. +King Marc, 169. +Kipchak, 158. +Kirghizzes, 158. +Kohik, 163. +Kuzzaks, 158. + +Lapithæ, 182. +Lasher pass, 199. +Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard, 170. +Leads, 177. +Leaguer, 171. +Leper recollect, 164. +Light comer, 206. +Like that autumn star, 161. +Like that bold Cæsar, etc., 173. +_Lines Written in Kensington Gardens_, 178. +Lion's heart, 159. +Lions sleeping, 180. +Lips that rarely form them now, 191. +Lityerses, 208. +Loud Tyntagel's hill, 169. +Lovely orphan child, 170. +Luminous home, 163. +Lyoness, 169. + +Mænad, 183. +Mail, 166. +Marcus Aurelius, 194. +Margaret, 165. +Matin-chime, 176. +_Memorial Verses_, 196. +Mendelssohn, 192. +Midland waters, 202. +Milk-barr'd onyx-stones, 181. +Miserere Domine, 192. +Moon, 187. +Moonstruck knight, 171. +Moorghab, 163. +Mountain-chalets, 176. +Movement, 193 +Mozart, 192. +Muses, 180. +My princess ... good night, 171. + +Needs must I lose them, etc., 206. +Never was that field lost or that foe saved, 160. +New bathed stars, 163. +Northern Sir, 163. +Nymphs, 180. + +O'er ... sea, 169. +Of age and looks, etc., 162. +Old-world Breton history, 173. +Once pass'd I blindfold here, 205. +One lesson, 193. +One slight helpless girl, 159. +On that day, 163. +Orgunje, 163. +Orpheus, 197. +Outlandish, 199. +Oxford towers, 198. +Oxus, 155. +O wanderer from a Grecian shore, 184. + +Painter and musician too, 193. +_Palladium_, 189. +Palmers, 176. +Pamere, 156. +Pan's flute music, 180. +Passing weary, 175. +Pausanias, 191. +Pelion, 181. +Pen-bryn's bold bard, 187. +Peran-Wisa, 156. +Persepolis, 163. +Persian King, 157. +Perused, 160. +Petrarch, 192. +_Philomela_ 184. +Phoebus-guarded ground, 191. +Piping a ditty sad for Bion's fate, 206. +Pleasaunce-walks, 169. +Posting here and there, 173. +Potsdam, 188. +Prick'd upon this arm, etc., 162. +Prickers, 176. +Prie-dieu, 173. +Priest, 166. +Prince Alexander, 174. +Prore, 186. +Proserpine, 207. + +_Quiet Work_, 193. + +Range, 180. +Raphael, 192. +Rates, 195. +Recks not, 171. +Red-fruited yew tree, 200. +Reed, 205. +Remember all thy valour, 161. +_Requiescat_, 177. +Ride, 192. +Right for the polar star, 163. +Roman Emperor, 171. +Rotha, 197. +Rout, 180. +_Rugby Chapel_, 209. +Rustum! 161. + +Sackcloth, 194. +_Saint Brandan_, 164. +Samarcand, 156. +Sandford, 207. +Sate, 159. +Savoy, 176. +Sconce, 172. +Scythian ... embers, 181. +Seal'd, 166. +Secret in his breast, 171. +See what the day brings, 180. +Seistan, 156. +_Self-Dependence_, 190. +Self-murder, 164. +Seneschal, 173. +Shakespeare, 193. +_Shakespeare_, 193. +She knew each lily white which Enna yields, etc., 207. +She knew the Dorian water's gush divine, 207. +She loved the Dorian pipe, etc., 207. +Shepherd-pipe, 205. +Shore, 161. +Sibylla's name, 204. +Silenus, 183. +Silly, 206. +Simois, 189. +Skye, 188. +Snow-haired Zal, 159. +Soft sheep, 208. +Soft Sicily, 202. +_Sohrab and Rustum_, 149. +Sole, 162. +Son of Italy, 194. +Sophocles, 183. +So ... So ..., 206. +Soudan, 174. +South, 192. +Spitalfields, 195. +Sprent, 208. +Stagshorn, 173. +Stem, 186. +Stranger-knight, ill-starr'd, 170. +Strange unloved uproar, 178. +Style, 162. +Sunk, 156. +Sun sparkled, etc., 161. +Swains, 206. +Syrtes, 202. + +Tagg'd, 199. +Tale, 160. +Tartar camp, 155. +Tasso, 192. +Teen, 200. +Tejend, 163. +That old king, 162. +That sweet city with her dreaming spires, 205. +Thebes, 181. +_The Church of Brou_, 176. +_The Forsaken Merman_, 165. +_The Last Word_, 188. +There, go! etc., 157. +_The Scholar-Gipsy_, 197. +Thessaly, 199. +_The Strayed Reveller_, 179. +Thine absent master, 191. +Thou had'st one aim, etc., 200. +Thou hast not lived, 200. +Thou possessest an immortal lot etc., 200. +Thou wilt not fright me so, 160. +Thracian wild, 184. +_Thyrsis_, 203. +Tiresias, 181. +Titans, 196. +To a boon ... country he has fled, 208. +Too clear web, etc., 185. +Toorkmuns, 158. +Tower'd, 160. +Transept, 176. +Tried, 160. +_Tristram and Iseult_, 167. +Troy, 182. +Tukas, 158. +Tunnies, 202. +Tyntagel, 169. + +Ulysses, 180. +Unconscious hand, 162. +Unknown sea, 182. +Unnatural, 161. + +Vacant, 192. +Vale, 204. +Vast, 160. +Vasty, 177. +Vaunt, 160. +Virgilian cry, 191. + +Wanders, 169. +Wattled cotes, 198. +Weirs, 204. +Welcomed here, 170. +Western straits, 202. +_West London_, 195. +What boots it, 171. +What endless active life, 178. +What foul fiend rides thee? 171. +Whether that ... or in some quarrel, 157. +Which much to have tried, etc., 200. +Wild white horses, 165. +Wimple, 174. +With a bitter smile, etc., 161. +With blossoms red and white, 206. +Wordsworth, 192. +_Worldly Place_, 194. +Wrack, 161. +Wychwood bowers, 199. +Wytham flats, 207. + +Xanthus, 189. + +Yellow Tiber, 177. +Yes, 187. +_Youth's Agitations_, 194. + +Zal, 157. +Zirrah, 163. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum and +Other Poems, by Matthew Arnold + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MATTHEW ARNOLD POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 13364-8.txt or 13364-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/3/6/13364/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Lesley Halamek and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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