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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17347-8.txt b/17347-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..75bc61c --- /dev/null +++ b/17347-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1601 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic +Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne + +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: Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650) + Taken from The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles + Swinburne, Vol V. + +Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne + +Release Date: December 18, 2005 [EBook #17347] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Murray, Annika Feilbach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + +Sonnets + +Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650) + + +By Algernon Charles Swinburne + + +Taken from +The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne, Vol V. + + + + +SWINBURNE'S POETICAL +WORKS + + + I. POEMS AND BALLADS (First Series). + + II. SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE, and SONGS OF TWO NATIONS. + +III. POEMS AND BALLADS (Second and Third Series), and SONGS OF THE + SPRINGTIDES. + + IV. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE, THE TALE OF BALEN, ATALANTA IN CALYDON, + ERECHTHEUS. + + V. STUDIES IN SONG, A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS, SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC + POETS, THE HEPTALOGIA, ETC. + + VI. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY, ASTROPHEL, A CHANNEL PASSAGE AND OTHER POEMS. + + +_First printed (Chatto), 1904_ +_Reprinted 1904, '09, '10, '12_ +_(Heinemann), 1917_ + + +_London: William Heinemann, 1917_ + + + + +SONNETS: + + +HOPE AND FEAR 227 +AFTER SUNSET 228 +A STUDY FROM MEMORY 230 +TO DR. JOHN BROWN 231 +TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT 232 +A DEATH ON EASTER DAY 233 +ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT 234 +AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES 235 +A LAST LOOK 237 +DICKENS 238 +ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS 239 +TO JOHN NICHOL 241 +DYSTHANATOS 243 +EUONYMOS 244 +ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF THE JEWS 245 +BISMARCK AT CANOSSA 246 +QUIA NOMINOR LEO 247 +THE CHANNEL TUNNEL 249 +SIR WILLIAM GOMM 250 + + + + +SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS + +1590-1650 + + + I. Christopher Marlowe 297 + II. William Shakespeare 298 + III. Ben Jonson 299 + IV. Beaumont and Fletcher 300 + V. Philip Massinger 301 + VI. John Ford 302 + VII. John Webster 303 + VIII. Thomas Decker 304 + IX. Thomas Middleton 305 + X. Thomas Heywood 306 + XI. George Chapman 307 + XII. John Marston 308 + XIII. John Day 309 + XIV. James Shirley 310 + XV. The Tribe of Benjamin 311 + XVI. Anonymous Plays: "Arden of Feversham" 312 + XVII. Anonymous Plays 313 +XVIII. Anonymous Plays 314 + XIX. The Many 315 + XX. The Many 316 + XXI. Epilogue 317 + + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +HOPE AND FEAR + + +Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope, + With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere, + Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer +Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope +Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope, + And makes for joy the very darkness dear + That gives her wide wings play; nor dreams that fear +At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope. +Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn, +May truth first purge her eyesight to discern + What once being known leaves time no power to appal; +Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn + The kind wise word that falls from years that fall-- + "Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all." + + + + +AFTER SUNSET + +"Si quis piorum Manibus locus." + + +I + +Straight from the sun's grave in the deep clear west + A sweet strong wind blows, glad of life: and I, + Under the soft keen stardawn whence the sky +Takes life renewed, and all night's godlike breast +Palpitates, gradually revealed at rest + By growth and change of ardours felt on high, + Make onward, till the last flame fall and die +And all the world by night's broad hand lie blest. +Haply, meseems, as from that edge of death, +Whereon the day lies dark, a brightening breath + Blows more of benediction than the morn, +So from the graves whereon grief gazing saith + That half our heart of life there lies forlorn + May light or breath at least of hope be born. + + +II + +The wind was soft before the sunset fled: + Now, while the cloud-enshrouded corpse of day + Is lowered along a red funereal way +Down to the dark that knows not white from red, +A clear sheer breeze against the night makes head, + Serene, but sure of life as ere a ray + Springs, or the dusk of dawn knows red from grey, +Being as a soul that knows not quick from dead. +From far beyond the sunset, far above, + Full toward the starry soundless east it blows + Bright as a child's breath breathing on a rose, +Smooth to the sense as plume of any dove; + Till more and more as darkness grows and glows +Silence and night seem likest life and love. + + +III + +If light of life outlive the set of sun + That men call death and end of all things, then + How should not that which life held best for men +And proved most precious, though it seem undone +By force of death and woful victory won, + Be first and surest of revival, when + Death shall bow down to life arisen again? +So shall the soul seen be the self-same one +That looked and spake with even such lips and eyes +As love shall doubt not then to recognise, + And all bright thoughts and smiles of all time past +Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and sense +None other than we knew, for evidence + That love's last mortal word was not his last. + + + + +A STUDY FROM MEMORY + + +If that be yet a living soul which here + Seemed brighter for the growth of numbered springs + And clothed by Time and Pain with goodlier things +Each year it saw fulfilled a fresh fleet year, +Death can have changed not aught that made it dear; + Half humorous goodness, grave-eyed mirth on wings + Bright-balanced, blither-voiced than quiring strings; +Most radiant patience, crowned with conquering cheer; +A spirit inviolable that smiled and sang + By might of nature and heroic need + More sweet and strong than loftiest dream or deed; +A song that shone, a light whence music rang + High as the sunniest heights of kindliest thought; + All these must be, or all she was be nought. + + + + +TO DR. JOHN BROWN + + +Beyond the north wind lay the land of old + Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed + With joy's bright raiment and with love's sweet bread, +The whitest flock of earth's maternal fold. +None there might wear about his brows enrolled + A light of lovelier fame than rings your head, + Whose lovesome love of children and the dead +All men give thanks for: I far off behold +A dear dead hand that links us, and a light +The blithest and benignest of the night, + The night of death's sweet sleep, wherein may be +A star to show your spirit in present sight + Some happier island in the Elysian sea + Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie. + +_March 1882._ + + + + +TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT + + +The larks are loud above our leagues of whin + Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold + With odour like the colour: all the wold +Is only light and song and wind wherein +These twain are blent in one with shining din. + And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled, + Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old, +Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin. +Though all but we from life be now gone forth +Of that bright household in our joyous north +Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end, + First met your hand; yet under life's clear dome, +Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend, + Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home. + +_April 20, 1882._ + + + + +A DEATH ON EASTER DAY + + +The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise, + Rise and make revel, as of old men said, + Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed: +A light more bright than ever bathed the skies +Departs for all time out of all men's eyes. + The crowns that girt last night a living head + Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead: +Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies. +Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled, + Hope sees, past all division and defection, + And higher than swims the mist of human breath, +The soul most radiant once in all the world + Requickened to regenerate resurrection + Out of the likeness of the shadow of death. + +_April 1882._ + + + + +ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT + + +Two souls diverse out of our human sight + Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder: + The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder, +Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might +Of darkness and magnificence of night; + And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder, + Searching if light or no light were thereunder, +And found in love of loving-kindness light. +Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire +Still following Righteousness with deep desire + Shone sole and stern before her and above, +Sure stars and sole to steer by; but more sweet +Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet, + The light of little children, and their love. + + + + +AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES + + +I + +Three men lived yet when this dead man was young + Whose names and words endure for ever: one + Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun, +And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue +Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung, + But like the strain half uttered earth hears none, + Nor shall man hear till all men's songs are done: +One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung +Between the mountains hallowed by his love +And the sky stainless as his soul above: + And one the sweetest heart that ever spake +The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled. +These deathless names by this dead snake defiled + Bid memory spit upon him for their sake. + + +II + +Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake, + Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam, + And for my love's sake, powerless as I am +For love to praise thee, or like thee to make +Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break, + Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb. + Things hatefullest thou hadst not heart to damn, +Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake. +Let worms consume its memory with its tongue, +The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung + Men's memories uncorroded with its breath. +Forgive me, that with bitter words like his +I mix the gentlest English name that is, + The tenderest held of all that know not death. + + + + +A LAST LOOK + + +Sick of self-love, Malvolio, like an owl + That hoots the sun rerisen where starlight sank, + With German garters crossed athwart thy frank +Stout Scottish legs, men watched thee snarl and scowl, +And boys responsive with reverberate howl + Shrilled, hearing how to thee the springtime stank + And as thine own soul all the world smelt rank +And as thine own thoughts Liberty seemed foul. +Now, for all ill thoughts nursed and ill words given +Not all condemned, not utterly forgiven, + Son of the storm and darkness, pass in peace. +Peace upon earth thou knewest not: now, being dead, +Rest, with nor curse nor blessing on thine head, + Where high-strung hate and strenuous envy cease. + + + + +DICKENS + + +Chief in thy generation born of men + Whom English praise acclaimed as English-born, + With eyes that matched the worldwide eyes of morn +For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then +When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when + Reverence of age with love and labour worn, + Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn, +Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live pen: +Where stars and suns that we behold not burn, + Higher even than here, though highest was here thy place, + Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine +With Shakespeare and the soft bright soul of Sterne + And Fielding's kindliest might and Goldsmith's grace; + Scarce one more loved or worthier love than thine. + + + + +ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS + + +I + +If all the flowers of all the fields on earth + By wonder-working summer were made one, + Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun, +Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth +Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth + Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run + Breathed life, and all its breath was benison. +Beloved beyond all names of English birth, +More dear than mightier memories; gentlest name +That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame, +Or linked itself with loftiest names of old + By right and might of loving; I, that am +Less than the least of those within thy fold, + Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb. + + +II + +So many a year had borne its own bright bees + And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived, + John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived +So well with craft of moulding melodies, +Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease + Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived + Of summer music from the spring derived +When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees. +But thine was not the chance of every day: + Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny, + And light between the clouds ere sunset swam, +Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away, + When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey + Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb. + + + + +TO JOHN NICHOL + + +I + +Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days + Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute + The song saluting friends whose songs are mute +With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise. +That since our old young years our several ways + Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit, + Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root +We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays, +The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree, + Friendship--this only and duly might impel + My song to salutation of your own; +More even than praise of one unseen of me + And loved--the starry spirit of Dobell, + To mine by light and music only known. + + +II + +But more than this what moves me most of all + To leave not all unworded and unsped + The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid +Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall +His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall, + The sign to friends on earth of that dear head + Alive, which now long since untimely dead +The wan grey waters covered for a pall. +Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems + Took never life more taintless of rebuke, + More pure and perfect, more serene and kind, +Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames, + And made the now more hallowed name of Luke + Memorial to us of morning left behind. + +_May 1881._ + + + + +DYSTHANATOS + +_Ad generem Cereris sine cæde et vulnere pauci +Descendunt reges, aut siccâ morte tyranni._ + + +By no dry death another king goes down + The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice, + For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice +That one sign more is given against the crown, +That one more head those dark red waters drown + Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise + Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys +As human hearts that shrink at human frown. +The name writ red on Polish earth, the star +That was to outshine our England's in the far + East heaven of empire--where is one that saith +Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar? + "In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath, +Few tyrants perish by no violent death." + +_March 14, 1881._ + + + + +EUONYMOS + +[Greek: eu mên hê timên edidou nikêphoros alkê +ek nikês onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.] + + +A year ago red wrath and keen despair + Spake, and the sole word from their darkness sent + Laid low the lord not all omnipotent +Who stood most like a god of all that were +As gods for pride of power, till fire and air + Made earth of all his godhead. Lightning rent + The heart of empire's lurid firmament, +And laid the mortal core of manhood bare. +But when the calm crowned head that all revere +For valour higher than that which casts out fear, + Since fear came near it never, comes near death, +Blind murder cowers before it, knowing that here + No braver soul drew bright and queenly breath + Since England wept upon Elizabeth. + +_March 8, 1882._ + + + + +ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF +THE JEWS + + +O son of man, by lying tongues adored, + By slaughterous hands of slaves with feet red-shod + In carnage deep as ever Christian trod +Profaned with prayer and sacrifice abhorred +And incense from the trembling tyrant's horde, + Brute worshippers or wielders of the rod, + Most murderous even of all that call thee God, +Most treacherous even that ever called thee Lord; +Face loved of little children long ago, + Head hated of the priests and rulers then, + If thou see this, or hear these hounds of thine + Run ravening as the Gadarean swine, +Say, was not this thy Passion, to foreknow + In death's worst hour the works of Christian men? + +_January 23, 1882._ + + + + +BISMARCK AT CANOSSA + + +Not all disgraced, in that Italian town, + The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand, + Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand, +And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown +And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown, + Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band. + But now the princely wielder of his land, +For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down, +No strength is in the foot to spurn: its tread +Can bruise not now the proud submitted head: + But how much more abased, much lower brought low, +And more intolerably humiliated, + The neck submissive of the prosperous foe, + Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow! + +_December 31, 1881._ + + + + +QUIA NOMINOR LEO + + +I + +What part is left thee, lion? Ravenous beast, + Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope + And compass of thine homicidal hope +The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast +Of souls subdued from west to sunless east, + From blackening north to bloodred south aslope, + All servile; earth for footcloth of the pope, +And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest; +Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod, +Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was God, + And by thy creed's gift heaven wherein to dwell; +Heaven laughs with all his light and might above +That earth has cast thee out of faith and love; + Thy part is but the hollow dream of hell. + + +II + +The light of life has faded from thy cause, + High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory: + Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story, +But the red prey was rent out of thy paws +Long since: and they that dying brake down thy laws + Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory + Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary +High altars, waning with the world's applause. +This Italy was Dante's: Bruno died +Here: Campanella, too sublime for pride, + Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home. +And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink +For thy sake downward? What art thou, to think + Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome? + +_January 1882._ + + + + +THE CHANNEL TUNNEL + + +Not for less love, all glorious France, to thee, + "Sweet enemy" called in days long since at end, + Now found and hailed of England sweeter friend, +Bright sister of our freedom now, being free; +Not for less love or faith in friendship we + Whose love burnt ever toward thee reprehend + The vile vain greed whose pursy dreams portend +Between our shores suppression of the sea. +Not by dull toil of blind mechanic art +Shall these be linked for no man's force to part + Nor length of years and changes to divide, +But union only of trust and loving heart + And perfect faith in freedom strong to abide + And spirit at one with spirit on either side. + +_April 3, 1882._ + + + + +SIR WILLIAM GOMM + + +I + +At threescore years and five aroused anew + To rule in India, forth a soldier went + On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent +Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew +Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo. + Landing, he met the word from England sent + Which bade him yield up rule: and he, content, +Resigned it, as a mightier warrior's due; +And wrote as one rejoicing to record +That "from the first" his royal heart was lord + Of its own pride or pain; that thought was none +Therein save this, that in her perilous strait +England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great, + Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son. + + +II + +Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame + Go with the warrior's memory who preferred + To praise of men whereby men's hearts are stirred, +And acclamation of his own proud name +With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame + Of pageant honour, and the titular word + That only wins men worship of the herd, +His country's sovereign good; who overcame +Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth, +For this land's love that gave his great heart birth. + O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea, +Immortal England, goddess ocean-born, +What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn, + While children of such mould are born to thee? + + + + + +SONNETS + +ON + +ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS + +(1590-1650) + + + + +I + +CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE + + +Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod with light and fire, + Son first-born of the morning, sovereign star! + Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most far, +Most far off in the abysm of time, thy lyre +Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire + Where all ye sang together, all that are, + And all the starry songs behind thy car +Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee sire. + +"If all the pens that ever poets held + Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts," + And as with rush of hurtling chariots +The flight of all their spirits were impelled + Toward one great end, thy glory--nay, not then, + Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of men. + + + + +II + +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE + + +Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one + Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee. + Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea, +What power is in them all to praise the sun? +His praise is this,--he can be praised of none. + Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he + Exults not to be worshipped, but to be. +He is; and, being, beholds his work well done. +All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth, +Are his: without him, day were night on earth. + Time knows not his from time's own period. +All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres, +Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires. + All stars are angels; but the sun is God. + + + + +III + +BEN JONSON + + +Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform, + With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine, + Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine, +And many a crag full-faced against the storm, +The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm + Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine + Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine +From tossing torches round the dance aswarm. + +Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights, +High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights + Hold converse: and the herd of meaner things +Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft +When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed + Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings. + + + + +IV + +BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER + + +An hour ere sudden sunset fired the west, + Arose two stars upon the pale deep east. + The hall of heaven was clear for night's high feast, +Yet was not yet day's fiery heart at rest. +Love leapt up from his mother's burning breast + To see those warm twin lights, as day decreased, + Wax wider, till when all the sun had ceased +As suns they shone from evening's kindled crest. +Across them and between, a quickening fire, +Flamed Venus, laughing with appeased desire. + Their dawn, scarce lovelier for the gleam of tears, +Filled half the hollow shell 'twixt heaven and earth +With sound like moonlight, mingling moan and mirth, + Which rings and glitters down the darkling years. + + + + +V + +PHILIP MASSINGER + + +Clouds here and there arisen an hour past noon + Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars + And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars +Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon, +When the clear still warm concord of thy tune + Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars + Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars, +With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon. +Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face +High melancholy lights with loftier grace + Than gilds the brows of revel: sad and wise, +The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song, +Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong, + Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes. + + + + +VI + +JOHN FORD + + +Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart + Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom + Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom, +That his Memnonian likeness thence may start +Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art + Carved night, and chiselled shadow: be the tomb + That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom +Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart, +As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow + His record of rebellion. Not the day + Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord, +Touching this marble: darkness, none knows how, + And stars impenetrable of midnight, may. + So looms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford. + + + + +VII + +JOHN WEBSTER + + +Thunder: the flesh quails, and the soul bows down. + Night: east, west, south, and northward, very night. + Star upon struggling star strives into sight, +Star after shuddering star the deep storms drown. +The very throne of night, her very crown, + A man lays hand on, and usurps her right. + Song from the highest of heaven's imperious height +Shoots, as a fire to smite some towering town. +Rage, anguish, harrowing fear, heart-crazing crime, +Make monstrous all the murderous face of Time + Shown in the spheral orbit of a glass +Revolving. Earth cries out from all her graves. +Frail, on frail rafts, across wide-wallowing waves, + Shapes here and there of child and mother pass. + + + + +VIII + +THOMAS DECKER + + +Out of the depths of darkling life where sin + Laughs piteously that sorrow should not know + Her own ill name, nor woe be counted woe; +Where hate and craft and lust make drearier din +Than sounds through dreams that grief holds revel in; + What charm of joy-bells ringing, streams that flow, + Winds that blow healing in each note they blow, +Is this that the outer darkness hears begin? + +O sweetest heart of all thy time save one, +Star seen for love's sake nearest to the sun, + Hung lamplike o'er a dense and doleful city, +Not Shakespeare's very spirit, howe'er more great, +Than thine toward man was more compassionate, + Nor gave Christ praise from lips more sweet with pity. + + + + +IX + +THOMAS MIDDLETON + + +A wild moon riding high from cloud to cloud, + That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath, + Hell's children revel along the shuddering heath +With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud: +A worse fair face than witchcraft's, passion-proud, + With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath + And lips that bade the assassin's sword find sheath +Deep in the heart whereto love's heart was vowed: +A game of close contentious crafts and creeds + Played till white England bring black Spain to shame: +A son's bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds + High conscience lights for mother's love and fame: +Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds: + Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name. + + + + +X + +THOMAS HEYWOOD + + +Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom, + What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright + Even yet the laughing and the weeping light +That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from? +Small care was thine to assail and overcome + Time and his child Oblivion: yet of right + Thy name has part with names of lordlier might +For English love and homely sense of home, +Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bayleaf young + And gives it place aloft among thy peers + Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time has hurled: +And this thy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue-- + "O good old man, how well in thee appears + The constant service of the antique world!" + + + + +XI + +GEORGE CHAPMAN + + +High priest of Homer, not elect in vain, + Deep trumpets blow before thee, shawms behind + Mix music with the rolling wheels that wind +Slow through the labouring triumph of thy train: +Fierce history, molten in thy forging brain, + Takes form and fire and fashion from thy mind, + Tormented and transmuted out of kind: +But howsoe'er thou shift thy strenuous strain, +Like Tailor[1] smooth, like Fisher[2] swollen, and now + Grim Yarrington[3] scarce bloodier marked than thou, + Then bluff as Mayne's[4] or broad-mouthed Barry's[5] glee; +Proud still with hoar predominance of brow + And beard like foam swept off the broad blown sea, + Where'er thou go, men's reverence goes with thee. + + [1] Author of _The Hog hath lost his Pearl_. + + [2] Author of _Fuimus Troes, or the True Trojans_. + + [3] Author of _Two Tragedies in One_. + + [4] Author of _The City Match_. + + [5] Author of _Ram-Alley, or Merry Tricks_. + + + + +XII + +JOHN MARSTON + + +The bitterness of death and bitterer scorn + Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou + Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow +A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn. +Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne, + Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough + The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow +Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn. +Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith +Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death + Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul, +Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud +And all the strengths of tyrants; whence unflawed + It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole. + + + + +XIII + +JOHN DAY + + +Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive + With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm, + When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm +With music where all passion seems to strive +For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive + Struggling along the splendour of the storm, + Day for an hour put off his fiery form, +And golden murmurs from a golden hive +Across the strong bright summer wind were heard, + And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play + And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May +Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word, +When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird, + Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day. + + + + +XIV + +JAMES SHIRLEY + + +The dusk of day's decline was hard on dark + When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp + That shone across her shades and dewy damp +A small clear beacon whose benignant spark +Was gracious yet for loiterers' eyes to mark, + Though changed the watchword of our English camp + Since the outposts rang round Marlowe's lion ramp, +When thy steed's pace went ambling round Hyde Park. + +And in the thickening twilight under thee +Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he, +The blithest throat that ever carolled love + In music made of morning's merriest heart, +Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above + And reeled on slippery roads of alien art. + + + + +XV + +THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN + + +Sons born of many a loyal Muse to Ben, + All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale, + Bright from the broad light of its presence, hail! +Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men, +Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then + King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail: + Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale, +Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen: +Marmion, whose verse keeps alway keen and fine +The perfume of their Apollonian wine + Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee +The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine: + Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he + Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see? + + + + +XVI + +ANONYMOUS PLAYS: + +"ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM" + + +Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men, + Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims + Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames, +Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then, +Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen + Which drew, reflected from encircling flames, + A figure marked by the earlier of thy names +Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen +Marked by the sign of murderess? Pale and great, + Great in her grief and sin, but in her death + And anguish of her penitential breath +Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate, + She stands, the holocaust of dark desire, + Clothed round with song for ever as with fire. + + + + +XVII + +ANONYMOUS PLAYS + + +Ye too, dim watchfires of some darkling hour, + Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims + For ever, but forgetfulness defames +And darkness and the shadow of death devour, +Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power, + Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames + And smile, albeit night name not even their names, +Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower: +That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star's that passed +Singing, and light was from its darkness cast + To paint the face of Painting fair with praise:[1] +And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure +Fraternal face of Wordsworth's Elidure + Between two child-faced masks of merrier days.[2] + + [1] _Doctor Dodypol._ + + [2] _Nobody and Somebody._ + + + + +XVIII + +ANONYMOUS PLAYS + + +More yet and more, and yet we mark not all: + The Warning fain to bid fair women heed + Its hard brief note of deadly doom and deed;[1] +The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall +Whence Nero watched his fiery festival;[2] + That iron page wherein men's eyes who read + See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed, +A mad red-handed husband's martyr fall;[3] +The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife +Of Henry with his sons and witchlike wife;[4] +And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend, + Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one, +Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened + In the pleached lanes of pleasant Edmonton.[5] + + [1] _A Warning for Fair Women._ + + [2] _The Tragedy of Nero._ + + [3] _A Yorkshire Tragedy._ + + [4] _Look about you._ + + [5] _The Merry Devil of Edmonton._ + + + + +XIX + +THE MANY + + +I + +Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers, + Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage: + Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age +Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours: +Nash, laughing hard: Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers: + And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage + Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page +Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers: +Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves: + And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse + Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse: +Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves, + Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse: +Live likewise ye: Time takes not you for slaves. + + + + +XX + +THE MANY + + +II + +Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will: + Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird + And keen alternate notes of laud and gird: +Barnes, darkening once with Borgia's deeds the quill +Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil: + Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word: + Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred: +Turk Mason: Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still: +Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau's hand: + Light Nabbes: lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns, + But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns: +Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland: + Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns: +Praise be with all, and place among our band. + + + + +XXI + +EPILOGUE + + +Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith, + Found first among the nations: once, when she + Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee +Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare: once, when death +Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath: + More than thy place, then first among the free + More than that sovereign lordship of the sea +Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth, +More than thy fiery guiding-star, which Drake +Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake, + More than all deeds wrought of thy strong right hand, +This praise keeps most thy fame's memorial strong +That thou wast head of all these streams of song, + And time bows down to thee as Shakespeare's land. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English +Dramatic Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS *** + +***** This file should be named 17347-8.txt or 17347-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/3/4/17347/ + +Produced by Paul Murray, Annika Feilbach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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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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: Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650) + Taken from The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles + Swinburne, Vol V. + +Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne + +Release Date: December 18, 2005 [EBook #17347] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Murray, Annika Feilbach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +Character set for HTML: ISO-8859-1 + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>Sonnets</h1> + +<h1>Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650)</h1> + + +<h2>By Algernon Charles Swinburne</h2> + +<h4>Taken from</h4> +<h3>The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne, Vol V.</h3> + + +<hr /> + +<h2>SWINBURNE'S POETICAL WORKS</h2> + +<ul style="list-style-type: upper-roman; margin-left: 20%;"> +<li><span class="smcap">Poems and Ballads</span> (First Series).</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Songs before Sunrise</span>, and <span class="smcap">Songs of Two Nations</span>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Poems and Ballads</span> (Second and Third Series), and <span class="smcap">Songs + of The Springtides</span>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Tristram of Lyonesse, The Tale of Balen, Atalanta in Calydon, + Erechtheus.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English + Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">A Midsummer Holiday, Astrophel, A Channel Passage and Other + Poems</span>.</li> +</ul> + + + +<p class="centre"> +<i>First printed (Chatto), 1904</i><br /> +<i>Reprinted 1904, '09, '10, '12</i><br /> +<i>(Heinemann), 1917</i><br /> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="centre"><i>London: William Heinemann, 1917</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a href="#part1"><span class="smcap">Sonnets:</span></a></h2> + + +<table summary="Table of Contents"> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem1"><span class="smcap">Hope and Fear</span></a></td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page227">227</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem2"><span class="smcap">After Sunset</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page228">228</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem3"><span class="smcap">A Study from Memory</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page230">230</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem4"><span class="smcap">To Dr. John Brown</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page231">231</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem5"><span class="smcap">To William Bell Scott</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page232">232</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem6"><span class="smcap">A Death on Easter Day</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page233">233</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem7"><span class="smcap">On the Deaths of Thomas Carlyle and George +Eliot</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page234">234</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem8"><span class="smcap">After Looking into Carlyle's Reminiscences</span></a></td><td></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#page235">235</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem9"><span class="smcap">A Last Look</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page237">237</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem10"><span class="smcap">Dickens</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page238">238</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem11"><span class="smcap">On Lamb's Specimens of Dramatic Poets</span></a> </td><td></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#page239">239</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem12"><span class="smcap">To John Nichol</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page241">241</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem13"><span class="smcap">Dysthanatos</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page243">243</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem14"><span class="smcap">Euonymos</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page244">244</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem15"><span class="smcap">On the Russian Persecution of the Jews</span></a></td><td></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#page245">245</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem16"><span class="smcap">Bismarck at Canossa</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page246">246</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem17"><span class="smcap">Quia Nominor Leo</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page247">247</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem18"><span class="smcap">The Channel Tunnel</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page249">249</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem19"><span class="smcap">Sir William Gomm</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page250">250</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="3"><h2><a href="#part2">SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS</a></h2></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="3"><h3>1590-1650</h3></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#poem20">I. Christopher Marlowe</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page297">297</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem21">II. William Shakespeare</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page298">298</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem22">III. Ben Jonson</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page299">299</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem23">IV. Beaumont and Fletcher</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page300">300</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem24">V. Philip Massinger</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page301">301</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem25">VI. John Ford</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page302">302</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem26">VII. John Webster</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page303">303</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem27">VIII. Thomas Decker</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page304">304</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem28">IX. Thomas Middleton</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page305">305</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem29">X. Thomas Heywood</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page306">306</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem30">XI. George Chapman</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page307">307</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem31">XII. John Marston</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page308">308</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem32">XIII. John Day</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page309">309</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem33">XIV. James Shirley</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page310">310</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem34">XV. The Tribe of Benjamin</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem35">XVI. Anonymous Plays: "Arden of Feversham"</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem36">XVII. Anonymous Plays</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page313">313</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem37">XVIII. Anonymous Plays</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page314">314</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem38">XIX. The Many</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page315">315</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#poem39">XX. The Many</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#poem40">XXI. Epilogue</a> </td><td></td><td align="right"> <a href="#page317">317</a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><a name="page225" id="page225"><span class="pageno">[225]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="part1" id="part1"></a>SONNETS</h2> + +<p><a name="page226" id="page226"><span class="pageno">[226]</span></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page227" id="page227"><span class="pageno">[227]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem1" id="poem1"></a>HOPE AND FEAR</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And makes for joy the very darkness dear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gives her wide wings play; nor dreams that fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May truth first purge her eyesight to discern<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What once being known leaves time no power to appal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The kind wise word that falls from years that fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page228" id="page228"><span class="pageno">[228]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem2" id="poem2"></a>AFTER SUNSET</h2> + +<div class="centre"> +<span class="i0">"Si quis piorum Manibus locus."</span> +</div> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Straight from the sun's grave in the deep clear west<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sweet strong wind blows, glad of life: and I,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the soft keen stardawn whence the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Takes life renewed, and all night's godlike breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Palpitates, gradually revealed at rest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By growth and change of ardours felt on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Make onward, till the last flame fall and die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the world by night's broad hand lie blest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haply, meseems, as from that edge of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereon the day lies dark, a brightening breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blows more of benediction than the morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So from the graves whereon grief gazing saith<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That half our heart of life there lies forlorn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May light or breath at least of hope be born.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h5>II</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wind was soft before the sunset fled:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now, while the cloud-enshrouded corpse of day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is lowered along a red funereal way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down to the dark that knows not white from red,<br /></span><a name="page229" id="page229"><span class="pageno">[229]</span></a> +<span class="i0">A clear sheer breeze against the night makes head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Serene, but sure of life as ere a ray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Springs, or the dusk of dawn knows red from grey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Being as a soul that knows not quick from dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From far beyond the sunset, far above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full toward the starry soundless east it blows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright as a child's breath breathing on a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smooth to the sense as plume of any dove;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till more and more as darkness grows and glows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silence and night seem likest life and love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h5>III</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If light of life outlive the set of sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That men call death and end of all things, then<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How should not that which life held best for men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And proved most precious, though it seem undone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By force of death and woful victory won,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be first and surest of revival, when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death shall bow down to life arisen again?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall the soul seen be the self-same one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That looked and spake with even such lips and eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As love shall doubt not then to recognise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all bright thoughts and smiles of all time past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None other than we knew, for evidence<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That love's last mortal word was not his last.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page230" id="page230"><span class="pageno">[230]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem3" id="poem3"></a>A STUDY FROM MEMORY</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If that be yet a living soul which here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seemed brighter for the growth of numbered springs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clothed by Time and Pain with goodlier things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each year it saw fulfilled a fresh fleet year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death can have changed not aught that made it dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half humorous goodness, grave-eyed mirth on wings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright-balanced, blither-voiced than quiring strings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most radiant patience, crowned with conquering cheer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spirit inviolable that smiled and sang<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By might of nature and heroic need<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More sweet and strong than loftiest dream or deed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A song that shone, a light whence music rang<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High as the sunniest heights of kindliest thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All these must be, or all she was be nought.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page231" id="page231"><span class="pageno">[231]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem4" id="poem4"></a>TO DR. JOHN BROWN</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond the north wind lay the land of old<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With joy's bright raiment and with love's sweet bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whitest flock of earth's maternal fold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None there might wear about his brows enrolled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A light of lovelier fame than rings your head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose lovesome love of children and the dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All men give thanks for: I far off behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dear dead hand that links us, and a light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blithest and benignest of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The night of death's sweet sleep, wherein may be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A star to show your spirit in present sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some happier island in the Elysian sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>March 1882.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page232" id="page232"><span class="pageno">[232]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem5" id="poem5"></a>TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The larks are loud above our leagues of whin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With odour like the colour: all the wold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is only light and song and wind wherein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These twain are blent in one with shining din.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though all but we from life be now gone forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that bright household in our joyous north<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First met your hand; yet under life's clear dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>April 20, 1882.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page233" id="page233"><span class="pageno">[233]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem6" id="poem6"></a>A DEATH ON EASTER DAY</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rise and make revel, as of old men said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A light more bright than ever bathed the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Departs for all time out of all men's eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crowns that girt last night a living head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hope sees, past all division and defection,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And higher than swims the mist of human breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul most radiant once in all the world<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Requickened to regenerate resurrection<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Out of the likeness of the shadow of death.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>April 1882.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page234" id="page234"><span class="pageno">[234]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem7" id="poem7"></a>ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Two souls diverse out of our human sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of darkness and magnificence of night;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Searching if light or no light were thereunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And found in love of loving-kindness light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still following Righteousness with deep desire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shone sole and stern before her and above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sure stars and sole to steer by; but more sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The light of little children, and their love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page235" id="page235"><span class="pageno">[235]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem8" id="poem8"></a>AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES</h2> + + +<h5>I</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three men lived yet when this dead man was young<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose names and words endure for ever: one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But like the strain half uttered earth hears none,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor shall man hear till all men's songs are done:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the mountains hallowed by his love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sky stainless as his soul above:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And one the sweetest heart that ever spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These deathless names by this dead snake defiled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bid memory spit upon him for their sake.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h5>II</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And for my love's sake, powerless as I am<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For love to praise thee, or like thee to make<br /></span><a name="page236" id="page236"><span class="pageno">[236]</span></a> +<span class="i0">Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Things hatefullest thou hadst not heart to damn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let worms consume its memory with its tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Men's memories uncorroded with its breath.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgive me, that with bitter words like his<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mix the gentlest English name that is,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tenderest held of all that know not death.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page237" id="page237"><span class="pageno">[237]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem9" id="poem9"></a>A LAST LOOK</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sick of self-love, Malvolio, like an owl<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hoots the sun rerisen where starlight sank,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With German garters crossed athwart thy frank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stout Scottish legs, men watched thee snarl and scowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And boys responsive with reverberate howl<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shrilled, hearing how to thee the springtime stank<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as thine own soul all the world smelt rank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as thine own thoughts Liberty seemed foul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, for all ill thoughts nursed and ill words given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not all condemned, not utterly forgiven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Son of the storm and darkness, pass in peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace upon earth thou knewest not: now, being dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rest, with nor curse nor blessing on thine head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where high-strung hate and strenuous envy cease.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page238" id="page238"><span class="pageno">[238]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem10" id="poem10"></a>DICKENS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Chief in thy generation born of men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom English praise acclaimed as English-born,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eyes that matched the worldwide eyes of morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reverence of age with love and labour worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live pen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where stars and suns that we behold not burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Higher even than here, though highest was here thy place,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Shakespeare and the soft bright soul of Sterne<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Fielding's kindliest might and Goldsmith's grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Scarce one more loved or worthier love than thine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page239" id="page239"><span class="pageno">[239]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem11" id="poem11"></a>ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC +POETS</h2> + + +<h5>I</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If all the flowers of all the fields on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By wonder-working summer were made one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breathed life, and all its breath was benison.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved beyond all names of English birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More dear than mightier memories; gentlest name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or linked itself with loftiest names of old<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By right and might of loving; I, that am<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less than the least of those within thy fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h5>II</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So many a year had borne its own bright bees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So well with craft of moulding melodies,<br /></span><a name="page240" id="page240"><span class="pageno">[240]</span></a> +<span class="i0">Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of summer music from the spring derived<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thine was not the chance of every day:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And light between the clouds ere sunset swam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page241" id="page241"><span class="pageno">[241]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem12" id="poem12"></a>TO JOHN NICHOL</h2> + + +<h5>I</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song saluting friends whose songs are mute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That since our old young years our several ways<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Friendship—this only and duly might impel<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My song to salutation of your own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More even than praise of one unseen of me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And loved—the starry spirit of Dobell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To mine by light and music only known.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h5>II</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But more than this what moves me most of all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To leave not all unworded and unsped<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall<br /></span> +<a name="page242" id="page242"><span class="pageno">[242]</span></a> +<span class="i0">His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sign to friends on earth of that dear head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alive, which now long since untimely dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wan grey waters covered for a pall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Took never life more taintless of rebuke,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">More pure and perfect, more serene and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And made the now more hallowed name of Luke<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Memorial to us of morning left behind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>May 1881.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page243" id="page243"><span class="pageno">[243]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem13" id="poem13"></a>DYSTHANATOS</h2> + +<div style="margin-left: 35%;"> +<span class="i0"><i>Ad generem Cereris sine cæde et vulnere pauci</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Descendunt reges, aut siccâ morte tyranni.</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By no dry death another king goes down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That one sign more is given against the crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That one more head those dark red waters drown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As human hearts that shrink at human frown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The name writ red on Polish earth, the star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That was to outshine our England's in the far<br /></span> +<span class="i2">East heaven of empire—where is one that saith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few tyrants perish by no violent death."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>March 14, 1881.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page244" id="page244"><span class="pageno">[244]</span></a></p> + +<p class="note">[Transcriber's note: Please hover your mouse over the Greek text below to see a transcription.] +</p> + +<h2><a name="poem14" id="poem14"></a>EUONYMOS</h2> + +<div style="margin-left: 35%;"> +<span class="i0"><ins title="eu mên ê timên edidou nikêphoros alkê +ek nikês onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.">εὖ +μὴν +ᾗ +τιμὴν +ἐδίδου νικηφόρος +ἀλκὴ</ins><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><ins title="eu mên ê timên edidou nikêphoros alkê +ek nikês onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.">ἐκ +νίκης +ὄνομ’ +ἔσχε +φόβου +κέαρ +αἰὲν +ἄθικτος.</ins><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A year ago red wrath and keen despair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spake, and the sole word from their darkness sent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laid low the lord not all omnipotent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who stood most like a god of all that were<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As gods for pride of power, till fire and air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made earth of all his godhead. Lightning rent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heart of empire's lurid firmament,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laid the mortal core of manhood bare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the calm crowned head that all revere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For valour higher than that which casts out fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since fear came near it never, comes near death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blind murder cowers before it, knowing that here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No braver soul drew bright and queenly breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since England wept upon Elizabeth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>March 8, 1882.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page245" id="page245"><span class="pageno">[245]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem15" id="poem15"></a>ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF +THE JEWS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O son of man, by lying tongues adored,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By slaughterous hands of slaves with feet red-shod<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In carnage deep as ever Christian trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Profaned with prayer and sacrifice abhorred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And incense from the trembling tyrant's horde,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brute worshippers or wielders of the rod,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most murderous even of all that call thee God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most treacherous even that ever called thee Lord;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Face loved of little children long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Head hated of the priests and rulers then,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If thou see this, or hear these hounds of thine<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Run ravening as the Gadarean swine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, was not this thy Passion, to foreknow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In death's worst hour the works of Christian men?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>January 23, 1882.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page246" id="page246"><span class="pageno">[246]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem16" id="poem16"></a>BISMARCK AT CANOSSA</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not all disgraced, in that Italian town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now the princely wielder of his land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No strength is in the foot to spurn: its tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can bruise not now the proud submitted head:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But how much more abased, much lower brought low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more intolerably humiliated,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The neck submissive of the prosperous foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>December 31, 1881.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page247" id="page247"><span class="pageno">[247]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem17" id="poem17"></a>QUIA NOMINOR LEO</h2> + + +<h5>I</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What part is left thee, lion? Ravenous beast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And compass of thine homicidal hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of souls subdued from west to sunless east,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From blackening north to bloodred south aslope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All servile; earth for footcloth of the pope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was God,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And by thy creed's gift heaven wherein to dwell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven laughs with all his light and might above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That earth has cast thee out of faith and love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy part is but the hollow dream of hell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h5>II</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The light of life has faded from thy cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the red prey was rent out of thy paws<br /></span><a name="page248" id="page248"><span class="pageno">[248]</span></a> +<span class="i0">Long since: and they that dying brake down thy laws<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High altars, waning with the world's applause.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Italy was Dante's: Bruno died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here: Campanella, too sublime for pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thy sake downward? What art thou, to think<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>January 1882.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page249" id="page249"><span class="pageno">[249]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem18" id="poem18"></a>THE CHANNEL TUNNEL</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not for less love, all glorious France, to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Sweet enemy" called in days long since at end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now found and hailed of England sweeter friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright sister of our freedom now, being free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not for less love or faith in friendship we<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose love burnt ever toward thee reprehend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The vile vain greed whose pursy dreams portend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between our shores suppression of the sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not by dull toil of blind mechanic art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall these be linked for no man's force to part<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor length of years and changes to divide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But union only of trust and loving heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And perfect faith in freedom strong to abide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spirit at one with spirit on either side.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="citation"><i>April 3, 1882.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page250" id="page250"><span class="pageno">[250]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem19" id="poem19"></a>SIR WILLIAM GOMM</h2> + + +<h5>I</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At threescore years and five aroused anew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To rule in India, forth a soldier went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Landing, he met the word from England sent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which bade him yield up rule: and he, content,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resigned it, as a mightier warrior's due;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wrote as one rejoicing to record<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That "from the first" his royal heart was lord<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of its own pride or pain; that thought was none<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therein save this, that in her perilous strait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h5>II</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go with the warrior's memory who preferred<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To praise of men whereby men's hearts are stirred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And acclamation of his own proud name<br /></span><a name="page251" id="page251"><span class="pageno">[251]</span></a> +<span class="i0">With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of pageant honour, and the titular word<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That only wins men worship of the herd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His country's sovereign good; who overcame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this land's love that gave his great heart birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal England, goddess ocean-born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While children of such mould are born to thee?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><a name="page295" id="page295"><span class="pageno">[295]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="part2" id="part2"></a>SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS</h2> + +<h3>(1590-1650)</h3> + +<p><a name="page296" id="page296"><span class="pageno">[296]</span></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page297" id="page297"><span class="pageno">[297]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem20" id="poem20"></a>I</h2> + + +<h3>CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod with light and fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Son first-born of the morning, sovereign star!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most far off in the abysm of time, thy lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where all ye sang together, all that are,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the starry songs behind thy car<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee sire.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If all the pens that ever poets held<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as with rush of hurtling chariots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flight of all their spirits were impelled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Toward one great end, thy glory—nay, not then,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of men.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page298" id="page298"><span class="pageno">[298]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem21" id="poem21"></a>II</h2> + +<h3>WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What power is in them all to praise the sun?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His praise is this,—he can be praised of none.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Exults not to be worshipped, but to be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is; and, being, beholds his work well done.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are his: without him, day were night on earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time knows not his from time's own period.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All stars are angels; but the sun is God.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page299" id="page299"><span class="pageno">[299]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem22" id="poem22"></a>III</h2> + +<h3>BEN JONSON</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a crag full-faced against the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From tossing torches round the dance aswarm.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hold converse: and the herd of meaner things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page300" id="page300"><span class="pageno">[300]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem23" id="poem23"></a>IV</h2> + +<h3>BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An hour ere sudden sunset fired the west,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Arose two stars upon the pale deep east.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hall of heaven was clear for night's high feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet was not yet day's fiery heart at rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love leapt up from his mother's burning breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see those warm twin lights, as day decreased,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wax wider, till when all the sun had ceased<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As suns they shone from evening's kindled crest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across them and between, a quickening fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flamed Venus, laughing with appeased desire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their dawn, scarce lovelier for the gleam of tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled half the hollow shell 'twixt heaven and earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sound like moonlight, mingling moan and mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which rings and glitters down the darkling years.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page301" id="page301"><span class="pageno">[301]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem24" id="poem24"></a>V</h2> + +<h3>PHILIP MASSINGER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Clouds here and there arisen an hour past noon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the clear still warm concord of thy tune<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High melancholy lights with loftier grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than gilds the brows of revel: sad and wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page302" id="page302"><span class="pageno">[302]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem25" id="poem25"></a>VI</h2> + +<h3>JOHN FORD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That his Memnonian likeness thence may start<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Carved night, and chiselled shadow: be the tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His record of rebellion. Not the day<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touching this marble: darkness, none knows how,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stars impenetrable of midnight, may.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So looms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page303" id="page303"><span class="pageno">[303]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem26" id="poem26"></a>VII</h2> + +<h3>JOHN WEBSTER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thunder: the flesh quails, and the soul bows down.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Night: east, west, south, and northward, very night.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Star upon struggling star strives into sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Star after shuddering star the deep storms drown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very throne of night, her very crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A man lays hand on, and usurps her right.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Song from the highest of heaven's imperious height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shoots, as a fire to smite some towering town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rage, anguish, harrowing fear, heart-crazing crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make monstrous all the murderous face of Time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shown in the spheral orbit of a glass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revolving. Earth cries out from all her graves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frail, on frail rafts, across wide-wallowing waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shapes here and there of child and mother pass.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page304" id="page304"><span class="pageno">[304]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem27" id="poem27"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h3>THOMAS DECKER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out of the depths of darkling life where sin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laughs piteously that sorrow should not know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her own ill name, nor woe be counted woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where hate and craft and lust make drearier din<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than sounds through dreams that grief holds revel in;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What charm of joy-bells ringing, streams that flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Winds that blow healing in each note they blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is this that the outer darkness hears begin?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O sweetest heart of all thy time save one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Star seen for love's sake nearest to the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hung lamplike o'er a dense and doleful city,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not Shakespeare's very spirit, howe'er more great,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than thine toward man was more compassionate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor gave Christ praise from lips more sweet with pity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page305" id="page305"><span class="pageno">[305]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem28" id="poem28"></a>IX</h2> + +<h3>THOMAS MIDDLETON</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A wild moon riding high from cloud to cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hell's children revel along the shuddering heath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A worse fair face than witchcraft's, passion-proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lips that bade the assassin's sword find sheath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in the heart whereto love's heart was vowed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A game of close contentious crafts and creeds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Played till white England bring black Spain to shame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A son's bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High conscience lights for mother's love and fame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page306" id="page306"><span class="pageno">[306]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem29" id="poem29"></a>X</h2> + +<h3>THOMAS HEYWOOD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even yet the laughing and the weeping light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Small care was thine to assail and overcome<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time and his child Oblivion: yet of right<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy name has part with names of lordlier might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For English love and homely sense of home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bayleaf young<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gives it place aloft among thy peers<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time has hurled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this thy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"O good old man, how well in thee appears<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The constant service of the antique world!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page307" id="page307"><span class="pageno">[307]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem30" id="poem30"></a>XI</h2> + +<h3>GEORGE CHAPMAN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High priest of Homer, not elect in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deep trumpets blow before thee, shawms behind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mix music with the rolling wheels that wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow through the labouring triumph of thy train:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fierce history, molten in thy forging brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Takes form and fire and fashion from thy mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tormented and transmuted out of kind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But howsoe'er thou shift thy strenuous strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like +Tailor<a name="anchor1_1" id="anchor1_1"></a><a href="#footnote1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> smooth, +like Fisher<a name="anchor1_2" id="anchor1_2"></a><a href="#footnote1_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> swollen, and now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grim +Yarrington<a name="anchor1_3" id="anchor1_3"></a><a href="#footnote1_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> scarce bloodier marked than thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then bluff as +Mayne's<a name="anchor1_4" id="anchor1_4"></a><a href="#footnote1_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> or broad-mouthed +Barry's<a name="anchor1_5" id="anchor1_5"></a><a href="#footnote1_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> glee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud still with hoar predominance of brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And beard like foam swept off the broad blown sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where'er thou go, men's reverence goes with thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote1_1" id="footnote1_1"></a><a href="#anchor1_1">[1]</a> Author of <i>The Hog hath lost his Pearl</i>.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote1_2" id="footnote1_2"></a><a href="#anchor1_2">[2]</a> Author of <i>Fuimus Troes, or the True Trojans</i>.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote1_3" id="footnote1_3"></a><a href="#anchor1_3">[3]</a> Author of <i>Two Tragedies in One</i>.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote1_4" id="footnote1_4"></a><a href="#anchor1_4">[4]</a> Author of <i>The City Match</i>.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote1_5" id="footnote1_5"></a><a href="#anchor1_5">[5]</a> Author of <i>Ram-Alley, or Merry Tricks</i>.</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page308" id="page308"><span class="pageno">[308]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem31" id="poem31"></a>XII</h2> + +<h3>JOHN MARSTON</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bitterness of death and bitterer scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the strengths of tyrants; whence unflawed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page309" id="page309"><span class="pageno">[309]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem32" id="poem32"></a>XIII</h2> + +<h3>JOHN DAY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With music where all passion seems to strive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Struggling along the splendour of the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Day for an hour put off his fiery form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And golden murmurs from a golden hive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the strong bright summer wind were heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page310" id="page310"><span class="pageno">[310]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem33" id="poem33"></a>XIV</h2> + +<h3>JAMES SHIRLEY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dusk of day's decline was hard on dark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That shone across her shades and dewy damp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A small clear beacon whose benignant spark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was gracious yet for loiterers' eyes to mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though changed the watchword of our English camp<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since the outposts rang round Marlowe's lion ramp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thy steed's pace went ambling round Hyde Park.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in the thickening twilight under thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blithest throat that ever carolled love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In music made of morning's merriest heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And reeled on slippery roads of alien art.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page311" id="page311"><span class="pageno">[311]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem34" id="poem34"></a>XV</h2> + +<h3>THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sons born of many a loyal Muse to Ben,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright from the broad light of its presence, hail!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then<br /></span> +<span class="i2">King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marmion, whose verse keeps alway keen and fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The perfume of their Apollonian wine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page312" id="page312"><span class="pageno">[312]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem35" id="poem35"></a>XVI</h2> + +<h3>ANONYMOUS PLAYS:</h3> + +<h3>"ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM"</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which drew, reflected from encircling flames,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A figure marked by the earlier of thy names<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked by the sign of murderess? Pale and great,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Great in her grief and sin, but in her death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And anguish of her penitential breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She stands, the holocaust of dark desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clothed round with song for ever as with fire.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page313" id="page313"><span class="pageno">[313]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem36" id="poem36"></a>XVII</h2> + +<h3>ANONYMOUS PLAYS</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye too, dim watchfires of some darkling hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For ever, but forgetfulness defames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And darkness and the shadow of death devour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And smile, albeit night name not even their names,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star's that passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing, and light was from its darkness cast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To paint the face of Painting fair with +praise:<a name="anchor2_1" id="anchor2_1"></a><a href="#footnote2_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fraternal face of Wordsworth's Elidure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Between two child-faced masks of merrier +days.<a name="anchor2_2" id="anchor2_2"></a><a href="#footnote2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote2_1" id="footnote2_1"></a><a href="#anchor2_1">[1]</a> <i>Doctor Dodypol.</i></p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote2_2" id="footnote2_2"></a><a href="#anchor2_2">[2]</a> <i>Nobody and Somebody.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page314" id="page314"><span class="pageno">[314]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem37" id="poem37"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<h3>ANONYMOUS PLAYS</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">More yet and more, and yet we mark not all:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Warning fain to bid fair women heed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its hard brief note of deadly doom and +deed;<a name="anchor3_1" id="anchor3_1"></a><a href="#footnote3_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence Nero watched his fiery +festival;<a name="anchor3_2" id="anchor3_2"></a><a href="#footnote3_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That iron page wherein men's eyes who read<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mad red-handed husband's martyr +fall;<a name="anchor3_3" id="anchor3_3"></a><a href="#footnote3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Henry with his sons and witchlike +wife;<a name="anchor3_4" id="anchor3_4"></a><a href="#footnote3_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the pleached lanes of pleasant +Edmonton.<a name="anchor3_5" id="anchor3_5"></a><a href="#footnote3_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote3_1" id="footnote3_1"></a><a href="#anchor3_1">[1]</a> <i>A Warning for Fair Women.</i></p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote3_2" id="footnote3_2"></a><a href="#anchor3_2">[2]</a> <i>The Tragedy of Nero.</i></p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote3_3" id="footnote3_3"></a><a href="#anchor3_3">[3]</a> <i>A Yorkshire Tragedy.</i></p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote3_4" id="footnote3_4"></a><a href="#anchor3_4">[4]</a> <i>Look about you.</i></p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="footnote3_5" id="footnote3_5"></a><a href="#anchor3_5">[5]</a> <i>The Merry Devil of Edmonton.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page315" id="page315"><span class="pageno">[315]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem38" id="poem38"></a>XIX</h2> + +<h3>THE MANY</h3> + + +<h5>I</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nash, laughing hard: Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live likewise ye: Time takes not you for slaves.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page316" id="page316"><span class="pageno">[316]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem39" id="poem39"></a>XX</h2> + +<h3>THE MANY</h3> + + +<h5>II</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And keen alternate notes of laud and gird:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Barnes, darkening once with Borgia's deeds the quill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turk Mason: Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau's hand:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Light Nabbes: lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Praise be with all, and place among our band.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><a name="page317" id="page317"><span class="pageno">[317]</span></a></p> + +<h2><a name="poem40" id="poem40"></a>XXI</h2> + +<h3>EPILOGUE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Found first among the nations: once, when she<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare: once, when death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More than thy place, then first among the free<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More than that sovereign lordship of the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More than thy fiery guiding-star, which Drake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More than all deeds wrought of thy strong right hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This praise keeps most thy fame's memorial strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thou wast head of all these streams of song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And time bows down to thee as Shakespeare's land.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English +Dramatic Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS *** + +***** This file should be named 17347-h.htm or 17347-h.zip ***** +This and all associated 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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: Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650) + Taken from The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles + Swinburne, Vol V. + +Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne + +Release Date: December 18, 2005 [EBook #17347] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Murray, Annika Feilbach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + +Sonnets + +Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650) + + +By Algernon Charles Swinburne + + +Taken from +The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne, Vol V. + + + + +SWINBURNE'S POETICAL +WORKS + + + I. POEMS AND BALLADS (First Series). + + II. SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE, and SONGS OF TWO NATIONS. + +III. POEMS AND BALLADS (Second and Third Series), and SONGS OF THE + SPRINGTIDES. + + IV. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE, THE TALE OF BALEN, ATALANTA IN CALYDON, + ERECHTHEUS. + + V. STUDIES IN SONG, A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS, SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC + POETS, THE HEPTALOGIA, ETC. + + VI. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY, ASTROPHEL, A CHANNEL PASSAGE AND OTHER POEMS. + + +_First printed (Chatto), 1904_ +_Reprinted 1904, '09, '10, '12_ +_(Heinemann), 1917_ + + +_London: William Heinemann, 1917_ + + + + +SONNETS: + + +HOPE AND FEAR 227 +AFTER SUNSET 228 +A STUDY FROM MEMORY 230 +TO DR. JOHN BROWN 231 +TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT 232 +A DEATH ON EASTER DAY 233 +ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT 234 +AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES 235 +A LAST LOOK 237 +DICKENS 238 +ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS 239 +TO JOHN NICHOL 241 +DYSTHANATOS 243 +EUONYMOS 244 +ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF THE JEWS 245 +BISMARCK AT CANOSSA 246 +QUIA NOMINOR LEO 247 +THE CHANNEL TUNNEL 249 +SIR WILLIAM GOMM 250 + + + + +SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS + +1590-1650 + + + I. Christopher Marlowe 297 + II. William Shakespeare 298 + III. Ben Jonson 299 + IV. Beaumont and Fletcher 300 + V. Philip Massinger 301 + VI. John Ford 302 + VII. John Webster 303 + VIII. Thomas Decker 304 + IX. Thomas Middleton 305 + X. Thomas Heywood 306 + XI. George Chapman 307 + XII. John Marston 308 + XIII. John Day 309 + XIV. James Shirley 310 + XV. The Tribe of Benjamin 311 + XVI. Anonymous Plays: "Arden of Feversham" 312 + XVII. Anonymous Plays 313 +XVIII. Anonymous Plays 314 + XIX. The Many 315 + XX. The Many 316 + XXI. Epilogue 317 + + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +HOPE AND FEAR + + +Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope, + With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere, + Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer +Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope +Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope, + And makes for joy the very darkness dear + That gives her wide wings play; nor dreams that fear +At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope. +Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn, +May truth first purge her eyesight to discern + What once being known leaves time no power to appal; +Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn + The kind wise word that falls from years that fall-- + "Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all." + + + + +AFTER SUNSET + +"Si quis piorum Manibus locus." + + +I + +Straight from the sun's grave in the deep clear west + A sweet strong wind blows, glad of life: and I, + Under the soft keen stardawn whence the sky +Takes life renewed, and all night's godlike breast +Palpitates, gradually revealed at rest + By growth and change of ardours felt on high, + Make onward, till the last flame fall and die +And all the world by night's broad hand lie blest. +Haply, meseems, as from that edge of death, +Whereon the day lies dark, a brightening breath + Blows more of benediction than the morn, +So from the graves whereon grief gazing saith + That half our heart of life there lies forlorn + May light or breath at least of hope be born. + + +II + +The wind was soft before the sunset fled: + Now, while the cloud-enshrouded corpse of day + Is lowered along a red funereal way +Down to the dark that knows not white from red, +A clear sheer breeze against the night makes head, + Serene, but sure of life as ere a ray + Springs, or the dusk of dawn knows red from grey, +Being as a soul that knows not quick from dead. +From far beyond the sunset, far above, + Full toward the starry soundless east it blows + Bright as a child's breath breathing on a rose, +Smooth to the sense as plume of any dove; + Till more and more as darkness grows and glows +Silence and night seem likest life and love. + + +III + +If light of life outlive the set of sun + That men call death and end of all things, then + How should not that which life held best for men +And proved most precious, though it seem undone +By force of death and woful victory won, + Be first and surest of revival, when + Death shall bow down to life arisen again? +So shall the soul seen be the self-same one +That looked and spake with even such lips and eyes +As love shall doubt not then to recognise, + And all bright thoughts and smiles of all time past +Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and sense +None other than we knew, for evidence + That love's last mortal word was not his last. + + + + +A STUDY FROM MEMORY + + +If that be yet a living soul which here + Seemed brighter for the growth of numbered springs + And clothed by Time and Pain with goodlier things +Each year it saw fulfilled a fresh fleet year, +Death can have changed not aught that made it dear; + Half humorous goodness, grave-eyed mirth on wings + Bright-balanced, blither-voiced than quiring strings; +Most radiant patience, crowned with conquering cheer; +A spirit inviolable that smiled and sang + By might of nature and heroic need + More sweet and strong than loftiest dream or deed; +A song that shone, a light whence music rang + High as the sunniest heights of kindliest thought; + All these must be, or all she was be nought. + + + + +TO DR. JOHN BROWN + + +Beyond the north wind lay the land of old + Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed + With joy's bright raiment and with love's sweet bread, +The whitest flock of earth's maternal fold. +None there might wear about his brows enrolled + A light of lovelier fame than rings your head, + Whose lovesome love of children and the dead +All men give thanks for: I far off behold +A dear dead hand that links us, and a light +The blithest and benignest of the night, + The night of death's sweet sleep, wherein may be +A star to show your spirit in present sight + Some happier island in the Elysian sea + Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie. + +_March 1882._ + + + + +TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT + + +The larks are loud above our leagues of whin + Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold + With odour like the colour: all the wold +Is only light and song and wind wherein +These twain are blent in one with shining din. + And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled, + Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old, +Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin. +Though all but we from life be now gone forth +Of that bright household in our joyous north +Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end, + First met your hand; yet under life's clear dome, +Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend, + Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home. + +_April 20, 1882._ + + + + +A DEATH ON EASTER DAY + + +The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise, + Rise and make revel, as of old men said, + Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed: +A light more bright than ever bathed the skies +Departs for all time out of all men's eyes. + The crowns that girt last night a living head + Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead: +Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies. +Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled, + Hope sees, past all division and defection, + And higher than swims the mist of human breath, +The soul most radiant once in all the world + Requickened to regenerate resurrection + Out of the likeness of the shadow of death. + +_April 1882._ + + + + +ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT + + +Two souls diverse out of our human sight + Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder: + The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder, +Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might +Of darkness and magnificence of night; + And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder, + Searching if light or no light were thereunder, +And found in love of loving-kindness light. +Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire +Still following Righteousness with deep desire + Shone sole and stern before her and above, +Sure stars and sole to steer by; but more sweet +Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet, + The light of little children, and their love. + + + + +AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES + + +I + +Three men lived yet when this dead man was young + Whose names and words endure for ever: one + Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun, +And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue +Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung, + But like the strain half uttered earth hears none, + Nor shall man hear till all men's songs are done: +One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung +Between the mountains hallowed by his love +And the sky stainless as his soul above: + And one the sweetest heart that ever spake +The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled. +These deathless names by this dead snake defiled + Bid memory spit upon him for their sake. + + +II + +Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake, + Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam, + And for my love's sake, powerless as I am +For love to praise thee, or like thee to make +Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break, + Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb. + Things hatefullest thou hadst not heart to damn, +Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake. +Let worms consume its memory with its tongue, +The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung + Men's memories uncorroded with its breath. +Forgive me, that with bitter words like his +I mix the gentlest English name that is, + The tenderest held of all that know not death. + + + + +A LAST LOOK + + +Sick of self-love, Malvolio, like an owl + That hoots the sun rerisen where starlight sank, + With German garters crossed athwart thy frank +Stout Scottish legs, men watched thee snarl and scowl, +And boys responsive with reverberate howl + Shrilled, hearing how to thee the springtime stank + And as thine own soul all the world smelt rank +And as thine own thoughts Liberty seemed foul. +Now, for all ill thoughts nursed and ill words given +Not all condemned, not utterly forgiven, + Son of the storm and darkness, pass in peace. +Peace upon earth thou knewest not: now, being dead, +Rest, with nor curse nor blessing on thine head, + Where high-strung hate and strenuous envy cease. + + + + +DICKENS + + +Chief in thy generation born of men + Whom English praise acclaimed as English-born, + With eyes that matched the worldwide eyes of morn +For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then +When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when + Reverence of age with love and labour worn, + Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn, +Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live pen: +Where stars and suns that we behold not burn, + Higher even than here, though highest was here thy place, + Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine +With Shakespeare and the soft bright soul of Sterne + And Fielding's kindliest might and Goldsmith's grace; + Scarce one more loved or worthier love than thine. + + + + +ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS + + +I + +If all the flowers of all the fields on earth + By wonder-working summer were made one, + Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun, +Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth +Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth + Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run + Breathed life, and all its breath was benison. +Beloved beyond all names of English birth, +More dear than mightier memories; gentlest name +That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame, +Or linked itself with loftiest names of old + By right and might of loving; I, that am +Less than the least of those within thy fold, + Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb. + + +II + +So many a year had borne its own bright bees + And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived, + John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived +So well with craft of moulding melodies, +Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease + Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived + Of summer music from the spring derived +When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees. +But thine was not the chance of every day: + Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny, + And light between the clouds ere sunset swam, +Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away, + When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey + Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb. + + + + +TO JOHN NICHOL + + +I + +Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days + Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute + The song saluting friends whose songs are mute +With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise. +That since our old young years our several ways + Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit, + Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root +We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays, +The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree, + Friendship--this only and duly might impel + My song to salutation of your own; +More even than praise of one unseen of me + And loved--the starry spirit of Dobell, + To mine by light and music only known. + + +II + +But more than this what moves me most of all + To leave not all unworded and unsped + The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid +Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall +His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall, + The sign to friends on earth of that dear head + Alive, which now long since untimely dead +The wan grey waters covered for a pall. +Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems + Took never life more taintless of rebuke, + More pure and perfect, more serene and kind, +Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames, + And made the now more hallowed name of Luke + Memorial to us of morning left behind. + +_May 1881._ + + + + +DYSTHANATOS + +_Ad generem Cereris sine caede et vulnere pauci +Descendunt reges, aut sicca morte tyranni._ + + +By no dry death another king goes down + The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice, + For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice +That one sign more is given against the crown, +That one more head those dark red waters drown + Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise + Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys +As human hearts that shrink at human frown. +The name writ red on Polish earth, the star +That was to outshine our England's in the far + East heaven of empire--where is one that saith +Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar? + "In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath, +Few tyrants perish by no violent death." + +_March 14, 1881._ + + + + +EUONYMOS + +[Greek: eu men he timen edidou nikephoros alke +ek nikes onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.] + + +A year ago red wrath and keen despair + Spake, and the sole word from their darkness sent + Laid low the lord not all omnipotent +Who stood most like a god of all that were +As gods for pride of power, till fire and air + Made earth of all his godhead. Lightning rent + The heart of empire's lurid firmament, +And laid the mortal core of manhood bare. +But when the calm crowned head that all revere +For valour higher than that which casts out fear, + Since fear came near it never, comes near death, +Blind murder cowers before it, knowing that here + No braver soul drew bright and queenly breath + Since England wept upon Elizabeth. + +_March 8, 1882._ + + + + +ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF +THE JEWS + + +O son of man, by lying tongues adored, + By slaughterous hands of slaves with feet red-shod + In carnage deep as ever Christian trod +Profaned with prayer and sacrifice abhorred +And incense from the trembling tyrant's horde, + Brute worshippers or wielders of the rod, + Most murderous even of all that call thee God, +Most treacherous even that ever called thee Lord; +Face loved of little children long ago, + Head hated of the priests and rulers then, + If thou see this, or hear these hounds of thine + Run ravening as the Gadarean swine, +Say, was not this thy Passion, to foreknow + In death's worst hour the works of Christian men? + +_January 23, 1882._ + + + + +BISMARCK AT CANOSSA + + +Not all disgraced, in that Italian town, + The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand, + Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand, +And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown +And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown, + Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band. + But now the princely wielder of his land, +For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down, +No strength is in the foot to spurn: its tread +Can bruise not now the proud submitted head: + But how much more abased, much lower brought low, +And more intolerably humiliated, + The neck submissive of the prosperous foe, + Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow! + +_December 31, 1881._ + + + + +QUIA NOMINOR LEO + + +I + +What part is left thee, lion? Ravenous beast, + Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope + And compass of thine homicidal hope +The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast +Of souls subdued from west to sunless east, + From blackening north to bloodred south aslope, + All servile; earth for footcloth of the pope, +And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest; +Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod, +Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was God, + And by thy creed's gift heaven wherein to dwell; +Heaven laughs with all his light and might above +That earth has cast thee out of faith and love; + Thy part is but the hollow dream of hell. + + +II + +The light of life has faded from thy cause, + High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory: + Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story, +But the red prey was rent out of thy paws +Long since: and they that dying brake down thy laws + Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory + Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary +High altars, waning with the world's applause. +This Italy was Dante's: Bruno died +Here: Campanella, too sublime for pride, + Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home. +And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink +For thy sake downward? What art thou, to think + Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome? + +_January 1882._ + + + + +THE CHANNEL TUNNEL + + +Not for less love, all glorious France, to thee, + "Sweet enemy" called in days long since at end, + Now found and hailed of England sweeter friend, +Bright sister of our freedom now, being free; +Not for less love or faith in friendship we + Whose love burnt ever toward thee reprehend + The vile vain greed whose pursy dreams portend +Between our shores suppression of the sea. +Not by dull toil of blind mechanic art +Shall these be linked for no man's force to part + Nor length of years and changes to divide, +But union only of trust and loving heart + And perfect faith in freedom strong to abide + And spirit at one with spirit on either side. + +_April 3, 1882._ + + + + +SIR WILLIAM GOMM + + +I + +At threescore years and five aroused anew + To rule in India, forth a soldier went + On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent +Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew +Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo. + Landing, he met the word from England sent + Which bade him yield up rule: and he, content, +Resigned it, as a mightier warrior's due; +And wrote as one rejoicing to record +That "from the first" his royal heart was lord + Of its own pride or pain; that thought was none +Therein save this, that in her perilous strait +England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great, + Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son. + + +II + +Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame + Go with the warrior's memory who preferred + To praise of men whereby men's hearts are stirred, +And acclamation of his own proud name +With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame + Of pageant honour, and the titular word + That only wins men worship of the herd, +His country's sovereign good; who overcame +Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth, +For this land's love that gave his great heart birth. + O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea, +Immortal England, goddess ocean-born, +What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn, + While children of such mould are born to thee? + + + + + +SONNETS + +ON + +ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS + +(1590-1650) + + + + +I + +CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE + + +Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod with light and fire, + Son first-born of the morning, sovereign star! + Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most far, +Most far off in the abysm of time, thy lyre +Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire + Where all ye sang together, all that are, + And all the starry songs behind thy car +Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee sire. + +"If all the pens that ever poets held + Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts," + And as with rush of hurtling chariots +The flight of all their spirits were impelled + Toward one great end, thy glory--nay, not then, + Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of men. + + + + +II + +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE + + +Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one + Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee. + Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea, +What power is in them all to praise the sun? +His praise is this,--he can be praised of none. + Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he + Exults not to be worshipped, but to be. +He is; and, being, beholds his work well done. +All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth, +Are his: without him, day were night on earth. + Time knows not his from time's own period. +All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres, +Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires. + All stars are angels; but the sun is God. + + + + +III + +BEN JONSON + + +Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform, + With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine, + Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine, +And many a crag full-faced against the storm, +The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm + Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine + Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine +From tossing torches round the dance aswarm. + +Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights, +High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights + Hold converse: and the herd of meaner things +Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft +When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed + Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings. + + + + +IV + +BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER + + +An hour ere sudden sunset fired the west, + Arose two stars upon the pale deep east. + The hall of heaven was clear for night's high feast, +Yet was not yet day's fiery heart at rest. +Love leapt up from his mother's burning breast + To see those warm twin lights, as day decreased, + Wax wider, till when all the sun had ceased +As suns they shone from evening's kindled crest. +Across them and between, a quickening fire, +Flamed Venus, laughing with appeased desire. + Their dawn, scarce lovelier for the gleam of tears, +Filled half the hollow shell 'twixt heaven and earth +With sound like moonlight, mingling moan and mirth, + Which rings and glitters down the darkling years. + + + + +V + +PHILIP MASSINGER + + +Clouds here and there arisen an hour past noon + Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars + And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars +Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon, +When the clear still warm concord of thy tune + Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars + Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars, +With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon. +Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face +High melancholy lights with loftier grace + Than gilds the brows of revel: sad and wise, +The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song, +Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong, + Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes. + + + + +VI + +JOHN FORD + + +Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart + Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom + Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom, +That his Memnonian likeness thence may start +Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art + Carved night, and chiselled shadow: be the tomb + That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom +Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart, +As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow + His record of rebellion. Not the day + Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord, +Touching this marble: darkness, none knows how, + And stars impenetrable of midnight, may. + So looms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford. + + + + +VII + +JOHN WEBSTER + + +Thunder: the flesh quails, and the soul bows down. + Night: east, west, south, and northward, very night. + Star upon struggling star strives into sight, +Star after shuddering star the deep storms drown. +The very throne of night, her very crown, + A man lays hand on, and usurps her right. + Song from the highest of heaven's imperious height +Shoots, as a fire to smite some towering town. +Rage, anguish, harrowing fear, heart-crazing crime, +Make monstrous all the murderous face of Time + Shown in the spheral orbit of a glass +Revolving. Earth cries out from all her graves. +Frail, on frail rafts, across wide-wallowing waves, + Shapes here and there of child and mother pass. + + + + +VIII + +THOMAS DECKER + + +Out of the depths of darkling life where sin + Laughs piteously that sorrow should not know + Her own ill name, nor woe be counted woe; +Where hate and craft and lust make drearier din +Than sounds through dreams that grief holds revel in; + What charm of joy-bells ringing, streams that flow, + Winds that blow healing in each note they blow, +Is this that the outer darkness hears begin? + +O sweetest heart of all thy time save one, +Star seen for love's sake nearest to the sun, + Hung lamplike o'er a dense and doleful city, +Not Shakespeare's very spirit, howe'er more great, +Than thine toward man was more compassionate, + Nor gave Christ praise from lips more sweet with pity. + + + + +IX + +THOMAS MIDDLETON + + +A wild moon riding high from cloud to cloud, + That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath, + Hell's children revel along the shuddering heath +With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud: +A worse fair face than witchcraft's, passion-proud, + With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath + And lips that bade the assassin's sword find sheath +Deep in the heart whereto love's heart was vowed: +A game of close contentious crafts and creeds + Played till white England bring black Spain to shame: +A son's bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds + High conscience lights for mother's love and fame: +Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds: + Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name. + + + + +X + +THOMAS HEYWOOD + + +Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom, + What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright + Even yet the laughing and the weeping light +That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from? +Small care was thine to assail and overcome + Time and his child Oblivion: yet of right + Thy name has part with names of lordlier might +For English love and homely sense of home, +Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bayleaf young + And gives it place aloft among thy peers + Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time has hurled: +And this thy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue-- + "O good old man, how well in thee appears + The constant service of the antique world!" + + + + +XI + +GEORGE CHAPMAN + + +High priest of Homer, not elect in vain, + Deep trumpets blow before thee, shawms behind + Mix music with the rolling wheels that wind +Slow through the labouring triumph of thy train: +Fierce history, molten in thy forging brain, + Takes form and fire and fashion from thy mind, + Tormented and transmuted out of kind: +But howsoe'er thou shift thy strenuous strain, +Like Tailor[1] smooth, like Fisher[2] swollen, and now + Grim Yarrington[3] scarce bloodier marked than thou, + Then bluff as Mayne's[4] or broad-mouthed Barry's[5] glee; +Proud still with hoar predominance of brow + And beard like foam swept off the broad blown sea, + Where'er thou go, men's reverence goes with thee. + + [1] Author of _The Hog hath lost his Pearl_. + + [2] Author of _Fuimus Troes, or the True Trojans_. + + [3] Author of _Two Tragedies in One_. + + [4] Author of _The City Match_. + + [5] Author of _Ram-Alley, or Merry Tricks_. + + + + +XII + +JOHN MARSTON + + +The bitterness of death and bitterer scorn + Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou + Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow +A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn. +Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne, + Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough + The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow +Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn. +Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith +Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death + Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul, +Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud +And all the strengths of tyrants; whence unflawed + It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole. + + + + +XIII + +JOHN DAY + + +Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive + With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm, + When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm +With music where all passion seems to strive +For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive + Struggling along the splendour of the storm, + Day for an hour put off his fiery form, +And golden murmurs from a golden hive +Across the strong bright summer wind were heard, + And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play + And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May +Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word, +When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird, + Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day. + + + + +XIV + +JAMES SHIRLEY + + +The dusk of day's decline was hard on dark + When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp + That shone across her shades and dewy damp +A small clear beacon whose benignant spark +Was gracious yet for loiterers' eyes to mark, + Though changed the watchword of our English camp + Since the outposts rang round Marlowe's lion ramp, +When thy steed's pace went ambling round Hyde Park. + +And in the thickening twilight under thee +Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he, +The blithest throat that ever carolled love + In music made of morning's merriest heart, +Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above + And reeled on slippery roads of alien art. + + + + +XV + +THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN + + +Sons born of many a loyal Muse to Ben, + All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale, + Bright from the broad light of its presence, hail! +Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men, +Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then + King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail: + Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale, +Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen: +Marmion, whose verse keeps alway keen and fine +The perfume of their Apollonian wine + Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee +The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine: + Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he + Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see? + + + + +XVI + +ANONYMOUS PLAYS: + +"ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM" + + +Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men, + Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims + Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames, +Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then, +Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen + Which drew, reflected from encircling flames, + A figure marked by the earlier of thy names +Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen +Marked by the sign of murderess? Pale and great, + Great in her grief and sin, but in her death + And anguish of her penitential breath +Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate, + She stands, the holocaust of dark desire, + Clothed round with song for ever as with fire. + + + + +XVII + +ANONYMOUS PLAYS + + +Ye too, dim watchfires of some darkling hour, + Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims + For ever, but forgetfulness defames +And darkness and the shadow of death devour, +Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power, + Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames + And smile, albeit night name not even their names, +Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower: +That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star's that passed +Singing, and light was from its darkness cast + To paint the face of Painting fair with praise:[1] +And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure +Fraternal face of Wordsworth's Elidure + Between two child-faced masks of merrier days.[2] + + [1] _Doctor Dodypol._ + + [2] _Nobody and Somebody._ + + + + +XVIII + +ANONYMOUS PLAYS + + +More yet and more, and yet we mark not all: + The Warning fain to bid fair women heed + Its hard brief note of deadly doom and deed;[1] +The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall +Whence Nero watched his fiery festival;[2] + That iron page wherein men's eyes who read + See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed, +A mad red-handed husband's martyr fall;[3] +The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife +Of Henry with his sons and witchlike wife;[4] +And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend, + Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one, +Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened + In the pleached lanes of pleasant Edmonton.[5] + + [1] _A Warning for Fair Women._ + + [2] _The Tragedy of Nero._ + + [3] _A Yorkshire Tragedy._ + + [4] _Look about you._ + + [5] _The Merry Devil of Edmonton._ + + + + +XIX + +THE MANY + + +I + +Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers, + Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage: + Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age +Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours: +Nash, laughing hard: Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers: + And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage + Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page +Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers: +Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves: + And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse + Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse: +Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves, + Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse: +Live likewise ye: Time takes not you for slaves. + + + + +XX + +THE MANY + + +II + +Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will: + Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird + And keen alternate notes of laud and gird: +Barnes, darkening once with Borgia's deeds the quill +Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil: + Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word: + Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred: +Turk Mason: Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still: +Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau's hand: + Light Nabbes: lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns, + But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns: +Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland: + Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns: +Praise be with all, and place among our band. + + + + +XXI + +EPILOGUE + + +Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith, + Found first among the nations: once, when she + Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee +Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare: once, when death +Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath: + More than thy place, then first among the free + More than that sovereign lordship of the sea +Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth, +More than thy fiery guiding-star, which Drake +Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake, + More than all deeds wrought of thy strong right hand, +This praise keeps most thy fame's memorial strong +That thou wast head of all these streams of song, + And time bows down to thee as Shakespeare's land. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English +Dramatic Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS *** + +***** This file should be named 17347.txt or 17347.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/3/4/17347/ + +Produced by Paul Murray, Annika Feilbach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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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