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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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