diff options
Diffstat (limited to '42058-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 42058-8.txt | 11044 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 11044 deletions
diff --git a/42058-8.txt b/42058-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4635f53..0000000 --- a/42058-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11044 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of English Narrative Poems, by Various - -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: English Narrative Poems - -Author: Various - -Editor: Claude M. Fuess - Henry N. Sanborn - -Release Date: February 9, 2013 [EBook #42058] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH NARRATIVE POEMS *** - - - - -Produced by David Starner, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - ENGLISH NARRATIVE POEMS - - - - - Macmillan's Pocket American and English Classics - - A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and - Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc. - - 16mo Cloth 25 cents each - - - Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. - Andersen's Fairy Tales. - Arabian Nights' Entertainments. - Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum. - Austen's Pride and Prejudice. - Bacon's Essays. - Bible (Memorable Passages from). - Blackmore's Lorna Doone. - Browning's Shorter Poems. - Browning, Mrs., Poems (Selected). - Bryant's Thanatopsis, etc. - Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii. - Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress. - Burke's Speech on Conciliation. - Burns' Poems (Selections from). - Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. - Byron's Shorter Poems. - Carlyle's Essay on Burns. - Carlyle's Heroes and Hero Worship. - Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (Illustrated). - Chaucer's Prologue and Knight's Tale. - Church's The Story of the Iliad. - Church's The Story of the Odyssey. - Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner. - Cooper's The Deerslayer. - Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans. - Cooper's The Spy. - Dana's Two Years Before the Mast. - Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. - De Quincey's Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. - De Quincey's Joan of Arc, and The English Mail-Coach. - Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and The Cricket on the Hearth. - Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. - Dryden's Palamon and Arcite. - Early American Orations, 1760-1824. - Edwards' (Jonathan) Sermons. - Eliot's Silas Marner. - Emerson's Essays. - Emerson's Early Poems. - Emerson's Representative Men. - English Narrative Poems. - Epoch-making Papers in U. S. History. - Franklin's Autobiography. - Gaskell's Cranford. - Goldsmith's The Deserted Village, - She Stoops to Conquer, and - The Good-natured Man. - Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield. - Gray's Elegy, etc., and Cowper's John Gilpin, etc. - Grimm's Fairy Tales. - Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair. - Hawthorne's Mosses from an Old Manse. - Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales. - Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables. - Hawthorne's Twice-told Tales (Selections from). - Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. - Holmes' Poems. - Homer's Iliad (Translated). - Homer's Odyssey (Translated). - Hughes' Tom Brown's School Days. - Huxley's Autobiography and Lay Sermons. - Irving's Life of Goldsmith. - Irving's Knickerbocker. - Irving's The Alhambra. - Irving's Sketch Book. - Irving's Tales of a Traveller. - Keary's Heroes of Asgard. - Kingsley's The Heroes. - Lamb's The Essays of Elia. - Lincoln's Inaugurals and Speeches. - Longfellow's Evangeline. - Longfellow's Hiawatha. - Longfellow's Miles Standish. - Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. - Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. - Macaulay's Essay on Addison. - Macaulay's Essay on Hastings. - Macaulay's Essay on Lord Clive. - Macaulay's Essay on Milton. - Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome. - Macaulay's Life of Samuel Johnson. - Milton's Comus and Other Poems. - Malory's Le Morte Darthur. - Milton's Paradise Lost, Books I. and II. - Old English Ballads. - Old Testament (Selections from). - Out of the Northland. - Palgrave's Golden Treasury. - Parkman's Oregon Trail. - Plutarch's Lives (Cćsar, Brutus, and Mark Antony). - Poe's Poems. - Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from). - Pope's Homer's Iliad. - Pope's The Rape of the Lock. - Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies. - Ruskin's The Crown of Wild Olive and Queen of the Air. - Scott's Ivanhoe. - Scott's Kenilworth. - Scott's Lady of the Lake. - Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. - Scott's Marmion. - Scott's Quentin Durward. - Scott's The Talisman. - Shakespeare's As You Like It. - Shakespeare's Hamlet. - Shakespeare's Henry V. - Shakespeare's Julius Cćsar. - Shakespeare's King Lear. - Shakespeare's Macbeth. - Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. - Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. - Shakespeare's Richard II. - Shakespeare's The Tempest. - Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. - Shelley and Keats: Poems. - Sheridan's The Rivals and The School for Scandal. - Southern Poets: Selections. - Southern Orators: Selections. - Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. - Stevenson's Kidnapped. - Stevenson's The Master of Ballantrae. - Stevenson's Travels with a Donkey, and An Inland Voyage. - Stevenson's Treasure Island. - Swift's Gulliver's Travels. - Tennyson's Idylls of the King. - Tennyson's The Princess. - Tennyson's Shorter Poems. - Thackeray's English Humourists. - Thackeray's Henry Esmond. - Thoreau's Walden. - Virgil's Ćneid. - Washington's Farewell Address, and - Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration. - Whittier's Snow-Bound and Other Early Poems. - Woolman's Journal. - Wordsworth's Shorter Poems. - - - - - [Illustration] - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - - NEW YORK ˇ BOSTON ˇ CHICAGO - SAN FRANCISCO - - MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED - LONDON ˇ BOMBAY ˇ CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. - TORONTO - - - - - ENGLISH NARRATIVE POEMS - - SELECTED AND EDITED - BY - CLAUDE M. FUESS - AND - HENRY N. SANBORN - - INSTRUCTORS IN ENGLISH IN PHILLIPS ACADEMY - ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS - - New York - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1911 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1909, - - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - - Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1909. - Reprinted June, 1910; June, 1911. - - - Norwood Press - J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. - Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - INTRODUCTION. ix - - COWPER. - The Diverting History of John Gilpin 1 - - BURNS. - Tam o' Shanter 11 - - SCOTT. - Lochinvar 19 - - WORDSWORTH. - Michael 21 - Lucy Gray 36 - - CAMPBELL. - Hohenlinden 39 - Battle of the Baltic 40 - - WOLFE. - The Burial of Sir John Moore 43 - - BYRON. - The Prisoner of Chillon 45 - Mazeppa 58 - The Destruction of Sennacherib 86 - - KEATS. - The Eve of St. Agnes 88 - - TENNYSON. - Dora 103 - Oenone 108 - Enoch Arden 117 - The Revenge 146 - - BROWNING. - "How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix" 154 - Incident of the French Camp 156 - The Pied Piper of Hamelin 158 - Hervé Riel 168 - - ROSSETTI. - The White Ship 175 - - MORRIS. - Atalanta's Race 187 - - LONGFELLOW. - The Wreck of the Hesperus 211 - Paul Revere's Ride 214 - - WHITTIER. - Skipper Ireson's Ride 219 - Barclay of Ury 222 - Barbara Frietchie 226 - - HOLMES. - Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle 230 - - NOTES 241 - - - - - INTRODUCTION - - -Narrative poetry is distinguished from other types of verse in that it -aims to relate a connected series of events and, therefore, deals -primarily with actions, rather than with thoughts or emotions. This -definition, however, simple as it appears to be in theory, is often -difficult to apply as a test because other matter is blended with the -pure narrative. In any story where the situation is made prominent, -description may be required to make clear the scene and explain -movements to the reader; thus _Enoch Arden_ begins with a word picture -of a sea-coast town. Again it is often necessary to analyze the motives -which actuate certain characters, and so it becomes necessary to -introduce exposition of some sort into the plot. The poems in this -collection serve to enforce the lesson that the four standard rhetorical -forms--narration, description, exposition, and argumentation--are -constantly being combined and welded in a complicated way. In cases -where these various literary elements are apparently in a tangle, a -classification, if it be made at all, must be based on the design of the -poem as a whole, and the emphasis and proportion given to the respective -elements by the author. If the stress is laid on the recounting of the -events which make up a unified action, and if the other factors are made -subordinate and subsidiary to this end, then the poem in question -belongs to the narrative group. - -The antiquity of the narrative as a form of literature is undisputed. -Indeed it has been established with a reasonable degree of certainty -that poetry in its very beginnings was narrative and in its primitive -state must have been a sort of rude, rhythmical chant, originated and -participated in by the tribe as a whole, and telling of the exploits of -gods or legendary heroes. In the course of time there arose the -_minstrel_, who, acting first as chorus leader, became eventually the -representative of the tribe and its own special singer. When we reach a -somewhat more advanced stage of civilization, we find regularly -appointed bards reciting their lays in the hall of the chieftain or -urging on the warriors to battle with rehearsals of past victories. -Originally these bards simply repeated the old oral traditions handed -down as common property, but the opportunity for the display of -individual genius soon induced them to try variations on the current -themes and to compose versions of their own. With this advance of -individualism, poetry became gradually more complex. Various elements, -lyrical, descriptive, and dramatic, assumed some prominence and tended -to develop separate forms. This differentiation, however, did not impair -the vigor of the story-telling spirit, and a constant succession of -narrative poems down to the present day evidences how productive and -characteristic a feature of our literature this form has been. - -Obviously it is impracticable to undertake here even a brief summary of -the history of English narrative poetry and of the influences to which -it has been responsive. Something may, nevertheless, be done to map out -roughly a few divisions which may be of assistance in bringing this -material into orderly shape for the student. Many efforts at systematic -classification have been made, and a few fairly well-marked types have -been defined. In spite of this fact, the task still presents insuperable -obstacles over which there has been futile controversy. One type is -likely to run into another in a way which is uncomfortably baffling. -Then there are numerous nondescript works whose proper place seems -determinable by no law of poetics. The fact is that, here at least, -narrow distinctions are bound to be unsatisfactory. The critic finds it -imperative to avoid dogmatism lest he lay himself open to attack; his -only refuge is in the general statement which may be suggestive even if -it is not exact. - -Of the fixed types, two of the best known, the _Epic_ and the _Ballad_, -were among the earliest to be created. The Epic in its original form was -a long poem of uniform metre, serious in tone and elevated in style, -introducing supernatural or heroic characters and usually dealing with -some significant event in racial or national history. In its first or -primitive shape it was anonymous, a spontaneous outgrowth of popular -feeling, though perhaps arranged and revised at a later date by some -conscious artistic hand. Such a primitive Epic is the old English -_Beowulf_: it is thoroughly objective; in it no clew to definite -authorship can be detected; in it personality is buried in the rush of -incident and the clash of action. When, with the broadening of the scope -of poetry, the individual writer displaced the tribe as the preserver of -folk-lore, the new order of things evolved the so-called artificial Epic -as represented by Milton's _Paradise Lost_. Here the conventional Epic -style and material is kept; the universe is the stage, and the figures -upon it are imposing and grand; but behind the poem is a single -personality whose mood colors and modifies the whole. The Epic is no -longer entirely racial or national, but individual; and we have the -introduction of such passages as Milton's reference to his own blindness -in Book Three. - -Akin to the Epic is the Mock Epic, which appropriates the Epic machinery -and Epic style to use them in dealing with trivialities. In Pope's _The -Rape of the Lock_, the most artistic Mock Epic in English, the theft of -a single lock of hair becomes an act of national and supernatural -interest and a game of cards is described as if it were a mighty battle. - -Almost parallel with and closely resembling the development of the Epic -is that of the _Ballad_. Like the primitive Epic in anonymity and -impersonality, the Ballad was much shorter, had rime and stanzas, and -dealt, as a rule, with incidents of less importance. Not so formal or -pretentious as the Epic, it was easily memorized even by the peasant, -and handed down from generation to generation by word of mouth. Favorite -subjects were the legends of Robin Hood, the misfortunes of nobles, and -the incidents of Border warfare. Mixed in many of them was a tendency -toward superstition, a survival of the belief in ghosts, magicians, and -talking animals. Numerous examples gathered by antiquaries may be found -in the edition of old English Ballads in this series; among the better -known are _The Wife of Usher's Well_ and _Chevy Chase_. Later poets -naturally adapted the Ballad form to their own uses, and so we have the -artificial Ballad, illustrated by Cowper's _The History of John_ -_Gilpin_, Longfellow's _The Wreck of the Hesperus_, and Swinburne's _May -Janet_. In these poems many of the trite expressions so peculiar to the -primitive Ballad are retained; but, like the artificial Epic, the work -is no longer communal, but individual, in origin and bears the stamp of -one mind animated by an artistic purpose. - -In discussing the Epic and the Ballad one is on fairly safe ground, but -between these types one finds a vast amount of poetry, evidently -narrative, which suggests perplexing problems. Much of it may be made to -come under what we term loosely the _Metrical Romance_. This title is -often narrowed by scholars to apply strictly to a poetical _genre_, -arising in the Middle Ages and brought into England by the -Norman-French, which deals in a rambling way with the marvellous -adventures of wandering knights or heroes. Its plot, in which love and -combat are conspicuous features, is enveloped in a kind of glamour, an -atmosphere of unreality. It drew its material from many diverse sources: -from the legends of Troy and the stories of classical and Oriental -antiquity; from the tales of the Frankish Emperor Charlemagne and his -paladins; from the Celtic accounts of King Arthur and the Table Round. -Since its characters, sometimes not without anachronism, embodied the -chivalric ideals of courtesy and loyalty to ladies, hatred of paganism, -and general conduct according to a prescribed but unwritten code, its -appeal was made for the most part to the courtier and the -aristocrat,--though it must be added that many of the robuster -Charlemagne romances acquired currency with the humbler classes and were -sung in the cottage of the peasant. The fact that the greater number of -these Metrical Romances were mere redactions, taken from foreign -models, makes them seem deficient in English interest. Still, several of -the best were of native composition, an excellent example being the -well-known _Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight_. - -But even in spite of a few slight advantages to be gained, it seems -unwise to restrict the Metrical Romance too closely. What we are -accustomed to call, rather vaguely, romance is a persistent quality in -narrative poetry, and is not limited to the literature of any particular -age or rank of society. A cursory examination will disclose many -evidences of the romantic spirit in both the Epic and the Ballad. And -certainly Scott's _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_, Keats's _The Eve of -St. Agnes_, Longfellow's _Evangeline_, and many other poems on similar -themes must remain unclassified unless we designate them broadly as -Metrical Romances. Of course, it is not essential that they should be -pigeon-holed and put away with the right label affixed. However, one or -two observations on the subject-matter with which works of this nature -deal may assist us in avoiding embarrassing confusion. Sometimes the -Metrical Romance (using the term in its broader sense) deals with -authenticated incidents of history. In such cases, the narrative, -founded as it is on matters of fact, is compelled to preserve -substantial accuracy with regard to the events which it uses for a -structure. The fancy is thus partly curbed through the necessity of not -departing radically from the truth. This restraint, logically enough, -does not prevent the introduction of fictitious characters or episodes; -but in the strict historical poem, as in the historical novel, it does -require adherence to chronology and a just representation of the period -in which the action takes place. Occasionally this form approaches a -poetical paraphrase, as in Rossetti's _The White Ship_. The nineteenth -century was singularly prolific in works of this sort; notable among -such works are Scott's _Marmion_, Tennyson's _The Revenge_, and -Longfellow's _Paul Revere's Ride_. If the basis of the poem is -mythological, we have a further species of the Metrical Romance. The -stories clustered around the gods and goddesses of unsophisticated -peoples are perennially attractive and offer a fruitful field to the -poet. In the setting there is frequent opportunity for elaborate -description, and there is often, as in Tennyson's _Oenone_ and William -Morris's _Atalanta's Race_, ornamentation used by the author that is -more than ordinarily remarkable. For such poetry the Greek and Latin -writers furnish a wealth of material for imitation. Nor have the myths -of other races been neglected in recent years. Matthew Arnold's _Balder -Dead_ has its inspiration in the Norse _Eddas_ and has its opening scene -in Valhalla where Odin, father of the gods, presides over the immortals. -William Morris's _Sigurd the Volsing_ is an adaptation of the myths of -the early Germans. - -It is not aside from the point to refer here to the few poems in which -the subject-matter of the Metrical Romance is used, strangely enough, as -a means of teaching moral ideas. Spenser's _Faerie Queene_ presents such -an anomaly. In it conventional chivalric heroes undergo surprising and -impossible adventures, battling and loving as in the legends of -Charlemagne and Arthur. Indeed, in the _Faerie Queene_, Arthur himself -appears as the protagonist. But these knights and ladies are, we learn, -merely animated vices and virtues and are such, because, as Spenser -takes pains to tell us, the poem, though romantic in mood, is -allegorical in intention, its aim being "to fashion a gentleman or noble -person in vertuous and gentle discipline." The author in using his -characters as agents of moral instruction creates a type as much by -itself as _Pilgrim's Progress_ is in prose. Modern examples less -conspicuous for visible allegorical intention are Tennyson's _Idylls of -the King_, in which Arthurian material is once more revived with -something of an ethical purpose. - -There is still to be taken up a large body of poems, usually, though not -always, shorter than the Metrical Romances, which deal with the -situations of common life and with the humbler members of society. By -some authorities the term Metrical Tale has been applied to such -compositions; though it is hardly exact or specific, since the word -"tale" is usually made synonymous with "story" and therefore does not -connote a limited subject-matter. We may accept it in a provisional way -as a convenient technical term for our purposes. The Metrical Tale, -then, as contrasted with the Metrical Romance, attempts a realistic -portrayal of the natural sorrows, losses, or pains which belong to our -everyday experience. The emotions of which it treats are fundamentally -strong and keep the style and versification from becoming -overelaborated. The Metrical Tale may be humorous as in Chaucer's _The -Miller's Tale_, or may be pathetic and tragic as in Tennyson's _Enoch -Arden_ or Wordsworth's _Michael_. In these poems it will be observed -that the diction and phraseology are exceedingly simple. But here, too, -candor requires the admission that the alleged difference between the -Romance and the Tale is likely to bring on a charge of inconsistency. -_Enoch Arden_, just now mentioned, abounds in romantic episodes, though -Enoch and Philip and Annie dwell in a little fishing village. Why, if -Chaucer chose to call his masterpiece the _Canterbury Tales_, should any -one take the liberty of questioning his nomenclature? The query is well -founded; and yet the reader must recognize a wide gulf in tone and -spirit between _The Knight's Tale_ and _The Reeve's Tale_. Call it, if -you will, the distinction between idealism and realism; at any rate it -exists, and ought to be made plain even at the risk of confronting -dilemmas of another sort. - -Having a kind of relationship to what we call arbitrarily the Metrical -Tale is the Beast Fable in verse, in which animals and birds are endowed -with reason and speech. The excuse for the Beast Fable is an ethical -one, and the story, often humorous, is merely a vehicle for -instruction,--a fact evident enough from the so-called moral appended to -most Beast Fables. The best Beast Fables in English are those of John -Gay. - -It is beyond the scope of this introduction to make any but a passing -reference to the forms of versification which have been used in -narrative poetry. In general, the range of metres is wide and varied, -though a few common lines and stanzas occur with much frequency. Blank -Verse, a favorite Epic measure used by Milton in _Paradise Lost_, has -also been effective in the Metrical Romance (Arnold's _Sohrab and -Rustum_) and the Metrical Tale (Wordsworth's _Michael_). It is -peculiarly fitting to longer poems of a serious character. The Heroic -Couplet, made up of two rimed iambic pentameters, was invented by -Chaucer and tried in many of the _Canterbury Tales_. It has since -become very common, being the measure of such widely different poems as -Marlowe's _Hero and Leander_, Pope's _The Rape of the Lock_, and Keats's -_Lamia_. Octosyllabic verse is frequently found,--sometimes in rimed -couplets as in Scott's _Marmion_, less often unrimed as in Longfellow's -_Hiawatha_. In the couplet form it is especially suited to war poetry -where a rapid movement is desirable. The standard four-lined ballad -stanza with rimed alternate lines has continued in popularity with the -artificial ballad writers and has been used in such poems as -Wordsworth's _Lucy Gray_ and Longfellow's _The Wreck of the Hesperus_. -Most complicated of all the narrative stanzaic forms is the Spenserian -stanza, devised by Spenser for his _Faerie Queene_ and imitated by Keats -in _The Eve of St. Agnes_. It has a stateliness which makes it well -adapted to dignified themes. In some few examples there is a metre -wholly irregular and following the movement of the story, as in -Tennyson's _The Revenge_ and Browning's _Hervé Riel_. - -The discussion of narrative methods may be left to the will and -discretion of the teacher. A study of the separate poems here presented -will show that while the four almost indispensable elements of -narration--plot, setting, characters, and motive--may usually be found, -their use and emphasis vary greatly according to the theories and -personalities of the authors. The employment of such arts of -construction as suspense and climax may be discovered by the individual -student, who should also test each poem for its unity, coherence, and -proportion. In a collection such as this there is ample room for -instructive criticism and comparison. But narrative poems may well be -read for the interest they excite. If a narrative poem fails in this -respect, it is all but condemned from the start. It is hoped that these -examples may show the student that _poetry_ is not always dull and -lifeless; that it may possess at times all the features which make -literature attractive as well as inspiring. - -The editors are grateful for assistance rendered them by Mr. A. W. -Leonard and Mr. Archibald Freeman, both instructors in Phillips Academy, -Andover, Massachusetts. - - - - -WILLIAM COWPER - - -THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN - -SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME HOME SAFE AGAIN - - John Gilpin was a citizen - Of credit and renown, - A trainband captain eke[1] was he - Of famous London town. - - John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, 5 - "Though wedded we have been - These twice ten tedious years, yet we - No holiday have seen. - - "To-morrow is our wedding day, - And we will then repair 10 - Unto the Bell at Edmonton[2] - All in a chaise and pair. - - "My sister, and my sister's child, - Myself, and children three, - Will fill the chaise; so you must ride 15 - On horseback after we.[3]" - - He soon replied, "I do admire - Of womankind but one, - And you are she, my dearest dear, - Therefore it shall be done. 20 - - "I am a linendraper bold, - As all the world doth know, - And my good friend the calender[4] - Will lend his horse to go." - - Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said; 25 - And for that wine is dear, - We will be furnished with our own, - Which is both bright and clear." - - John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; - O'erjoyed was he to find, 30 - That, though on pleasure she was bent, - She had a frugal mind. - - The morning came, the chaise was brought, - But yet was not allow'd - To drive up to the door, lest all 35 - Should say that she was proud. - - So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, - Where they did all get in; - Six precious souls, and all agog[5] - To dash through thick and thin. 40 - - Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, - Were never folks so glad, - The stones did rattle underneath, - As if Cheapside[6] were mad. - - John Gilpin at his horse's side 45 - Seized fast the flowing mane, - And up he got, in haste to ride, - But soon came down again; - - For saddletree[7] scarce reach'd had he - His journey to begin, 50 - When, turning round his head, he saw - Three customers come in. - - So down he came; for loss of time, - Although it grieved him sore, - Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, 55 - Would trouble him much more. - - 'Twas long before the customers - Were suited to their mind, - When Betty screaming came down stairs, - "The wine is left behind!" 60 - - "Good lack!" quoth he--"yet bring it me, - My leathern belt likewise, - In which I bear my trusty sword - When I do exercise." - - Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) 65 - Had two stone bottles found, - To hold the liquor that she loved, - And keep it safe and sound. - - Each bottle had a curling ear, - Through which the belt he drew, 70 - And hung a bottle on each side, - To make his balance true. - - Then over all, that he might be - Equipp'd from top to toe, - His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, 75 - He manfully did throw. - - Now see him mounted once again - Upon his nimble steed, - Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, - With caution and good heed. 80 - - But finding soon a smoother road - Beneath his well shod feet, - The snorting beast began to trot, - Which gall'd him in his seat. - - So, "fair and softly," John he cried, 85 - But John he cried in vain; - That trot became a gallop soon, - In spite of curb and rein. - - So stooping down, as needs he must - Who cannot sit upright, 90 - He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, - And eke with all his might. - - His horse, who never in that sort - Had handled been before, - What thing upon his back had got 95 - Did wonder more and more. - - Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; - Away went hat and wig; - He little dreamt, when he set out, - Of running such a rig. 100 - - The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, - Like streamer long and gay, - Till, loop and button failing both, - At last it flew away. - - Then might all people well discern 105 - The bottles he had slung; - A bottle swinging at each side, - As hath been said or sung. - - The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, - Up flew the windows all; 110 - And every soul cried out, "Well done!" - As loud as he could bawl. - - Away went Gilpin--who but he? - His fame soon spread around, - "He carries weight! he rides a race[8]! 115 - 'Tis for a thousand pound!" - - And still as fast as he drew near, - 'Twas wonderful to view, - How in a trice the turnpike men - Their gates wide open threw. 120 - - And now, as he went bowing down - His reeking head full low, - The bottles twain behind his back - Were shatter'd at a blow. - - Down ran the wine into the road, 125 - Most piteous to be seen, - Which made his horse's flanks to smoke - As they had basted been. - - But still he seem'd to carry weight, - With leathern girdle braced; 130 - For all might see the bottle necks - Still dangling at his waist. - - Thus all through merry Islington[9] - These gambols did he play, - Until he came unto the Wash 135 - Of Edmonton so gay; - - And there he threw the wash about - On both sides of the way, - Just like unto a trundling mop, - Or a wild goose at play. 140 - - At Edmonton his loving wife - From the balcony spied - Her tender husband, wondering much - To see how he did ride. - - "Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--Here's the house," 145 - They all at once did cry; - "The dinner waits, and we are tired:" - Said Gilpin--"So am I!" - - But yet his horse was not a whit - Inclined to tarry there; 150 - For why?--his owner had a house - Full ten miles off, at Ware.[10] - - So like an arrow swift he flew, - Shot by an archer strong; - So did he fly--which brings me to 155 - The middle of my song. - - Away went Gilpin out of breath, - And sore against his will, - Till at his friend the calender's - His horse at last stood still. 160 - - The calender, amazed to see - His neighbor in such trim, - Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, - And thus accosted him: - - "What news? what news? your tidings tell; 165 - Tell me you must and shall-- - Say why bareheaded you are come, - Or why you come at all?" - - Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, - And loved a timely joke; 170 - And thus unto the calender - In merry guise he spoke: - - "I came because your horse would come; - And, if I well forbode, - My hat and wig will soon be here, 175 - They are upon the road." - - The calender, right glad to find - His friend in merry pin,[11] - Return'd him not a single word, - But to the house went in; 180 - - Whence straight he came with hat and wig; - A wig that flow'd behind, - A hat not much the worse for wear, - Each comely in its kind. - - He held them up, and in his turn 185 - Thus show'd his ready wit, - "My head is twice as big as yours, - They therefore needs must fit. - - "But let me scrape the dirt away - That hangs upon your face; 190 - And stop and eat, for well you may - Be in a hungry case." - - Said John, "It is my wedding day, - And all the world would stare, - If wife should dine at Edmonton, 195 - And I should dine at Ware." - - So turning to his horse, he said, - "I am in haste to dine; - 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, - You shall go back for mine." 200 - - Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast! - For which he paid full dear; - For, while he spake, a braying ass - Did sing most loud and clear; - - Whereat his horse did snort, as he 205 - Had heard a lion roar, - And gallop'd off with all his might, - As he had done before. - - Away went Gilpin, and away - Went Gilpin's hat and wig: 210 - He lost them sooner than at first, - For why?--they were too big. - - Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw - Her husband posting down - Into the country far away, 215 - She pull'd out half a crown; - - And thus unto the youth she said, - That drove them to the Bell, - "This shall be yours, when you bring back - My husband safe and well." 220 - - The youth did ride, and soon did meet - John coming back amain[12]; - Whom in a trice he tried to stop, - By catching at his rein; - - But not performing what he meant, 225 - And gladly would have done, - The frighted steed he frighted more, - And made him faster run. - - Away went Gilpin, and away - Went postboy at his heels, 230 - The postboy's horse right glad to miss - The lumbering of the wheels. - - Six gentlemen upon the road, - Thus seeing Gilpin fly, - With postboy scampering in the rear, 235 - They raised the hue and cry[13]:-- - - "Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!" - Not one of them was mute; - And all and each that passed that way - Did join in the pursuit. 240 - - And now the turnpike gates again - Flew open in short space; - The toll-men thinking as before, - That Gilpin rode a race. - - And so he did, and won it too, 245 - For he got first to town; - Nor stopp'd till where he had got up - He did again get down. - - Now let us sing, "Long live the king, - And Gilpin, long live he;" 250 - And when he next doth ride abroad, - May I be there to see! - - - - -ROBERT BURNS - - -TAM O' SHANTER - - "Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke." - GAWIN DOUGLAS. - -A TALE - - When chapman billies[14] leave the street, - And drouty[15] neebors, neebors meet, - As market-days are wearing late, - And folk begin to tak the gate[16]; - While we sit bousing at the nappy,[17] 5 - And gettin' fou[18] and unco[19] happy, - We think na on the lang Scots miles. - The mosses, waters, slaps[20] and styles, - That lie between us and our hame, - Where sits our sulky sullen dame, 10 - Gathering her brows like gathering storm, - Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. - - This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, - As he frae[21] Ayr[22] ae night did canter, - (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses 15 - For honest men and bonny lasses.) - - O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise, - As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! - She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,[23] - A blethering,[24] blustering, drunken blellum[25]; 20 - That frae November till October, - Ae market-day thou wasna sober; - That ilka[26] melder,[27] wi' the miller, - Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; - That every naig was ca'd[28] a shoe on, 25 - The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; - That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, - Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. - She prophesied that, late or soon, - Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon,[29] 30 - Or catched wi' warlocks[30] in the mirk,[31] - By Alloway's[32] auld haunted kirk.[33] - - Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,[34] - To think how monie counsels sweet, - How monie lengthened sage advices, 35 - The husband frae the wife despises! - - But to our tale:--Ae market-night, - Tam had got planted[35] unco right, - Fast by an ingle,[36] bleezing finely, - Wi' reaming swats,[37] that drank divinely; 40 - And at his elbow, Souter[38] Johnny, - His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; - Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither-- - They had been fou for weeks thegither! - The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, 45 - And aye the ale was growing better; - The landlady and Tam grew gracious, - Wi' favors secret, sweet, and precious; - The souter tauld his queerest stories, - The landlord's laugh was ready chorus; 50 - The storm without might rair and rustle-- - Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. - - Care, mad to see a man sae happy, - E'en drowned himself amang the nappy! - As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 55 - The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure: - Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, - O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. - - But pleasures are like poppies spread,-- - You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; 60 - Or like the snowfall in the river,-- - A moment white--then melts forever; - Or like the borealis race, - That flit ere you can point their place; - Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 65 - Evanishing amid the storm. - Nae man can tether time or tide; - The hour approaches Tam maun[39] ride: - That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane, - That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 70 - And sic a night he taks the road in - As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. - The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; - The rattling showers rose on the blast; - The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed; 75 - Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed: - That night, a child might understand, - The Deil[40] had business on his hand. - - Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, - (A better never lifted leg,) 80 - Tam skelpit[41] on through dub[42] and mire, - Despising wind, and rain, and fire; - Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, - Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; - Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares, 85 - Lest bogles[43] catch him unawares:-- - Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, - Where ghaists and houlets[44] nightly cry. - - By this time he was cross the ford, - Where in the snaw the chapman smoored[45]; 90 - And past the birks[46] and meikle stane,[47] - Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; - And through the whins,[48] and by the cairn,[49] - Where hunters fand the murdered bairn[50]; - And near the thorn, aboon the well, 95 - Where Mungo's mither hanged hersel'. - Before him Doon pours all his floods; - The doubling storm roars through the woods; - The lightnings flash from pole to pole; - Near and more near the thunders roll; 100 - When, glimmering through the groaning trees, - Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze[51]; - Through ilka bore[52] the beams were glancing, - And loud resounded mirth and dancing. - - Inspiring bold John Barleycorn,[53] 105 - What dangers thou canst make us scorn! - Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; - Wi' usquebae,[54] we'll face the devil!-- - The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle, - Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.[55] 110 - But Maggie stood right sair astonished, - Till, by the heel and hand admonished, - She ventured forward on the light; - And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight! - Warlocks and witches in a dance; 115 - Nae cotillion brent[56] new frae France, - But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys,[57] and reels, - Put life and mettle in their heels. - A winnock-bunker[58] in the east, - There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 120 - A towzie tyke,[59] black, grim, and large, - To gie them music was his charge; - He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl,[60] - Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.[61] - Coffins stood round, like open presses, 125 - That shawed the dead in their last dresses; - And by some devilish cantrip slight[62] - Each in its cauld hand held a light: - By which heroic Tam was able - To note upon the haly table, 130 - A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; - Twa span-lang, wee unchristened bairns; - A thief, new-cutted frae the rape, - Wi' his last gasp his gab[63] did gape; - Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted; 135 - Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; - A garter which a babe had strangled; - A knife, a father's throat had mangled, - Whom his ain son o' life bereft,-- - The gray hairs yet stack to the heft: 140 - Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', - Which even to name wad be unlawfu'! - - As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious, - The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; - The piper loud and louder blew; 145 - The dancers quick and quicker flew; - They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,[64] - Till ilka carlin[65] swat and reekit, - And coost her duddies[66] to the wark, - And linket[67] at it in her sark[68]! 150 - - Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,[69] - A' plump and strappin' in their teens; - Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,[70] - Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen[71]! - Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 155 - That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, - I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,[72] - For ae blink o' the bonny burdies[73]! - But withered beldams,[74] auld and droll - Rigwooddie[75] hags wad spean[76] a foal, 160 - Louping and flinging on a cummock,[77] - I wonder didna turn thy stomach. - - But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie[78]; - There was ae winsome wench and walie,[79] - That night enlisted in the core,[80] 165 - (Lang after kenned on Carrick shore; - For monie a beast to dead she shot, - And perished monie a bonny boat, - And shook baith meikle corn and bear,[81] - And kept the country-side in fear.) 170 - Her cutty-sark,[82] o' Paisley harn,[83] - That while a lassie she had won, - In longitude though sorely scanty, - It was her best, and she was vauntie.[84] - Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie 175 - That sark she coft[85] for her wee Nannie, - Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), - Wad ever graced a dance o' witches! - - But here my Muse her wing maun cour; - Sic flights are far beyond her power;-- 180 - To sing how Nannie lap and flang[86] - (A souple jade she was, and strang), - And how Tam stood like ane bewitched, - And thought his very e'en[87] enriched: - Even Satan glow'red and fidged fu' fain,[88] 185 - And hotched[89] and blew wi' might and main: - Till first ae caper, syne[90] anither, - Tam tint[91] his reason a' thegither, - And roars out: "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" - And in an instant all was dark: 190 - And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, - When out the hellish legion sallied. - As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,[92] - When plundering herds assail their byke[93]; - As open poussie's mortal foes, 195 - When, pop! she starts before their nose; - As eager runs the market-crowd, - When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; - So Maggie runs, the witches follow, - Wi' monie an eldritch[94] screech and hollow. 200 - - Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get they fairin'[95]! - In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! - In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'; - Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! - Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 205 - And win the keystane o' the brig; - There at them thou thy tail may toss, - A running-stream they darena cross[96]! - But ere the keystane she could make, - The fient a tail she had to shake! 210 - For Nannie, far before the rest, - Hard upon noble Maggie prest, - And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle,[97]-- - But little wist she Maggie's mettle! - Ae spring brought off her master hale, 215 - But left behind her ain gray tail: - The carlin claught her by the rump, - And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. - - Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, - Ilk man and mother's son, take heed! 220 - Whene'er to drink you are inclined, - Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, - Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear,-- - Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. - - - - -WALTER SCOTT - - -LOCHINVAR - - O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, - Through all the wide Border[98] his steed was the best; - And, save his good broadsword, he weapons had none, - He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. - So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 5 - There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. - - He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, - He swam the Esk river[99] where ford there was none; - But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, - The bride had consented, the gallant came late: 10 - For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, - Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. - - So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, - Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: - Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 15 - (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) - "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, - Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"-- - - "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;-- - Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like the tide-- 20 - And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, - To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. - There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, - That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." - - The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up, 25 - He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. - She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, - With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. - He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,-- - "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. 30 - - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, - There never a hall such a galliard[100] did grace; - While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, - And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; - And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'Twere better by far, 35 - To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." - - One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, - When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near; - So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, - So light to the saddle before her he sprung! 40 - "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur[101]; - They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. - - There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; - Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; - There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 45 - But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. - So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. - Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? - - - - -WILLIAM WORDSWORTH - - -MICHAEL - -A PASTORAL POEM - - If from the public way you turn your steps - Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,[102] - You will suppose that with an upright path - Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent - The pastoral mountains front you, face to face. 5 - But courage! for around that boisterous brook - The mountains have all opened out themselves, - And made a hidden valley of their own. - No habitation can be seen; but they - Who journey thither find themselves alone 10 - With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites - That overhead are sailing in the sky. - It is in truth an utter solitude; - Nor should I have made mention of this Dell - But for one object which you might pass by, 15 - Might see and notice not. Beside the brook - Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones! - And to that simple object appertains - A story--unenriched with strange events, - Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, 20 - Or for the summer shade. It was the first - Of those domestic tales that spake to me - Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men - Whom I already loved; not verily - For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills 25 - Where was their occupation and abode. - And hence this Tale, while I was yet a boy - Careless of books, yet having felt the power - Of Nature, by the gentle agency - Of natural objects, led me on to feel 30 - For passions that were not my own, and think - (At random and imperfectly indeed) - On man, the heart of man, and human life. - Therefore, although it be a history - Homely and rude, I will relate the same 35 - For the delight of a few natural hearts; - And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake - Of youthful Poets, who among these hills - Will be my second self when I am gone. - Upon the forest side in Grasmere vale 40 - There dwelt a shepherd, Michael was his name; - An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. - His bodily frame had been from youth to age - Of an unusual strength; his mind was keen, - Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs, 45 - And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt - And watchful more than ordinary men. - Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, - Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes, - When others heeded not, he heard the South 50 - Make subterraneous music, like the noise - Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. - The shepherd, at such warning, of his flock - Bethought him, and he to himself would say, - "The winds are now devising work for me!" 55 - And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives - The traveller to a shelter, summoned him - Up to the mountains: he had been alone - Amid the heart of many thousand mists, - That came to him, and left him, on the heights. 60 - So lived he till his eightieth year was past. - And grossly that man errs who should suppose - That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks, - Were things indifferent to the shepherd's thoughts. - Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed 65 - The common air; hills which with vigorous step - He had so often climbed; which had impressed - So many incidents upon his mind - Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear; - Which, like a book, preserved the memory 70 - Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved, - Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts - The certainty of honorable gain; - Those fields, those hills--what could they less? had laid - Strong hold on his affections, were to him 75 - A pleasurable feeling of blind love, - The pleasure which there is in life itself. - His days had not been passed in singleness. - His Helpmate was a comely matron, old-- - Though younger than himself full twenty years. 80 - She was a woman of a stirring life, - Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had - Of antique form; this large, for spinning wool; - That small, for flax; and if one wheel had rest - It was because the other was at work. 85 - The Pair had but one inmate in their house, - An only Child, who had been born to them - When Michael, telling o'er his years, began - To deem that he was old,--in shepherd's phrase, - With one foot in the grave. This only Son, 90 - With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm, - The one of an inestimable worth, - Made all their household. I may truly say, - That they were as a proverb in the vale - For endless industry. When day was gone, 95 - And from their occupations out of doors - The Son and Father were come home, even then, - Their labor did not cease; unless when all - Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and there, - Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk, 100 - Sat round the basket piled with oaten cakes, - And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when the meal - Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named) - And his old Father both betook themselves - To such convenient work as might employ 105 - Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to card - Wool for the Housewife's spindle, or repair - Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe, - Or other implement of house or field. - Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge, 110 - That in our ancient uncouth country style - With huge and black projection overbrowed - Large space beneath, as duly as the light - Of day grew dim the Housewife hung a lamp; - An aged utensil, which had performed 115 - Service beyond all others of its kind. - Early at evening did it burn--and late, - Surviving comrade of uncounted hours, - Which, going by from year to year, had found, - And left, the couple neither gay perhaps 120 - Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes, - Living a life of eager industry. - And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth year, - There by the light of this old lamp they sate, - Father and Son, while far into the night 125 - The Housewife plied her own peculiar work, - Making the cottage through the silent hours - Murmur as with the sound of summer flies. - This light was famous in its neighborhood, - And was a public symbol of the life 130 - That thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced, - Their cottage on a plot of rising ground - Stood single, with large prospect, north and south, - High into Easedale,[103] up to Dunmail-Raise, - And westward to the village near the lake; 135 - And from this constant light, so regular - And so far seen, the House itself, by all - Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, - Both old and young, was named THE EVENING STAR. - Thus living on through such a length of years, 140 - The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs - Have loved his Helpmate; but to Michael's heart - This son of his old age was yet more dear-- - Less from instinctive tenderness, the same - Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all-- 145 - Than that a child, more than all other gifts - That earth can offer to declining man, - Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, - And stirrings of inquietude, when they - By tendency of nature need must fail. 150 - Exceeding was the love he bare to him, - His heart and his heart's joy! For oftentimes - Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, - Had done him female service, not alone - For pastime and delight, as is the use 155 - Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced - To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked - His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand. - And, in a later time, ere yet the boy - Had put on man's attire, did Michael love, 160 - Albeit of a stern unbending mind, - To have the Young-one in his sight, when he - Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd's stool - Sate with a fettered sheep before him stretched - Under the large old oak, that near his door 165 - Stood single, and from matchless depth of shade, - Chosen for the Shearer's covert from the sun, - Thence in our rustic dialect was called - The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears. - There while they two were sitting in the shade, 170 - With others round them, earnest all and blithe - Would Michael exercise his heart with looks - Of fond correction, and reproof bestowed - Upon the child, if he disturbed the sheep - By catching at their legs, or with his shouts 175 - Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears. - And when by Heaven's good grace the boy grew up - A healthy Lad, and carried in his cheek - Two steady roses that were five years old; - Then Michael from a winter coppice cut 180 - With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped - With iron, making it throughout in all - Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff, - And gave it to the boy; wherewith equipt - He as a watchman oftentimes was placed 185 - At gate or gap to stem or turn the flock; - And, to his office prematurely called, - There stood the urchin, as you will divine, - Something between a hindrance and a help; - And for this cause not always, I believe, 190 - Receiving from his father hire of praise; - Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice, - Or looks or threatening gestures, could perform. - But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand - Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights, 195 - Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways, - He with his father daily went, and they - Were as companions, why should I relate - That objects which the shepherd loved before - Were dearer now? that from the Boy there came 200 - Feelings and emanations--things which were - Light to the sun and music to the wind; - And that the old Man's heart seemed born again? - Thus in his father's sight the Boy grew up; - And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year, 205 - He was his comfort and his daily hope. - While in this sort the simple household lived - From day to day, to Michael's ear there came - Distressful tidings. Long before the time - Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound 210 - In surety for his brother's son, a man - Of an industrious life, and ample means; - But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly - Had prest upon him; and old Michael now - Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture, 215 - A grievous penalty, but little less - Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim, - At the first hearing, for a moment took - More hope out of his life than he supposed - That any old man ever could have lost. 220 - As soon as he had armed himself with strength - To look his troubles in the face, it seemed - The Shepherd's sole resource to sell at once - A portion of his patrimonial fields. - Such was his first resolve; he thought again, 225 - And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said he, - Two evenings after he had heard the news, - "I have been toiling more than seventy years, - And in the open sunshine of God's love - Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours 230 - Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think - That I could not lie quiet in my grave. - Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself - Has scarcely been more diligent than I; - And I have lived to be a fool at last 235 - To my own family. An evil man - That was, and made an evil choice, if he - Were false to us; and if he were not false, - There are ten thousand to whom loss like this - Had been no sorrow. I forgive him;--but 240 - 'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. - When I began, my purpose was to speak - Of remedies and of a cheerful hope. - Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land - Shall not go from us, and it shall be free; 245 - He shall possess it, free as is the wind - That passes over it. We have, thou know'st, - Another kinsman--he will be our friend - In this distress. He is a prosperous man, - Thriving in trade--and Luke to him shall go, 250 - And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift - He quickly will repair this loss, and then - He may return to us. If here he stay, - What can be done? Where every one is poor, - What can be gained?" - At this the old Man paused, 255 - And Isabel sat silent, for her mind - Was busy, looking back into past times. - There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, - He was a parish-boy--at the church-door - They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence 260 - And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbors bought - A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares; - And, with this basket on his arm, the lad - Went up to London, found a master there, - Who, out of many, chose the trusty boy 265 - To go and overlook his merchandise - Beyond the seas; where he grew wondrous rich, - And left estates and monies to the poor, - And, at his birthplace, built a chapel, floored - With marble which he sent from foreign lands. 270 - These thoughts, and many others of like sort, - Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, - And her face brightened. The old Man was glad, - And thus resumed:--"Well, Isabel! this scheme - These two days, has been meat and drink to me. 275 - Far more than we have lost is left us yet. - --We have enough--I wish indeed that I - Were younger;--but this hope is a good hope. - --Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best - Buy for him more, and let us send him forth 280 - To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: - --If he _could_ go, the Boy should go to-night." - Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth - With a light heart. The Housewife for five days - Was restless morn and night, and all day long 285 - Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare - Things needful for the journey of her son. - But Isabel was glad when Sunday came - To stop her in her work: for, when she lay - By Michael's side, she through the last two nights 290 - Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep; - And when they rose at morning she could see - That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon - She said to Luke, while they two by themselves - Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go: 295 - We have no other Child but thee to lose, - None to remember--do not go away, - For if thou leave thy Father, he will die." - The Youth made answer with a jocund voice; - And Isabel, when she had told her fears, 300 - Recovered heart. That evening her best fare - Did she bring forth, and all together sat - Like happy people round a Christmas fire. - With daylight Isabel resumed her work; - And all the ensuing week the house appeared 305 - As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length - The expected letter from their kinsman came, - With kind assurances that he would do - His utmost for the welfare of the boy; - To which, requests were added, that forthwith 310 - He might be sent to him. Ten times or more - The letter was read over; Isabel - Went forth to show it to the neighbors round; - Nor was there at that time on English land - A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel 315 - Had to her house returned, the old Man said, - "He shall depart to-morrow." To this word - The Housewife answered, talking much of things - Which, if at such short notice he should go, - Would surely be forgotten. But at length 320 - She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. - Near the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll, - In that deep valley, Michael had designed - To build a Sheepfold; and, before he heard - The tidings of his melancholy loss, 325 - For this same purpose he had gathered up - A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge - Lay thrown together, ready for the work. - With Luke that evening thitherward he walked: - And soon as they had reached the place he stopped, 330 - And thus the old man spoke to him:--"My son, - To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart - I look upon thee, for thou art the same - That wert a promise to me ere thy birth, - And all thy life hast been my daily joy. 335 - I will relate to thee some little part - Of our two histories; 'twill do thee good - When thou art from me, even if I should touch - On things thou canst not know of.--After thou - First cam'st into the world--as oft befalls 340 - To new-born infants--thou didst sleep away - Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue - Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on, - And still I loved thee with increasing love. - Never to living ear came sweeter sounds 345 - Then when I heard thee by our own fireside - First uttering, without words, a natural tune; - While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy - Sing at thy mother's breast. Month followed month - And in the open fields my life was passed 350 - And on the mountains; else I think that thou - Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's knees. - But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills, - As well thou knowest, in us the old and young - Have played together, nor with me didst thou 355 - Lack any pleasure which a boy can know." - Luke had a manly heart; but at these words - He sobbed aloud. The old Man grasped his hand, - And said, "Nay, do not take it so--I see - That these are things of which I need not speak. 360 - --Even to the utmost I have been to thee - A kind and a good Father: and herein - I but repay a gift which I myself - Received at others' hands; for, though now old - Beyond the common life of man, I still 365 - Remember them who loved me in my youth. - Both of them sleep together: here they lived, - As all their Forefathers had done; and when - At length their time was come, they were not loth - To give their bodies to the family mould. 370 - I wished that thou should'st live the life they lived: - But, 'tis a long time to look back, my Son, - And see so little gain from threescore years. - These fields were burthened when they came to me; - Till I was forty years of age, not more 375 - Than half of my inheritance was mine. - I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my work, - And till these three weeks past the land was free. - --It looks as if it never could endure - Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, 380 - If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good - That thou should'st go." - At this the old Man paused; - Then, pointing to the stones near which they stood, - Thus, after a short silence, he resumed: - "This was a work for us; and now, my Son, 385 - It is a work for me. But, lay one stone-- - Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands. - Nay, Boy, be of good hope;--we both may live - To see a better day. At eighty-four - I still am strong and hale;--do thou thy part; 390 - I will do mine.--I will begin again - With many tasks that were resigned to thee: - Up to the heights, and in among the storms, - Will I without thee go again, and do - All works which I was wont to do alone, 395 - Before I knew thy face.--Heaven bless thee, Boy! - Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast - With many hopes; it should be so--yes--yes-- - I knew that thou could'st never have a wish - To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to me 400 - Only by links of love: when thou art gone, - What will be left to us!--But, I forget - My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, - As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, - When thou art gone away, should evil men 405 - Be thy companions, think of me, my Son, - And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, - And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear - And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou - May'st bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived, 410 - Who, being innocent, did for that cause - Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well-- - When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see - A work which is not here: a covenant - 'Twill be between us; but, whatever fate 415 - Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last, - And bear thy memory with me to the grave." - The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down, - And, as his Father had requested, laid - The first stone of the Sheepfold. At the sight 420 - The old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart - He pressed his Son, he kissed him and wept; - And to the house together they returned. - --Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming peace, - Ere the night fell:--with morrow's dawn the Boy 425 - Began his journey, and when he had reached - The public way, he put on a bold face; - And all the neighbors, as he passed their doors, - Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, - That followed him till he was out of sight. 430 - A good report did from their Kinsman come, - Of Luke and his well-doing: and the Boy - Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, - Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout - "The prettiest letters that were ever seen." 435 - Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. - So, many months passed on: and once again - The Shepherd went about his daily work - With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now - Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour 440 - He to that valley took his way, and there - Wrought at the Sheepfold. Meantime Luke began - To slacken in his duty; and, at length, - He in the dissolute city gave himself - To evil courses: ignominy and shame 445 - Fell on him, so that he was driven at last - To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas. - There is a comfort in the strength of love; - 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else - Would overset the brain, or break the heart: 450 - I have conversed with more than one who well - Remember the old Man, and what he was - Years after he had heard this heavy news. - His bodily frame had been from youth to age - Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks 455 - He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud, - And listened to the wind; and, as before, - Performed all kinds of labor for his sheep, - And for the land, his small inheritance. - And to that hollow dell from time to time 460 - Did he repair, to build the Fold of which - His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet - The pity which was then in every heart - For the old Man--and 'tis believed by all - That many and many a day he thither went, 465 - And never lifted up a single stone. - There, by the Sheepfold, sometimes was he seen - Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog, - Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. - The length of full seven years, from time to time, 470 - He at the building of this Sheepfold wrought, - And left the work unfinished when he died. - Three years, or little more, did Isabel - Survive her Husband: at his death the estate - Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. 475 - The Cottage which was named the EVENING STAR - Is gone--the ploughshare has been through the ground - On which it stood; great changes have been wrought - In all the neighborhood:--yet the oak is left - That grew beside their door; and the remains 480 - Of the unfinished Sheepfold may be seen - Beside the boisterous brook of Greenhead Ghyll. - - - - -LUCY GRAY; OR SOLITUDE - - Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: - And, when I crossed the wild, - I chanced to see at break of day - The solitary child. - - No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; 5 - She dwelt on a wide moor. - --The sweetest thing that ever grew - Beside a human door! - - You yet may spy the fawn at play, - The hare upon the green; 10 - But the sweet face of Lucy Gray - Will never more be seen. - - "To-night will be a stormy night-- - You to the town must go; - And take a lantern, child, to light 15 - Your mother through the snow." - - "That, Father! will I gladly do: - 'Tis scarcely afternoon-- - The minster-clock has just struck two, - And yonder is the moon!" 20 - - At this the father raised his hook, - And snapped a faggot-band; - He plied his work;--and Lucy took - The lantern in her hand. - - Not blither is the mountain roe: 25 - With many a wanton stroke - Her feet disperse the powdery snow, - That rises up like smoke. - - The storm came on before its time: - She wandered up and down; 30 - And many a hill did Lucy climb, - But never reached the town. - - The wretched parents all that night - Went shouting far and wide; - But there was neither sound nor sight 35 - To serve them for a guide. - - At day-break on a hill they stood - That overlooked the moor; - And thence they saw the bridge of wood, - A furlong from their door. 40 - - They wept--and turning homeward, cried, - "In heaven we all shall meet!" - --When in the snow the mother spied - The print of Lucy's feet. - - Then downwards from the steep hill's edge 45 - They tracked the footprints small; - And through the broken hawthorn hedge, - And by the long stone-wall; - - And then an open field they crossed; - The marks were still the same; 50 - They tracked them on, nor ever lost; - And to the bridge they came. - - They followed from the snowy bank - Those footmarks, one by one, - Into the middle of the plank; 55 - And further there were none! - - --Yet some maintain that to this day - She is a living child; - That you may see sweet Lucy Gray - Upon the lonesome wild. 60 - - O'er rough and smooth she trips along, - And never looks behind; - And sings a solitary song - That whistles in the wind. - - - - -THOMAS CAMPBELL - - -HOHENLINDEN - - On Linden, when the sun was low, - All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, - And dark as winter was the flow - Of Iser,[104] rolling rapidly. - - But Linden saw another sight, 5 - When the drum beat at dead of night, - Commanding fires of death to light - The darkness of her scenery. - - By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, - Each horseman drew his battle blade, 10 - And furious every charger neighed, - To join the dreadful revelry. - - Then shook the hills with thunder riven, - Then rushed the steed to battle driven, - And louder than the bolts of heaven, 15 - Far flashed the red artillery. - - But redder yet that light shall glow, - On Linden's hills of stained snow, - And bloodier yet the torrent flow - Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 20 - - 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun - Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, - Where furious Frank and fiery Hun - Shout in their sulphurous canopy. - - The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 25 - Who rush to glory, or the grave! - Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave! - And charge with all thy chivalry! - - Few, few shall part where many meet! - The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 30 - And every turf beneath their feet - Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. - - - - -BATTLE OF THE BALTIC - - - I - - Of Nelson and the North, - Sing the glorious day's renown, - When to battle fierce came forth - All the might of Denmark's crown, - And her arms along the deep proudly shone; 5 - By each gun the lighted brand, - In a bold determined hand, - And the Prince of all the land - Led them on. - - - II - - Like leviathans afloat, 10 - Lay their bulwarks on the brine; - While the sign of battle flew - On the lofty British line: - It was ten of April morn by the chime: - As they drifted on their path, 15 - There was silence deep as death; - And the boldest held his breath, - For a time. - - - III - - But the might of England flush'd - To anticipate the scene; 20 - And her van the fleeter rush'd - O'er the deadly space between. - "Hearts of oak!" our captain cried; when each gun - From its adamantine lips - Spread a death-shade round the ships, 25 - Like the hurricane eclipse - Of the sun. - - - IV - - Again! again! again! - And the havoc did not slack, - Till a feeble cheer the Dane 30 - To our cheering sent us back;-- - Their shots along the deep slowly boom:-- - Then ceased--and all is wail, - As they strike the shatter'd sail; - Or, in conflagration pale, 35 - Light the gloom. - - - V - - Out spoke the victor then, - As he hailed them o'er the wave; - "Ye are brothers! ye are men! - And we conquer but to save:-- 40 - So peace instead of death let us bring; - But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, - With the crews, at England's feet - And make submission meet - To our King." 45 - - - VI - - Then Denmark bless'd our chief, - That he gave her wounds repose; - And the sounds of joy and grief - From her people wildly rose, - As Death withdrew his shades from the day, 50 - While the sun looked smiling bright - O'er a wide and woful sight, - Where the fires of funeral light - Died away. - - - VII - - Now joy, Old England, raise! 55 - For the tidings of thy might, - By the festal cities' blaze, - Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; - And yet amidst that joy and uproar, - Let us think of them that sleep, 60 - Full many a fathom deep, - By thy wild and stormy steep, - Elsinore! - - - VIII - - Brave hearts! to Britain's pride - Once so faithful and so true; 65 - On the deck of fame that died;-- - With the gallant good Riou[105]; - Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave - While the billow mournful rolls, - And the mermaid's song condoles, 70 - Singing glory to the souls - Of the brave. - - - - -CHARLES WOLFE - - -THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT CORUNNA[106] - - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, - As his corse to the rampart we hurried; - Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. - - We buried him darkly at dead of night, 5 - The sods with our bayonets turning; - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, - And the lantern dimly burning. - - No useless coffin enclosed his breast, - Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; 10 - But he lay like a warrior taking his rest - With his martial cloak around him. - - Few and short were the prayers we said, - And we spoke not a word of sorrow; - But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 15 - And we bitterly thought of the morrow. - - We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, - And smoothed down his lonely pillow, - That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, - And we far away on the billow! 20 - - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, - And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,-- - But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on - In the grave where a Briton has laid him. - - But half of our weary task was done 25 - When the clock struck the hour for retiring; - And we heard the distant and random gun - That the foe was sullenly firing. - - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, - From the field of his fame fresh and gory; 30 - We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone-- - But we left him alone with his glory. - - - - -LORD BYRON - - -THE PRISONER OF CHILLON - -A FABLE - - - I - - My hair is gray, but not with years, - Nor grew it white - In a single night, - As men's have grown from sudden fears.[107] - My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 5 - But rusted with a vile repose, - For they have been a dungeon's spoil, - And mine has been the fate of those - To whom the goodly earth and air - Are banned, and barred--forbidden fare; 10 - But this was for my father's faith - I suffered chains and courted death; - That father perished at the stake - For tenets he would not forsake; - And for the same his lineal race 15 - In darkness found a dwelling-place; - We were seven--who now are one, - Six in youth, and one in age, - Finished as they had begun, - Proud of Persecution's rage; 20 - One in fire, and two in field, - Their belief with blood have sealed[108]: - Dying as their father died, - For the God their foes denied;-- - Three were in a dungeon cast, 25 - Of whom this wreck is left the last. - - - II - - There are seven[109] pillars of Gothic mould - In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, - There are seven columns massy and gray, - Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, 30 - A sunbeam which hath lost its way, - And through the crevice and the cleft - Of the thick wall is fallen and left: - Creeping o'er the floor so damp, - Like a marsh's meteor lamp[110]: 35 - And in each pillar there is a ring, - And in each ring there is a chain; - That iron is a cankering[111] thing, - For in these limbs its teeth remain, - With marks that will not wear away 40 - Till I have done with this new day, - Which now is painful to these eyes, - Which have not seen the sun so rise - For years--I cannot count them o'er, - I lost their long and heavy score 45 - When my last brother drooped and died, - And I lay living by his side. - - - III - - They chained us each to a column stone, - And we were three--yet, each alone; - We could not move a single pace, 50 - We could not see each other's face, - But with that pale and livid light - That made us strangers in our sight: - And thus together--yet apart, - Fettered in hand, but joined in heart; 55 - 'Twas still some solace, in the dearth - Of the pure elements[112] of earth, - To hearken to each other's speech, - And each turn comforter to each - With some new hope or legend old, 60 - Or song heroically bold; - But even these at length grew cold. - Our voices took a dreary tone, - An echo of the dungeon stone, - A grating sound--not full and free 65 - As they of yore were wont to be; - It might be fancy--but to me - They never sounded like our own. - - - IV - - I was the eldest of the three, - And to uphold and cheer the rest 70 - I ought to do--and did my best-- - And each did well in his degree. - The youngest, whom my father loved, - Because our mother's brow was given - To him--with eyes as blue as heaven, 75 - For him my soul was sorely moved: - And truly might it be distressed - To see such bird in such a nest; - For he was beautiful as day-- - (When day was beautiful to me 80 - As to young eagles being free)-- - A polar day,[113] which will not see - A sunset till its summer's gone, - Its sleepless summer of long light, - The snow-clad offspring of the sun: 85 - And thus he was as pure and bright, - And in his natural spirit gay, - With tears for naught but others' ills, - And then they flowed like mountain rills, - Unless he could assuage the woe 90 - Which he abhorred to view below. - - - V - - The other was as pure of mind, - But formed to combat with his kind; - Strong in his frame, and of a mood - Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, 95 - And perished in the foremost rank - With joy:--but not in chains to pine: - His spirit withered with their clank, - I saw it silently decline-- - And so perchance in sooth[114] did mine: 100 - But yet I forced it on to cheer - Those relics of a home so dear. - He was a hunter of the hills, - Had followed there the deer and wolf; - To him this dungeon was a gulf, 105 - And fettered feet the worst of ills. - - - VI - - Lake Leman[115] lies by Chillon's walls, - A thousand feet in depth below - Its massy waters meet and flow; - Thus much the fathom-line was sent 110 - From Chillon's snow-white battlement, - Which round about the wave inthrals: - A double dungeon wall and wave - Have made--and like a living grave. - Below the surface of the lake 115 - The dark vault lies wherein we lay, - We heard it ripple night and day; - Sounding o'er our heads it knocked - And I have felt the winter's spray - Wash through the bars when winds were high 120 - And wanton in the happy sky; - And then the very rock hath rocked, - And I have felt it shake, unshocked, - Because I could have smiled to see - The death that would have set me free. 125 - - - VII - - I said my nearer brother pined, - I said his mighty heart declined, - He loathed and put away his food; - It was not that 'twas coarse and rude, - For we were used to hunter's fare, 130 - And for the like had little care: - The milk drawn from the mountain goat - Was changed for water from the moat,[116] - Our bread was such as captive's tears - Have moistened many a thousand years, 135 - Since man first pent his fellow-men - Like brutes within an iron den; - But what were these to us or him? - These wasted not his heart or limb; - My brother's soul was of that mould 140 - Which in a palace had grown cold, - Had his free breathing been denied - The range of the steep mountain's side; - But why delay the truth?--he died. - I saw, and could not hold his head, 145 - Nor reach his dying hand--nor dead,-- - Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, - To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. - He died, and they unlocked his chain, - And scooped for him a shallow grave 150 - Even from the cold earth of our cave. - I begged them, as a boon, to lay - His corse in dust whereon the day - Might shine--it was a foolish thought, - But then within my brain it wrought, 155 - That even in death his freeborn breast - In such a dungeon could not rest. - I might have spared my idle prayer-- - They coldly laughed--and laid him there: - The flat and turfless earth above 160 - The being we so much did love; - His empty chain above it leant, - Such murder's fitting monument! - - - VIII - - But he, the favourite and the flower, - Most cherished since his natal hour, 165 - His mother's image in fair face, - The infant love of all his race, - His martyred father's dearest thought, - My latest care, for whom I sought - To hoard my life, that his might be 170 - Less wretched now, and one day free; - He, too, who yet had held untired - A spirit natural or inspired-- - He, too, was struck, and day by day - Was withered on the stalk away. 175 - Oh, God! it is a fearful thing - To see the human soul take wing - In any shape, in any mood:-- - I've seen it rushing forth in blood,[117] - I've seen it on the breaking ocean 180 - Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, - I've seen the sick and ghastly bed - Of Sin delirious with its dread: - But these were horrors--this was woe - Unmixed with such--but sure and slow; 185 - He faded, and so calm and meek, - So softly worn, so sweetly weak, - So tearless, yet so tender--kind, - And grieved for those he left behind; - With all the while a cheek whose bloom 190 - Was as a mockery of the tomb, - Whose tints as gently sunk away - As a departing rainbow's ray-- - An eye of most transparent light, - That almost made the dungeon bright, 195 - And not a word of murmur--not - A groan o'er his untimely lot,-- - A little talk of better days, - A little hope my own to raise, - For I was sunk in silence--lost 200 - In this last loss, of all the most; - And then the sighs he would suppress - Of fainting nature's feebleness, - More slowly drawn, grew less and less: - I listened, but I could not hear-- 205 - I called, for I was wild with fear; - I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread - Would not be thus admonishčd; - I called, and thought I heard a sound-- - I burst my chain with one strong bound, 210 - And rushed to him:--I found him not, - _I_ only stirred in this black spot, - _I_ only lived--_I_ only drew - The accursed breath of dungeon-dew; - The last--the sole--the dearest link 215 - Between me and the eternal brink, - Which bound me to my failing race, - Was broken in this fatal place. - One on the earth, and one beneath-- - My brothers--both had ceased to breathe; 220 - I took that hand which lay so still, - Alas! my own was full as chill; - I had not strength to stir, or strive, - But felt that I was still alive-- - A frantic feeling, when we know 225 - That what we love shall ne'er be so. - I know not why - I could not die, - I had no earthly hope--but faith, - And that forbade a selfish death.[118] 230 - - - IX - - What next befell me then and there - I know not well--I never knew-- - First came the loss of light, and air, - And then of darkness too: - I had no thought, no feeling--none-- 235 - Among the stones I stood a stone, - And was, scarce conscious what I wist,[119] - As shrubless crags within the mist; - For all was blank, and bleak, and gray, - It was not night--it was not day, 240 - It was not even the dungeon-light, - So hateful to my heavy sight, - But vacancy absorbing space, - And fixedness--without a place; - There were no stars--no earth--no time-- 245 - No check--no change--no good--no crime-- - But silence, and a stirless breath - Which neither was of life nor death; - A sea of stagnant idleness, - Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless! 250 - - - X - - A light broke in upon my brain,-- - It was the carol of a bird; - It ceased, and then it came again, - The sweetest song ear ever heard, - And mine was thankful till my eyes 255 - Ran over with the glad surprise, - And they that moment could not see - I was the mate of misery; - But then by dull degrees came back - My senses to their wonted track, 260 - I saw the dungeon walls and floor - Close slowly round me as before, - I saw the glimmer of the sun - Creeping as it before had done, - But through the crevice where it came 265 - That bird was perched, as fond and tame, - And tamer than upon the tree; - A lovely bird, with azure wings, - And song that said a thousand things, - And seemed to say them all for me! 270 - I never saw its like before, - I ne'er shall see its likeness more: - It seemed like me to want a mate, - But was not half so desolate, - And it was come to love me when 275 - None lived to love me so again, - And cheering from my dungeon's brink, - Had brought me back to feel and think. - I know not if it late were free, - Or broke its cage to perch on mine, 280 - But knowing well captivity, - Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine! - Or if it were, in wingčd guise, - A visitant from Paradise; - For--Heaven forgive that thought! the while 285 - Which made me both to weep and smile; - I sometimes deemed that it might be - My brother's soul[120] come down to me; - But then at last away it flew, - And then 'twas mortal--well I knew, 290 - For he would never thus have flown, - And left me twice so doubly lone,-- - Lone--as the corse within its shroud, - Lone--as a solitary cloud,[121] - A single cloud on a sunny day, 295 - While all the rest of heaven is clear, - A frown upon the atmosphere, - That hath no business to appear - When skies are blue, and earth is gay. - - - XI - - A kind of change came in my fate, 300 - My keepers grew compassionate; - I know not what had made them so, - They were inured to sights of woe, - But so it was:--my broken chain - With links unfastened did remain, 305 - And it was liberty to stride - Along my cell from side to side, - And up and down, and then athwart, - And tread it over every part; - And round the pillars one by one, 310 - Returning where my walk begun. - Avoiding only, as I trod, - My brothers' graves without a sod; - For if I thought with heedless tread - My step profaned their lowly bed, 315 - My breath came gaspingly and thick, - And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. - - - XII - - I made a footing in the wall, - It was not therefrom to escape, - For I had buried one and all 320 - Who loved me in a human shape; - And the whole earth would henceforth be - A wider prison unto me: - No child--no sire--no kin had I, - No partner in my misery; 325 - I thought of this, and I was glad, - For thought of them had made me mad; - But I was curious to ascend - To my barred windows, and to bend - Once more, upon the mountains high, 330 - The quiet of a loving eye. - - - XIII - - I saw them--and they were the same, - They were not changed like me in frame; - I saw their thousand years of snow - On high--their wide long lake below, 335 - And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; - I heard the torrents leap and gush - O'er channelled rock and broken bush; - I saw the white-walled distant town, - And whiter sails go skimming down; 340 - And then there was a little isle,[122] - Which in my very face did smile, - The only one in view; - A small green isle it seemed no more, - Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 345 - But in it there were three tall trees, - And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, - And by it there were waters flowing, - And on it there were young flowers growing, - Of gentle breath and hue. 350 - The fish swam by the castle wall, - And they seemed joyous each and all; - The eagle rode the rising blast, - Methought he never flew so fast - As then to me he seemed to fly, 355 - And then new tears came in my eye, - And I felt troubled--and would fain - I had not left my recent chain; - And when I did descend again, - The darkness of my dim abode 360 - Fell on me as a heavy load; - It was as is a new-dug grave, - Closing o'er one we sought to save,-- - And yet my glance, too much oppressed, - Had almost need of such a rest. 365 - - - XIV - - It might be months, or years, or days, - I kept no count--I took no note, - I had no hope my eyes to raise, - And clear them of their dreary mote; - At last men came to set me free, 370 - I asked not why, and recked not where, - It was at length the same to me, - Fettered or fetterless to be, - I learned to love despair. - And thus when they appeared at last, 375 - And all my bonds aside were cast, - These heavy walls to me had grown - A hermitage--and all my own! - And half I felt as they were come - To tear me from a second home: 380 - With spiders I had friendship made, - And watched them in their sullen trade, - Had seen the mice by moonlight play, - And why should I feel less than they? - We were all inmates of one place, 385 - And I, the monarch of each race, - Had power to kill--yet, strange to tell! - In quiet we had learned to dwell-- - My very chains and I grew friends, - So much a long communion tends 390 - To make us what we are:--even I - Regained my freedom with a sigh.[123] - - - - -MAZEPPA - - - I - - 'Twas after dread Pultowa's[124] day, - When Fortune left the royal Swede. - Around a slaughter'd army lay, - No more to combat and to bleed. - The power and glory of the war, 5 - Faithless as their vain votaries, men, - Had pass'd to the triumphant Czar, - And Moscow's walls were safe again, - Until a day more dark and drear,[125] - And a more memorable year, 10 - Should give to slaughter and to shame - A mightier host and haughtier name; - A greater wreck, a deeper fall, - A shock to one--a thunderbolt to all. - - - II - - Such was the hazard of the die[126]; 15 - The wounded Charles was taught to fly - By day and night through field and flood, - Stain'd with his own and subjects' blood; - For thousands fell that flight to aid; - And not a voice was heard t' upbraid 20 - Ambition in his humbled hour, - When truth had naught to dread from power. - His horse was slain, and Gieta[127] gave - His own--and died the Russians' slave. - This too sinks after many a league 25 - Of well-sustain'd, but vain fatigue; - And in the depth of forests darkling, - The watch-fires in the distance sparkling-- - The beacons of surrounding foes-- - A king must lay his limbs at length. 30 - Are these the laurels and repose - For which the nations strain their strength? - They laid him by a savage tree, - In outworn nature's agony; - His wounds were stiff--his limbs were stark-- 35 - The heavy hour was chill and dark; - The fever in his blood forbade - a transient slumber's fitful aid: - And thus it was; but yet through all, - Kinglike the monarch bore his fall, 40 - And made, in this extreme of ill, - His pangs the vassals of his will: - All silent and subdued were they, - As once the nations round him lay. - - - III - - A band of chiefs!--alas! how few, 45 - Since but the fleeting of a day - Had thinn'd it; but this wreck was true - And chivalrous: upon the clay - Each sate him down, all sad and mute, - Beside his monarch and his steed, 50 - For danger levels man and brute,[128] - And all are fellows in their need. - Among the rest, Mazeppa made - His pillow in an old oak's shade-- - Himself as rough, and scarce less old, 55 - The Ukraine's hetman,[129] calm and bold. - But first, outspent with his long course, - The Cossack prince rubb'd down his horse, - And made for him a leafy bed, - And smooth'd his fetlocks and his mane, 60 - And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, - And joy'd to see how well he fed; - For until now he had the dread - His wearied courser might refuse - To browse beneath the midnight dews: 65 - But he was hardy as his lord, - And little cared for bed and board; - But spirited and docile too; - Whate'er was to be done, would do. - Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb, 70 - All Tartar-like he carried him; - Obey'd his voice, and came to call, - And knew him in the midst of all: - Though thousands were around,--and Night, - Without a star, pursued her flight,-- 75 - That steed from sunset until dawn - His chief would follow like a fawn. - - - IV - - This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak, - And laid his lance beneath his oak, - Felt if his arms in order good 80 - The long day's march had well withstood-- - If still the powder fill'd the pan, - And flints unloosen'd kept their lock-- - His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt, - And whether they had chafed his belt-- 85 - And next the venerable man, - From out his haversack and can, - Prepared and spread his slender stock; - And to the monarch and his men - The whole or portion offer'd then 90 - With far less of inquietude - Than courtiers at a banquet would. - And Charles of this his slender share - With smiles partook a moment there, - To force of cheer a greater show, 95 - And seem above both wounds and woe;-- - And then he said--"Of all our band, - Though firm of heart and strong of hand, - In skirmish, march, or forage, none - Can less have said or more have done 100 - Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth - So fit a pain had never birth, - Since Alexander's days till now, - As thy Bucephalus[130] and thou: - All Scythia's[131] fame to thine should yield 105 - For pricking on o'er flood and field." - Mazeppa answer'd--"Ill betide - The school wherein I learn'd to ride!" - Quoth Charles--"Old Hetman, wherefore so, - Since thou hast learn'd the art so well?" 110 - Mazeppa said--"'Twere long to tell; - And we have many a league to go, - With every now and then a blow, - And ten to one at least the foe, - Before our steeds may graze at ease 115 - Beyond the swift Borysthenes[132]; - And, sire, your limbs have need of rest, - And I will be the sentinel - Of this your troop."--"But I request," - Said Sweden's monarch, "thou wilt tell 120 - This tale of thine, and I may reap, - Perchance, from this the boon of sleep; - For at this moment from my eyes - The hope of present slumber flies." - - "Well, sire, with such a hope, I'll track 125 - My seventy years of memory back: - I think 'twas in my twentieth spring-- - Ay, 'twas,--when Casimir was king-- - John Casimir,--I was his page - Six summers, in my earlier age. 130 - A learned monarch, faith! was he, - And most unlike your majesty: - He made no wars, and did not gain - New realms to lose them back again; - And (save debates in Warsaw's diet) 135 - He reign'd in most unseemly quiet; - Not that he had no cares to vex, - He loved the muses and the sex; - And sometimes these so froward are, - They made him wish himself at war; 140 - But soon his wrath being o'er, he took - Another mistress, or new book. - And then he gave prodigious fętes-- - All Warsaw gather'd round his gates - To gaze upon his splendid court, 145 - And dames, and chiefs, of princely port: - He was the Polish Solomon, - So sung his poets, all but one, - Who, being unpension'd, made a satire, - And boasted that he could not flatter. 150 - It was a court of jousts and mimes,[133] - Where every courtier tried at rhymes; - Even I for once produced some verses, - And sign'd my odes 'Despairing Thyrsis.[134]' - There was a certain Palatine,[135] 155 - A count of far and high descent, - Rich as a salt or silver mine; - And he was proud, ye may divine, - As if from heaven he had been sent. - He had such wealth in blood and ore 160 - As few could match beneath the throne; - And he would gaze upon his store, - And o'er his pedigree would pore, - Until by some confusion led, - Which almost look'd like want of head, 165 - He thought their merits were his own. - His wife was not of his opinion-- - His junior she by thirty years-- - Grew daily tired of his dominion; - And, after wishes, hopes, and fears, 170 - To virtue a few farewell tears, - A restless dream or two, some glances - At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances, - Awaited but the usual chances, - (Those happy accidents which render 175 - The coldest dames so very tender,) - To deck her Count with titles given, - 'Tis said, as passports into heaven; - But, strange to say, they rarely boast - Of these, who have deserved them most. 180 - - - V - - "I was a goodly stripling then; - At seventy years I so may say, - That there were few, or boys or men, - Who, in my dawning time of day, - Of vassal or of knight's degree, 185 - Could vie in vanities with me; - For I had strength, youth, gaiety, - A port, not like to this ye see, - But as smooth as all is rugged now; - For time, and care, and war, have plough'd 190 - My very soul from out my brow; - And thus I should be disavow'd - By all my kind and kin, could they - Compare my day and yesterday. - This change was wrought, too, long ere age 195 - Had ta'en my features for his page: - With years, ye know, have not declined - My strength, my courage, or my mind, - Or at this hour I should not be - Telling old tales beneath a tree, 200 - With starless skies my canopy. - But let me on: Theresa's form-- - Methinks it glides before me now, - Between me and yon chestnut's bough, - The memory is so quick and warm; 205 - And yet I find no words to tell - The shape of her I loved so well. - She had the Asiatic eye, - Such as our Turkish neighbourhood, - Hath mingled with our Polish blood, 210 - Dark as above us is the sky; - But through it stole a tender light, - Like the first moonrise of midnight; - Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, - Which seem'd to melt to its own beam; 215 - All love, half languor, and half fire, - Like saints that at the stake expire, - And lift their raptured looks on high - As though it were a joy to die;-- - A brow like a midsummer lake, 220 - Transparent with the sun therein, - When waves no murmur dare to make, - And heaven beholds her face within; - A cheek and lip--but why proceed? - I loved her then--I love her still; 225 - And such as I am, love indeed - In fierce extremes--in good and ill; - But still we love even in our rage, - And haunted to our very age - With the vain shadow of the past, 230 - As is Mazeppa to the last. - - - VI - - "We met--we gazed--I saw, and sigh'd, - She did not speak, and yet replied: - There are ten thousand tones and signs - We hear and see, but none defines-- 235 - Involuntary sparks of thought, - Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought[136] - And form a strange intelligence - Alike mysterious and intense, - Which link the burning chain that binds, 240 - Without their will, young hearts and minds: - Conveying, as the electric wire, - We know not how, the absorbing fire.-- - I saw, and sigh'd--in silence wept, - And still reluctant distance kept, 245 - Until I was made known to her, - And we might then and there confer - Without suspicion--then, even then, - I long'd, and was resolved to speak; - But on my lips they died again, 250 - The accents tremulous and weak, - Until one hour.--There is a game, - A frivolous and foolish play, - Wherewith we while away the day; - It is--I have forgot the name-- 255 - And we to this, it seems, were set, - By some strange chance, which I forget: - I reckon'd not if I won or lost, - It was enough for me to be - So near to hear, and oh! to see 260 - The being whom I loved the most. - I watch'd her as a sentinel, - (May ours this dark night watch as well!) - Until I saw, and thus it was, - That she was pensive, nor perceived 265 - Her occupation, nor was grieved - Nor glad to lose or gain; but still - Play'd on for hours, as if her will - Yet bound her to the place, though not - That hers might be the winning lot. 270 - Then through my brain the thought did pass - Even as a flash of lightning there, - That there was something in her air - Which would not doom me to despair; - And on the thought my words broke forth, 275 - All incoherent as they were-- - Their eloquence was little worth, - But yet she listen'd--'tis enough-- - Who listens once will listen twice; - Her heart, be sure, is not of ice, 280 - And one refusal no rebuff. - - - VII - - "I loved, and was beloved again-- - They tell me, sire, you never knew - Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true, - I shorten all my joy or pain; 285 - To you 'twould seem absurd as vain; - But all men are not born to reign, - Or o'er their passions, or as you - Thus o'er themselves and nations too. - I am--or rather _was_--a prince, 290 - A chief of thousands, and could lead - Them on where each would foremost bleed; - But could not o'er myself evince - The like control.--But to resume: - I loved, and was beloved again; 295 - In sooth, it is a happy doom, - But yet where happiest ends in pain.-- - We met in secret, and the hour - Which led me to that lady's bower - Was fiery Expectation's dower. 300 - My days and nights were nothing--all - Except that hour which doth recall - In the long lapse from youth to age - No other like itself--I'd give - The Ukraine back again to live 305 - It o'er once more--and be a page, - The happy page, who was the lord - Of one soft heart and his own sword, - And had no other gem nor wealth - Save nature's gift of youth and health.-- 310 - We met in secret--doubly sweet, - Some say, they find it so to meet; - I know not that--I would have given - My life but to have call'd her mine - In the full view of earth and heaven; 315 - For I did oft and long repine - That we could only meet by stealth. - - - VIII - - "For lovers there are many eyes, - And such there were on us;--the devil - On such occasions should be civil-- 320 - The devil!--I'm loth to do him wrong, - It might be some untoward saint, - Who would not be at rest too long - But to his pious bile gave vent-- - But one fair night, some lurking spies 325 - Surprised and seized us both. - The Count was something more than wroth-- - I was unarm'd; but if in steel, - All cap-ŕ-pie[137] from head to heel, - What 'gainst their numbers could I do?-- 330 - 'Twas near his castle, far away - From city or from succour near, - And almost on the break of day; - I did not think to see another, - My moments seem'd reduced to few; 335 - And with one prayer to Mary Mother, - And, it may be, a saint or two, - As I resign'd me to my fate, - They led me to the castle gate: - Theresa's doom I never knew, 340 - Our lot was henceforth separate-- - An angry man, ye may opine, - Was he, the proud Count Palatine; - And he had reason good to be, - But he was most enraged lest such 345 - An accident should chance to touch - Upon his future pedigree; - Nor less amazed, that such a blot - His noble 'scutcheon[138] should have got, - While he was highest of his line; 350 - Because unto himself he seem'd - The first of men, nor less he deem'd - In others' eyes, and most in mine. - 'Sdeath! with a _page_--perchance a king - Had reconciled him to the thing; 355 - But with a stripling of a page-- - I felt--but cannot paint his rage. - - - IX - - "'Bring forth the horse!'--the horse was brought; - In truth, he was a noble steed, - A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, 360 - Who look'd as though the speed of thought - Were in his limbs; but he was wild, - Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, - With spur and bridle undefined-- - 'Twas but a day he had been caught; 365 - And snorting, with erected mane, - And struggling fiercely, but in vain, - In the full foam of wrath and dread - To me the desert-born was led. - They bound me on, that menial throng, 370 - Upon his back with many a thong; - They loosed him with a sudden lash-- - Away!--away!--and on we dash!-- - Torrents less rapid and less rash. - - - X - - "Away!--away!--My breath was gone-- 375 - I saw not where he hurried on: - 'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, - And on he foam'd--away!--away!-- - The last of human sounds which rose, - As I was darted from my foes, 380 - Was the wild shout of savage laughter, - Which on the wind came roaring after - A moment from that rabble rout: - With sudden wrath I wrench'd my head, - And snapp'd the cord, which to the mane 385 - Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, - And writhing half my form about, - Howl'd back my curse; but 'midst the tread, - The thunder of my courser's speed, - Perchance they did not hear nor heed: 390 - It vexes me--for I would fain - Have paid their insult back again. - I paid it well in after days: - There is not of that castle gate, - Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, 395 - Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left; - Nor of its fields a blade of grass, - Save what grows on a ridge of wall - Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall; - And many a time ye there might pass, 400 - Nor dream that e'er that fortress was: - I saw its turrets in a blaze, - Their crackling battlements all cleft, - And the hot lead pour down like rain - From off the scorch'd and blackening roof, 405 - Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof. - They little thought that day of pain, - When launch'd, as on the lightning's flash, - They bade me to destruction dash, - That one day I should come again, 410 - With twice five thousand horse, to thank - The Count for his uncourteous ride. - They play'd me then a bitter prank, - When, with the wild horse for my guide, - They bound me to his foaming flank: 415 - At length I play'd them one as frank-- - For time at last sets all things even-- - And if we do but watch the hour, - There never yet was human power - Which could evade, if unforgiven, 420 - The patient search and vigil long - Of him who treasures up a wrong. - - - XI - - "Away, away, my steed and I, - Upon the pinions of the wind. - All human dwellings left behind; 425 - We sped like meteors through the sky, - When with its crackling sound the night - Is chequer'd with the northern light. - Town--village--none were on our track, - But a wild plain of far extent, 430 - And bounded by a forest black; - And, save the scarce seen battlement - On distant heights of some stronghold, - Against the Tartars built of old, - No trace of man: the year before 435 - A Turkish army had march'd o'er; - And where the Spahi's[139] hoof hath trod, - The verdure flies the bloody sod. - The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, - And a low breeze crept moaning by-- 440 - I could have answer'd with a sigh-- - But fast we fled, away, away-- - And I could neither sigh nor pray; - And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain - Upon the courser's bristling mane; 445 - But, snorting still with rage and fear, - He flew upon his far career. - At times I almost thought, indeed, - He must have slacken'd in his speed; - But no--my bound and slender frame 450 - Was nothing to his angry might, - And merely like a spur became: - Each motion which I made to free - My swoln limbs from their agony - Increased his fury and affright: 455 - I tried my voice,--'twas faint and low, - But yet he swerved as from a blow; - And, starting to each accent, sprang - As from a sudden trumpet's clang. - Meantime my cords were wet with gore, 460 - Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er; - And in my tongue the thirst became - A something fierier far than flame. - - - XII - - "We near'd the wild wood--'twas so wide, - I saw no bounds on either side; 465 - 'Twas studded with old sturdy trees, - That bent not to the roughest breeze - Which howls down from Siberia's waste - And strips the forest in its haste,-- - But these were few and far between, 470 - Set thick with shrubs more young and green, - Luxuriant with their annual leaves, - Ere strown by those autumnal eves - That nip the forest's foliage dead, - Discolour'd with a lifeless red, 475 - Which stands thereon like stiffen'd gore - Upon the slain when battle's o'er, - And some long winter's night hath shed - Its frost o'er every tombless head, - So cold and stark the raven's beak 480 - May peck unpierced each frozen cheek. - 'Twas a wild waste of underwood, - And here and there a chestnut stood, - The strong oak, and the hardy pine; - But far apart--and well it were, 485 - Or else a different lot were mine-- - The boughs gave way, and did not tear - My limbs; and I found strength to bear - My wounds already scarr'd with cold-- - My bonds forbade to loose my hold. 490 - We rustled through the leaves like wind, - Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind; - By night I heard them on the track, - Their troop came hard upon our back, - With their long gallop which can tire 495 - The hound's deep hate and hunter's fire: - Where'er we flew they follow'd on, - Nor left us with the morning sun; - Behind I saw them, scarce a rood, - At daybreak winding through the wood, 500 - And through the night had heard their feet - Their stealing, rustling step repeat. - Oh! how I wish'd for spear or sword, - At least to die amidst the horde, - And perish--if it must be so-- 505 - At bay, destroying many a foe. - When first my courser's race begun, - I wish'd the goal already won; - But now I doubted strength and speed. - Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed 510 - Had nerved him like the mountain-roe; - Nor faster falls the blinding snow - Which whelms the peasant near the door - Whose threshold he shall cross no more, - Bewilder'd with the dazzling blast, 515 - Than through the forest-paths he past-- - Untired, untamed, and worse than wild; - All furious as a favour'd child - Balk'd of its wish; or fiercer still-- - A woman piqued--who has her will. 520 - - - XIII - - "The wood was past; 'twas more than noon, - But chill the air although in June; - Or it might be my veins ran cold-- - Prolong'd endurance tames the bold; - And I was then not what I seem, 525 - But headlong as a wintry stream, - And wore my feelings out before - I well could count their causes o'er. - And what with fury, fear, and wrath, - The tortures which beset my path, 530 - Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress, - Thus bound in nature's nakedness, - (Sprung from a race whose rising blood - When stirr'd beyond its calmer mood, - And trodden hard upon, is like 535 - The rattlesnake's in act to strike,) - What marvel if this worn-out trunk - Beneath its woes a moment sunk? - The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round, - I seem'd to sink upon the ground; 540 - But err'd, for I was fastly bound. - My heart turn'd sick, my brain grew sore, - And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more; - The skies spun like a mighty wheel; - I saw the trees like drunkards reel, 545 - And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, - Which saw no farther: he who dies - Can die no more than then I died. - O'ertortured by that ghastly ride, - I felt the blackness come and go, 550 - And strove to wake; but could not make - My senses climb up from below: - I felt as on a plank at sea, - When all the waves that dash o'er thee, - At the same time upheave and whelm, 555 - And hurl thee towards a desert realm. - My undulating life was as - The fancied lights that flitting pass - Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when - Fever begins upon the brain; 560 - But soon it pass'd, with little pain, - But a confusion worse than such: - I own that I should deem it much, - Dying, to feel the same again; - And yet I do suppose we must 565 - Feel far more ere we turn to dust: - No matter; I have bared my brow - Full in Death's face--before--and now. - - - XIV - - "My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold, - And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse 570 - Life reassumed its lingering hold, - And throb by throb: till grown a pang - Which for a moment would convulse, - My blood reflow'd though thick and chill; - My ear with uncouth[140] noises rang, 575 - My heart began once more to thrill; - My sight return'd, though dim, alas! - And thicken'd, as it were, with glass. - Methought the dash of waves was nigh: - There was a gleam too of the sky, 580 - Studded with stars;--it is no dream; - The wild horse swims the wilder stream! - The bright broad river's gushing tide - Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, - And we are half-way, struggling o'er 585 - To yon unknown and silent shore. - The waters broke my hollow trance, - And with a temporary strength - My stiffen'd limbs were rebaptized. - My courser's broad breast proudly braves 590 - And dashes off the ascending waves, - And onward we advance! - We reach the slippery shore at length, - A haven I but little prized, - For all behind was dark and drear, 595 - And all before was night and fear. - How many hours of night or day - In those suspended pangs I lay, - I could not tell; I scarcely knew - If this were human breath I drew. 600 - - - XV - - "With glossy skin, and dripping mane, - And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, - The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain - Up the repelling bank. - We gain the top: a boundless plain 605 - Spreads through the shadow of the night, - And onward, onward, onward, seems, - Like precipices in our dreams, - To stretch beyond the sight; - And here and there a speck of white, 610 - Or scatter'd spot of dusky green, - In masses broke into the light, - As rose the moon upon my right. - But nought distinctly seen - In the dim waste would indicate 615 - The omen of a cottage gate; - No twinkling taper from afar - Stood like a hospitable star; - Not even an ignis-fatuus[141] rose - To make him merry with my woes: 620 - That very cheat had cheer'd me then! - Although detected, welcome still, - Reminding me, through every ill, - Of the abodes of men. - - - XVI - - "Onward we went--but slack and slow; 625 - His savage force at length o'erspent, - The drooping courser, faint and low, - All feebly foaming went. - A sickly infant had had power - To guide him forward in that hour; 630 - But useless all to me. - His new-born tameness nought avail'd-- - My limbs were bound; my force had fail'd, - Perchance, had they been free. - With feeble effort still I tried 635 - To rend the bonds so starkly tied-- - But still it was in vain; - My limbs were only wrung the more, - And soon the idle strife gave o'er, - Which but prolong'd their pain. 640 - The dizzy race seem'd almost done, - Although no goal was nearly won: - Some streaks announced the coming sun-- - How slow, alas! he came! - Methought that mist of dawning gray 645 - Would never dapple into day; - How heavily it roll'd away-- - Before the eastern flame - Rose crimson, and deposed the stars, - And call'd the radiance from their cars, 650 - And filled the earth, from his deep throne, - With lonely lustre, all his own. - - - XVII - - "Up rose the sun; the mists were curl'd - Back from the solitary world - Which lay around--behind--before; 655 - What booted it to traverse o'er - Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute, - Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, - Lay in the wild luxuriant soil; - No sign of travel--none of toil; 660 - The very air was mute; - And not an insect's shrill small horn, - Nor matin bird's new voice was borne - From herb nor thicket. Many a werst,[142] - Panting as if his heart would burst, 665 - The weary brute still stagger'd on; - And still we were--or seem'd--alone. - At length, while reeling on our way, - Methought I heard a courser neigh - From out yon tuft of blackening firs. 670 - Is it the wind those branches stirs? - No, no! from out the forest prance - A trampling troop; I see them come! - In one vast squadron they advance! - I strove to cry--my lips were dumb. 675 - The steeds rush on in plunging pride; - But where are they the reins to guide? - A thousand horse--and none to ride! - With flowing tail, and flying mane, - Wide nostrils--never stretched by pain, 680 - Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, - And feet that iron never shod, - And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod, - A thousand horse, the wild, the free, - Like waves that follow o'er the sea, 685 - Came thickly thundering on, - As if our faint approach to meet. - The sight re-nerved my courser's feet, - A moment staggering, feebly fleet, - A moment, with a faint low neigh, 690 - He answer'd, and then fell; - With gasps and glazing eyes he lay, - And reeking limbs immoveable; - His first and last career is done! - On came the troop--they saw him stoop, 695 - They saw me strangely bound along - His back with many a bloody thong: - They stop--they start--they snuff the air, - Gallop a moment here and there, - Approach, retire, wheel round and round, 700 - Then plunging back with sudden bound, - Headed by one black mighty steed - Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed, - Without a single speck or hair - Of white upon his shaggy hide. 705 - They snort--they foam--neigh--swerve aside, - And backward to the forest fly, - By instinct, from a human eye.-- - They left me there to my despair, - Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch, 710 - Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, - Relieved from that unwonted weight, - From whence I could not extricate - Nor him nor me--and there we lay - The dying on the dead! 715 - I little deem'd another day - Would see my houseless, helpless head. - - "And there from morn till twilight bound, - I felt the heavy hours toil round, - With just enough of life to see 720 - My last of suns go down on me, - In hopeless certainty of mind, - That makes us feel at length resign'd - To that which our foreboding years - Presents the worst and last of fears 725 - Inevitable--even a boon, - Nor more unkind for coming soon; - Yet shunn'd and dreaded with such care, - As if it only were a snare - That prudence might escape: 730 - At times both wish'd for and implored, - At times sought with self-pointed sword, - Yet still a dark and hideous close - To even intolerable woes, - And welcome in no shape. 735 - And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure, - They who have revell'd beyond measure - In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure, - Die calm, or calmer oft than he - Whose heritage was misery: 740 - For he who hath in turn run through - All that was beautiful and new, - Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave; - And, save the future (which is view'd - Not quite as men are base or good, 745 - But as their nerves may be endued,) - With nought perhaps to grieve:-- - The wretch still hopes his woes must end, - And Death, whom he should deem his friend, - Appears, to his distemper'd eyes, 750 - Arrived to rob him of his prize, - The tree of his new Paradise. - To-morrow would have given him all, - Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall; - To-morrow would have been the first 755 - Of days no more deplored or curst, - But bright, and long, and beckoning years, - Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, - Guerdon of many a painful hour; - To-morrow would have given him power 760 - To rule, to shine, to smite, to save-- - And must it dawn upon his grave? - - - XVIII - - "The sun was sinking--still I lay - Chain'd to the chill and stiffening steed; - I thought to mingle there our clay; 765 - And my dim eyes of death had need, - No hope arose of being freed. - I cast my last looks up the sky, - And there between me and the sun - I saw the expecting raven fly, 770 - Who scarce would wait till both should die - Ere his repast begun. - He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more, - And each time nearer than before; - I saw his wing through twilight flit, 775 - And once so near me he alit - I could have smote, but lack'd the strength; - But the slight motion of my hand, - And feeble scratching of the sand, - The exerted throat's faint struggling noise, 780 - Which scarcely could be call'd a voice, - Together scared him off at length.-- - I know no more--my latest dream - Is something of a lovely star - Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar, 785 - And went and came with wandering beam, - And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense - Sensation of recurring sense, - And then subsiding back to death, - And then again a little breath, 790 - A little thrill, a short suspense, - An icy sickness curdling o'er - My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain-- - A gasp, a throb, a start of pain, - A sigh, and nothing more. 795 - - - XIX - - "I woke--Where was I?--Do I see - A human face look down on me? - And doth a roof above me close? - Do these limbs on a couch repose? - Is this a chamber where I lie? 800 - And is it mortal, yon bright eye - That watches me with gentle glance? - I closed my own again once more, - As doubtful that the former trance - Could not as yet be o'er. 805 - A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall, - Sate watching by the cottage wall: - The sparkle of her eye I caught, - Even with my first return of thought; - For ever and anon she threw 810 - A prying, pitying glance on me - With her black eyes so wild and free. - I gazed, and gazed, until I knew - No vision it could be,-- - But that I lived, and was released 815 - From adding to the vulture's feast. - And when the Cossack maid beheld - My heavy eyes at length unseal'd, - She smiled--and I essay'd to speak, - But fail'd--and she approach'd, and made 820 - With lip and finger signs that said, - I must not strive as yet to break - The silence, till my strength should be - Enough to leave my accents free; - And then her hand on mine she laid, 825 - And smooth'd the pillow for my head, - And stole along on tiptoe tread, - And gently oped the door, and spake - In whispers--ne'er was voice so sweet! - Even music follow'd her light feet;-- 830 - But those she call'd were not awake, - And she went forth; but, ere she pass'd, - Another look on me she cast, - Another sign she made, to say, - That I had nought to fear, that all 835 - Were near at my command or call, - And she would not delay - Her due return:--while she was gone, - Methought I felt too much alone. - - - XX - - "She came with mother and with sire-- 840 - What need of more?--I will not tire - With long recital of the rest, - Since I became the Cossack's guest. - They found me senseless on the plain-- - They bore me to the nearest hut-- 845 - They brought me into life again-- - Me--one day o'er their realm to reign! - Thus the vain fool who strove to glut - His rage, refining on my pain, - Sent me forth to the wilderness, 850 - Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone, - To pass the desert to a throne,-- - What mortal his own doom may guess?-- - Let none despond, let none despair! - To-morrow the Borysthenes 855 - May see our coursers graze at ease - Upon his Turkish bank,--and never - Had I such welcome for a river - As I shall yield when safely there. - Comrades, good night!"--The Hetman threw 860 - His length beneath the oak-tree shade, - With leafy couch already made, - A bed nor comfortless nor new - To him who took his rest whene'er - The hour arrived, no matter where: 865 - His eyes the hastening slumbers steep. - And if ye marvel Charles forgot - To thank his tale _he_ wonder'd not,-- - The king had been an hour asleep. - - - - -THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB - - - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, - And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; - And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, - When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. - - Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, 5 - That host with their banners at sunset were seen: - Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, - That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. - - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, - And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; 10 - And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, - And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still! - - And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; - And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 15 - And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. - - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, - With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail, - And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, - The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 20 - - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, - And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; - And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, - Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! - - - - -JOHN KEATS - - -THE EVE OF ST. AGNES - - - I - - St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! - The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; - The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, - And silent was the flock in woolly fold: - Numb were the Beadsman's[143] fingers, while he told 5 - His rosary, and while his frosted breath, - Like pious incense from a censer old, - Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, - Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. - - - II - - His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; 10 - Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees - And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, - Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: - The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze, - Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails: 15 - Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, - He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails - To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. - - - III - - Northward he turneth through a little door, - And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue 20 - Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; - But no--already had his death-bell rung; - The joys of all his life were said and sung: - His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve; - Another way he went, and soon among 25 - Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, - And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve. - - - IV - - That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; - And so it chanced, for many a door was wide, - From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, 30 - The silver, snarling[144] trumpets 'gan to chide: - The level chambers, ready with their pride, - Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: - The carved angels, ever eager-eyed, - Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests, 35 - With hair blown back, and wings put crosswise on their breasts. - - - V - - At length burst in the argent revelry, - With plume, tiara, and all rich array, - Numerous as shadows haunting fairily - The brain, new-stuff'd, [145]in youth, with triumphs gay 40 - Of old romance. These let us wish away, - And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there, - Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, - On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care, - As she had heard old dames full many times declare. 45 - - - VI - - They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,[146] - Young virgins might have visions of delight, - And soft adorings from their loves receive - Upon the honey'd middle of the night, - If ceremonies due they did aright; 50 - As, supperless to bed they must retire, - And couch supine their beauties, lily white; - Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require - Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire. - - - VII - - Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline: 55 - The music, yearning like a God in pain, - She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine, - Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train - Pass by--she heeded not at all: in vain - Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, 60 - And back retired; not cool'd by high disdain, - But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere; - She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year. - - - VIII - - She danced along with vague, regardless eyes, - Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short: 65 - The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs - Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort - Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; - 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, - Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,[147] 70 - Save to St. Agnes and her lambs[148] unshorn, - And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. - - - IX - - So, purposing each moment to retire, - She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors, - Had come young Porphyro,[149] with heart on fire 75 - For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, - Buttress'd[150] from moonlight, stands he, and implores - All saints to give him sight of Madeline, - But for one moment in the tedious hours, - That he might gaze and worship all unseen; 80 - Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss--in sooth[151] such - things have been. - - - X - - He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell: - All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords - Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel: - For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, 85 - Hyena[152] foemen, and hot-blooded lords, - Whose very dogs would execrations howl - Against his lineage: not one breast affords - Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, - Save one old beldame,[153] weak in body and in soul. 90 - - - XI - - Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came, - Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand, - To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame, - Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond - The sound of merriment and chorus bland: 95 - He startled her; but soon she knew his face, - And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand, - Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; - They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty race! - - - XII - - "Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand; 100 - He had a fever late, and in the fit - He cursed thee and thine, both house and land: - Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit - More tame for his gray hairs--Alas me! flit! - Flit like a ghost away."--"Ah, Gossip[154] dear, 105 - We're safe enough; here in this armchair sit, - And tell me how"--"Good Saints! not here, not here; - Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier." - - - XIII - - He follow'd through a lowly arched way, - Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume; 110 - And as she mutter'd "Well-a--well-a-day!" - He found him in a little moonlight room, - Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. - "Now tell me where is Madeline," said he, - "O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom[155] 115 - Which none but secret sisterhood may see, - When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously." - - - XIV - - "St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve-- - Yet men will murder upon holy days: - Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,[156] 120 - And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, - To venture so: it fills me with amaze - To see thee, Porphyro!--St. Agnes' Eve! - God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays - This very night: good angels her deceive! 125 - But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle[157] time to grieve." - - - XV - - Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, - While Porphyro upon her face doth look, - Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone - Who keepeth closed a wond'rous riddlebook, 130 - As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. - But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told - His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook - Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, - And Madeline asleep in lap[158] of legends old. 135 - - - XVI - - Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, - Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart - Made purple riot[159]: then doth he propose - A stratagem, that makes the beldame start: - "A cruel man and impious thou art: 140 - Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream - Alone with her good angels, far apart - From wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deem - Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem." - - - XVII - - "I will not harm her, by all saints I swear," 145 - Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace - When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, - If one of her soft ringlets I displace, - Or look with ruffian passion in her face: - Good Angela, believe me by these tears; 150 - Or I will, even in a moment's space, - Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, - And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears." - - - XVIII - - "Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? - A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard thing, 155 - Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; - Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening, - Were never miss'd." Thus plaining, doth she bring - A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; - So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, 160 - That Angela gives promise she will do - Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. - - - XIX - - Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, - Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide - Him in a closet, of such privacy 165 - That he might see her beauty unespied, - And win perhaps that night a peerless bride, - While legion'd fairies paced the coverlet, - And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed. - Never on such a night have lovers met, 170 - Since Merlin[160] paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. - - - XX - - "It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame: - "All cates[161] and dainties shall be stored there - Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame[162] - Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare, 175 - For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare - On such a catering trust my dizzy head. - Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer - The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, - Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." 180 - - - XXI - - So saying she hobbled off with busy fear. - The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; - The Dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear - To follow her; with aged eyes aghast - From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, 185 - Through many a dusky gallery, they gain - The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and chaste; - Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain. - His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. - - - XXII - - Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade, 190 - Old Angela was feeling for the stair, - When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, - Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware: - With silver taper's light, and pious care, - She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led 195 - To a safe level matting. Now prepare, - Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; - She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled. - - - XXIII - - Out went the taper as she hurried in; - Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: 200 - She closed the door, she panted, all akin - To spirits of the air, and visions wide: - No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! - But to her heart, her heart was voluble, - Paining with eloquence her balmy side; 205 - As though a tongueless nightingale should swell - Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in her dell. - - - XXIV - - A casement high[163] and triple arch'd there was, - All garlanded with carven imag'ries - Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, 210 - And diamonded with panes of quaint device, - Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, - As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; - And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,[164] - And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,[165] 215 - A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings. - - - XXV - - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, - And threw warm gules[166] on Madeline's fair breast, - As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; - Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, 220 - And on her silver cross soft amethyst, - And on her hair a glory, like a saint: - She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, - Save wings, for heaven:--Porphyro grew faint; - She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. 225 - - - XXVI - - Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, - Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; - Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; - Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees - Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees: 230 - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, - Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, - In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, - But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. - - - XXVII - - Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, 235 - In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay, - Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd - Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; - Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; - Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; 240 - Clasp'd like a missal[167] where swart Paynims pray; - Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, - As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. - - - XXVIII - - Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, - Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, 245 - And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced - To wake into a slumberous tenderness; - Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, - And breathed himself: then from the closet crept, - Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, 250 - And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, - And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!--how fast she slept. - - - XXIX - - Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon - Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set - A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon 255 - A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:-- - O for some drowsy Morphean[168] amulet! - The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, - The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet, - Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:-- 260 - The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. - - - XXX - - And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,[169] - In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, - While he from forth the closet brought a heap - Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd; 265 - With jellies soother[170] than the creamy curd, - And lucent[171] syrops, tinct with cinnamon; - Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd - From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, - From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. 270 - - - XXXI - - These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand - On golden dishes and in baskets bright - Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand - In the retired quiet of the night, - Filling the chilly room with perfume light.-- 275 - "And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! - Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite[172]: - Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, - Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache." - - - XXXII - - Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm 280 - Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream - By the dusk curtains:--'twas a midnight charm - Impossible to melt as iced stream: - The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; - Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: 285 - It seem'd he never, never could redeem - From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes; - So mused awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies. - - - XXXIII - - Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,-- - Tumultuous,--and, in chords that tenderest be. 290 - He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, - In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy:[173]" - Close to her ear touching the melody;-- - Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: - He ceased--she panted quick--and suddenly 295 - Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: - Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. - - - XXXIV - - Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, - Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: - There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd 300 - The blisses of her dream so pure and deep - At which fair Madeline began to weep, - And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; - While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; - Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, 305 - Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. - - - XXXV - - "Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now - Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, - Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; - And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: 310 - How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! - Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, - Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! - Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, - For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go." 315 - - - XXXVI - - Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far - At these voluptuous accents, he arose, - Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star - Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; - Into her dream he melted, as the rose 320 - Blendeth its odour with the violet,-- - Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows - Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet - Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. - - - XXXVII - - 'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: 325 - "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!" - 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: - "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! - Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.-- - Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? 330 - I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, - Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;-- - A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing." - - - XXXVIII - - "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! - Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? 335 - Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed? - Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest - After so many hours of toil and quest, - A famish'd pilgrim,--saved by miracle. - Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest 340 - Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well - To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. - - - XXXIX - - "Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land, - Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed: - Arise--arise! the morning is at hand:-- 345 - The bloated wassailers[174] will never heed:-- - Let us away, my love, with happy speed; - There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,-- - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: - Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, 350 - For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee." - - - XL - - She hurried at his words, beset with fears, - For there were sleeping dragons all around, - At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears-- - Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.-- 355 - In all the house was heard no human sound. - A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; - The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, - Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; - And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. 360 - - - XLI - - They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; - Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide, - Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, - With a huge empty flagon by his side: - The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, 365 - But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: - By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:-- - The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;-- - The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans; - - - XLII - - And they are gone: aye, ages long ago 370 - These lovers fled away into the storm. - That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, - And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form - Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, - Were long be-nightmared. Angela[175] the old 375 - Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; - The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, - For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold. - - - - -ALFRED TENNYSON - - -DORA - - With farmer Allan at the farm abode - William and Dora. William was his son, - And she his niece. He often looked at them, - And often thought, "I'll make them man and wife." - Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all, 5 - And yearn'd towards William; but the youth, because - He had been always with her in the house, - Thought not of Dora. - Then there came a day - When Allan call'd his son, and said, "My son: - I married late, but I would wish to see 10 - My grandchild on my knees before I die: - And I have set my heart upon a match. - Now therefore look to Dora; she is well - To look to; thrifty too beyond her age. - She is my brother's daughter: he and I 15 - Had once hard words, and parted, and he died - In foreign lands; but for his sake I bred - His daughter Dora: take her for your wife; - For I have wish'd this marriage, night and day, - For many years." But William answer'd short: 20 - "I cannot marry Dora; by my life, - I will not marry Dora." Then the old man - Was wroth, and doubled up his hands, and said: - "You will not, boy! you dare to answer thus! - But in my time a father's word was law, 25 - And so it shall be now for me. Look to it; - Consider, William: take a month to think, - And let me have an answer to my wish; - Or, by the Lord that made me, you shall pack, - And never more darken my doors again." 30 - But William answer'd madly; bit his lips, - And broke away. The more he look'd at her - The less he liked her; and his ways were harsh; - But Dora bore them meekly. Then before - The month was out he left his father's house, 35 - And hired himself to work within the fields; - And half in love, half spite, he woo'd and wed - A laborer's daughter, Mary Morrison. - Then, when the bells were ringing, Allan call'd - His niece and said: "My girl, I love you well; 40 - But if you speak with him that was my son, - Or change a word with her he calls his wife, - My home is none of yours. My will is law." - And Dora promised, being meek. She thought, - "It cannot be: my uncle's mind will change!" 45 - And days went on, and there was born a boy - To William; then distresses came on him; - And day by day he pass'd his father's gate, - Heart-broken, and his father help'd him not. - But Dora stored what little she could save, 50 - And sent it them by stealth, nor did they know - Who sent it; till at last a fever seized - On William, and in harvest time he died. - Then Dora went to Mary. Mary sat - And look'd with tears upon her boy, and thought 55 - Hard things of Dora. Dora came and said: - "I have obey'd my uncle until now, - And I have sinn'd, for it was all thro' me - This evil came on William at the first. - But, Mary, for the sake of him that's gone, 60 - And for your sake, the woman that he chose, - And for this orphan, I am come to you: - You know there has not been for these five years - So full a harvest: let me take the boy, - And I will set him in my uncle's eye 65 - Among the wheat; that when his heart is glad - Of the full harvest, he may see the boy, - And bless him for the sake of him that's gone." - And Dora took the child, and went her way - Across the wheat, and sat upon a mound 70 - That was unsown, where many poppies grew. - Far off the farmer came into the field - And spied her not; for none of all his men - Dare tell him Dora waited with the child; - And Dora would have risen and gone to him, 75 - But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'd, - And the sun fell, and all the land was dark. - But when the morrow came, she rose and took - The child once more, and sat upon the mound; - And made a little wreath of all the flowers 80 - That grew about, and tied it round his hat - To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye. - Then when the farmer pass'd into the field - He spied her, and he left his men at work, - And came and said: "Where were you yesterday? 85 - Whose child is that? What are you doing here?" - So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground, - And answer'd softly, "This is William's child!" - "And did I not," said Allan, "did I not - Forbid you, Dora?" Dora said again: 90 - "Do with me as you will, but take the child, - And bless him for the sake of him that's gone!" - And Allan said, "I see it is a trick - Got up betwixt you and the woman there. - I must be taught my duty, and by you! 95 - You knew my word was law, and yet you dared - To slight it. Well--for I will take the boy; - But go you hence, and never see me more." - So saying, he took the boy, that cried aloud - And struggled hard. The wreath of flowers fell 100 - At Dora's feet. She bow'd upon her hands, - And the boy's cry came to her from the field, - More and more distant. She bow'd down her head, - Remembering the day when first she came, - And all the things that had been. She bow'd down 105 - And wept in secret; and the reapers reap'd, - And the sun fell, and all the land was dark. - Then Dora went to Mary's house, and stood - Upon the threshold. Mary saw the boy - Was not with Dora. She broke out in praise 110 - To God, that help'd her in her widowhood. - And Dora said, "My uncle took the boy; - But, Mary, let me live and work with you: - He says that he will never see me more." - Then answer'd Mary, "This shall never be, 115 - That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself: - And, now I think, he shall not have the boy, - For he will teach him hardness, and to slight - His mother; therefore thou and I will go, - And I will have my boy, and bring him home; 120 - And I will beg of him to take thee back: - But if he will not take thee back again, - Then thou and I will live within one house, - And work for William's child, until he grows - Of age to help us." - So the women kiss'd 125 - Each other, and set out, and reach'd the farm. - The door was off the latch: they peep'd, and saw - The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's knees, - Who thrust him in the hollows of his arm, - And clapt him on the hands and on the cheeks, 130 - Like one that loved him: and the lad stretch'd out - And babbled for the golden seal, that hung - From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire. - Then they came in: but when the boy beheld - His mother, he cried out to come to her: 135 - And Allan set him down, and Mary said: - "O Father!--if you let me call you so-- - I never came a-begging for myself, - Or William, or this child; but now I come - For Dora: take her back; she loves you well. 140 - O Sir, when William died, he died at peace - With all men; for I ask'd him, and he said, - He could not ever rue his marrying me-- - I had been a patient wife: but, Sir, he said - That he was wrong to cross his father thus: 145 - 'God bless him!' he said, 'and may he never know - The troubles I have gone thro'!' Then he turn'd - His face and pass'd--unhappy that I am! - But now, Sir, let me have my boy, for you - Will make him hard, and he will learn to slight 150 - His father's memory; and take Dora back, - And let all this be as it was before." - So Mary said, and Dora hid her face - By Mary. There was silence in the room; - And all at once the old man burst in sobs:-- 155 - "I have been to blame--to blame. I have kill'd my son. - I have kill'd him--but I loved him--my dear son. - May God forgive me!--I have been to blame. - Kiss me, my children." - Then they clung about - The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many times 160 - And all the man was broken with remorse; - And all his love came back a hundredfold; - And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's child, - Thinking of William. - So those four abode - Within one house together; and as years 165 - Went forward, Mary took another mate; - But Dora lived unmarried till her death. - - - - - OENONE--1832 - - - There lies a vale in Ida,[176] lovelier - Than all the valleys of Ionian[177] hills. - The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, - Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, - And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand 5 - The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down - Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars - The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine - In cataract after cataract to the sea. - Behind the valley topmost Gargarus[178] 10 - Stands up and takes the morning: but in front - The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal - Troas[179] and Ilion's[180] column'd citadel, - The crown of Troas. - Hither came at noon - Mournful Oenone, wandering forlorn 15 - Of Paris,[181] once her playmate on the hills. - Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck - Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest. - She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, - Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade 20 - Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff. - - "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, - Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: - The grasshopper is silent in the grass: 25 - The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, - Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead. - The purple flower droops: the golden bee - Is lily-cradled: I alone awake. - My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, 30 - My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, - And I am all aweary of my life. - - "O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, - Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - Hear me, O Earth, hear me, O Hills, O Caves 35 - That house the cold crown'd snake! O mountain brooks, - I am the daughter of a River-God,[182] - Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all - My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls - Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed,[183] 40 - A cloud that gather'd shape: for it may be - That, while I speak of it, a little while - My heart may wander from its deeper woe. - - "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, - Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 45 - I waited underneath the dawning hills, - Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, - And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine: - Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, - Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white hooved, 50 - Came up from reedy Simois[184] all alone. - - "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft: - Far up the solitary morning smote - The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes 55 - I sat alone: white-breasted like a star - Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin - Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair - Cluster'd about his temples like a God's: - And his cheek brightened as the foam-bow brightens 60 - When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart - Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came. - - "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm - Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian[185] gold, 65 - That smelt ambrosially,[186] and while I look'd - And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech - Came down upon my heart. - - "'My own Oenone, - Beautiful-brow'd Oenone, my own soul, - Behold this fruit whose gleaming rind ingrav'n 70 - "For the most fair," would seem to award it thine - As lovelier than whatever Oread[187] haunt - The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace - Of movement and the charm of married brows.' - - "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 75 - He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, - And added, 'This was cast upon the board, - When all the full-faced presence of the Gods - Ranged in the halls of Peleus[188]; whereupon - Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due: 80 - But light-foot Iris[189] brought it yester-eve, - Delivering, that to me, by common voice - Elected umpire, Herč[190] comes to-day, - Pallas[191] and Aphroditč,[192] claiming each - This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave 85 - Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, - Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard - Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.' - - "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud 90 - Had lost his way between the piney sides - Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, - Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower. - And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, - Violet, amaracus,[193] and asphodel,[194] 95 - Lotos and lilies: and a wind arose, - And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, - This way and that, in many a wild festoon - Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs - With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro'. 100 - - "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - On the tree-tops a crested peacock[195] lit, - And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd - Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew. - Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom 105 - Coming thro' heaven like a light that grows - Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods - Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made - Proffer of royal power, ample rule - Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue 110 - Wherewith to embellish state, 'from many a vale, - And river-sunder'd champaign clothed with corn, - Or labour'd mine undrainable of ore. - Honour,' she said, 'and homage, tax and toll, - From many an inland town and haven large, 115 - Mast-throng'd beneath her shadowing citadel - In glassy bays among her tallest towers.' - - "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - Still she spake on and still she spake of power, - 'Which in all action is the end of all; 120 - Power fitted to the season; wisdom-bred - And throned of wisdom--from all neighbour crowns - Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand - Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, - From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee, king-born, 125 - A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born, - Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power - Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd - Rest in a happy place and quiet seats - Above the thunder, with undying bliss 130 - In knowledge of their own supremacy.' - - "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit - Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power - Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood 135 - Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs - O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear - Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, - The while, above, her clear and earnest eye - Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek 140 - Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply. - - "'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, - These three alone lead life to sovereign power. - Yet not for power (power of herself - Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law, 145 - Acting the law we live by without fear; - And, because right is right, to follow right - Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.' - - "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - Again she said: 'I woo thee not with gifts. 150 - Sequel of guerdon[196] could not alter me - To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, - So shalt thou find me fairest. - Yet indeed, - If gazing on divinity disrobed - Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge, of fair, 155 - Unbias'd by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure, - That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee, - So that my vigour wedded to thy blood, - Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's - To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks, 160 - Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow - Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will, - Circled thro' all experiences, pure law, - Commeasure perfect freedom.' - 'Here she ceas'd, - And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, 'O Paris, 165 - Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not, - Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me! - - "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, - Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - Idalian[197] Aphroditč beautiful, 170 - Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian[198] wells, - With rosy slender fingers backward drew - From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair - Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat - And shoulder: from the violets her light foot 175 - Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form - Between the shadows of the vine-bunches - Floated the glowing sunlights as she moved. - - "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, 180 - The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh - Half-whisper'd in his ear, 'I promise thee - The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.' - She spoke and laugh'd: I shut my sight for fear: - But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm, 185 - And I beheld great Herč's angry eyes, - As she withdrew into the golden cloud, - And I was left alone within the bower; - And from that time to this I am alone, - And I shall be alone until I die. 190 - - "Yet, mother Ida, hearken ere I die. - Fairest--why fairest wife? am I not fair? - My love hath told me so a thousand times. - Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, - When I past by, a wild and wanton pard,[199] 195 - Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail - Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she? - Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms - Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest - Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew 200 - Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains - Flash in the pools of whirling Simois. - - "O mother, hear me yet before I die. - They came, they cut away my tallest pines, - My tall dark pines, that plumed the craggy ledge 205 - High over the blue gorge, and all between - The snowy peak and snow-white cataract - Foster'd the callow eaglet--from beneath - Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn - The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat 210 - Low in the valley. Never, never more - Shall lone Oenone see the morning mist - Sweep thro' them; never see them overlaid - With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud, - Between the loud stream and the trembling stars. 215 - - "O mother, hear me yet before I die. - I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds, - Among the fragments tumbled from the glens, - Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her - The Abominable,[200] that uninvited came 220 - Into the fair Peleďan banquet-hall, - And cast the golden fruit upon the board, - And bred this change; that I might speak my mind, - And tell her to her face how much I hate - Her presence, hated both of Gods and men. 225 - - "O mother, hear me yet before I die. - Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, - In this green valley, under this green hill, - Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone? - Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears? 230 - O happy tears, and how unlike to these! - O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face? - O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight? - O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, - There are enough unhappy on this earth; 235 - Pass by the happy souls, that love to live; - I pray thee, pass before my light of life, - And shadow all my soul, that I may die. - Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, - Weigh heavy on my eyelids: let me die. 240 - - "O mother, hear me yet before I die. - I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts - Do shape themselves within me, more and more, - Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear - Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills, 245 - Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see - My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother - Conjectures of the features of her child - Ere it is born: her child!--a shudder comes - Across me: never child be born of me, 250 - Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes! - - "O mother, hear me yet before I die. - Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, - Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me - Walking the cold and starless road of death 255 - Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love - With the Greek woman.[201] I will rise and go - Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth - Talk with the wild Cassandra,[202] for she says - A fire dances before her, and a sound 260 - Rings ever in her ears of armed men. - What this may be I know not, but I know - That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day, - All earth and air seem only burning fire." - - - - -ENOCH ARDEN - - - Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm; - And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands; - Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf - In cluster; then a moulder'd church; and higher - A long street climbs to one tall-tower'd mill; 5 - And high in heaven behind it a gray down - With Danish barrows[203]; and a hazelwood, - By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes - Green in a cuplike hollow of the down. - - Here on this beach a hundred years ago, 10 - Three children, of three houses, Annie Lee, - The prettiest little damsel in the port, - And Philip Ray, the miller's only son, - And Enoch Arden, a rough sailor's lad - Made orphan by a winter shipwreck, play'd 15 - Among the waste and lumber of the shore, - Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets, - Anchors of rusty fluke,[204] and boats updrawn; - And built their castles of dissolving sand - To watch them overflow'd, or following up 20 - And flying the white breaker, daily left - The little footprint daily wash'd away. - - A narrow cave ran in beneath the cliff; - In this the children play'd at keeping house. - Enoch was host one day, Philip the next, 25 - While Annie still was mistress; but at times - Enoch would hold possession for a week: - "This is my house and this my little wife." - "Mine too," said Philip, "turn and turn about:" - When, if they quarrell'd, Enoch stronger made 30 - Was master: then would Philip, his blue eyes - All flooded with the helpless wrath of tears, - Shriek out, "I hate you, Enoch," and at this - The little wife would weep for company, - And pray them not to quarrel for her sake, 35 - And say she would be little wife to both.[205] - - But when the dawn of rosy childhood past, - And the new warmth of life's ascending sun - Was felt by either, either fixt his heart - On that one girl; and Enoch spoke his love, 40 - But Philip loved in silence; and the girl - Seem'd kinder unto Philip than to him; - But she loved Enoch: tho' she knew it not, - And would if ask'd deny it. Enoch set - A purpose evermore before his eyes, 45 - To hoard all savings to the uttermost, - To purchase his own boat, and make a home - For Annie: and so prosper'd that at last - A luckier or a bolder fisherman, - A carefuller in peril, did not breathe 50 - For leagues along that breaker-beaten coast - Than Enoch. Likewise had he served a year - On board a merchantman, and made himself - Full sailor; and he thrice had pluck'd a life - From the dread sweep of the down-streaming seas: 55 - And all men look'd upon him favorably: - And ere he touch'd his one-and-twentieth May - He purchased his own boat, and made a home - For Annie, neat and nestlike, halfway up - The narrow street that clamber'd toward the mill. 60 - - Then, on a golden autumn eventide, - The younger people making holiday, - With bag and sack and basket, great and small, - Went nutting to the hazels. Philip stay'd - (His father lying sick and needing him) 65 - An hour behind; but as he climb'd the hill, - Just where the prone edge of the wood began - To feather toward the hollow, saw the pair, - Enoch and Annie, sitting hand-in-hand, - His large gray eyes and weather-beaten face 70 - All-kindled by a still and sacred fire, - That burn'd as on an altar. Philip look'd, - And in their eyes and faces read his doom; - Then, as their faces drew together, groan'd, - And slipt aside, and like a wounded life 75 - Crept down into the hollows of the wood; - There, while the rest were loud in merrymaking, - Had his dark hour unseen, and rose and past - Bearing a lifelong hunger in his heart. - - So these were wed, and merrily rang the bells, 80 - And merrily ran the years, seven happy years, - Seven happy years of health and competence, - And mutual love and honorable toil; - With children; first a daughter. In him woke, - With his first babe's first cry, the noble wish 85 - To save all earnings to the uttermost, - And give his child a better bringing-up - Than his had been, or hers; a wish renew'd, - When two years after came a boy to be - The rosy idol of her solitudes, 90 - While Enoch was abroad on wrathful seas, - Or often journeying landward; for in truth - Enoch's white horse, and Enoch's ocean-spoil - In ocean-smelling osier,[206] and his face, - Rough-redden'd with a thousand winter gales, 95 - Not only to the market-cross were known, - But in the leafy lanes behind the down, - Far as the portal-warding lion-whelp[207] - And peacock-yewtree[208] of the lonely Hall, - Whose Friday fare was Enoch's ministering. 100 - - Then came a change, as all things human change. - Ten miles to northward of the narrow port - Open'd a larger haven: thither used - Enoch at times to go by land or sea; - And once when there, and clambering on a mast 105 - In harbor, by mischance he slipt and fell: - A limb was broken when they lifted him; - And while he lay recovering there, his wife - Bore him another son, a sickly one: - Another hand crept too across his trade 110 - Taking her bread and theirs: and on him fell, - Altho' a grave and staid God-fearing man, - Yet lying thus inactive, doubt and gloom. - He seem'd, as in a nightmare of the night, - To see his children leading evermore 115 - Low miserable lives of hand-to-mouth, - And her he loved, a beggar: then he pray'd - "Save them from this, whatever comes to me." - And while he pray'd, the master of that ship - Enoch had served in, hearing his mischance, 120 - Came, for he knew the man and valued him, - Reporting of his vessel China-bound, - And wanting yet a boatswain. Would he go? - There yet were many weeks before she sail'd, - Sail'd from this port. Would Enoch have the place? 125 - And Enoch all at once assented to it, - Rejoicing at that answer to his prayer. - - So now that shadow of mischance appear'd - No graver than as when some little cloud - Cuts off the fiery highway of the sun, 130 - And isles a light in the offing: yet the wife-- - When he was gone--the children--what to do? - Then Enoch lay long-pondering on his plans; - To sell the boat--and yet he loved her well-- - How many a rough sea had he weather'd in her! 135 - He knew her, as a horseman knows his horse-- - And yet to sell her--then with what she brought - Buy goods and stores--set Annie forth in trade - With all that seamen needed or their wives-- - So might she keep the house while he was gone. 140 - Should he not trade himself out yonder? go - This voyage more than once? yea, twice or thrice-- - As oft as needed--last, returning rich, - Become the master of a larger craft, - With fuller profits lead an easier life, 145 - Have all his pretty young ones educated, - And pass his days in peace among his own. - - Thus Enoch in his heart determined all: - Then moving homeward came on Annie pale, - Nursing the sickly babe, her latest-born. 150 - Forward she started with a happy cry, - And laid the feeble infant in his arms; - Whom Enoch took, and handled all his limbs, - Appraised his weight and fondled father-like, - But had no heart to break his purposes 155 - To Annie, till the morrow, when he spoke. - - Then first since Enoch's golden ring had girt - Her finger, Annie fought against his will: - Yet not with brawling opposition she, - But manifold entreaties, many a tear, 160 - Many a sad kiss by day by night renew'd - (Sure that all evil would come out of it) - Besought him, supplicating, if he cared - For her or his dear children, not to go. - He not for his own self caring but her, 165 - Her and her children, let her plead in vain; - So grieving held his will, and bore it thro'. - - For Enoch parted with his old sea-friend, - Bought Annie goods and stores, and set his hand - To fit their little streetward sitting-room 170 - With shelf and corner for the goods and stores. - So all day long till Enoch's last at home, - Shaking their pretty cabin, hammer and axe, - Auger and saw, while Annie seem'd to hear - Her own death-scaffold raising, shrill'd and rang, 175 - Till this was ended, and his careful hand,-- - The space was narrow,--having order'd all - Almost as neat and close as Nature packs - Her blossom or her seedling, paused; and he, - Who needs would work for Annie to the last, 180 - Ascending tired, heavily slept till morn. - - And Enoch faced this morning of farewell - Brightly and boldly. All his Annie's fears, - Save as his Annie's, were a laughter to him. - Yet Enoch as a brave God-fearing man 185 - Bow'd himself down, and in that mystery - Where God-in-man is one with man-in-God, - Pray'd for a blessing on his wife and babes, - Whatever came to him: and then he said - "Annie, this voyage by the grace of God 190 - Will bring fair weather yet to all of us. - Keep a clean hearth and a clear fire for me, - For I'll be back, my girl, before you know it." - Then lightly rocking baby's cradle, "and he, - This pretty, puny, weakly little one,-- 195 - Nay--for I love him all the better for it-- - God bless him, he shall sit upon my knees - And I will tell him tales of foreign parts, - And make him merry, when I come home again. - Come, Annie, come, cheer up before I go." 200 - - Him running on thus hopefully she heard, - And almost hoped herself; but when he turn'd - The current of his talk to graver things, - In sailor fashion roughly sermonizing - On providence and trust in Heaven, she heard, 205 - Heard and not heard him; as the village girl, - Who sets her pitcher underneath the spring, - Musing on him that used to fill it for her, - Hears and not hears, and lets it overflow. - - At length she spoke, "O Enoch, you are wise; 210 - And yet for all your wisdom well know I - That I shall look upon your face no more." - - "Well then," said Enoch, "I shall look on yours.[209] - Annie, the ship I sail in passes here - (He named the day), get you a seaman's glass, 215 - Spy out my face, and laugh at all your fears." - - But when the last of those last moments came, - "Annie, my girl, cheer up, be comforted, - Look to the babes, and till I come again, - Keep everything shipshape, for I must go. 220 - And fear no more for me; or if you fear - Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds. - Is He not yonder in those uttermost - Parts of the morning? if I flee to these - Can I go from him? and the sea is His, 225 - The sea is His: He made it." - - Enoch rose, - Cast his strong arms about his drooping wife, - And kiss'd his wonder-stricken little ones; - But for the third, the sickly one, who slept - After a night of feverous wakefulness, 230 - When Annie would have raised him Enoch said, - "Wake him not; let him sleep; how should the child - Remember this?" and kiss'd him in his cot. - But Annie from her baby's forehead clipt - A tiny curl, and gave it: this he kept 235 - Thro' all his future; but now hastily caught - His bundle, waved his hand, and went his way. - - She, when the day, that Enoch mention'd, came, - Borrow'd a glass, but all in vain: perhaps - She could not fix the glass to suit her eye; 240 - Perhaps her eye was dim, hand tremulous; - She saw him not: and while he stood on deck - Waving, the moment and the vessel past. - - Ev'n to the last dip of the vanishing sail - She watch'd it, and departed weeping for him; 245 - Then, tho' she mourn'd his absence as his grave, - Set her sad will no less to chime with his, - But throve not in her trade, not being bred - To barter, nor compensating the want - By shrewdness, neither capable of lies, 250 - Nor asking overmuch and taking less, - And still foreboding "what would Enoch say?" - For more than once, in days of difficulty - And pressure, had she sold her wares for less - Than what she gave in buying what she sold: 255 - She fail'd and sadden'd knowing it; and thus, - Expectant of that news which never came, - Gain'd for her own a scanty sustenance, - And lived a life of silent melancholy. - - Now the third child was sickly-born and grew 260 - Yet sicklier, tho' the mother cared for it - With all a mother's care: nevertheless, - Whether her business often call'd her from it, - Or thro' the want of what it needed most, - Or means to pay the voice who best could tell 265 - What most it needed--howsoe'er it was, - After a lingering,--ere she was aware,-- - Like the caged bird escaping suddenly, - The little innocent soul flitted away. - - In that same week when Annie buried it, 270 - Philip's true heart, which hunger'd for her peace - (Since Enoch left he had not look'd upon her), - Smote him, as having kept aloof so long. - "Surely," said Philip, "I may see her now, - May be some little comfort;" therefore went, 275 - Past thro' the solitary room in front, - Paused for a moment at an inner door, - Then struck it thrice, and, no one opening, - Enter'd; but Annie, seated with her grief, - Fresh from the burial of her little one, 280 - Cared not to look on any human face, - But turn'd her own toward the wall and wept. - Then Philip standing up said falteringly, - "Annie, I came to ask a favor of you." - - He spoke; the passion in her moan'd reply, 285 - "Favor from one so sad and so forlorn - As I am!" half abash'd him; yet unask'd, - His bashfulness and tenderness at war, - He set himself beside her, saying to her: - - "I came to speak to you of what he wish'd, 290 - Enoch, your husband: I have ever said - You chose the best among us--a strong man: - For where he fixt his heart he set his hand - To do the thing he will'd, and bore it thro'. - And wherefore did he go this weary way, 295 - And leave you lonely? not to see the world-- - For pleasure?--nay, but for the wherewithal - To give his babes a better bringing-up - Than his had been, or yours: that was his wish. - And if he come again, vext will he be 300 - To find the precious morning hours were lost. - And it would vex him even in his grave, - If he could know his babes were running wild - Like colts about the waste. So, Annie, now-- - Have we not known each other all our lives?-- 305 - I do beseech you by the love you bear - Him and his children not to say me nay-- - For, if you will, when Enoch comes again, - Why then he shall repay me--if you will, - Annie--for I am rich and well-to-do. 310 - Now let me put the boy and girl to school: - This is the favor that I came to ask." - - Then Annie with her brows against the wall - Answer'd, "I cannot look you in the face; - I seem so foolish and so broken down. 315 - When you came in my sorrow broke me down; - And now I think your kindness breaks me down; - But Enoch lives; that is borne in on me; - He will repay you: money can be repaid; - Not kindness such as yours." - And Philip ask'd 320 - "Then you will let me, Annie?" - There she turn'd, - She rose, and fixt her swimming eyes upon him, - And dwelt a moment on his kindly face, - Then calling down a blessing on his head - Caught at his hand, and wrung it passionately, 325 - And past into the little garth[210] beyond. - So lifted up in spirit he moved away. - - Then Philip put the boy and girl to school, - And bought them needful books, and every way, - Like one who does his duty by his own, 330 - Made himself theirs; and tho' for Annie's sake, - Fearing the lazy gossip of the port, - He oft denied his heart his dearest wish, - And seldom crost her threshold, yet he sent - Gifts by the children, garden-herbs and fruit, 335 - The late and early roses from his wall, - Or conies[211] from the down, and now and then, - With some pretext of fineness in the meal - To save the offence of charitable, flour - From his tall mill that whistled on the waste. 340 - - But Philip did not fathom Annie's mind: - Scarce could the woman when he came upon her, - Out of full heart and boundless gratitude - Light on a broken word to thank him with. - But Philip was her children's all-in-all; 345 - From distant corners of the street they ran - To greet his hearty welcome heartily; - Lords of his house and of his mill were they; - Worried his passive ear with petty wrongs - Or pleasures, hung upon him, play'd with him, 350 - And call'd him Father Philip. Philip gain'd - As Enoch lost; for Enoch seem'd to them - Uncertain as a vision or a dream, - Faint as a figure seen in early dawn - Down at the far end of an avenue, 355 - Going we know not where: and so ten years, - Since Enoch left his hearth and native land, - Fled forward, and no news of Enoch came. - - It chanced one evening Annie's children long'd - To go with others nutting to the wood, 360 - And Annie would go with them; then they begg'd - For Father Philip (as they call'd him) too: - Him, like the working bee in blossom-dust, - Blanch'd with his mill, they found; and saying to him, - "Come with us, Father Philip," he denied; 365 - But when the children pluck'd at him to go, - He laugh'd, and yielded readily to their wish, - For was not Annie with them? and they went. - - But after scaling half the weary down, - Just where the prone edge of the wood began[212] 370 - To feather toward the hollow, all her force - Fail'd her; and sighing, "Let me rest," she said: - So Philip rested with her well-content; - While all the younger ones with jubilant cries - Broke from their elders, and tumultuously 375 - Down thro' the whitening hazels made a plunge - To the bottom, and dispersed, and bent or broke - The lithe reluctant boughs to tear away - Their tawny clusters, crying to each other - And calling, here and there, about the wood. 380 - - But Philip sitting at her side forgot - Her presence, and remember'd one dark hour - Here in this wood, when like a wounded life - He crept into the shadow: at last he said, - Lifting his honest forehead, "Listen, Annie, 385 - How merry they are down yonder in the wood. - Tired, Annie?" for she did not speak a word. - "Tired?" but her face had fall'n upon her hands; - At which, as with a kind of anger in him, - "The ship was lost," he said, "the ship was lost! 390 - No more of that! why should you kill yourself - And make them orphans quite?" And Annie said - "I thought not of it: but--I know not why-- - Their voices make me feel so solitary." - - Then Philip coming somewhat closer spoke. 395 - "Annie, there is a thing upon my mind, - And it has been upon my mind so long, - That tho' I know not when it first came there, - I know that it will out at last. Oh, Annie, - It is beyond all hope, against all chance, 400 - That he who left you ten long years ago - Should still be living; well then--let me speak: - I grieve to see you poor and wanting help: - I cannot help you as I wish to do - Unless--they say that women are so quick-- 405 - Perhaps you know what I would have you know-- - I wish you for my wife. I fain would prove - A father to your children: I do think - They love me as a father: I am sure - That I love them as if they were mine own; 410 - And I believe, if you were fast my wife, - That after all these sad uncertain years, - We might be still as happy as God grants - To any of His creatures. Think upon it: - For I am well-to-do--no kin, no care, 415 - No burthen, save my care for you and yours: - And we have known each other all our lives, - And I have loved you longer than you know." - - Then answer'd Annie; tenderly she spoke: - "You have been as God's good angel in our house. 420 - God bless you for it, God reward you for it, - Philip, with something happier than myself. - Can one love twice? can you be ever loved - As Enoch was? what is it that you ask?" - "I am content," he answer'd, "to be loved 425 - A little after Enoch." "Oh," she cried, - Scared as it were, "dear Philip, wait a while: - If Enoch comes--but Enoch will not come-- - Yet wait a year, a year is not so long: - Surely I shall be wiser in a year: 430 - Oh, wait a little!" Philip sadly said, - "Annie, as I have waited all my life - I well may wait a little." "Nay," she cried, - "I am bound: you have my promise--in a year; - Will you not bide your year as I bide mine?" 435 - And Philip answer'd, "I will bide my year." - - Here both were mute, till Philip glancing up - Beheld the dead flame of the fallen day - Pass from the Danish barrow overhead; - Then, fearing night and chill for Annie, rose, 440 - And sent his voice beneath him thro' the wood. - Up came the children laden with their spoil; - Then all descended to the port, and there - At Annie's door he paused and gave his hand, - Saying gently, "Annie, when I spoke to you, 445 - That was your hour of weakness. I was wrong. - I am always bound to you, but you are free." - Then Annie weeping answered, "I am bound." - - She spoke; and in one moment as it were, - While yet she went about her household ways, 450 - Ev'n as she dwelt upon his latest words, - That he had loved her longer than she knew, - That autumn into autumn flash'd again, - And there he stood once more before her face, - Claiming her promise. "Is it a year?" she ask'd. 455 - "Yes, if the nuts," he said, "be ripe again: - Come out and see." But she--she put him off-- - So much to look to--such a change--a month-- - Give her a month--she knew that she was bound-- - A month--no more. Then Philip with his eyes 460 - Full of that lifelong hunger, and his voice - Shaking a little like a drunkard's hand, - "Take your own time, Annie, take your own time." - And Annie could have wept for pity of him; - And yet she held him on delayingly 465 - With many a scarce-believable excuse, - Trying his truth and his long-sufferance, - Till half another year had slipped away. - - By this the lazy gossips of the port, - Abhorrent of a calculation crost, 470 - Began to chafe as at a personal wrong. - Some thought that Philip did but trifle with her; - Some that she but held off to draw him on; - And others laughed at her and Philip too, - As simple folk that knew not their own minds; 475 - And one in whom all evil fancies clung - Like serpent's eggs together, laughingly - Would hint at worse in either. Her own son - Was silent, tho' he often look'd his wish; - But evermore the daughter prest upon her 480 - To wed the man so dear to all of them - And lift the household out of poverty; - And Philip's rosy face contracting grew - Careworn and wan; and all these things fell on him - Sharp as reproach. - At last one night it chanced 485 - That Annie could not sleep, but earnestly - Pray'd for a sign, "my Enoch, is he gone?" - Then compass'd round by the blind wall of night - Brook'd not the expectant terror of her heart, - Started from bed, and struck herself a light, 490 - Then desperately seized the holy Book, - Suddenly set it wide to find a sign, - Suddenly put her finger on the text, - "Under the palm-tree.[213]" That was nothing to her: - No meaning there: she closed the Book and slept: 495 - When lo! her Enoch sitting on a height, - Under a palm-tree, over him the Sun: - "He is gone," she thought, "he is happy, he is singing - Hosanna in the highest: yonder shines - The Sun of Righteousness, and these be palms 500 - Whereof the happy people strowing cried - 'Hosanna in the highest!'" Here she woke, - Resolved, sent for him and said wildly to him, - "There is no reason why we should not wed." - "Then for God's sake," he answer'd, "both our sakes, 505 - So you will wed me, let it be at once." - - So these were wed and merrily rang the bells, - Merrily rang the bells and they were wed. - But never merrily beat Annie's heart. - A footstep seem'd to fall beside her path, 510 - She knew not whence; a whisper on her ear, - She knew not what; nor loved she to be left - Alone at home, nor ventured out alone. - What ail'd her then, that ere she enter'd, often, - Her hand dwelt lingeringly on the latch, 515 - Fearing to enter: Philip thought he knew: - Such doubts and fears were common to her state, - Being with child: but when her child was born, - Then her new child was as herself renew'd, - Then the new mother came about her heart, 520 - Then her good Philip was her all-in-all, - And that mysterious instinct wholly died. - - And where was Enoch? prosperously sail'd - The ship Good Fortune, tho' at setting forth - The Biscay,[214] roughly ridging eastward, shook 525 - And almost overwhelm'd her, yet unvext - She slipt across the summer of the world,[215] - Then after a long tumble about the Cape - And frequent interchange of foul and fair, - She passing thro' the summer world again, 530 - The breath of heaven came continually - And sent her sweetly by the golden isles, - Till silent in her oriental haven. - - There Enoch traded for himself, and bought - Quaint monsters for the market of those times, 535 - A gilded dragon, also, for the babes. - - Less lucky her home-voyage: at first indeed - Thro' many a fair sea-circle, day by day, - Scarce-rocking her full-busted figure-head - Stared o'er the ripple feathering from her bows: 540 - Then follow'd calms, and then winds variable, - Then baffling, a long course of them; and last - Storm, such as drove her under moonless heavens - Till hard upon the cry of "breakers" came - The crash of ruin, and the loss of all 545 - But Enoch and two others. Half the night, - Buoy'd upon floating tackle and broken spars, - These drifted, stranding on an isle at morn - Rich, but the loneliest in a lonely sea. - - No want was there of human sustenance, 550 - Soft fruitage, mighty nuts, and nourishing roots; - Nor save for pity was it hard to take - The helpless life so wild that it was tame. - There in a seaward-gazing mountain-gorge - They built, and thatch'd with leaves of palm, a hut, 555 - Half hut, half native cavern. So the three, - Set in this Eden of all plenteousness, - Dwelt with eternal summer, ill-content. - - For one, the youngest, hardly more than boy, - Hurt in that night of sudden ruin and wreck, 560 - Lay lingering out a five-years' death-in-life. - They could not leave him. After he was gone, - The two remaining found a fallen stem[216]; - And Enoch's comrade, careless of himself, - Fire-hollowing this in Indian fashion, fell 565 - Sun-stricken, and that other lived alone. - In those two deaths he read God's warning, "Wait." - - The mountain wooded to the peak, the lawns - And winding glades high up like ways to Heaven, - The slender coco's drooping crown of plumes, 570 - The lightning flash of insect and of bird, - The lustre of the long convolvuluses[217] - That coil'd around the stately stems, and ran - Ev'n to the limit of the land, the glows - And glories of the broad belt of the world,[218] 575 - All these he saw; but what he fain had seen - He could not see, the kindly human face, - Nor ever hear a kindly voice, but heard - The myriad shriek of wheeling ocean-fowl, - The league-long roller thundering on the reef, 580 - The moving whisper of huge trees that branch'd - And blossom'd in the zenith, or the sweep - Of some precipitous rivulet to the wave, - As down the shore he ranged, or all day long - Sat often in the seaward-gazing gorge, 585 - A shipwreck'd sailor, waiting for a sail: - No sail from day to day, but every day - The sunrise broken into scarlet shafts - Among the palms and ferns and precipices; 590 - The blaze upon the waters to the east: - The blaze upon his island overhead; - The blaze upon the waters to the west; - Then the great stars that globed themselves in Heaven, - The hollower-bellowing ocean, and again - The scarlet shafts of sunrise--but no sail. 595 - - There often as he watch'd or seem'd to watch, - So still, the golden lizard on him paused, - A phantom made of many phantoms moved - Before him, haunting him, or he himself - Moved haunting people, things and places, known 600 - Far in a darker isle beyond the line; - The babes, their babble, Annie, the small house, - The climbing street, the mill, the leafy lanes, - The peacock-yewtree and the lonely Hall, - The horse he drove, the boat he sold, the chill 605 - November dawns and dewy-glooming downs, - The gentle shower, the smell of dying leaves, - And the low moan of leaden-color'd seas. - - Once likewise, in the ringing of his ears, - Tho' faintly, merrily--far and far away-- 610 - He heard the pealing of his parish bells; - Then, tho' he knew not wherefore, started up - Shuddering, and when the beauteous hateful isle - Return'd upon him, had not his poor heart - Spoken with That, which being everywhere 615 - Lets none who speaks with Him seem all alone, - Surely the man had died of solitude. - - Thus over Enoch's early-silvering head - The sunny and rainy seasons came and went - Year after year. His hopes to see his own, 620 - And pace the sacred old familiar fields, - Not yet had perish'd, when his lonely doom - Came suddenly to an end. Another ship - (She wanted water) blown by baffling winds, - Like the Good Fortune, from her destined course, 625 - Stay'd by this isle, not knowing where she lay: - For since the mate had seen at early dawn - Across a break on the mist-wreathen isle - The silent water slipping from the hills, - They sent a crew that landing burst away 630 - In search of stream or fount, and fill'd the shores - With clamor. Downward from his mountain gorge[219] - Stept the long-hair'd, long-bearded solitary, - Brown, looking hardly human, strangely clad, - Muttering and mumbling, idiot-like it seem'd, 635 - With inarticulate rage, and making signs - They knew not what: and yet he led the way - To where the rivulets of sweet water ran; - And ever as he mingled with the crew, - And heard them talking, his long-bounden tongue 640 - Was loosen'd, till he made them understand; - Whom, when their casks were fill'd they took aboard - And there the tale he utter'd brokenly, - Scarce-credited at first but more and more, - Amazed and melted all who listen'd to it; 645 - And clothes they gave him and free passage home; - But oft he work'd among the rest and shook - His isolation from him. None of these - Came from his county, or could answer him, - If question'd, aught of what he cared to know. 650 - And dull the voyage was with long delays, - The vessel scarce sea-worthy; but evermore - His fancy fled before the lazy wind - Returning, till beneath a clouded moon - He like a lover down thro' all his blood 655 - Drew in the dewy meadowy morning-breath - Of England, blown across her ghostly wall: - And that same morning officers and men - Levied a kindly tax upon themselves, - Pitying the lonely man, and gave him it: 660 - Then moving up the coast they landed him, - Ev'n in that harbor whence he sail'd before. - - There Enoch spoke no word to any one, - But homeward--home--what home? had he a home? - His home, he walk'd. Bright was that afternoon, 665 - Sunny but chill; till drawn thro' either chasm, - Where either haven open'd on the deeps, - Roll'd a sea-haze and whelm'd the world in gray; - Cut off the length of highway on before, - And left but narrow breadth to left and right 670 - Of wither'd holt[220] or tilth[221] or pasturage. - On the nigh-naked tree the robin piped - Disconsolate, and thro' the dripping haze - The dead weight of the dead leaf bore it down: - Thicker the drizzle grew, deeper the gloom; 675 - Last, as it seem'd, a great mist-blotted light - Flared on him, and he came upon the place. - - Then down the long street having slowly stolen, - His heart foreshadowing all calamity, - His eyes upon the stones, he reach'd the home 680 - Where Annie lived and loved him, and his babes - In those far-off seven happy years were born; - But finding neither light nor murmur there - (A bill of sale gleam'd thro' the drizzle) crept - Still downward thinking, "dead, or dead to me!" 685 - - Down to the pool and narrow wharf he went, - Seeking a tavern which of old he knew, - A front of timber-crost antiquity, - So propt, worm-eaten, ruinously old, - He thought it must have gone; but he was gone 690 - Who kept it; and his widow, Miriam Lane, - With daily-dwindling profits held the house; - A haunt of brawling seamen once, but now - Stiller, with yet a bed for wandering men. - There Enoch rested silent many days. 695 - - But Miriam Lane was good and garrulous, - Nor let him be, but often breaking in, - Told him, with other annals of the port, - Not knowing--Enoch was so brown, so bow'd, - So broken--all the story of his house. 700 - His baby's death, her growing poverty, - How Philip put her little ones to school, - And kept them in it, his long wooing her, - Her slow consent, and marriage, and the birth - Of Philip's child: and o'er his countenance 705 - No shadow past, nor motion: any one, - Regarding, well had deem'd he felt the tale - Less than the teller; only when she closed, - "Enoch, poor man, was cast away and lost," - He, shaking his gray head pathetically, 710 - Repeated muttering, "cast away and lost;" - Again in deeper inward whispers, "lost!" - - But Enoch yearned to see her face again; - "If I might look on her sweet face again - And know that she is happy." So the thought 715 - Haunted and harass'd him, and drove him forth, - At evening when the dull November day - Was growing duller twilight, to the hill. - There he sat down gazing on all below; - There did a thousand memories roll upon him, 720 - Unspeakable for sadness. By and by - The ruddy square of comfortable light, - Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house, - Allured him, as the beacon-blaze allures - The bird of passage, till he madly strikes 725 - Against it, and beats out his weary life. - - For Philip's dwelling fronted on the street, - The latest[222] house to landward; but behind, - With one small gate that open'd on the waste, - Flourish'd a little garden square and wall'd: 730 - And in it throve an ancient evergreen, - A yewtree, and all round it ran a walk - Of shingle,[223] and a walk divided it: - But Enoch shunn'd the middle walk and stole - Up by the wall, behind the yew; and thence 735 - That which he better might have shunn'd, if griefs - Like his have worse or better, Enoch saw. - - For cups and silver on the burnish'd board - Sparkled and shone; so genial was the hearth: - And on the right hand of the hearth he saw 740 - Philip, the slighted suitor of old times, - Stout, rosy, with his babe across his knees; - And o'er her second father stoopt a girl, - A later but a loftier Annie Lee, - Fair-hair'd and tall, and from her lifted hand, 745 - Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring - To tempt the babe, who rear'd his creasy[224] arms, - Caught at, and ever miss'd it, and they laugh'd: - And on the left hand of the hearth he saw - The mother glancing often toward her babe, 750 - But turning now and then to speak with him, - Her son, who stood beside her tall and strong, - And saying that which pleased him, for he smiled. - - Now when the dead man come to life beheld - His wife his wife no more, and saw the babe 755 - Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee, - And all the warmth, the peace, the happiness, - And his own children tall and beautiful, - And him, that other, reigning in his place, - Lord of his rights and of his children's love,-- 760 - Then he, tho' Miriam Lane had told him all, - Because things seen are mightier than things heard, - Stagger'd and shook, holding the branch, and fear'd - To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry, - Which in one moment, like the blast of doom, 765 - Would shatter all the happiness of the hearth. - - He therefore turning softly like a thief, - Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot, - And feeling all along the garden wall, - Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found, 770 - Crept to the gate, and open'd it, and closed, - As lightly as a sick man's chamber-door, - Behind him, and came out upon the waste. - - And there he would have knelt, but that his knees - Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug 775 - His fingers into the wet earth, and pray'd. - - "Too hard to bear! why did they take me thence? - O God Almighty, blessed Saviour, Thou - That didst uphold me on my lonely isle, - Uphold me, Father, in my loneliness 780 - A little longer! aid me, give me strength - Not to tell her, never to let her know. - Help me not to break in upon her peace. - My children too! must I not speak to these? - They know me not. I should betray myself. 785 - Never: no father's kiss for me--the girl - So like her mother, and the boy, my son." - - There speech and thought and nature fail'd a little - And he lay tranced; but when he rose and paced - Back toward his solitary home again, 790 - All down the long and narrow street he went - Beating it in upon his weary brain, - As tho' it were the burthen of a song, - "Not to tell her, never to let her know." - - He was not all unhappy. His resolve 795 - Upbore him, and firm faith, and evermore - Prayer from a living source within the will, - And beating up thro' all the bitter world, - Like fountains of sweet water in the sea, - Kept him a living soul. "This miller's wife," 800 - He said to Miriam, "that you spoke about, - Has she no fear that her first husband lives?" - "Ay, ay, poor soul," said Miriam, "fear enow! - If you could tell her you had seen him dead, - Why, that would be her comfort;" and he thought 805 - "After the Lord has call'd me she shall know, - I wait His time;" and Enoch set himself, - Scorning an alms, to work whereby to live. - Almost to all things could he turn his hand. - Cooper he was and carpenter, and wrought 810 - To make the boatmen fishing-nets, or help'd - At lading and unlading the tall barks, - That brought the stinted commerce of those days; - Thus earn'd a scanty living for himself: - Yet since he did but labor for himself, 815 - Work without hope, there was not life in it - Whereby the man could live; and as the year - Roll'd itself round again to meet the day - When Enoch had return'd, a languor came - Upon him, gentle sickness, gradually 820 - Weakening the man, till he could do no more, - But kept the house, his chair, and last his bed. - And Enoch bore his weakness cheerfully. - For sure no gladlier does the stranded wreck - See thro' the gray skirts of a lifting squall 825 - The boat that bears the hope of life approach - To save the life despair'd of, than he saw - Death dawning on him, and the close of all. - - For thro' that dawning gleam'd a kindlier hope - On Enoch thinking, "after I am gone, 830 - Then may she learn I lov'd her to the last." - He call'd aloud for Miriam Lane and said, - "Woman, I have a secret--only swear, - Before I tell you--swear upon the book - Not to reveal it, till you see me dead." 835 - "Dead," clamor'd the good woman, "hear him talk; - I warrant, man, that we shall bring you round." - "Swear," added Enoch sternly, "on the book." - And on the book, half-frighted, Miriam swore. - Then Enoch rolling his gray eyes upon her, 840 - "Did you know Enoch Arden of this town?" - "Know him?" she said, "I knew him far away. - Ay, ay, I mind him coming down the street; - Held his head high, and cared for no man, he." - Slowly and sadly Enoch answer'd her: 845 - "His head is low, and no man cares for him. - I think I have not three days more to live; - I am the man." At which the woman gave - A half-incredulous, half-hysterical cry. - "You Arden, you! nay,--sure he was a foot 850 - Higher than you be." Enoch said again, - "My God has bow'd me down to what I am; - My grief and solitude have broken me; - Nevertheless, know you that I am he - Who married--but that name has twice been changed-- 855 - I married her who married Philip Ray. - Sit, listen." Then he told her of his voyage, - His wreck, his lonely life, his coming back, - His gazing in on Annie, his resolve, - And how he kept it. As the woman heard, 860 - Fast flow'd the current of her easy tears, - While in her heart she yearn'd incessantly - To rush abroad all round the little haven, - Proclaiming Enoch Arden and his woes; - But awed and promise-bounden she forbore, 865 - Saying only, "See your bairns before you go! - Eh, let me fetch 'em, Arden," and arose - Eager to bring them down, for Enoch hung - A moment on her words, but then replied: - - "Woman, disturb me not now at the last, 870 - But let me hold my purpose till I die. - Sit down again; mark me and understand, - While I have power to speak. I charge you now - When you shall see her, tell her that I died - Blessing her, praying for her, loving her; 875 - Save for the bar between us, loving her - As when she lay her head beside my own. - And tell my daughter Annie, whom I saw - So like her mother, that my latest breath - Was spent in blessing her and praying for her. 880 - And tell my son that I died blessing him. - And say to Philip that I blest him too; - He never meant us any thing but good. - But if my children care to see me dead, - Who hardly knew me living, let them come, 885 - I am their father; but she must not come, - For my dead face would vex her after-life. - And now there is but one of all my blood, - Who will embrace me in the world-to-be: - This hair is his: she cut it off and gave it, 890 - And I have borne it with me all these years, - And thought to bear it with me to my grave; - But now my mind is changed, for I shall see him, - My babe in bliss: wherefore when I am gone, - Take, give her this, for it may comfort her: 895 - It will moreover be a token to her, - That I am he." - - He ceased; and Miriam Lane - Made such a voluble answer promising all, - That once again he roll'd his eyes upon her - Repeating all he wish'd, and once again 900 - She promised. - - Then the third night after this, - While Enoch slumber'd motionless and pale, - And Miriam watch'd and dozed at intervals, - There came so loud a calling of the sea, - That all the houses in the haven rang. 905 - He woke, he rose, he spread his arms abroad, - Crying with a loud voice "A sail! a sail! - I am saved;" and so fell back and spoke no more. - - So past the strong heroic soul away. - And when they buried him the little port 910 - Had seldom seen a costlier funeral. - - - - -THE REVENGE - - -A BALLAD OF THE FLEET - - - I - - At Flores in the Azores[225] Sir Richard Grenville lay, - And a pinnace like a flutter'd bird, came flying from far away: - 'Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!' - Then sware Lord Thomas Howard[226]: 'Fore God I am no coward; - But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, 5 - And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick. - We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?' - - - II - - Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: 'I know you are no coward; - You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. - But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. 10 - I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, - To these Inquisition[227] dogs and the devildoms of Spain.' - - - III - - So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day, - Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; - But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land 15 - Very carefully and slow, - Men of Bideford[228] in Devon, - And we laid them on the ballast down below; - For we brought them all aboard, - And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to - Spain, 20 - To the thumbscrew[229] and the stake[230] for the glory of the - Lord. - - - IV - - He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight - And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, - With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow. - 'Shall we fight or shall we fly? 25 - Good Sir Richard, tell us now, - For to fight is but to die! - There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.' - And Sir Richard said again, 'We be all good English men. - Let us bang these dogs of Seville,[231] the children of the - devil, 30 - For I never turn'd my back upon Don[232] or devil yet.' - - - V - - Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so - The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, - With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; - For half of her fleet to the right and half to the left were - seen, 35 - And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long sea-lane between. - - - VI - - Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks and - laugh'd, - Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft - Running on and on, till delay'd - By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred - tons, 40 - And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, - Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd. - - - VII - - And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud - Whence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud, 45 - Four galleons[233] drew away - From the Spanish fleet that day, - And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, - And the battle-thunder broke from them all. - - - VIII - - But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went 50 - Having that within her womb that had left her ill content; - And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand, - For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers, - And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears - When he leaps from the water to the land. 55 - - - IX - - And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over - the summer sea, - But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and - the fifty-three. - Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built - galleons came, - Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder - and flame; - Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with - her dead and her shame. 60 - For some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so - could fight us no more-- - God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world - before? - - - X - - For he said, 'Fight on! fight on!' - Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; - And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was - gone, 65 - With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, - But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, - And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head, - And he said 'Fight on! fight on!' - - - XI - - And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far - over the summer sea, 70 - And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all - in a ring; - But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that - we still could sting, - So they watch'd what the end would be. - And we had not fought them in vain, - But in perilous plight were we, 75 - Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, - And half of the rest of us maim'd for life - In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; - And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and - cold, - And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder - was all of it spent; 80 - And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; - But Sir Richard cried in his English pride, - 'We have fought such a fight for a day and a night - As may never be fought again! - We have won great glory, my men! 85 - And a day less or more - At sea or ashore, - We die--does it matter when? - Sink me the ship, Master Gunner--sink her, split her in twain! - Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!' 90 - - - XII - - And the gunner said 'Ay, ay,' but the seamen made reply: - 'We have children, we have wives, - And the Lord hath spared our lives. - We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go; - We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow.' 95 - And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe. - - - XIII - - And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then - Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, - And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign - grace; - But he rose upon their decks, and he cried: 100 - 'I have fought for Queen and Faith like a gallant man and true; - I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do: - With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die!' - And he fell upon their decks, and he died. - - - XIV - - And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and - true, 105 - And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap - That he dared her with one little ship and his English few; - Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew, - But they sank his body with honour down in the deep, - And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthy alien crew, 110 - And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own; - When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep, - And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, - And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew, - And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake - grew, 115 - Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their - masts and their flags, - And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy - of Spain, - And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags - To be lost evermore in the main. - - - - -ROBERT BROWNING - -"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX." - - -[16--] - - I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; - I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; - "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; - "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; - Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 5 - And into the midnight we galloped abreast. - - Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace - Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; - I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, - Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique[234] right, 10 - Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, - Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. - - 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near - Lokeren,[235] the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; - At Boom,[236] a great yellow star came out to see; 15 - At Düffeld,[237] 'twas morning as plain as could be; - And from Mecheln[238] church-steeple we heard the half-chime, - So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!" - - At Aershot,[239] up leaped of a sudden the sun, - And against him the cattle stood black every one, 20 - To stare through the mist at us galloping past, - And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, - With resolute shoulders, each butting away - The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray: - - And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 25 - For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; - And one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance - O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! - And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon - His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 30 - - By Hasselt,[240] Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! - Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, - We'll remember at Aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze - Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, - And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 35 - As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. - - So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, - Past Looz[241] and past Tongres,[242] no cloud in the sky; - The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, - 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; 40 - Till over by Dalhem[243] a dome-spire sprang white, - And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" - - "How they'll greet us!"--and all in a moment his roan - Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; - And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 45 - Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,[244] - With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, - And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. - - Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall. - Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 50 - Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, - Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; - Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, - Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. - And all I remember is--friends flocking round 55 - As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; - And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, - As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, - Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) - Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. 60 - - - - -INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP - - You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: - A mile or so away, - On a little mound, Napoleon - Stood on our storming-day; - With neck out-thrust,[245] you fancy how, 5 - Legs wide, arms locked behind, - As if to balance the prone brow - Oppressive with its mind. - - Just as perhaps he mused[246] "My plans - That soar, to earth may fall, 10 - Let once my army-leader Lannes[247] - Waver at yonder wall,"-- - Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew - A rider, bound on bound - Full-galloping; nor bridle drew 15 - Until he reached the mound. - - Then off there flung in smiling joy, - And held himself erect - By just his horse's mane, a boy: - You hardly could suspect-- 20 - (So tight he kept his lips compressed, - Scarce any blood came through) - You looked twice ere you saw his breast - Was all but shot in two. - - "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 25 - We've got you Ratisbon! - The Marshal's in the market-place, - And you'll be there anon - To see your flag-bird[248] flap his vans - Where I, to heart's desire, 30 - Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans - Soared up again like fire. - - The chief's eye flashed; but presently - Softened itself, as sheathes - A film the mother-eagle's eye 35 - When her bruised eaglet breathes; - "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride - Touched to the quick, he said: - "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, - Smiling the boy fell dead. 40 - - - - -THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN - -A CHILD'S STORY - -(Written for, and inscribed to, W. M. the Younger) - - - I - - Hamelin[249] Town's in Brunswick, - By famous Hanover city; - The river Weser, deep and wide, - Washes its wall on the southern side; - A pleasanter spot you never spied; 5 - But when begins my ditty, - Almost five hundred years ago, - To see the townsfolk suffer so - From vermin, was a pity. - - - II - - Rats! 10 - They fought the dogs and killed the cats, - And bit the babies in the cradles, - And ate the cheeses out of the vats, - And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, - Split open the kegs of salted sprats, 15 - Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, - And even spoiled the women's chats - By drowning their speaking - With shrieking and squeaking - In fifty different sharps and flats. 20 - - - III - - At last the people in a body - To the Town Hall came flocking: - "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; - And as for our Corporation--shocking - To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 25 - For dolts that can't or won't determine - What's best to rid us of our vermin! - You hope, because you're old and obese, - To find in the furry civic robe ease? - Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking 30 - To find the remedy we're lacking, - Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" - At this the Mayor and Corporation - Quaked with a mighty consternation. - - - IV - - An hour they sat in council; 35 - At length the Mayor broke silence: - "For a guilder[250] I'd my ermine gown sell, - I wish I were a mile hence! - It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-- - I'm sure my poor head aches again, 40 - I've scratched it so, and all in vain. - O for a trap, a trap, a trap!" - Just as he said this, what should hap - At the chamber-door but a gentle tap? - "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" 45 - (With the Corporation as he sat, - Looking little though wondrous fat; - Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister - Than a too-long-opened oyster, - Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous 50 - For a plate of turtle green and glutinous) - "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? - Anything like the sound of a rat - Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!" - - - V - - "Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger: 55 - And in did come the strangest figure! - His queer long coat from heel to head - Was half of yellow and half of red, - And he himself was tall and thin, - With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, 60 - And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, - No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, - But lips where smiles went out and in; - There was no guessing his kith and kin: - And nobody could enough admire 65 - The tall man and his quaint attire. - Quoth one: "It's as my great grandsire, - Starting up at the Trump of Doom's[251] tone, - Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!" - - - VI - - He advanced to the council-table: 70 - And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, - By means of a secret charm, to draw - All creatures living beneath the sun, - That creep or swim or fly or run, - After me so as you never saw! 75 - And I chiefly use my charm - On creatures that do people harm, - The mole and toad and newt and viper; - And people call me the Pied Piper."[252] - (And here they noticed round his neck 80 - A scarf of red and yellow stripe, - To match with his coat of the self-same cheque; - And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; - And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying - As if impatient to be playing 85 - Upon this pipe, as low it dangled - Over his vesture so old-fangled.) - "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, - In Tartary I freed the Cham,[253] - Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; 90 - I eased in Asia the Nizam[254] - Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats: - And as for what your brain bewilders, - If I can rid your town of rats - Will you give me a thousand guilders?" 95 - "One? fifty thousand!"--was the exclamation - Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. - - - VII - - Into the street the Piper stept, - Smiling first a little smile, - As if he knew what magic slept 100 - In his quiet pipe the while; - Then, like a musical adept, - To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, - And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, - Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; 105 - And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, - You heard as if an army muttered; - And the muttering grew to a grumbling; - And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; - And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. 110 - Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, - Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, - Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, - Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, - Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, 115 - Families by tens and dozens, - Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- - Followed the Piper for their lives. - From street to street he piped advancing, - And step by step they followed dancing, 120 - Until they came to the river Weser, - Wherein all plunged and perished! - --Save one who, stout as Julius Cćsar,[255] - Swam across and lived to carry - (As he, the manuscript he cherished) 125 - To rat-land home his commentary[256]: - Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, - I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, - And putting apples, wondrous ripe, - Into a cider-press's gripe: 130 - And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, - And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, - And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks, - And a breaking the hoops of butter casks: - And it seemed as if a voice 135 - (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery - Is breathed) called out, 'O rats, rejoice! - The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! - So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, - Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' 140 - And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, - Already staved, like a great sun shone - Glorious scarce an inch before me, - Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!' - --I found the Weser rolling o'er me." 145 - - - VIII - - You should have heard the Hamelin people - Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. - "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles, - Poke out the nests and block up the holes! - Consult with carpenters and builders, 150 - And leave in our town not even a trace - Of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face - Of the Piper perked in the market-place, - With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!" - - - IX - - A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; 155 - So did the Corporation too. - For council dinners made rare havoc - With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; - And half the money would replenish - Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. 160 - To pay this sum to a wandering fellow - With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! - "Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, - "Our business was done at the river's brink; - We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, 165 - And what's dead can't come to life, I think. - So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink - From the duty of giving you something for drink, - And a matter of money to put in your poke[257]; - But as for the guilders, what we spoke 170 - Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. - Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. - A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!" - - - X - - The Piper's face fell, and he cried; - "No trifling! I can't wait, beside! 175 - I've promised to visit by dinner time - Bagdat, and accept the prime - Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, - For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, - Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: 180 - With him I proved no bargain-driver, - With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver[258]! - And folks who put me in a passion - May find me pipe after another fashion." - - - XI - - "How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook 185 - Being worse treated than a Cook? - Insulted by a lazy ribald - With idle pipe and vesture piebald[259]? - You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, - Blow your pipe there till you burst!" 190 - - - XII - - Once more he stept into the street, - And to his lips again - Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; - And ere he blew three notes (such sweet - Soft notes as yet musician's cunning 195 - Never gave the enraptured air) - There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling - Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling; - Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, - Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, 200 - And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, - Out came the children running. - All the little boys and girls, - With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, - And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, 205 - Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after - The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. - - - XIII - - The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood - As if they were changed into blocks of wood, - Unable to move a step, or cry 210 - To the children merrily skipping by, - --Could only follow with the eye - That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. - But how the Mayor was on the rack, - And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, 215 - As the Piper turned from the High Street - To where the Weser rolled its waters - Right in the way of their sons and daughters! - However, he turned from South to West, - And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 220 - And after him the children pressed; - Great was the joy in every breast. - "He never can cross that mighty top! - He's forced to let the piping drop, - And we shall see our children stop!" 225 - When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, - A wondrous portal opened wide, - As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; - And the Piper advanced and the children followed, - And when all were in to the very last, 230 - The door in the mountain-side shut fast. - Did I say, all? No! One was lame, - And could not dance the whole of the way; - And in after years, if you would blame - His sadness, he was used to say,-- 235 - "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! - I can't forget that I'm bereft - Of all the pleasant sights they see, - Which the Piper also promised me. - For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, 240 - Joining the town and just at hand, - Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew - And flowers put forth a fairer hue, - And everything was strange and new; - The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, 245 - And their dogs outran our fallow deer, - And honey-bees had lost their stings, - And horses were born with eagles' wings: - And just as I became assured - My lame foot would be speedily cured, 250 - The music stopped and I stood still, - And found myself outside the hill, - Left alone against my will, - To go now limping as before, - And never hear of that country more!" 255 - - - XIV - - Alas, alas! for Hamelin! - There came into many a burgher's pate - A text which says that heaven's gate - Opes to the rich at as easy rate - As the needle's eye[260] takes a camel in! 260 - The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, - To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, - Wherever it was men's lot to find him, - Silver and gold to his heart's content, - If he'd only return the way he went, 265 - And bring the children behind him. - But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, - And Piper and dancers were gone forever, - They made a decree that lawyers never - Should think their records dated duly 270 - If, after the day of the month and year, - These words did not as well appear, - "And so long after what happened here - On the Twenty-second of July, - Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:" 275 - And the better in memory to fix - The place of the children's last retreat, - They called it the Pied Piper's Street-- - Where any one playing on pipe or tabor - Was sure for the future to lose his labor. 280 - Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern - To shock with mirth a street so solemn; - But opposite the place of the cavern - They wrote the story on a column, - And on the great church-window painted 285 - The same, to make the world acquainted - How their children were stolen away, - And there it stands to this very day. - And I must not omit to say - That in Transylvania there's a tribe 290 - Of alien people who ascribe - The outlandish ways and dress - On which their neighbors lay such stress, - To their fathers and mothers having risen - Out of some subterraneous prison 295 - Into which they were trepanned - Long time ago in a mighty band - Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, - But how or why, they don't understand. - - - XV - - So, Willy, let me and you be wipers 300 - Of scores out with all men--especially pipers! - And, whether they pipe us free fróm rats or fróm mice, - If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise! - - - - -HERVÉ RIEL - - - I - - On the sea and at the Hogue,[260] sixteen hundred ninety-two, - Did the English fight the French,--woe to France! - And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, - Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, - Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,[261] 5 - With the English fleet in view. - - - II - - 'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; - First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville. - Close on him fled, great and small, - Twenty-two good ships in all; 10 - And they signalled to the place - "Help the winners of a race! - Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or, quicker - still, - Here's the English can and will!" - - - III - - Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; 15 - "Why, what hope or chance have ships like these - to pass?" laughed they: - "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and - scored, - Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns - Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, - Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 20 - And with flow at full beside? - Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. - Reach the mooring? Rather say, - While rock stands or water runs, - Not a ship will leave the bay!" 25 - - - IV - - Then was called a council straight, - Brief and bitter the debate: - "Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow - All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, - For a prize to Plymouth Sound[262]? 30 - Better run the ships aground!" - (Ended Damfreville his speech.) - "Not a minute more to wait! - Let the Captains all and each - Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! 35 - France must undergo her fate. - - - V - - "Give the word!" But no such word - Was ever spoke or heard; - For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these - --A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate--first, second, third? 40 - No such man of mark, and meet - With his betters to compete! - But a simple Breton sailor pressed[263] by Tourville[264] - for the fleet, - A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.[265] - - - VI - - And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel: 45 - "Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? - Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell - On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, - 'Twixt the offing here and Grčve where the river disembogues? - Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? 50 - Morn and eve, night and day, - Have I piloted your bay, - Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. - Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty - Hogues! - Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe - me there's a way! 55 - Only let me lead the line, - Have the biggest ship to steer, - Get this 'Formidable' clear, - Make the others follow mine, - And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, 60 - Right to Solidor past Grčve, - And there lay them safe and sound; - And if one ship misbehave, - --Keel so much as grate the ground, - Why, I've nothing but my life,--here's my head!" cries - Hervé Riel. 65 - - - VII - - Not a minute more to wait. - "Steer us in, then, small and great! - Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its - chief. - Captains, give the sailor place! - He is Admiral, in brief. 70 - Still the north-wind, by God's grace! - See the noble fellow's face - As the big ship, with a bound, - Clears the entry like a hound, - Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's - profound! 75 - See, safe through shoal and rock, - How they follow in a flock, - Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, - Not a spar that comes to grief! - The peril, see, is past, 80 - All are harbored to the last, - And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate, - Up the English come--too late! - - - VIII - - So, the storm subsides to calm: - They see the green trees wave 85 - On the heights o'erlooking Grčve. - Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. - "Just our rapture to enhance, - Let the English rake the bay, - Gnash their teeth and glare askance 90 - As they cannonade away! - 'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" - How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance! - Out burst all with one accord, - "This is Paradise for Hell! 95 - Let France, let France's King - Thank the man that did the thing!" - What a shout, and all one word, - "Hervé Riel!" - As he stepped in front once more, 100 - Not a symptom of surprise - In the frank blue Breton eyes, - Just the same man as before. - - - IX - - Then said Damfreville, "My friend, - I must speak out at the end, 105 - Though I find the speaking hard. - Praise is deeper than the lips: - You have saved the King his ships, - You must name your own reward. - 'Faith, our sun was near eclipse! 110 - Demand whate'er you will, - France remains your debtor still. - Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville." - - - X - - Then a beam of fun outbroke - On the bearded mouth that spoke, 115 - As the honest heart laughed through - Those frank eyes of Breton blue: - "Since I needs must say my say, - Since on board the duty's done, - And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but - a run?-- 120 - Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- - Since the others go ashore-- - Come! A good whole holiday! - Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" - That he asked and that he got,--nothing more. 125 - - - XI - - Name and deed alike are lost: - Not a pillar nor a post - In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; - Not a head in white and black - On a single fishing smack, 130 - In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack - All that France saved from the fight whence England bore - the bell. - Go to Paris: rank on rank - Search the heroes flung pell-mell - On the Louvre, face and flank! 135 - You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. - So, for better and for worse, - Hervé Riel, accept my verse! - In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more - Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the - Belle Aurore! 140 - - - - -DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI - - -THE WHITE SHIP - -Henry I[266] of England--25th Nov., 1120 - - By none but me can the tale be told, - The butcher of Rouen,[267] poor Berold. - (_Lands are swayed by a king on a throne._) - 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, - Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 5 - (_The sea hath no king but God alone._) - - King Henry held it as life's whole gain - That after his death his son should reign. - - 'Twas so in my youth I heard men say, - And my old age calls it back to-day. 10 - - King Henry of England's realm was he, - And Henry Duke of Normandy. - - The times had changed when on either coast - "Clerkly Harry" was all his boast.[268] - - Of ruthless[269] strokes full many an one 15 - He had struck to crown himself and his son; - And his elder brother's eyes were gone.[270] - - And when to the chase his court would crowd, - The poor flung ploughshares on his road, - And shrieked: "Our cry is from King to God!" 20 - - But all the chiefs of the English land - Had knelt and kissed the Prince's hand. - - And next with his son he sailed to France - To claim the Norman allegiance: - - And every baron in Normandy 25 - Had taken the oath of fealty.[271] - - 'Twas sworn and sealed, and the day had come - When the King and the Prince might journey home: - - For Christmas cheer is to home hearts dear, - And Christmas now was drawing near. 30 - - Stout Fitz-Stephen came to the King,-- - A pilot famous in seafaring; - - And he held to the King in all men's sight, - A mark of gold for his tribute's right. - - "Liege[272] Lord! my father guided the ship 35 - From whose boat your father's[273] foot did slip - When he caught the English soil in his grip, - - "And cried: 'By this clasp I claim command - O'er every rood[274] of English land!' - - "He was borne to the realm you rule o'er now 40 - In that ship with the archer carved at her prow: - - "And thither I'll bear an' it be my due, - Your father's son and his grandson too. - - "The famed White Ship is mine in the bay; - From Harfleur's harbor[275] she sails to-day, 45 - - "With masts fair-pennoned as Norman spears - And with fifty well-tried mariners." - - Quoth the King: "My ships are chosen each one, - But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son. - - "My son and daughter and fellowship 50 - Shall cross the water in the White Ship." - - The King set sail with the eve's south wind, - And soon he left that coast behind. - - The Prince and all his, a princely show, - Remained in the good White Ship to go. 55 - - With noble knights and with ladies fair, - With courtiers and sailors gathered there, - Three hundred living souls we were: - - And I Berold was the meanest hind[276] - In all that train to the Prince assign'd. 60 - - The Prince was a lawless shameless youth; - From his father's loins he sprang without ruth: - - Eighteen years till then had he seen, - And the devil's dues in him were eighteen. - - And now he cried: "Bring wine from below; 65 - Let the sailors revel ere yet they row: - - "Our speed shall o'ertake my father's flight - Though we sail from the harbor at midnight." - - The rowers made good cheer without check; - The lords and ladies obeyed his beck; 70 - The night was light and they danced on the deck. - - But at midnight's stroke they cleared the bay, - And the White Ship furrowed the water-way. - - The sails were set, and the oars kept tune - To the double flight of the ship and the moon: 75 - - Swifter and swifter the White Ship sped - Till she flew as the spirit flies from the dead: - - As white as a lily glimmered she - Like a ship's fair ghost upon the sea. - - And the Prince cried, "Friends, 'tis the hour to sing! 80 - Is a songbird's course so swift on the wing?" - - And under the winter stars' still throng, - From brown throats, white throats, merry and strong, - The knights and the ladies raised a song. - - A song,--nay, a shriek that rent the sky, 85 - That leaped o'er the deep!--the grievous cry - Of three hundred living that now must die. - - An instant shriek that sprang to the shock - As the ship's keel felt the sunken rock. - - 'Tis said that afar--a shrill strange sigh-- 90 - The King's ships heard it and knew not why. - - Pale Fitz-Stephen stood by the helm - 'Mid all those folk that the waves must whelm. - - A great King's heir for the waves to whelm - And the helpless pilot pale at the helm! 95 - - The ship was eager and sucked athirst, - By the stealthy stab of the sharp reef pierced, - - And like the moil[277] round a sinking cup, - The waters against her crowded up. - - A moment the pilot's senses spin,-- 100 - The next he snatched the Prince 'mid the din, - Cut the boat loose, and the youth leaped in. - - A few friends leaped with him, standing near. - "Row! the sea's smooth and the night is clear!" - - "What! none to be saved but these and I?" 105 - "Row, row as you'd live! All here must die!" - - Out of the churn of the choking ship, - Which the gulf grapples and the waves strip, - They struck with the strained oars' flash and dip. - - 'Twas then o'er the splitting bulwarks' brim 110 - The Prince's sister screamed to him. - - He gazed aloft still rowing apace, - And through the whirled surf he knew her face. - - To the toppling decks clave one and all - As a fly cleaves to a chamber-wall. 115 - - I Berold was clinging anear; - I prayed for myself and quaked with fear, - But I saw his eyes as he looked at her. - - He knew her face and he heard her cry, - And he said, "Put back! she must not die!" 120 - - And back with the current's force they reel - Like a leaf that's drawn to a water-wheel. - - 'Neath the ship's travail they scarce might float, - But he rose and stood in the rocking boat. - - Low the poor ship leaned on the tide: 125 - O'er the naked keel as she best might slide, - The sister toiled to the brother's side. - - He reached an oar to her from below, - And stiffened his arms to clutch her so. 130 - And "Saved!" was the cry from many a throat. - - And down to the boat they leaped and fell: - It turned as a bucket turns in a well, - And nothing was there but the surge and swell. - - The Prince that was and the King to come, 135 - There in an instant gone to his doom, - - In spite of all England's bended knee - And maugre[278] the Norman fealty! - - He was a Prince of lust and pride; - He showed no grace till the hour he died. 140 - - When he should be king, he oft would vow, - He'd yoke the peasant to his own plough. - O'er him the ships score their furrows now. - - God only knows where his soul did wake, - But I saw him die for his sister's sake. 145 - - By none but me can the tale be told, - The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. - (_Lands are swayed by a king on a throne._) - - 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, - Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 150 - (_The sea hath no king but God alone._) - - And now the end came o'er the waters' womb - Like the last great Day that's yet to come. - - With prayers in vain and curses in vain, - The White Ship sundered on the mid-main: 155 - - And what were men and what was a ship - Were toys and splinters in the sea's grip. - - I Berold was down in the sea; - And passing strange though the thing may be, - Of dreams then known I remember me. 160 - - Blithe is the shout on Harfleur's strand - When morning lights the sails to land: - - And blithe is Honfleur's[279] echoing gloam - When mothers call the children home: - - And high do the bells of Rouen beat 165 - When the Body of Christ[280] goes down the street. - - These things and the like were heard and shown - In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone; - - And when I rose, 'twas the sea did seem, - And not these things, to be all a dream. 170 - - The ship was gone and the crowd was gone, - And the deep shuddered and the moon shone: - - And in a strait grasp my arms did span - The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran; - And on it with me was another man. 175 - - Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky, - We told our names, that man and I. - - "O I am Godefroy l'Aigle hight,[281] - And son I am to a belted knight." - - "And I am Berold the butcher's son 180 - Who slays the beasts in Rouen town." - - Then cried we upon God's name, as we - Did drift on the bitter winter sea. - - But lo! a third man rose o'er the wave, - And we said, "Thank God! us three may He save!" 185 - - He clutched to the yard with panting stare, - And we looked and knew Fitz-Stephen there. - - He clung, and "What of the Prince?" quoth he. - "Lost, lost!" we cried. He cried, "Woe on me!" - And loosed his hold and sank through the sea. 190 - - And soul with soul again in that space - We two were together face to face: - - And each knew each, as the moment sped, - Less for one living than for one dead: - - And every still star overhead 195 - Seemed an eye that knew we were but dead. - - And the hours passed; till the noble's son - Sighed, "God be thy help! my strength's foredone[282]! - - "O farewell, friend, for I can no more!" - "Christ take thee!" I moaned; and his life was o'er. 200 - - Three hundred souls were all lost but one, - And I drifted over the sea alone. - - At last the morning rose on the sea - Like an angel's wing that beat tow'ds me. - - Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat; 205 - Half dead I hung, and might nothing note, - Till I woke sun-warmed in a fisher-boat. - - The sun was high o'er the eastern brim - As I praised God and gave thanks to Him. - - That day I told my tale to a priest, 210 - Who charged me, till the shrift[283] were releas'd, - That I should keep it in mine own breast. - - And with the priest I thence did fare - To King Henry's court at Winchester.[284] - - We spoke with the King's high chamberlain, 215 - And he wept and mourned again and again, - As if his own son had been slain: - - And round us ever there crowded fast - Great men with faces all aghast: - - And who so bold that might tell the thing 220 - Which now they knew to their lord the King? - Much woe I learned in their communing. - - The King had watched with a heart sore stirred - For two whole days, and this was the third: - - And still to all his court would he say, 225 - "What keeps my son so long away?" - - And they said: "The ports lie far and wide - That skirt the swell of the English tide; - - "And English cliffs are not more white - Than her women are, and scarce so light 230 - Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright; - - "And in some port that he reached from France - The Prince has lingered for his pleasaunce."[285] - - But once the King asked: "What distant cry - Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?" 235 - - And one said: "With suchlike shouts, pardie[286] - Do the fishers fling their nets at sea." - - And one: "Who knows not the shrieking quest - When the sea-mew misses its young from its nest?" - - 'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread 240 - Albeit they knew not what they said: - - But who should speak to-day of the thing - That all knew there except the King? - - Then pondering much they found a way, - And met round the King's high seat that day. 245 - - And the King sat with a heart sore stirred, - And seldom he spoke and seldom heard. - - 'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware - Of a little boy with golden hair, - - As bright as the golden poppy is 250 - That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss: - - Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in Spring, - And his garb black like the raven's wing. - - Nothing heard but his foot through the hall, - For now the lords were silent all. 255 - - And the King wondered, and said, "Alack! - Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black? - - "Why, sweet heart, do you pace through the hall - As though my court were a funeral?" - - Then lowly knelt the child at the dais,[287] 260 - And looked up weeping in the King's face. - - "O wherefore black, O King, ye may say, - For white is the hue of death to-day. - - "Your son and all his fellowship - Lie low in the sea with the White Ship." 265 - - King Henry fell as a man struck dead; - And speechless still he stared from his bed - When to him next day my rede[288] I read. - - There's many an hour must needs beguile - A King's high heart that he should smile,-- 270 - - Full many a lordly hour, full fain - Of his realm's rule and pride of his reign:-- - - But this King never smiled again. - - By none but me can the tale be told, - The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. 275 - (_Lands are swayed by a king on a throne._) - 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, - Yet the tale can be told by none but me. - (_The sea hath no king but God alone._) - - - - -WILLIAM MORRIS - - -ATALANTA'S RACE - -ARGUMENT - - Atalanta, daughter of King Schoeneus, not willing to lose - her virgin's estate, made it a law to all suitors that - they should run a race with her in the public place, and - if they failed to overcome her should die unrevenged; and - thus many brave men perished. At last came Milanion, the - son of Amphidamas, who, outrunning her with the help of - Venus, gained the virgin and wedded her. - - Through thick Arcadian[289] woods a hunter went, - Following the beasts up, on a fresh spring day; - But since his horn-tipped bow, but seldom bent, - Now at the noon-tide naught had happed to slay, - Within a vale he called his hounds away, 5 - Hearkening the echoes of his lone voice cling - About the cliffs and through the beech-trees ring. - - But when they ended, still awhile he stood, - And but the sweet familiar thrush could hear, - And all the day-long noises of the wood, 10 - And o'er the dry leaves of the vanished year - His hounds' feet pattering as they drew anear, - And heavy breathing from their heads low hung, - To see the mighty cornel[290] bow unstrung. - - Then smiling did he turn to leave the place, 15 - But with his first step some new fleeting thought - A shadow cast across his sunburnt face; - I think the golden net that April brought - From some warm world his wavering soul had caught; - For, sunk in vague sweet longing, did he go 20 - Betwixt the trees with doubtful steps and slow. - - Yet howsoever slow he went, at last - The trees grew sparser, and the wood was done; - Whereon one farewell, backward look he cast, - Then, turning round to see what place was won, 25 - With shaded eyes looked underneath the sun, - And o'er green meads and new-turned furrows brown - Beheld the gleaming of King Schoeneus'[291] town. - - So thitherward he turned, and on each side - The folk were busy on the teeming land, 30 - And man and maid from the brown furrows cried, - Or midst the newly blossomed vines did stand, - And as the rustic weapon pressed the hand - Thought of the nodding of the well-filled ear, - Or how the knife the heavy bunch should shear. 35 - - Merry it was: about him sung the birds, - The spring flowers bloomed along the firm dry road, - The sleek-skinned mothers of the sharp-horned herds - Now for the barefoot milking-maidens lowed; - While from the freshness of his blue abode, 40 - Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget, - The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet. - - Through such fair things unto the gates he came, - And found them open, as though peace were there; - Wherethrough, unquestioned of his race or name, 45 - He entered, and along the streets 'gan fare, - Which at the first of folk were wellnigh bare; - But pressing on, and going more hastily, - Men hurrying too he 'gan at last to see. - - Following the last of these, he still pressed on, 50 - Until an open space he came unto, - Where wreaths of fame had oft been lost and won, - For feats of strength folk there were wont to do. - And now our hunter looked for something new, - Because the whole wide space was bare, and stilled 55 - The high seats were, with eager people filled. - - There with the others to a seat he gat, - Whence he beheld a broidered canopy, - 'Neath which in fair array King Schoeneus sat - Upon his throne with councillors thereby; 60 - And underneath this well-wrought seat and high, - He saw a golden image of the sun,[292] - A silver image of the Fleet-foot One.[293] - - A brazen altar stood beneath their feet - Whereon a thin flame flickered in the wind; 65 - Nigh this a herald clad in raiment meet - Made ready even now his horn to wind, - By whom a huge man held a sword, intwined - With yellow flowers; these stood a little space - From off the altar, nigh the starting-place. 70 - - And there two runners did the sign abide - Foot set to foot,--a young man slim and fair, - Crisp-haired, well-knit, with firm limbs often tried - In places where no man his strength may spare; - Dainty his thin coat was, and on his hair 75 - A golden circlet of renown he wore, - And in his hand an olive garland bore. - - But on this day with whom shall he contend? - A maid stood by him like Diana[294] clad - When in the woods she lists[295] her bow to bend, 80 - Too fair for one to look on and be glad, - Who scarcely yet has thirty summer's had, - If he must still behold her from afar; - Too fair to let the world live free from war. - - She seemed all earthly matters to forget; 85 - Of all tormenting lines her face was clear, - Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were set - Calm and unmoved as though no soul were near, - But her foe trembled as a man in fear; - Nor from her loveliness one moment turned 90 - His anxious face with fierce desire that burned. - - Now through the hush there broke the trumpet's clang - Just as the setting sun made eventide. - Then from light feet a spurt of dust there sprang, - And swiftly were they running side by side; 95 - But silent did the thronging folk abide - Until the turning-post was reached at last, - And round about it still abreast they passed. - - But when the people saw how close they ran, - When half-way to the starting-point they were, 100 - A cry of joy broke forth, whereat the man - Headed the white-foot runner, and drew near - Unto the very end of all his fear; - And scarce his straining feet the ground could feel, - And bliss unhoped for o'er his heart 'gan steal. 105 - - But midst the loud victorious shouts he heard - Her footsteps drawing nearer, and the sound - Of fluttering raiment, and thereat afeard - His flushed and eager face he turned around, - And even then he felt her past him bound 110 - Fleet as the wind, but scarcely saw her there - Till on the goal she laid her fingers fair. - - There stood she breathing like a little child - Amid some warlike clamor laid asleep, - For no victorious joy her red lips smiled; 115 - Her cheek its wonted freshness did but keep; - No glance lit up her clear gray eyes and deep, - Though some divine thought softened all her face - As once more rang the trumpet through the place. - - But her late foe stopped short amidst his course, 120 - One moment gazed upon her piteously, - Then with a groan his lingering feet did force - To leave the spot whence he her eyes could see; - And, changed like one who knows his time must be - But short and bitter, without any word 125 - He knelt before the bearer of the sword; - - Then high rose up the gleaming deadly blade, - Bared of its flowers, and through the crowded place - Was silence how, and midst of it the maid - Went by the poor wretch at a gentle pace, 130 - And he to hers upturned his sad white face; - Nor did his eyes behold another sight - Ere on his soul there fell eternal night. - - * * * * * - - So was the pageant ended, and all folk, - Talking of this and that familiar thing 135 - In little groups from that sad concourse broke, - For now the shrill bats were upon the wing, - And soon dark night would slay the evening, - And in dark gardens sang the nightingale - Her little-heeded, oft-repeated tale. 140 - - And with the last of all the hunter went, - Who, wondering at the strange sight he had seen, - Prayed an old man to tell him what it meant, - Both why the vanquished man so slain had been, - And if the maiden were an earthly queen, 145 - Or rather what much more she seemed to be, - No sharer in the world's mortality. - - "Stranger," said he, "I pray she soon may die - Whose lovely youth has slain so many an one! - King Schoeneus' daughter is she verily, 150 - Who when her eyes first looked upon the sun - Was fain to end her life but new begun, - For he had vowed to leave but men alone - Sprung from his loins when he from earth was gone. - - "Therefore he bade one leave her in the wood, 155 - And let wild things deal with her as they might, - But this being done, some cruel god thought good - To save her beauty in the world's despite: - Folk say that her, so delicate and white - As now she is, a rough, root-grubbing bear 160 - Amidst her shapeless cubs at first did rear. - - "In course of time the woodfolk slew her nurse, - And to their rude abode the youngling brought, - And reared her up to be a kingdom's curse, - Who grown a woman, of no kingdom thought, 165 - But armed and swift, 'mid beasts destruction wrought, - Nor spared two shaggy centaur kings to slay, - To whom her body seemed an easy prey. - - "So to this city, led by fate, she came - Whom known by signs, whereof I cannot tell, 170 - King Schoeneus for his child at last did claim, - Nor otherwise since that day doth she dwell, - Sending too many a noble soul to hell.-- - What! thine eyes glisten! what then, thinkest thou - Her shining head unto the yoke to bow? 175 - - "Listen, my son, and love some other maid, - For she the saffron gown[296] will never wear, - And on no flower-strewn couch shall she be laid, - Nor shall her voice make glad a lover's ear: - Yet if of Death thou hast not any fear, 180 - Yea, rather, if thou lovest him utterly, - Thou still may'st woo her ere thou comest to die, - - "Like him that on this day thou sawest lie dead; - For, fearing as I deem the sea-born one,[297] - The maid has vowed e'en such a man to wed 185 - As in the course her swift feet can outrun, - But whoso fails herein, his days are done: - He came the nighest that was slain to-day, - Although with him I deem she did but play. - - "Behold, such mercy Atalanta gives 190 - To those that long to win her loveliness; - Be wise! be sure that many a maid there lives - Gentler than she, of beauty little less, - Whose swimming eyes thy loving words shall bless, - When in some garden, knee set close to knee, 195 - Thou sing'st the song that love may teach to thee." - - So to the hunter spake that ancient man, - And left him for his own home presently: - But he turned round, and through the moonlight wan - Reached the thick wood, and there, 'twixt tree and tree 200 - Distraught he passed the long night feverishly, - 'Twixt sleep and waking, and at dawn arose - To wage hot war against his speechless foes. - - There to the hart's flank seemed his shaft to grow, - As panting down the broad green glades he flew, 205 - There by his horn the Dryads[298] well might know - His thrust against the bear's heart had been true, - And there Adonis' bane[299] his javelin slew, - But still in vain through rough and smooth he went, - For none the more his restlessness was spent. 210 - - So wandering, he to Argive[300] cities came, - And in the lists with valiant men he stood, - And by great deeds he won him praise and fame, - And heaps of wealth for little-valued blood; - But none of all these things, or life, seemed good 215 - Unto his heart, where still unsatisfied - A ravenous longing warred with fear and pride. - - Therefore it happed when but a month had gone - Since he had left King Schoeneus' city old, - In hunting-gear again, again alone 220 - The forest-bordered meads did he behold, - Where still mid thoughts of August's quivering gold - Folk hoed the wheat, and clipped the vine in trust - Of faint October's purple-foaming must.[301] - - And once again he passed the peaceful gate, 225 - While to his beating heart his lips did lie, - That, owning not victorious love and fate, - Said, half aloud, "And here too must I try, - To win of alien men the mastery, - And gather for my head fresh meed of fame, 230 - And cast new glory on my father's name." - - In spite of that, how beat his heart, when first - Folk said to him, "And art thou come to see - That which still makes our city's name accurst - Among all mothers for its cruelty? 235 - Then know indeed that fate is good to thee - Because to-morrow a new luckless one - Against the whitefoot maid is pledged to run." - - So on the morrow with no curious eyes - As once he did, that piteous sight he saw, 240 - Nor did that wonder in his heart arise - As toward the goal the conquering maid 'gan draw, - Nor did he gaze upon her eyes with awe, - Too full the pain of longing filled his heart - For fear or wonder there to have a part. 245 - - But O, how long the night was ere it went! - How long it was before the dawn begun - Showed to the wakening birds the sun's intent - That not in darkness should the world be done! - And then, and then, how long before the sun 250 - Bade silently the toilers of the earth - Get forth to fruitless cares or empty mirth! - - And long it seemed that in the market-place - He stood and saw the chaffering folk go by, - Ere from the ivory throne King Schoeneus' face 255 - Looked down upon the murmur royally, - But then came trembling that the time was nigh - When he midst pitying looks his love must claim, - And jeering voices must salute his name. - - But as the throng he pierced to gain the throne, 260 - His alien face distraught and anxious told - What hopeless errand he was bound upon, - And, each to each, folk whispered to behold - His godlike limbs; nay, and one woman old - As he went by must pluck him by the sleeve 265 - And pray him yet that wretched love to leave. - - For sidling up she said, "Canst thou live twice, - Fair son? canst thou have joyful youth again, - That thus goest to the sacrifice, - Thyself the victim? nay then, all in vain, 270 - Thy mother bore her longing and her pain, - And one more maiden on the earth must dwell - Hopeless of joy, nor fearing death and hell. - - "O fool, thou knowest not the compact then - That with the three-formed goddess she has made 275 - To keep her from the loving lips of men, - And in no saffron gown to be arrayed, - And therewithal with glory to be paid, - And love of her the moonlit river sees - White 'gainst the shadow of the formless trees. 280 - - "Come back, and I myself will pray for thee - Unto the sea-born framer of delights, - To give thee her who on the earth may be - The fairest stirrer-up to death and fights, - To quench with hopeful days and joyous nights 285 - The flame that doth thy youthful heart consume: - Come back, nor give thy beauty to the tomb." - - How should he listen to her earnest speech? - Words, such as he not once or twice had said - Unto himself, whose meaning scarce could reach 290 - The firm abode of that sad hardihead-- - He turned about, and through the market stead - Swiftly he passed, until before the throne - In the cleared space he stood at last alone. - - Then said the King, "Stranger, what dost thou here? 295 - Have any of my folk done ill to thee? - Or art thou of the forest men in fear? - Or art thou of the sad fraternity - Who still will strive my daughter's mates to be, - Staking their lives to win to earthly bliss, 300 - The lonely maid, the friend of Artemis?" - - "O King," he said, "thou sayest the word indeed; - Nor will I quit the strife till I have won - My sweet delight, or death to end my need. - And know that I am called Milanion, 305 - Of King Amphidamas the well-loved son: - So fear not that to thy old name, O King, - Much loss or shame my victory will bring." - - "Nay, Prince," said Schoeneus, "welcome to this land - Thou wert indeed, if thou wert here to try 310 - Thy strength 'gainst some one mighty of his hand; - Nor would we grudge thee well-won mastery. - But now, why wilt thou come to me to die, - And at my door lay down thy luckless head, - Swelling the band of the unhappy dead, 315 - - "Whose curses even now my heart doth fear? - Lo, I am old, and know what life can be, - And what a bitter thing is death anear. - O Son! be wise, and hearken unto me, - And if no other can be dear to thee, 320 - At least as now, yet is the world full wide, - And bliss in seeming hopeless hearts may hide: - - "But if thou losest life, then all is lost." - "Nay, King," Milanion said, "thy words are vain. - Doubt not that I have counted well the cost. 325 - But say, on what day will thou that I gain - Fulfilled delight, or death to end my pain? - Right glad were I if it could be to-day, - And all my doubts at rest forever lay." - - "Nay," said King Schoeneus, "thus it shall not be, - But rather shalt thou let a month go by, 331 - And weary with thy prayers for victory - What god thou know'st the kindest and most nigh. - So doing, still perchance thou shalt not die: - And with my good-will wouldst thou have the maid, 335 - For of the equal gods I grow afraid. - - "And until then, O Prince, be thou my guest, - And all these troublous things awhile forget." - "Nay," said he, "couldst thou give my soul good rest, - And on mine head a sleepy garland set, 340 - Then had I 'scaped the meshes of the net, - Nor shouldst thou hear from me another word; - But now, make sharp thy fearful heading sword. - - "Yet will I do what son of man may do, - And promise all the gods may most desire, 345 - That to myself I may at least be true; - And on that day my heart and limbs so tire, - With utmost strain and measureless desire, - That, at the worst, I may but fall asleep - When in the sunlight round that sword shall sweep." 350 - - He went with that, nor anywhere would bide, - But unto Argos[302] restlessly did wend; - And there, as one who lays all hope aside, - Because the leech has said his life must end, - Silent farewell he bade to foe and friend, 355 - And took his way unto the restless sea, - For there he deemed his rest and help might be. - - * * * * * - - Upon the shore of Argolis there stands - A temple to the goddess that he sought, - That, turned unto the lion-bearing lands, 360 - Fenced from the east, of cold winds hath no thought, - Though to no homestead there the sheaves are brought, - No groaning press torments the close-clipped murk, - Lonely the fane stands, far from all men's work. - - Pass through a close, set thick with myrtle-trees, 365 - Through the brass doors that guard the holy place, - And entering, hear the washing of the seas - That twice a day rise high above the base, - And with the southwest urging them, embrace - The marble feet of her that standeth there, 370 - That shrink not, naked though they be and fair. - - Small is the fane through which the sea-wind sings - About Queen Venus'[303] well-wrought image white, - But hung around are many precious things, - The gifts of those who, longing for delight, 375 - Have hung them there within the goddess' sight, - And in return have taken at her hands - The living treasures of the Grecian lands. - - And thither now has come Milanion, - And showed unto the priests' wide-open eyes 380 - Gifts fairer than all those that there have shown, - Silk cloths, inwrought with Indian fantasies, - And bowls inscribed with sayings of the wise - Above the deeds of foolish living things, - And mirrors fit to be the gifts of kings. 385 - - And now before the Sea-born One he stands, - By the sweet veiling smoke made dim and soft, - And while the incense trickles from his hands, - And while the odorous smoke-wreaths hang aloft, - Thus doth he pray to her: "O Thou, who oft 390 - Hast holpen[304] man and maid in their distress, - Despise me not for this my wretchedness! - - "O goddess, among us who dwell below, - Kings and great men, great for a little while, - Have pity on the lowly heads that bow, 395 - Nor hate the hearts that love them without guile; - Wilt thou be worse than these, and is thy smile - A vain device of him who set thee here, - An empty dream of some artificer? - - "O great one, some men love, and are ashamed; 400 - Some men are weary of the bonds of love; - Yea, and by some men lightly art thou blamed, - That from thy toils their lives they cannot move, - And 'mid the ranks of men their manhood prove. - Alas! O goddess, if thou slayest me 405 - What new immortal can I serve but thee? - - "Think then, will it bring honor to thy head - If folk say, 'Everything aside he cast - And to all fame and honor was he dead, - And to his one hope now is dead at last, 410 - Since all unholpen he is gone and past: - Ah, the gods love not man, for certainly, - He to his helper did not cease to cry." - - "Nay, but thou wilt help; they who died before - Not single-hearted as I deem came here, 415 - Therefore unthanked they laid their gifts before - Thy stainless feet, still shivering with their fear, - Lest in their eyes their true thought might appear, - Who sought to be the lords of that fair town, - Dreaded of men and winners of renown. 420 - - "O Queen, thou knowest I pray not for this: - O, set us down together in some place - Where not a voice can break our heaven of bliss, - Where naught but rocks and I can see her face, - Softening beneath the marvel of thy grace, 425 - Where not a foot our vanished steps can track,-- - The golden age, the golden age come back! - - "O fairest, hear me now, who do thy will, - Plead for thy rebel that she be not slain, - But live and love and be thy servant still: 430 - Ah, give her joy and take away my pain, - And thus two long-enduring servants gain. - An easy thing this is to do for me, - What need of my vain words to weary thee! - - "But none the less this place will I not leave 435 - Until I needs must go my death to meet, - Or at thy hands some happy sign receive - That in great joy we twain may one day greet - Thy presence here and kiss thy silver feet, - Such as we deem thee, fair beyond all words, 440 - Victorious o'er our servants and our lords." - - Then from the altar back a space he drew, - But from the Queen turned not his face away, - But 'gainst a pillar leaned, until the blue - That arched the sky, at ending of the day, 445 - Was turned to ruddy gold and changing gray, - And clear, but low, the nigh-ebbed windless sea - In the still evening murmured ceaselessly. - - And there he stood when all the sun was down, - Nor had he moved, when the dim golden light, 450 - Like the far lustre of a godlike town, - Had left the world to seeming hopeless night, - Nor would he move the more when wan moonlight - Streamed through the pillars for a little while, - And lighted up the white Queen's changeless smile. 455 - - Naught noted he the shallow flowing sea - As step by step it set the wrack a-swim, - The yellow torchlight nothing noted he - Wherein with fluttering gown and half-bared limb - The temple damsels sung their midnight hymn, 460 - And naught the doubled stillness of the fane - When they were gone and all was hushed again. - - But when the waves had touched the marble base, - And steps the fish swim over twice a day, - The dawn beheld him sunken in his place 465 - Upon the floor; and sleeping there he lay, - Not heeding aught the little jets of spray - The roughened sea brought nigh, across him cast, - For as one dead all thought from him had passed. - - Yet long before the sun had showed his head, 470 - Long ere the varied hangings on the wall - Had gained once more their blue and green and red, - He rose as one some well-known sign doth call - When war upon the city's gates doth fall, - And scarce like one fresh risen out of sleep, 475 - He 'gan again his broken watch to keep. - - Then he turned round; not for the sea-gull's cry - That wheeled above the temple in his flight, - Not for the fresh south-wind that lovingly - Breathed on the new-born day and dying night, 480 - But some strange hope 'twixt fear and great delight - Drew round his face, now flushed, now pale and wan, - And still constrained his eyes the sea to scan. - - Now a faint light lit up the southern sky, - Not sun or moon, for all the world was gray, 485 - But this a bright cloud seemed, that drew anigh, - Lighting the dull waves that beneath it lay - As toward the temple still it took its way, - And still grew greater, till Milanion - Saw naught for dazzling light that round him shone. 490 - - But as he staggered with his arms outspread, - Delicious unnamed odors breathed around, - For languid happiness he bowed his head, - And with wet eyes sank down upon the ground, - Nor wished for aught, nor any dream he found 495 - To give him reason for that happiness, - Or make him ask more knowledge of his bliss. - - At last his eyes were cleared, and he could see - Through happy tears the goddess face to face - With that faint image of Divinity, 500 - Whose well-wrought smile and dainty changeless grace - Until that morn so gladdened all the place; - Then he unwitting cried aloud her name, - And covered up his eyes for fear and shame. - - But through the stillness he her voice could hear 505 - Piercing his heart with joy scarce bearable, - That said, "Milanion, wherefore dost thou fear? - I am not hard to those who love me well; - List to what I a second time will tell, - And thou mayest hear perchance, and live to save 510 - The cruel maiden from a loveless grave. - - "See, by my feet three golden apples lie-- - Such fruit among the heavy roses falls, - Such fruit my watchful damsels carefully - Store up within the best loved of my walls, 515 - Ancient Damascus,[305] where the lover calls - Above my unseen head, and faint and light - The rose-leaves flutter round me in the night. - - "And note, that these are not alone most fair - With heavenly gold, but longing strange they bring 520 - Unto the hearts of men, who will not care, - Beholding these, for any once-loved thing - Till round the shining sides their fingers cling. - And thou shalt see thy well-girt swiftfoot maid - By sight of these amid her glory stayed. 525 - - "For bearing these within a scrip with thee, - When first she heads thee from the starting-place - Cast down the first one for her eyes to see, - And when she turns aside make on apace, - And if again she heads thee in the race 530 - Spare not the other two to cast aside - If she not long enough behind will bide. - - "Farewell, and when has come the happy time - That she Diana's raiment must unbind - And all the world seems blessed with Saturn's[306] clime, 535 - And thou with eager arms about her twined - Beholdest first her gray eyes growing kind, - Surely, O trembler, thou shalt scarcely then - Forget the Helper of unhappy men." - - Milanion raised his head at this last word, 540 - For now so soft and kind she seemed to be - No longer of her Godhead was he feared; - Too late he looked, for nothing could he see - But the white image glimmering doubtfully - In the departing twilight cold and gray, 545 - And those three apples on the steps that lay. - - These then he caught up quivering with delight, - Yet fearful lest it all might be a dream, - And though aweary with the watchful night, - And sleepless nights of longing, still did deem 550 - He could not sleep; but yet the first sunbeam - That smote the fane across the heaving deep - Shone on him laid in calm untroubled sleep. - - But little ere the noontide did he rise, - And why he felt so happy scarce could tell 555 - Until the gleaming apples met his eyes. - Then, leaving the fair place where this befell, - Oft he looked back as one who loved it well, - Then homeward to the haunts of men 'gan wend - To bring all things unto a happy end. 560 - - * * * * * - - Now has the lingering month at last gone by, - Again are all folk round the running-place, - Nor other seems the dismal pageantry - Than heretofore, but that another face - Looks o'er the smooth course ready for the race, 565 - For now, beheld of all, Milanion - Stands on the spot he twice has looked upon. - - But yet--what change is this that holds the maid? - Does she indeed see in his glittering eye - More than disdain of the sharp shearing blade, 570 - Some happy hope of help and victory? - The others seemed to say, "We come to die, - Look down upon us for a little while, - That, dead, we may bethink us of thy smile." - - But he--what look of mastery was this 575 - He cast on her? why were his lips so red? - Why was his face so flushed with happiness? - So looks not one who deems himself but dead, - E'en if to death he bows a willing head; - So rather looks a god well pleased to find 580 - Some earthly damsel fashioned to his mind. - - Why must she drop her lids before his gaze, - And even as she casts adown her eyes - Redden to note his eager glance of praise, - And wish that she were clad in other guise? 585 - Why must the memory to her heart arise - Of things unnoticed when they first were heard, - Some lover's song, some answering maiden's word? - - What makes these longings, vague, without a name, - And this vain pity never felt before, 590 - This sudden languor, this contempt of fame, - This tender sorrow for the time past o'er, - These doubts that grow each minute more and more? - Why does she tremble as the time grows near, - And weak defeat and woful victory fear? 595 - - But while she seemed to hear her beating heart, - Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out, - And forth they sprang; and she must play her part; - Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, - Though, slackening once, she turned her head about, 600 - But then she cried aloud and faster fled - Than e'er before, and all men deemed him dead. - - But with no sound he raised aloft his hand, - And thence what seemed a ray of light there flew - And past the maid rolled on along the sand; 605 - Then trembling she her feet together drew, - And in her heart a strong desire there grew - To have the toy; some god she thought had given - That gift to her, to make of earth a heaven. - - Then from the course with eager steps she ran, 610 - And in her odorous bosom laid the gold. - But when she turned again, the great-limbed man - Now well ahead she failed not to behold, - And, mindful of her glory waxing cold, - Sprang up and followed him in hot pursuit, 615 - Though with one hand she touched the golden fruit. - - Note, too, the bow that she was wont to bear - She laid aside to grasp the glittering prize, - And o'er her shoulder from the quiver fair - Three arrows fell and lay before her eyes 620 - Unnoticed, as amidst the people's cries - She sprang to head the strong Milanion, - Who now the turning-post had well-nigh won. - - But as he set his mighty hand on it - White fingers underneath his own were laid, 625 - And white limbs from his dazzled eyes did flit; - Then he the second fruit cast by the maid, - But she ran on awhile, then as afraid - Wavered and stopped, and turned and made no stay, - Until the globe with its bright fellow lay. 630 - - Then, as a troubled glance she cast around, - Now far ahead the Argive could she see, - And in her garment's hem one hand she wound - To keep the double prize, and strenuously - Sped o'er the course, and little doubt had she 635 - To win the day, though now but scanty space - Was left betwixt him and the winning-place. - - Short was the way unto such winged feet, - Quickly she gained upon him, till at last - He turned about her eager eyes to meet 640 - And from his hand the third fair apple cast. - She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast - After the prize that should her bliss fulfil, - That in her hand it lay ere it was still. - - Nor did she rest, but turned about to win, 645 - Once more, an unblest woful victory-- - And yet--and yet--why does her breath begin - To fail her, and her feet drag heavily? - Why fails she now to see if far or nigh - The goal is? why do her gray eyes grow dim? 650 - Why do these tremors run through every limb? - - She spreads her arms abroad some stay to find, - Else must she fall, indeed, and findeth this, - A strong man's arms about her body twined. - Nor may she shudder now to feel his kiss, 655 - So wrapped she is in new unbroken bliss: - Made happy that the foe the prize hath won, - She weeps glad tears for all her glory done. - - * * * * * - - Shatter the trumpet, hew adown the posts! - Upon the brazen altar break the sword, 660 - And scatter incense to appease the ghosts - Of those who died here by their own award. - Bring forth the image of the mighty Lord, - And her who unseen o'er the runners hung, - And did a deed forever to be sung. 665 - - Here are the gathered folk, make no delay, - Open King Schoeneus' well-filled treasury, - Bring out the gifts long hid from light of day, - The golden bowls o'erwrought with imagery, - Gold chains, and unguents brought from over sea, 670 - The saffron gown the old Phoenician[307] brought, - Within the temple of the Goddess wrought. - - O ye, O damsels, who shall never see - Her, that Love's servant bringeth now to you, - Returning from another victory, 675 - In some cool bower do all that now is due! - Since she in token of her service new - Shall give to Venus offerings rich enow, - Her maiden zone, her arrows, and her bow. - - - - -HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW - - -THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS - - It was the schooner Hesperus, - That sailed the wintry sea; - And the skipper had taken his little daughtčr, - To bear him company. - - Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 5 - Her cheeks like the dawn of day, - And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, - That ope in the month of May. - - The skipper he stood beside the helm, - His pipe was in his mouth, 10 - And he watched how the veering flaw did blow - The smoke now West, now South. - - Then up and spake an old sailňr, - Had sailed the Spanish Main, - "I pray thee, put into yonder port, 15 - For I fear a hurricane. - - "Last night, the moon had a golden ring, - And to-night no moon we see!" - The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, - And a scornful laugh laughed he. 20 - - Colder and louder blew the wind, - A gale from the Northeast; - The snow fell hissing in the brine, - And the billows frothed like yeast. - - Down came the storm, and smote amain, 25 - The vessel in its strength; - She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, - Then leaped her cable's length. - - "Come hither! come hither! my little daughtčr, - And do not tremble so; 30 - For I can weather the roughest gale, - That ever wind did blow." - - He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat - Against the stinging blast; - He cut a rope from a broken spar, 35 - And bound her to the mast. - - "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, - O say, what may it be?" - "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"-- - And he steered for the open sea. 40 - - "O father! I hear the sound of guns, - O say, what may it be?" - "Some ship in distress, that cannot live - In such an angry sea!" - - "O father! I see a gleaming light, 45 - O say, what may it be?" - But the father answered never a word, - A frozen corpse was he. - - Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, - With his face turned to the skies, 50 - The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow - On his fixed and glassy eyes. - - Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed - That savčd she might be; - And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, - On the Lake of Galilee. 56 - - And fast through the midnight dark and drear, - Through the whistling sleet and snow, - Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept - Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 60 - - And ever the fitful gusts between, - A sound came from the land; - It was the sound of the trampling surf, - On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. - - The breakers were right beneath her bows, 65 - She drifted a dreary wreck, - And a whooping billow swept the crew - Like icicles from her deck. - - She struck where the white and fleecy waves - Looked soft as carded wool, 70 - But the cruel rocks, they gored her side - Like the horns of an angry bull. - - Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, - With the masts went by the board; - Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 75 - Ho! ho! the breakers roared! - - At daybreak on the bleak sea-beach, - A fisherman stood aghast, - To see the form of a maiden fair, - Lashed close to a drifting mast. 80 - - The salt-sea was frozen on her breast, - The salt tears in her eyes; - And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, - On the billows fall and rise. - - Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 85 - In the midnight and the snow! - Christ save us all from a death like this, - On the reef of Norman's Woe! - - - - -PAUL REVERE'S RIDE - - Listen, my children, and you shall hear - Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,[308] - On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; - Hardly a man is now alive - Who remembers that famous day and year. 5 - - He said to his friend, "If the British march - By land or sea from the town to-night, - Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch - Of the North Church[309] tower as a signal light,-- - One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 10 - And I on the opposite shore will be, - Ready to ride and spread the alarm - Through every Middlesex village and farm, - For the country-folk to be up and arm." - - Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar 15 - Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, - Just as the moon rose over the bay, - Where swinging wide at her moorings lay - The Somerset, British man-of-war; - A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 20 - Across the moon like a prison bar - And a huge black hulk, that was magnified - By its own reflection in the tide. - - Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street, - Wanders and watches with eager ears, 25 - Till in the silence around him he hears - The muster of men at the barrack door, - The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, - And the measured tread of the grenadiers, - Marching down to their boats on the shore. 30 - - Then he climbed to the tower of the church, - Up the wooden stairs with stealthy tread, - To the belfry-chamber overhead, - And startled the pigeons from their perch - On the sombre rafters, that round him made 35 - Masses and moving shapes of shade,-- - Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, - To the highest window in the wall, - Where he paused to listen and look down - A moment on the roofs of the town, 40 - And the moonlight flowing over all. - - Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, - In their night-encampment on the hill, - Wrapped in silence so deep and still - That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 45 - The watchful night-wind, as it went - Creeping along from tent to tent, - And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" - A moment only he feels the spell - Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 50 - Of the lonely belfry and the dead; - For suddenly all his thoughts are bent - On a shadowy something far away, - Where the river widens to meet the bay,-- - A line of black that bends and floats 55 - On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. - - Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, - Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride - On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. - Now he patted his horse's side, 60 - Now gazed at the landscape far and near, - Then impetuous, stamped the earth, - And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; - But mostly he watched with eager search - The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 65 - As it rose above the graves on the hill, - Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. - And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height - A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! - He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 70 - But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight - A second lamp in the belfry burns! - - A hurry of hoofs in a village street, - A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, - And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 75 - Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; - That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, - The fate of a nation was riding that night; - And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, - Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 80 - - He has left the village and mounted the steep, - And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, - Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; - And under the alders, that skirt its edge, - Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 85 - Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. - - It was twelve by the village clock - When he crossed the bridge into Medford[310] town. - He heard the crowing of the cock, - And the barking of the farmer's dog, 90 - And felt the damp of the river fog, - That rises after the sun goes down. - - It was one by the village clock, - When he galloped into Lexington. - He saw the gilded weathercock 95 - Swim in the moonlight as he passed, - And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, - Gaze at him with a spectral glare, - As if they already stood aghast - At the bloody work they would look upon. 100 - - It was two by the village clock, - When he came to the bridge in Concord[311] town. - He heard the bleating of the flock, - And the twitter of birds among the trees, - And felt the breath of the morning breeze 105 - Blowing over the meadows brown. - And one was safe and asleep in his bed - Who at the bridge would be first to fall, - Who that day would be lying dead, - Pierced by a British musket-ball. 110 - - You know the rest. In the books you have read, - How the British Regulars fired and fled,-- - How the farmers gave them ball for ball, - From behind each fence and farmyard wall, - Chasing the red-coats down the lane, 115 - Then crossing the fields to emerge again - Under the trees at the turn of the road, - And only pausing to fire and load. - - So through the night rode Paul Revere; - And so through the night went his cry of alarm 120 - To every Middlesex village and farm,-- - A cry of defiance and not of fear, - A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, - And a word that shall echo forevermore! - For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 125 - Through all our history, to the last, - In the hour of darkness and peril and need, - The people will waken and listen to hear - The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, - And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 130 - - - - -JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER - - -SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE - - Of all the rides since the birth of time, - Told in story or sung in rhyme,-- - On Apuleius's Golden Ass,[312] - Or one-eyed Calender's horse of brass,[313] - Witch astride of a human back, 5 - Islam's prophet on Al-Borák,[314]-- - The strangest ride that ever was sped - Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead! - Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, - Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 10 - By the women of Marblehead! - - Body of turkey, head of owl, - Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, - Feathered and ruffled in every part, - Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 15 - Scores of women, old and young, - Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, - Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, - Shouting and singing the shrill refrain: - "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 20 - Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt - By the women o' Morble'ead!" - - Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, - Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, - Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 25 - Bacchus[315] round some antique vase, - Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, - Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, - With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, - Over and over the Mćnads[316] sang: 30 - "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, - Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt - By the women o' Morble'ead!" - - Small pity for him!--He sailed away - From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay,[317]-- 35 - Sailed away from a sinking wreck, - With his own town's-people on her deck! - "Lay by! lay by!" they called to him. - Back he answered, "Sink or swim! - Brag of your catch of fish again!" 40 - And off he sailed through the fog and rain! - Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, - Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart - By the women of Marblehead! - - Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 45 - That wreck shall lie forevermore. - Mother and sister, wife and maid, - Looked from the rocks of Marblehead - Over the moaning and rainy sea,-- - Looked for the coming that might not be! 50 - What did the winds and the sea-birds say - Of the cruel captain who sailed away?-- - Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, - Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart - By the women of Marblehead! 55 - - Through the street, on either side, - Up flew windows, doors swung wide; - Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, - Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. - Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 60 - Hulks of old sailors run aground, - Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane, - And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain: - "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, - Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 65 - By the women o' Morble'ead!" - - Sweetly along the Salem road - Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. - Little the wicked skipper knew - Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. 70 - Riding there in his sorry trim, - Like an Indian idol glum and grim, - Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear - Of voices shouting, far and near: - "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 75 - Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt - By the women o' Morble'ead!" - - "Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried,-- - "What to me is this noisy ride? - What is the shame that clothes the skin 80 - To the nameless horror that lives within? - Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, - And hear a cry from a reeling deck! - Hate me and curse me,--I only dread - The hand of God and the face of the dead!" 85 - Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, - Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart - By the women of Marblehead! - - Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea - Said, "God has touched him! why should we?" 90 - Said an old wife mourning her only son, - "Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!" - So with soft relentings and rude excuse, - Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, - And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 95 - And left him alone with his shame and sin. - Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, - Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart - By the women of Marblehead! - - - - -BARCLAY OF URY - - Up the streets of Aberdeen[318] - By the kirk[319] and college green - Rode the Laird[320] of Ury. - Close behind him, close beside, - Foul of mouth and evil-eyed, 5 - Pressed the mob in fury. - - Flouted him the drunken churl, - Jeered at him the serving-girl, - Prompt to please her master; - And the begging carlin,[321] late 10 - Fed and clothed at Ury's gate, - Cursed him as he passed her. - - Yet, with calm and stately mien, - Up the streets of Aberdeen - Came he slowly riding; 15 - And, to all he saw and heard, - Answering not with bitter word, - Turning not for chiding. - - Came a troop with broadswords swinging, - Bits and bridles sharply ringing, 20 - Loose and free and froward; - Quoth the foremost, 'Ride him down! - Push him! prick him! through the town - Drive the Quaker coward!' - - But from out the thickening crowd 25 - Cried a sudden voice and loud: - 'Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!' - And the old man at his side - Saw a comrade, battle tried, - Scarred and sunburned darkly, 30 - - Who with ready weapon bare, - Fronting to the troopers there, - Cried aloud: 'God save us, - Call ye coward him who stood - Ankle deep in Lützen's[322] blood, 35 - With the brave Gustavus?' - - 'Nay, I do not need thy sword, - Comrade mine,' said Ury's lord; - 'Put it up, I pray thee: - Passive to his holy will, 40 - Trust I in my Master still, - Even though He slay me. - - 'Pledges of thy love and faith, - Proved on many a field of death, - Not by me are needed.' 45 - Marvelled much that henchman bold, - That his laird, so stout of old, - Now so meekly pleaded. - - 'Woe's the day!' he sadly said, - With a slowly shaking head, 50 - And a look of pity; - 'Ury's honest lord reviled, - Mock of knave and sport of child, - In his own good city! - - 'Speak the word, and, master mine, 55 - As we charged on Tilly's[323] line, - And his Walloon[324] lancers, - Smiting through their midst we'll teach - Civil look and decent speech - To these boyish prancers!' 60 - - 'Marvel not, mine ancient friend, - Like beginning, like the end,' - Quoth the Laird of Ury; - 'Is the sinful servant more - Than his gracious Lord who bore 65 - Bonds and stripes in Jewry? - - 'Give me joy that in his name - I can bear, with patient frame, - All these vain ones offer; - While for them He suffereth long, 70 - Shall I answer wrong with wrong, - Scoffing with the scoffer? - - 'Happier I, with loss of all, - Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, - With few friends to greet me, 75 - Than when reeve and squire were seen, - Riding out from Aberdeen, - With bared heads to meet me. - - 'When each goodwife, o'er and o'er, - Blessed me as I passed her door; 80 - And the snooded[325] daughter, - Through her casement glancing down, - Smiled on him who bore renown - From red fields of slaughter. - - 'Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, 85 - Hard the old friend's falling off, - Hard to learn forgiving; - But the Lord his own rewards, - And his love with theirs accords, - Warm and fresh and living. 90 - - 'Through this dark and stormy night - Faith beholds a feeble light - Up the blackness streaking; - Knowing God's own time is best, - In a patient hope I rest 95 - For the full day-breaking!' - - So the Laird of Ury said, - Turning slow his horse's head - Towards the Tolbooth[326] prison, - Where, through iron gates, he heard 100 - Poor disciples of the Word - Preach of Christ arisen! - - Not in vain, Confessor old, - Unto us the tale is told - Of thy day of trial; 105 - Every age on him who strays - From its broad and beaten ways - Pours its seven-fold vial. - - Happy he whose inward ear, - Angel comfortings can hear, 110 - O'er the rabble's laughter; - And while Hatred's fagots burn, - Glimpses through the smoke discern - Of the good hereafter. - - Knowing this, that never yet 115 - Share of Truth was vainly set - In the world's wide fallow[327]; - After hands shall sow the seed, - After hands from hill and mead - Reap the harvests yellow. 120 - - Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, - Must the moral pioneer - From the Future borrow; - Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, - And, on midnight's sky of rain, 125 - Paint the golden morrow! - - - - -BARBARA FRIETCHIE - - Up from the meadows rich with corn, - Clear in the cool September morn, - - The clustered spires of Frederick stand - Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. - - Round about them orchards sweep, 5 - Apple and peach tree fruited deep, - - Fair as the garden of the Lord - To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, - - On that pleasant morn of the early fall - When Lee marched over the mountain-wall; 10 - - Over the mountains winding down, - Horse and foot, into Frederick town. - - Forty flags with their silver stars, - Forty flags with their crimson bars, - - Flapped in the morning wind: the sun 15 - Of noon looked down, and saw not one. - - Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, - Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; - - Bravest of all in Frederick town, - She took up the flag the men hauled down; 20 - - In her attic window the staff she set, - To show that one heart was loyal yet. - - Up the street came the rebel tread, - Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. - - Under his slouched hat left and right 25 - He glanced; the old flag met his sight. - - 'Halt!'--the dust-brown ranks stood fast. - 'Fire!'--out blazed the rifle-blast. - - It shivered the window, pane and sash; - It rent the banner with seam and gash. 30 - - Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff - Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. - - She leaned far out on the window-sill, - And shook it forth with a royal will. - - 'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 35 - But spare your country's flag,' she said. - - A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, - Over the face of the leader came; - - The nobler nature within him stirred - To life at that woman's deed and word; 40 - - 'Who touches a hair of yon gray head - Dies like a dog! March on!' he said. - - All day long through Frederick street - Sounded the tread of marching feet: - - All day long that free flag tost 45 - Over the heads of the rebel host. - - Ever its torn folds rose and fell - On the loyal winds that loved it well; - - And through the hill-gaps sunset light - Shone over it with a warm good-night. 50 - - Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, - And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. - - Honor to her! and let a tear - Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. - - Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 55 - Flag of Freedom and Union, wave! - - Peace and order and beauty draw - Round thy symbol of light and law; - - And ever the stars above look down - On thy stars below in Frederick town! 60 - - - - -OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES - - -GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER HILL BATTLE - -AS SHE SAW IT FROM THE BELFRY - - 'Tis like stirring living embers when, at eighty, one remembers - All the achings and the quakings of "the times that - tried men's souls[328];" - When I talk of _Whig_ and _Tory_,[329] when I tell the - _Rebel_ story, - To you the words are ashes, but to me they're burning coals. - - I had heard the muskets' rattle of the April running - battle[330]; 5 - Lord Percy's hunted soldiers, I can see their red coats still; - But a deadly chill comes o'er me, as the day looms up before me, - When a thousand men lay bleeding on the slopes of Bunker's Hill. - - 'Twas a peaceful summer's morning, when the first thing - gave us warning. - Was the booming of the cannon from the river and the shore: 10 - "Child," says grandma, "what's the matter, what is all - this noise and clatter? - Have those scalping Indian devils come to murder us once more?" - - Poor old soul! my sides were shaking in the midst of all my - quaking, - To hear her talk of Indians when the guns began to roar: - She had seen the burning village, and the slaughter and - the pillage, 15 - When the Mohawks[331] killed her father with their bullets - through his door. - - Then I said, "Now, dear old granny, don't you fret and worry any, - For I'll soon come back and tell you whether this is work or - play; - There can't be mischief in it, so I won't be gone a minute"-- - For a minute then I started. I was gone the livelong day. 20 - - No time for bodice-lacing or for looking-glass grimacing; - Down my hair went as I hurried, tumbling half-way to my heels; - God forbid your ever knowing, when there's blood around her - flowing, - How the lonely, helpless daughter of a quiet household feels! - - In the street I heard a thumping; and I knew it was the - stumping 25 - Of the Corporal, our old neighbor, on the wooden leg he wore, - With a knot of women round him,--it was lucky I had found him, - So I followed with the others, and the Corporal marched before. - - They were making for the steeple,--the old soldier and his - people; - The pigeons circled round us as we climbed the creaking stair, 30 - Just across the narrow river--Oh, so close it made me shiver!-- - Stood a fortress on the hill-top that but yesterday was bare. - - Not slow our eyes to find it; well we knew who stood behind it, - Though the earthwork hid them from us, and the stubborn walls - were dumb: - Here were sister, wife, and mother, looking wild upon each - other, 35 - And their lips were white with terror as they said, - THE HOUR HAS COME! - - The morning slowly wasted, not a morsel had we tasted, - And our heads were almost splitting with the cannons' deafening - thrill, - When a figure tall and stately round the rampart strode sedately; - It was PRESCOTT, one since told me; he commanded on - the hill. 40 - - Every woman's heart grew bigger when we saw his manly figure, - With the banyan[332] buckled round it, standing up so straight - and tall; - Like a gentleman of leisure who is strolling out for pleasure, - Through the storm of shells and cannon-shot he walked around - the wall. - - At eleven the streets were swarming, for the red-coats' - ranks were forming; 45 - At noon in marching order they were moving to the piers; - How the bayonets gleamed and glistened, as we looked far down, - and listened - To the trampling and the drum-beat of the belted grenadiers! - - At length the men have started, with a cheer (it seemed - faint-hearted), - In their scarlet regimentals, with their knapsacks on - their backs, 50 - And the reddening, rippling water, as after a sea-fight's - slaughter, - Round the barges gliding onward blushed like blood along their - tracks. - - So they crossed to the other border, and again they formed in - order; - And the boats came back for soldiers, came for soldiers, - soldiers still: - The time seemed everlasting to us women faint and fasting,-- 55 - At last they're moving, marching, marching proudly up the hill. - - We can see the bright steel glancing all along the lines - advancing-- - Now the front rank fires a volley--they have thrown away their - shot; - For behind their earthwork lying, all the balls above them - flying, - Our people need not hurry; so they wait and answer not. 60 - - Then the Corporal, our old cripple (he would swear sometimes - and tipple),-- - He had heard the bullets whistle (in the old French war) - before,-- - Calls out in words of jeering, just as if they all were - hearing,-- - And his wooden leg thumps fiercely on the dusty belfry floor:-- - - "Oh! fire away, ye villains, and earn King George's shillin's, 65 - But ye'll waste a ton of powder afore a 'rebel' falls; - You may bang the dirt and welcome, they're as safe as - Dan'l Malcolm[333] - Ten foot beneath the gravestone that you've splintered with - your balls!" - - In the hush of expectation, in the awe and trepidation - Of the dread approaching moment, we are well-nigh breathless - all; 70 - Though the rotten bars are failing on the rickety belfry railing, - We are crowding up against them like the waves against a wall. - - Just a glimpse (the air is clearer), they are nearer,--nearer, - --nearer, - When a flash--a curling smoke-wreath--then a crash--the steeple - shakes-- - The deadly truce is ended; the tempest's shroud is rended; 75 - Like a morning mist is gathered, like a thunder-cloud it breaks! - - O the sight our eyes discover as the blue-black smoke blows over! - The red-coats stretched in windrows as a mower rakes his hay; - Here a scarlet heap is lying, there a headlong crowd is flying - Like a billow that has broken and is shivered into spray. 80 - - Then we cried, "The troops are routed! they are beat--it - can't be doubted! - God be thanked, the fight is over!"--Ah! the grim old soldier's - smile! - "Tell us, tell us why you look so?" (we could hardly speak we - shook so),-- - "Are they beaten? _Are_ they beaten? ARE they - beaten?"--"Wait a while." - - O the trembling and the terror! for too soon we saw our error: 85 - They are baffled, not defeated; we have driven them back in vain; - And the columns that were scattered, round the colors that - were tattered, - Toward the sullen silent fortress turn their belted breasts again. - - All at once, as we were gazing, lo! the roofs of Charlestown - blazing! - They have fired the harmless village; in an hour it will be - down! 90 - The Lord in Heaven confound them, rain his fire and - brimstone round them,-- - The robbing, murdering red-coats, that would burn a peaceful town! - - They are marching, stern and solemn; we can see each massive - column - As they near the naked earth-mound with the slanting walls - so steep. - Have our soldiers got faint-hearted, and in noiseless - haste departed? 95 - Are they panic-struck and helpless? Are they palsied or asleep? - - Now! the walls they're almost under! scarce a rod the foes - asunder! - Not a firelock flashed against them! up the earthwork they will - swarm! - But the words have scarce been spoken when the ominous calm is - broken, - And a bellowing crash has emptied all the vengeance - of the storm! 100 - - So again, with murderous slaughter, pelted backwards to the - water, - Fly Pigot's running heroes and the frightened braves of Howe; - And we shout, "At last they're done for, it's their - barges they have run for: - They are beaten, beaten, beaten; and the battle's over now!" - - And we looked, poor timid creatures, on the rough old - soldier's features, 105 - Our lips afraid to question, but he knew what we would ask: - "Not sure," he said; "keep quiet,--once more, I guess, they'll - try it-- - Here's damnation to the cut-throats!" then he handed me his flask, - - Saying, "Gal, you're looking shaky; have a drop of Old Jamaiky; - I'm afeared there'll be more trouble afore the job is done;" 110 - So I took one scorching swallow; dreadful faint I felt and - hollow, - Standing there from early morning when the firing was begun. - - All through those hours of trial I had watched a calm clock dial, - As the hands kept creeping, creeping,--they were creeping round - to four, - When the old man said, "They're forming with their bayonets - fixed for storming: 115 - It's the death-grip that's a-coming,--they will try the works - once more." - - With brazen trumpets blaring, the flames behind them glaring, - The deadly wall before them, in close array they come; - Still onward, upward toiling, like a dragon's fold uncoiling,-- - Like the rattlesnake's shrill warning the reverberating drum! 120 - - Over heaps all torn and gory--shall I tell the fearful story, - How they surged above the breastwork, as a sea breaks over a deck; - How, driven, yet scarce defeated, our worn-out men retreated, - With their powder-horns all emptied, like the swimmers from - a wreck? - - It has all been told and painted; as for me, they say I - fainted, 125 - And the wooden-legged old Corporal stumped with me down the - stair: - When I woke from dreams affrighted the evening lamps were - lighted,-- - On the floor a youth was lying; his bleeding breast was bare. - - And I heard through all the flurry, "Send for Warren! hurry! - hurry! - Tell him here's a soldier bleeding, and he'll come and dress - his wound!" 130 - Ah, we knew not till the morrow told its tale of death and - sorrow, - How the starlight found him stiffened on the dark and - bloody ground. - - Who the youth was, what his name was, where the place from - which he came was, - Who had brought him from the battle, and had left him at - our door, - He could not speak to tell us; but 'twas one of our - brave fellows, 135 - As the homespun plainly showed us which the dying soldier wore. - - For they all thought he was dying, as they gathered round him - crying,-- - And they said, "Oh, how they'll miss him!" and, - "What _will_ his mother do?" - Then, his eyelids just unclosing like a child's that has been - dozing, - He faintly murmured, "Mother!"--and--I saw his eyes were - blue. 140 - - --"Why, grandma, how you're winking!"--Ah, my child, it sets - me thinking - Of a story not like this one. Well, he somehow lived along; - So we came to know each other, and I nursed him like a--mother, - Till at last he stood before me, tall, and rosy-cheeked, - and strong. - - And we sometimes walked together in the pleasant - summer weather; 145 - --"Please to tell us what his name was?"--Just your own, - my little dear. - There's his picture Copley[334] painted: we became so well - acquainted, - That,--in short, that's why I'm grandma, and you children are - all here!" - - - - -NOTES - - -WILLIAM COWPER - -William Cowper was born at Great Berkhamstead, Hertfordshire, England, -in 1731. He was educated first at a private school and afterwards at -Westminster in London. He studied law, but his progress in the -profession was blocked because of an attack of insanity brought on in -1763 by nervousness over an oral examination for a clerkship in the -House of Commons. After fifteen months he recovered and went to live at -Huntingdon, where he met the Unwin family and began what was to be a -lifelong friendship with Mrs. Unwin. Upon Mr. Unwin's death in 1767, -Cowper moved with Mrs. Unwin to Olney, passing a secluded life there -until 1786. In 1773 he suffered a second attack of melancholia, which -lasted sixteen months. Soon after his recovery he coöperated with the -Rev. John Newton in writing the well-known _Olney Hymns_ (1779). In 1782 -he published his first volume of poems, and a second volume followed in -1785, containing _The Task_, _Tirocinium_, and the ballad of _John -Gilpin_. A translation of Homer was completed in 1791. After 1791 his -reason became hopelessly deranged, and he passed the time until his -death in 1800 in utter misery. - -Cowper was a man of kind and gentle character, a lover of nature in her -milder aspects, and especially fond of animals. As one of the -forerunners of the so-called Romantic movement in English poetry, his -name is significant. Though at his best in work of a descriptive or -satiric kind, he was also gifted with a subtle humor which appears -frequently in many short tales and ballads. A good biography of Cowper -is that by Goldwin Smith in the English Men of Letters Series. - - -THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN (Page 1) - -The story of John Gilpin was told to Cowper by his friend, Lady Austen, -who had heard it when a child. The poet, upon whom the tale made a deep -impression, eventually turned it into this ballad, which was first -published anonymously in the _Public Advertiser_ for November 14, 1782. -It became popular at once, and is to-day probably the most widely known -of the author's works. It is written in the conventional ballad metre, -and preserves many expressions characteristic of the primitive English -ballad style. - -[1] 3. =Eke=; also. - -[2] 11. =Edmonton= is a suburb a few miles directly north of London. - -[3] 16. =After we.= John Gilpin's wife does not hesitate to sacrifice -grammar for the sake of rime. - -[4] 23. =Calender=; one who operates a calender, a machine for giving -cloth or paper a smooth, glossy surface. - -[5] 39. =Agog=; eager. - -[6] 44. =Cheapside= was one of the most important of the old London -streets. - -[7] 49. The =saddletree= is the frame of the saddle. - -[8] 115. =Carries weight.= The bottles seem to resemble the weights -carried in horse races by the jockeys. - -[9] 133. =Islington=, now part of London, was then one of its suburbs. - -[10] 152. =Ware= is a town about fifteen miles north of London. - -[11] 178. =Pin=; mood. - -[12] 222. =Amain=; at full speed. - -[13] 236. =The hue and cry=; a term used to describe the rousing of the -people in pursuit of a rogue. - - -ROBERT BURNS - -Robert Burns was born of peasant parentage near Ayr, Scotland, on -January 25, 1759. Up to the time when he was twenty-five years old he -lived and worked on his father's farm, except for two short absences in -near-by towns. While he was very young, he formed bad habits, from which -he could never free himself, and which eventually wrecked his career. He -was frequently in love, and many of the resulting entanglements brought -him little but sorrow. In 1786, as a result of an unfortunate affair -with Jean Armour, he determined to sail for America, and in order to -raise the necessary money, published a volume of poems for which he was -paid twenty pounds. The book was received with enthusiasm and so elated -Burns with his success, that he decided to remain in Scotland. He -accepted an invitation to Edinburgh, where he was entertained royally by -literary circles. However, he was compelled to return to farming, and -after marrying Jean Armour took a tenancy at Ellisland in 1788. A little -later he was appointed exciseman, but his convivial tendencies were -undermining his health, and he found his duties hard to attend to. He -moved to Dumfries, where he died in poverty in 1796. - -Burns as a writer of songs, especially of love lyrics, is unsurpassed. -He touched the depths of human passion as few have ever done, and has -made his poetry live in the hearts of the people. He is also the poet of -Scottish peasant life, the enemy of oppression and tyranny, and the -supporter of patriotism. Failure though he was from a worldly point of -view, he was more unfortunate than culpable, and deserves our pity -rather than our censure. - -Carlyle's _Essay on Burns_ gives an excellent idea of the character and -work of the poet. - - -TAM O'SHANTER (Page 11) - -Written in 1790 in a single day and first published in 1791 as a -contribution to Grose's _Antiquities of Scotland_, it has been called "a -masterpiece of Scottish character, Scottish humor, Scottish witch-lore, -and Scottish imagination." Burns himself considered it to be his finest -poem. - -[14] 1. =Chapman billies=; pedlar fellows. - -[15] 2. =Drouthy=; thirsty. - -[16] 4. =Tak the gate=; take the road. - -[17] 5. =Nappy=; liquor. - -[18] 6. =Fou=; tipsy. - -[19] 6. =Unco=; very. - -[20] 8. =Slaps=; gates in fences. - -[21] 14. =Frae=; from. - -[22] 14. =Ayr=; a town in Ayrshire, Scotland, on the west coast about -thirty miles south of Glasgow. Near it is the birthplace of Burns. - -[23] 19. =Skellum=; ne'er-do-well. - -[24] 20. =Blethering=; talking nonsense. - -[25] 20. =Blellum=; babbler. - -[26] 23. =Ilka=; every. - -[27] 23. =Melder=; corn or grain sent to the mill to be ground. - -[28] 25. =Ca'd=; driven. - -[29] 30. =Doon=; a river near Ayr immortalized in Burns's song, "Ye -banks and braes of bonny Doon." - -[30] 31. =Warlocks=; wizards. - -[31] 31. =Mirk=; dark. - -[32] 32. =Alloway=; a small town near Ayr, Scotland. - -[33] 32. =Kirk=; church. - -[34] 33. =Gars me greet=; makes me weep. - -[35] 38. =Planted=; fixed. - -[36] 39. =Ingle=; fireside. - -[37] 40. =Reaming swats=; foaming new ale. - -[38] 41. =Souter=; shoemaker. - -[39] 68. =Maun=; must. - -[40] 78. =The Deil=; the Devil. - -[41] 81. =Skelpit=; hurried. - -[42] 81. =Dub=; puddle. - -[43] 86. =Bogles=; bogies or goblins. - -[44] 88. =Houlets=; owls. - -[45] 90. =Smoored=; smothered. - -[46] 91. =Birks=; birches. - -[47] 91. =Meikle stane=; huge stone. - -[48] 93. =Whins=; furze bushes. - -[49] 93. =Cairn=; pile of stones. - -[50] 94. =Bairn=; child. - -[51] 102. =Bleeze=; blaze. - -[52] 103. =Bore=; hole. - -[53] 105. =John Barleycorn=; a Scotch term for whiskey. - -[54] 108. =Usquebae=; whiskey. - -[55] 110. =Boddle=; farthing. - -[56] 116. =Brent=; brought. - -[57] 117. =Strathspeys.= The strathspey was a Scottish dance. - -[58] 119. =Winnock-bunker=; window-seat. - -[59] 121. =Towzie tyke=; shaggy dog. - -[60] 123. =Gart them skirl=; made them shriek. - -[61] 124. =Dirl=; ring. - -[62] 127. =Cantrip slight=; magic charm. - -[63] 134. =Gab=; throat. - -[64] 147. =Cleekit=; took hold. - -[65] 148. =Carlin=; witch. - -[66] 149. =Coost her duddies=; threw off her clothes. - -[67] 150. =Linket=; tripped. - -[68] 150. =Sark=; shirt. - -[69] 151. =Queans=; young women. - -[70] 153. =Creeshie flannen=; greasy flannel. - -[71] 154. =Seventeen-hunder linen=; fine linen. Technical weaving terms -were familiar to the hand-loom workers of Burns's district. - -[72] 157. =Hurdies=; hips. - -[73] 158. =Burdies=; maidens. - -[74] 159. =Beldams=; hags. - -[75] 160. =Rigwoodie=; ancient. - -[76] 160. =Spean=; wean. - -[77] 161. =Crummock=; a short staff. - -[78] 163. =Brawlie=; perfectly. - -[79] 164. =Walie=; large. - -[80] 165. =Core=; corps. - -[81] 169. =Bear=; barley. - -[82] 171. =Cutty-sark=; short shirt. - -[83] 171. =Paisley harn=; a coarse cloth, made in Paisley, a Scotch town -famous for its cloth-making industry. - -[84] 174. =Vauntie=; proud. - -[85] 176. =Coft=; bought. - -[86] 181. =Lap and flang=; leapt and capered. - -[87] 184. =E'en=; eyes. - -[88] 185. =Fidged fu' fain=; fidgeted with eagerness. - -[89] 186. =Hotched=; jerked his arm while playing the bagpipe. - -[90] 187. =Syne=; then. - -[91] 188. =Tint=; lost. - -[92] 193. =Fyke=; fret. - -[93] 194. =Byke=; hive. - -[94] 200. =Eldritch=; unearthly. - -[95] 201. =Fairin'=; reward. - -[96] 208. According to an old superstition, witches are unable to pursue -their victims over running water. Compare the story of the Headless -Horseman in Irving's _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_. - -[97] 213. =Ettle=; aim. - - -WALTER SCOTT - -Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1771, of an old Border -family. Up to the age of four he was rather feeble, an attack of fever -having left him with a shrunken right leg. This disability, though it -did not prevent his becoming a strong, sturdy man, still gave him ample -leisure for wide reading while he was young. In high school and at the -University of Edinburgh he was not known as a scholar, though he was -popular with his companions, especially as a storyteller. In obedience -to his father's wishes he took up law and toiled unenthusiastically at -this profession for some years. Some trips of his into the Scotch -Highlands led him to make a collection of old ballads, published in -_Border Minstrelsy_ (1802). From this time on he devoted himself -exclusively to literature. His first important original poem, _The Lay -of the Last Minstrel_, came out in 1805, followed by _Marmion_ (1808), -_The Lady of the Lake_ (1810), _The Vision of Don Roderick_ (1811), and -others of less merit. He had about this time become a silent partner in -the printing firm of Ballantyne Brothers, contributing largely to the -capital. In 1812 he purchased a farm on the river Tweed and built the -famous house Abbotsford. The estate was an unprofitable investment, as -it led him into extravagances apparently justified by an increasing -income but really based on a false optimism. - -In 1814 Scott wrote _Waverley_, the first of the long series of novels -which made him distinguished as a prose-writer. From this time on his -major work was in prose. He recognized without envy that Byron was -beating him on his own ground in poetry, and accordingly changed to a -field where success was surer. He was apparently prospering financially -when, in 1827, the firm of which he was a member went into bankruptcy, -largely because of poor business management, and he was left shouldered -with a debt of about $600,000. Undaunted he set to work at the age of -fifty-five to satisfy his creditors, and book after book poured from his -pen until in four years he had paid off $270,000. The effort, however, -was too much for his health; he broke down, and, after a short visit to -Italy, died at Abbotsford in 1832. - -Scott's character was almost wholly admirable. He was manly, -courageous, faithful, and generous. Always popular, he was a lavish -entertainer in his prosperous days. He did his work cheerfully and bore -up without complaint against misfortune and suffering such as few men -are called upon to endure. - -As a poet he was fluent, vigorous, and spirited, but usually paid little -attention to form and polish. He made no effort to become a careful -writer; but this is sometimes compensated for by a certain robustness -which most of his verses possess. His poetical genius is best shown in -narrative, where the movement is rapid and the action full of exciting -moments. If his poems lack intense passion and deep meditation, they are -at least picturesque and interesting. - -J. G. Lockhart, Scott's son-in-law, is the author of the most complete -biography. A good shorter life is that by R. H. Hutton in the English -Men of Letters Series. - - -LOCHINVAR (Page 19) - -Published first in _Marmion_ (1808) as "Lady Heron's Song." - -[98] 2. =Border=; the country on the border between England and -Scotland, a region of warfare and strife for many centuries. - -[99] 8. The =Esk= River is in southwest Scotland, and flows into Solway -Firth. - -[100] 32. =Galliard=; a lively dance of the period. - -[101] 41. =Scaur=; a steep bank of rock. - - -WILLIAM WORDSWORTH - -William Wordsworth was born in 1770 at Cockermouth on the borders of the -beautiful English lake country. During a boyhood spent largely out of -doors, rowing, walking, and skating, he imbibed a love for nature which -had a broader manifestation in his later life and poetry. After a short -period at Hawkshead School, he entered St. John's College, Cambridge, -where he took a degree in 1791. He then resided for a time in France; -but was driven from there in 1793 by the Reign of Terror, and passed a -few years in a rather idle way in the vicinity of London. His real -poetic awakening came in 1797, when he and Coleridge lived near each -other at Alfoxden among the Quantock Hills in Somerset. Here, in 1798, -the two young men published _Lyrical Ballads_, a collection of poems -written for the most part by Wordsworth, though Coleridge contributed -_The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ and a few others. This book, -especially in its treatment of nature, was a reaction against the -stilted formalism which had characterized much of the English poetry of -the eighteenth century, and as such it was the real stimulus for the -revival of Romanticism which followed its appearance. After a year in -Germany with his sister Dorothy, Wordsworth returned to the lake region -now associated with his name, living at Grasmere until 1813, and after -that at Rydal Mount. He married his cousin, Mary Hutchinson, in 1802. -Among his later important works were _The Prelude_ (1805), _The -Excursion_ (1814), and many shorter poems and sonnets. He was made -poet-laureate in 1843, and died seven years after in 1850. - -Wordsworth, though a radical in his youth, became more conservative in -later years. He was a man of quiet tastes, and deliberately chose to -live where he could be among simple people. As a poet, he was first of -all an interpreter of nature, endowed with extraordinary keenness of -observation and delighting in all her phases. In humanity, too, he had a -sympathetic interest, especially in the everyday emotions and -occupations of the plain men and women around him. And influencing his -attitude toward both nature and humanity was a sort of religious -mysticism which conceived the spirit of God as permeating all things, -flowers and trees as well as the human heart. - - -MICHAEL (Page 21) - -Written in 1800 and published in the same year. Wordsworth's own note on -the poem is as follows: "Written at Town-end, Grasmere, about the same -time as 'The Brothers.' The Sheepfold, on which so much of the poem -turns, remains, or rather the ruins of it. The character and -circumstances of Luke were taken from a family to whom had belonged, -many years before, the house we lived in at Town-end, along with some -fields and woodlands on the eastern shore of Grasmere. The name of the -Evening Star was not in fact given to this house, but to another on the -same side of the valley, more to the north." - -[102] 2. =Greenhead Ghyll=; a ravine near Grasmere. - -[103] 134. =Easedale=; a small lake near Grasmere. - - -LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE (Page 36) - -Written in 1799 and published first in 1800. Wordsworth says of it: -"Written at Goslar in Germany. It was founded on a circumstance told me -by my Sister, of a little girl, who, not far from Halifax, in Yorkshire, -was bewildered in a snowstorm. Her footsteps were traced by her parents -to the middle of the lock of a canal, and no other vestige of her, -backward or forward, could be traced. The body, however, was found in -the canal." - - -THOMAS CAMPBELL - -Thomas Campbell was born at Glasgow, Scotland, July 27, 1777. He was -educated at the University of Glasgow, where he made somewhat of a -reputation as a versifier and translator. After some desultory attempts -at tutoring, he published in 1799, _The Pleasures of Hope_, a long -didactic poem which brought him real fame and a considerable financial -reward. Soon after he travelled on the continent, where many of his war -ballads were written. In his later days he was a figure in literary -circles and was given a pension by the crown. He died in 1844 and was -buried in Westminster Abbey. - -Much of Campbell's longer poetic work is dull and unequal. However, in -his own field of the vigorous patriotic ballad, he is without a rival. -Saintsbury says of him, "He holds the place of best singer of war in a -race and language which are those of the best singers, and not the worst -fighters, in the history of the world." - - -HOHENLINDEN (Page 39) - -Written in 1800, after the author had visited the battlefield. - -In the battle of Hohenlinden (December 3, 1800), the French under -General Moreau defeated the Austrians and compelled the Austrian Emperor -to sue for peace. The treaty of Luneville, which followed, extended -French territory to the Rhine. - -[104] 4. The =Iser= is a river rising in northern Switzerland and -flowing into the Danube. - - -BATTLE OF THE BALTIC (Page 40) - -Written in 1809. - -The battle of the Baltic took place in the Baltic Sea before Copenhagen, -April 2, 1801, between the English and the Danish fleets. England had -accepted a declaration of the Armed Neutrality League (Russia, Denmark, -and Sweden) as being really in the interests of her enemy, France, and -the English fleet under Lord Parker was sent to the Baltic. Under Lord -Nelson, the second in command, a decisive victory was gained, largely -through the fact that Nelson refused to obey the orders of his superior -officer. - -[105] 67. =Riou= was one of Nelson's officers. - - -CHARLES WOLFE - -Charles Wolfe was born at Dublin, Ireland, in 1791 and died at -Queenstown in 1823. He graduated at Trinity College, Dublin, in 1814 and -became curate of Donoughmore, Ireland. His _Remains_, with a brief -memoir, were published in 1825. - -His only poem of any distinction is the one here printed, _The Burial of -Sir John Moore_. - - -THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT CORUNNA (Page 43) - -First published in the _Newry Telegraph_, an Irish paper, in 1817, under -the initials C. W. - -Sir John Moore (1761-1809) was commander of an English army of -twenty-four thousand men in Spain against a French force of eighty -thousand under Soult. At the battle of Corunna, January 16, 1809, the -English army won a doubtful victory in which their leader was killed. -After burying him at dead of night, the English troops embarked for -their own country. - -[106] =Corunna= is a city in northwest Spain. - - -BYRON - -George Gordon, Lord Byron, was born in London, January 22, 1788, and -died at Missolonghi, April 19, 1824, at the age of thirty-six. Byron's -father, a captain in the guards, after a romantic first marriage, wedded -Catharine Gordon, a wealthy girl, of Aberdeenshire, whom, after -squandering her fortune, he deserted shortly after young Byron's birth. -Byron's mother was a quick-tempered, impulsive woman, ill-fitted to -bring up a son who had a temperament almost exactly like her own. Once -when a companion said to Byron, "Your mother's a fool," the boy -answered, "I know it." - -As a boy at school Byron formed passionate attachments, entered into the -games he played with an unusual fierceness of spirit, and exhibited that -sensitive pride which was the cause of much of his posing there and in -later life. He was club-footed, a deformity about which he was extremely -sensitive. Before entering Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1805, he had -attended Harrow for five years. At Cambridge he remained less than three -years, but in that time made some close friends and took an active part -in all sorts of sports, especially riding and swimming. His vacations he -spent at London or Southwell, generally quarrelling violently with his -mother. - -His first published poetry was _Hours of Idleness_, which appeared in -1807, and which was attacked by the _Edinburgh Review_ so strenuously -that Byron replied in 1809 with _English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_. In -the same year he took his seat in the House of Lords, but he had no -interest in politics, and, accordingly, left England for two years' -travel on the continent. This tour was the occasion of the first two -cantos of _Childe Harold_. This poem was received so warmly that Byron -remarked that "he awoke one morning to find himself famous." From now -till the separation from his wife in 1816, after a year of wedded life, -he was the lion of British society, but society took sides on this -family difference, and as most of them sympathized with Lady Byron, -Byron himself left England. He spent some time on Lake Geneva, where the -Castle of Chillon is situated. He then went to Italy, where, amid his -usual life of dissipation, he became interested in the Italian -Insurrection. Among his friends and companions in Italy were Shelley -and Leigh Hunt. In 1823, becoming attracted by the attempts of the -Greeks to overthrow Turkish rule, he went to Greece as a leader, but he -contracted a fever at Missolonghi, where he died, April 19, 1824. - -As a poet Byron appeals especially to youth. His tales are so -interesting that Scott made the remark that Byron beat him at his own -game. Rapidity and force of movement, intensity and passion, excellent -description, and a great, though not fine, command of poetic sound are -the chief characteristics of his poetry. The romantic tale, _Childe -Harold_, and the satire, _Don Juan_, are perhaps his best-known works. - - -THE PRISONER OF CHILLON (Page 45) - -The castle of Chillon is situated near Montreux at the opposite end of -Lake Geneva from the city of Geneva. It is a large castle, built on an -isolated rock twenty-two yards from the shore of the lake. Beneath this -castle, but some nine or ten feet above the surface of the lake, -supported by seven detached pillars and one semi-detached, is a vaulted -chamber, which was formerly used as a prison. Here, from 1530 to 1536, -was imprisoned Francis Bonnivard. - -Bonnivard, the son of the Lord of Lune, was born in 1496. When sixteen -years old, he inherited from his uncle the priory of St. Victor, near -Geneva. Later he allied himself with this city against the Duke of -Savoy, but was captured and imprisoned for two years in Grolée. In 1530 -he again fell into the hands of the Duke of Savoy, who this time -confined him for six years in Chillon castle. At the end of this period -he was liberated by the Bernese and Genevese and returned to Geneva to -live a brilliant but wild life until 1570. - -Byron takes no pains to stick to the facts of Bonnivard's imprisonment -or life, or even to the facts about the prison itself. Notice, however, -that he calls the poem "A Fable." - -Byron and Shelley made a visit to Chillon in June, 1816, and while -delayed for two days at Ouchy, a village on Lake Geneva, Byron wrote -this poem. - -Byron and Shelley belonged to a group of poets who were influenced by -the French Revolution. Byron's love of freedom was so great that he -aided Italy, and finally died from a fever contracted at Missolonghi, -where he had gone to aid the Greek revolutionists. The following sonnet, -which was prefixed to _The Prisoner of Chillon_, gives an idea of -Byron's love of liberty. - - -SONNET OF CHILLON - - "Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! - Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, - For there thy habitation is the heart-- - The heart which love of thee alone can bind; - And when thy sons to fetters are consigned-- - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, - Their country conquers with their martyrdom, - And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. - - "Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, - And thy sad floor an altar--for 'twas trod, - Until his very steps have left a trace - Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, - By Bonnivard!--May none those marks efface! - For they appeal from tyranny to God." - - -[107] 4. =Sudden fears.= Marie Antoinette's hair has been said to have -turned gray on the return from Varennes to Paris. It certainly turned -gray very quickly during the anxiety of the Revolution. - -[108] 22. =Sealed.= How? - -[109] 27.----------- - -[110] 35. =Marsh's meteor lamp=; will o' the wisp. - -[111] 38. =Cankering thing.= What does canker do? - -[112] 57. The =elements= are fire, air, earth, and water. - -[113] 82. =Polar day.= What is the length of the day near the poles? - -[114] 100. =Sooth=; truth. - -[115] 107. =Lake Leman=; another name for Lake Geneva. - -[116] 133. The =moat= was the ditch which surrounded a castle. The moat -of Chillon Castle, however, was the part of the lake which separated the -rock from the shore. - -[117] 179. =Rushing forth in blood.= Byron is said to have been fond of -the symptoms of violent death. He, a year after writing this poem, saw -three robbers guillotined, taking careful notice of his own and their -actions. Goethe, the German poet, even thought that Byron must have -committed murder, he seemed so interested in sudden death. - -[118] 230. =Selfish death=; suicide. - -[119] 237. =Wist=; the imperfect tense of _wit_, _to be aware of_, _to -know_. - -[120] 288. =Brother's.= It was a Mohammedan belief that the souls of the -blessed inhabited green birds in paradise. - -[121] 294. =Solitary cloud.= This line is one of several very close -similarities in this poem to Wordsworth; cf.:-- - - "I wandered lonely as a cloud - That floats on high o'er vales and hills." - -[122] 341. The =little isle= referred to is Ile de Peilz, an islet on -which a century ago were planted three elms. - -[123] 392. =With a sigh.= It is not unheard of for men long imprisoned -to lose all desire for freedom, and even to return to their place of -confinement after being set free. - - -MAZEPPA (Page 58) - -The following extract from Voltaire's _History of Charles XII_ was -prefixed to the first edition of _Mazeppa_ as the "Advertisement":-- - -"The man who then filled this position [Hetman of Ukraine] was a Polish -gentleman, named Mazeppa, who had been born in the Palatinate of -Podolia. He had been brought up as a page to John Casimir, at whose -court he had taken on some of the color of learning. An intrigue which -he had in his youth with the wife of a Polish gentleman having been -discovered, the husband had him bound, all naked, upon a wild horse, and -in this condition let go. The horse, which was from the country of -Ukraine, returned and brought there Mazeppa, half-dead with weariness -and hunger. Some peasants helped him: he remained a long time among them -and distinguished himself in several expeditions against the Tartars. -The superiority of his wisdom brought him great consideration among the -Cossacks. His reputation increased day by day, until the Czar was -obliged to make him Prince of Ukraine." - -The real life of Mazeppa was as follows: Ivan Stepánovitch Mazeppa was -born in 1645, of Cossack origin and of the lesser nobility of Volhynia. -When fifteen years old, he became the page to John Casimir V of Poland, -and, while holding this office, learned Latin and much about -statesmanship. Later, however, being banished on account of a quarrel, -he returned home to his mother in Volhynia. While here, to pass the -time, he fell in love with the wife of a neighbor, Lord Falbouski. This -lord, or pane, discovering his wife and her lover, caused Mazeppa to be -stripped and bound to his own horse. The horse, enraged by lashes and -pistol shots and then let loose, ran immediately to Mazeppa's own -courtyard. - -Mazeppa, later, after holding various secretaryships, was made hetman, -or prince, over all of Ukraine, and for nearly twenty years he was the -ally of Peter the Great. Afterwards, however, he offered his services to -Stanislaus of Poland, and finally to Charles XII of Sweden. "Pultowa's -Day," July 8, 1709, when Charles was defeated by the Russians and put -to flight, was the last of Mazeppa's power. He fled with Charles across -the river Borysthenes and received protection from the Turks. He died a -year later at Varnitza on the Dneister, just in time to escape being -delivered over to Peter. - -[124] 1. =Pultowa.= See Introductory Note. - -[125] 9. =Day were dark and drear=; Napoleon's famous defeat, and -retreat from Moscow, October, 1815. - -[126] 15. =Die.= What is the plural? - -[127] 23. =Gieta= was a colonel in the king of Sweden's army. - -[128] 51. =Levels man and brute.= Burke says in his _Speech on -Conciliation with America_, "Public calamity is a mighty leveller." - -[129] 56. =Hetman.= See Introductory Note. Mazeppa was sixty-four years -old. - -[130] 104. =Bucephalus=; the horse of Alexander the Great. Alexander, -when a boy, was the first to tame this horse, thereby, in fulfilment of -the oracle, proving his right to the throne. - -[131] 105. =Scythia= was a country, north and northeast of the Black -Sea, which was inhabited by nomadic people. It was noted for its horses. - -[132] 116. =Borysthenes=; another name for the Dnieper River. - -[133] 151. A =Mime= was a sort of farce, travestying real persons or -events. - -[134] 154. =Thyrsis= was one of the names commonly used for shepherds in -the Greek and Latin pastoral poets, as Theocritus, Bion, Virgil. The -names were conventionally used by modern imitators of these poets. - -[135] 155. =Palatine= (from _palatium_, meaning palace) was a name given -to a count, or ruler of a district, who had almost regal power. - -[136] 237. =O'erwrought=; the past participle of _overwork_. Cf. -_wheelwright_, _wainwright_, etc. - -[137] 329. =Cap-ŕ-pie=; from head to foot. - -[138] 349. ='Scutcheon=, or escutcheon, is the shield-shaped surface -upon which the armorial bearings are charged. - -[139] 437. =Spahi's=; the name of a Turkish corps of irregular cavalry. - -[140] 575. =Uncouth=; literally, unknown. - -[141] 618. =Ignis-fatuus=; will-o-the-wisp, Jack-o'-lantern. - -[142] 664. =Werst=; a Russian measure equal to about two-thirds of a -mile. - - -THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB (Page 86) - -Read _2 Chronicles_, chapter 32, and _Isaiah_, chapters 36 and 37. - - -JOHN KEATS - -John Keats was born October, 1795, and died on the 23d of February, -1821. He was the son of a livery-stable keeper, who had married his -former proprietor's daughter. The parents had wished to educate Keats -and his two brothers, but before Keats was fifteen, both his father and -mother had died. He was then apprenticed to a surgeon at Edmonton, under -whom he remained four years, and then went up to London to complete his -training for a medical degree. This he received in due time and began to -practise, but he found literature so much more attractive that, in about -a year, he gave up his attempt to practise medicine. At about this time -he became acquainted with Leigh Hunt, who had a good deal of influence -upon Keats's literary beginnings. His first volume of poetry, which -appeared in 1817, shows this influence strongly. A year later his -_Endymion_ was published and was so severely criticised by _Blackwood's_ -and especially by the _Quarterly_ that Keats took it much to heart; some -have supposed that this attack very much hastened his death. His -brother George had moved to America in 1818, and his brother Tom was now -dying with consumption. Keats nursed him faithfully until his death. -Immediately after this sorrow, he fell deeply in love, but his health -was so greatly impaired that he found it necessary, in 1820, to take a -trip to Italy. He did not grow stronger, however, but died at Rome on -the 23d of February, 1821. - -Keats's poetry is noted especially for its sensuous beauty, its -descriptions, and its remarkable reproduction of the Greek and romantic -spirits. - - -THE EVE OF ST. AGNES (Page 88) - -Around St. Agnes' Eve, which is the night before the Feast of St. Agnes -on January 21, and which corresponds to the Scotch "Hallowe'en," there -grew up the superstition that a maiden could, by observing certain -traditional precautions, have in her sleep a vision of her future -husband. Perhaps the most common way to obtain this vision was for the -girl to go to sleep on her back with her hands behind her head; then at -midnight she would dream that her lover came and kissed her. This is the -superstition that Keats has made use of in _The Eve of St. Agnes_. - -St. Agnes was a Roman girl, who at thirteen was loved by the son of a -Roman prefect, but, however, being like her parents a Christian and -having vowed virginity, she told her lover that she was already -betrothed. The youth, thinking he had some earthly rival, as a result -fell so very sick that his father tried to intercede with the girl's -parents. When he found these people were Christians, he tried to compel -Agnes to become a vestal virgin or marry his son. Agnes, because she -refused to do either of these things, was dragged to the altar, but -because here, by her prayers, she restored to her lover the sight which -he had lost, she was set free by the Prefect. The people, however, tried -to burn her, but were themselves consumed in the fire, until finally one -of their number slew her with his sword. A few days after her death, her -parents had a vision of her, surrounded by angels and accompanied by a -lamb (Agnus Dei). After her canonization it was customary to sacrifice -on St. Agnes' Day, during the singing, two lambs whose wool the next day -was woven by the nuns into pallia for the archbishops. (Cf. I. 115, -117.) Cf. _Agnus_ and _Agnes_. - -[143] 5. =Beadsman.= =Bead= originally meant prayer; hence "to say one's -beads." A beadsman was an inmate of an almshouse who was bound to pray -for the founders of the house. In Shakespeare the word is used to denote -one who prays for another. - -[144] 31. =Snarling.= Does this verse resemble the sound described? What -is the name of this figure? - -[145] 40. =New-stuffed.= What does this mean here? - -[146] 46. =St. Agnes' Eve.= See Introductory Note. - -[147] 70. =Amort= (Fr. ŕ la mort); lifeless, spiritless. - -[148] 71. =Lambs.= See Introductory Note. - -[149] 75. =Porphyro= (Gr. _porphyro_ = a purple fish, purple). Why did -Keats choose this name instead of Lionel, as he first intended? - -[150] 77. =Buttress'd= means supported, but here it must mean protected -from; _i.e._ Porphyro was in the shadow of the buttress. - -[151] 81. =Sooth=; truth. Cf. _soothsayer_. - -[152] 86. =Hyena.= Find out the characteristics of this animal, and see -what the force of the epithet is here. - -[153] 90. =Beldame= (_bel + dame_) originally meant a fair lady, then -grandmother and, in general, old woman or hag. - -[154] 105. =Gossip= originally meant a sponsor at baptism (_God-sib_), -then a boon companion, and finally a tattler. - -[155] 115. =Holy loom.= See Introductory Note. - -[156] 120. =Witch's sieve.= This refers to the superstition that witches -could hold water in sieves and could sail in them. Cf. _Macbeth_, I. 3. -1, 8:-- - - "But in a sieve I'll thither sail, - And, like a rat without a tail, - I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do." - -[157] 126. =Mickle=; much. - -[158] 135. =Lap.= "Madeline is asleep in her bed; but she is also asleep -in accordance with the legends of the season; and therefore the bed -becomes their lap as well as sleep's." - - --LEIGH HUNT. - -[159] 138. How make =purple riot= in his heart? - -[160] 171. =Merlin= was the sorcerer in Arthur's court. Vivien succeeded -in getting from him a secret by which she shut him up in a hollow tree. -See Tennyson's _Merlin and Vivien_. Malory has another version of the -story. - -[161] 173. =Cates=; provisions,--especially rich, luxurious provisions. -Cf. _cater_, _caterer_. - -[162] 174. =Tambour frame.= Tambour is a kind of drum; cf. _tambourine_. -A tambour frame is a round frame for holding material which is to be -embroidered. - -[163] 208. =Casement high....= On these next three stanzas Keats spent -much time. They are considered beautiful description. Why? - -[164] 214. =Heraldries= are coats of arms. - -[165] 215. =Emblazonings=; colored heraldries. - -[166] 218. =Gules=; the tincture red. In a shield without color gules is -indicated by vertical parallel lines. - -[167] 241. =Missal=; a mass book for the year. What is the meaning of -this line? =Paynims=; pagans. - -[168] 257. =Morphean.= Morpheus was the god of sleep. - -[169] 262. =Azure-lidded sleep.= Note the different senses appealed to -in these next stanzas. Keats is called one of our most sensuous poets. - -[170] 266. =Soother=; used here for _more soothing_. - -[171] 267. What are =lucent syrops=? Note derivation. - -[172] 277. =Eremite=; hermit. - -[173] 292. Keats wrote a poem about this time called _La Belle Dame sans -Merci_. - -[174] 346. =Wassailers= was a term originally used for men drinking each -other's health with the words _wes h[=a]l_, be whole. - -[175] 375. Angela. Have the deaths of Angela and the Beadsman been -foretold? - - -ALFRED TENNYSON - -Alfred Tennyson was born in Somersby, Lincolnshire, England, on August -6, 1809, and died at Aldworth in Surrey in 1892. He was the third of -twelve brothers and sisters, several of whom later showed evidences of -genius. As early as 1827 he and his brother Charles published _Poems by -Two Brothers_, for which they received ten pounds. At Trinity College, -Cambridge, which he entered in 1828, he won the chancellor's gold medal -for a prize poem _Timbuctoo_. On the death of his father in 1831 he left -Cambridge without a degree. Before this in 1830 he had published _Poems, -chiefly Lyrical_, and two years later in 1832 a new volume appeared -which was severely criticised, though it contained much excellent work. -The death of his close friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, in 1833 was a -terrible blow to Tennyson and one from which it took him many years to -recover. It was, however, the inspiration for his elegy _In Memoriam_, -written for the most part during the period when the loss was felt most -keenly. For some time after, Tennyson lived quietly, gaining in power -and expression, and busy training himself for the future. The product of -this seclusion came in two volumes of poetry, printed in 1842, which -were enthusiastically greeted. In 1845 Wordsworth wrote, "Tennyson is -decidedly the first of our living poets." _The Princess; A Medley_, -appeared in 1847, and three years later he gave to the world the -completed _In Memoriam_. This same year (1850) is also notable for his -marriage with Miss Emily Sellwood and his appointment as poet-laureate -in place of Wordsworth, who had just died. - -From this time on his place in literature was secured, and he lived a -happy life, making occasional short trips in England and on the -continent, but remaining for the most part quietly at his estate on the -Isle of Wight. Among his later works are _Maud_ (1855), _Enoch Arden_ -(1864), _Idylls of the King_ (finished 1872), a group of _Ballads, and -Other Poems_ (1880), and several dramas. He accepted a peerage in 1883. -Nine years later he died and was buried in Westminster Abbey. - -Tennyson, in the range and scope of his work, in the variety of his -interests, and in the versatility of his art, is the most representative -poet of the nineteenth century. He tried many kinds of poetry and met -with some success in all. He learned versification as Stevenson did his -prose style, by long-continued study and practice, with the result that -he became eventually a supreme literary artist, a master of melody in -words. His diction is admirably precise and exact, and he is easy to -read and understand. While he is rarely profound or searching, like -Browning, neither is he overintellectual; but he embeds sane and safe -thought in a mould of beauty. He was a national poet in his patriotism -and fondness for English scenery. Finally he was an apostle of religious -optimism, ready to combat the morbid beliefs which were disturbing -contemporary philosophy. - - -DORA (Page 103) - -Published in 1842. - -The clearness and simplicity of this exquisite pastoral make any -explanatory notes superfluous. Regarding it, Wordsworth once said to -Tennyson, "I have been endeavoring all my life to write a pastoral like -your Dora and have not yet succeeded." - - -OeNONE (Page 108) - -Most of this poem was written in 1830 while Tennyson was travelling in -the Pyrenees Mountains with his friend, Arthur Henry Hallam. The -descriptions of scenery belong, therefore, to that district, and not to -the vicinity of ancient Troy. _Oenone_ was first published in 1832, -but was afterward frequently revised; it appears here in the final form -approved by Tennyson himself. - -[176] 1. =Ida= is a mountain in northwest Asia Minor near the site of -Troy. - -[177] 2. =Ionian=; Grecian. - -[178] 10. Gargarus is the highest peak of Mount Ida. - -[179] 13. =Troas= is the district in northwest Asia Minor in which was -located the city of Troy. - -[180] 13. =Ilion= was the Greek name for Troy. - -[181] 16. =Paris= was the son of Priam, king of Troy, and his wife -Hecuba. - -[182] 37. =River-God=; Cebren, the god of a small river near Troas. - -[183] 40. =Rose slowly.= According to tradition, Neptune, the god of the -sea, was the founder of Troy, but was assisted by Apollo, who raised the -walls to the music of his lyre. - -[184] 51. =Simois=; a river having its source in Mount Ida. - -[185] 65. =Hesperian gold.= The apples of Hesperides were made of pure -gold. They were given to Herč as a wedding present, and thereafter -guarded night and day by a dragon. Hercules finally secured three of -them through a stratagem. - -[186] 66. =Ambrosially.= Ambrosia was the food of the gods. - -[187] 72. =Oread.= The Oreads were nymphs who were supposed to guide -travellers through dangerous places on the mountains. - -[188] 79. =Peleus=; a king of Phitia who married Thetis, a sea-nymph. To -the wedding feast all the immortals were invited except Eris, goddess of -discord. In revenge, she cast a golden apple on the banquet table before -the gods and goddesses, with an inscription awarding it to the most -beautiful among them. The strife which followed resulted in the choosing -of Paris as judge in the matter. - -[189] 81. =Iris= was the messenger and attendant of Juno. She frequently -appeared in the form of a rainbow. - -[190] 83. =Herč= (Roman Juno) was the wife and sister of Zeus (Roman -Jupiter), and therefore Queen of Heaven. - -[191] 84. =Pallas= (Roman Minerva) was the goddess of wisdom. - -[192] 84. =Aphroditč= (Roman Venus) was the goddess of beauty and love. - -[193] 95. =Amaracus=; a fragrant flower. - -[194] 95. =Asphodel=; supposed to have been a variety of Narcissus. - -[195] 102. The =peacock= was a bird sacred to Herč. - -[196] 151. =Guerdon=; reward. - -[197] 170. =Idalian=; so-called from Idalium, a town in Cyprus sacred to -Aphroditč. - -[198] 171. =Paphian=; a reference to Paphos in Cyprus where Aphroditč -first set foot after her birth from sea foam. - -[199] 195. =Pard=; leopard. - -[200] 220. =The Abominable=; Eris, the goddess already referred to. - -[201] 257. =The Greek woman=; Helen, wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta. -She was the wife promised to Paris by Aphroditč as his reward for his -decision. Paris stole her from her husband through the direction of -Aphroditč, and carried her back to Troy. As a result of this act, the -Greeks, under Menelaus and his brother Agamemnon, joined in an attack on -Troy which ended, after ten years, in the capture of that city. In the -course of the siege Paris was killed. - -[202] 259. =Cassandra=; the daughter of Priam, and hence the sister of -Paris. She was condemned by Apollo to utter prophesies which, though -true, would never be believed. - -The conclusion of the story of Oenone and Paris may be read in -Tennyson's own _Death of Oenone_ or in William Morris's _Death of -Paris_. - - -ENOCH ARDEN (Page 117) - -This poem was written in 1862, its actual composition taking only two -weeks, although the poet had been considering the theme for some time. -It was first printed in 1864 and became popular at once, sixty thousand -copies being sold in a very short period. - -[203] 7. =Danish barrows= are burial mounds supposed to have been left -by the early Danish invaders of England. - -[204] 18. The =fluke= is the part of the anchor which fastens in the -ground. - -[205] 36. =Wife to both.= This line is a prophecy of future events in -the story. - -[206] 94. =Osier.= The reference is to baskets made of osier, a kind of -willow. - -[207] 98. The =lion-whelp= was evidently a heraldic device over the -gateway to the hall. - -[208] 99. =Peacock-yewtree=; a yewtree cut, after the fashion of the old -landscape gardeners, into the shape of a peacock. - -[209] 213. =Look on yours.= This is another prophetic line. - -[210] 326. =Garth=; a yard or garden. - -[211] 337. =Conies=; rabbits. - -[212] 370. =Just ... begun=; notice here the repetition of line 67: each -of the two lines introduces a crisis in the life of Philip. Several -other such repetitions may be found in the poem. - -[213] 494. =Under the palm-tree=; found in _Judges_ iv. 5. - -[214] 525. The =Bay of Biscay= is off the west coast of France and north -of Spain. - -[215] 527. =Summer of the world=; the equator. - -[216] 563. =Stem=; the trunk of a tree. - -[217] 573. =Convolvuluses=; plants with twining stems. - -[218] 575. =The broad belt of the world.= The ancients considered the -ocean to be a body of water completely surrounding the land. - -[219] 633. This description may be compared with that of Ben Gunn in -Stevenson's _Treasure Island_. - -[220] 671. A =holt= is a piece of woodland. - -[221] 671. A =tilth= is a name for land which is tilled. - -[222] 728. =Latest=; last. - -[223] 733. =Shingle=; coarse gravel or small stones. - -[224] 747. =Creasy=; full of creases. - - -THE REVENGE (Page 146) - -Published first in the _Nineteenth Century_, March, 1878. Reprinted in -_Ballads, and other Poems_, 1880. - -_The Revenge_ deals with an incident of the war between England and -Spain during the latter half of the sixteenth century. Sir Richard -Grenville, the hero, came from a long line of fighters and was one of -the most famous naval commanders of the period. He had led, in 1585, the -first English colony to Virginia, and had been in charge of the Devon -coast defence at the time of the _Armada_ (1588) when that great Spanish -fleet, organized to deal a crushing blow to England, was defeated and -almost entirely destroyed by English ships and seamen under Lord Howard -and Sir Francis Drake. In 1591 he was given command of the _Revenge_, a -second-rate ship of five hundred tons' burden and carrying a crew of -two hundred and fifty men, and sent to the Azores to intercept a Spanish -treasure fleet. While there, he was cut off from his own squadron and -left with two alternatives: to turn his back on the enemy, or to sail -through the fifty-three Spanish vessels opposed to him. He refused to -retreat, and the terrible battle described in the ballad was the result. - -Grenville was a somewhat haughty and tyrannical leader, though -noble-minded, loyal, and patriotic. In Charles Kingsley's _Westward Ho!_ -which gives a vivid portrayal of English national feeling and character -during these stirring times, he is made to take an important part, and -is idealized as "a truly heroic personage--a steadfast, God-fearing, -chivalrous man, conscious (as far as a soul so healthy could be -conscious) of the pride of beauty, and strength, and valour, and -wisdom." Froude calls him "a goodly and gallant gentleman." Perhaps the -best comment on him is found in his own dying words: "Here die I, -Richard Grenville, with a joyful and quiet mind: for that I have ended -my life as true soldier ought to do, that hath fought for his country, -Queen, religion, and honour. Whereby my soul most joyfully departeth out -of this body, and shall always leave behind it an everlasting fame of a -valiant and true soldier; that hath done his dutie as he was bound to -do." - -_The Revenge_ is styled by Stevenson (the _English Admirals_) "one of -the noblest ballads in the English language." Indeed, in vigor of -spirit, and in patriotic feeling, there are few poems which surpass it. - -[225] 1. The =Azores= (here pronounced _A-zo-res_) are a group of -islands in the North Atlantic Ocean. The island of _Flores_ (pronounced -_Flo-res_) is the most westerly of the group. - -[226] 4. =Lord Thomas Howard= was admiral of the fleet to which the -_Revenge_ belonged. - -[227] 12. =The Inquisition= was a system of tribunals formed in the -thirteenth century by the Roman Catholic Church to investigate and -punish cases of religious unbelief. In the sixteenth century the -Inquisition became infamous in Spain because of the cruelty of its -persecutions, many people suffering terrible tortures and dying the most -painful deaths, through its instrumentality. - -[228] 17. =Bideford= in Devon was the birthplace of Sir Richard -Grenville. In the sixteenth century it was one of England's chief -seaports and sent seven vessels to fight the Armada. It is described in -the opening chapter of _Westward Ho!_ - -[229] 21. The =thumbscrew= was an instrument of torture employed by the -Inquisition. - -[230] 21. Victims of the Inquisition were sometimes tied to a =stake= -and burned alive. - -[231] 30. =Seville= is a city in southwestern Spain. It is here to be -pronounced with the accent on the first syllable. - -[232] 31. =Don=; a Spanish title of rank, here used to designate any -Spaniard. - -[233] 46. =Galleon=; a name applied to sailing vessels of the fifteenth -and sixteenth centuries. - - -ROBERT BROWNING - -Robert Browning was born at Camberwell, May 7, 1812, and died at Venice, -December 12, 1889. Browning's father, as his grandfather had been, was -employed in the Bank of England. Mr. Browning, who was an indulgent -father, decided that his son's education should be under private tutors. -This lack of being educated with other boys is sometimes supposed to -have been one of the causes why Browning found difficulty in expressing -his thoughts clearly to other people. It was at first planned that -Browning should become a lawyer, but as he had no taste for this, his -father agreed to allow his son to adopt literature as a profession. -When Browning had made his choice, he read Johnson's Dictionary for -preparation. _Pauline_, his first published poem, attracted almost no -attention, but Browning kept on writing, regardless of inattention. The -actor, Macready, with whom he became friendly, turned Browning's -attention to the writing of plays, but he was never successful as a -writer for the stage. On his return from his second visit to Italy, in -1844, he read Miss Elizabeth Barrett's _Lady Geraldine's Courtship_ and -expressed so much appreciation of this poem that, on the suggestion of a -common friend, he wrote to tell Miss Barrett how much he liked her work. -This was the beginning of one of the famous literary love affairs of the -world. Although Miss Barrett was several years older than Browning and a -great invalid, they were married, against family opposition, in 1846, -and went immediately to Italy. Mrs. Browning's health was now much -improved, and she lived till 1861. On her death, Browning, greatly -overcome, returned to England. Gradually he went more and more into -society, and as his popularity as a poet increased, he became a -well-known figure in public. He continued writing throughout his life. -He died at his son's house in Venice in 1889. - - -HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX (Page 154) - -Browning wrote concerning this poem: "There is no sort of historical -foundation about _Good News from Ghent_. I wrote it under the bulwark of -a vessel off the African coast, after I had been at sea long enough to -appreciate even the fancy of a gallop on the back of a certain good -horse 'York' then in my stable at home. It was written in pencil on the -fly-leaf of Bartoli's _Simboli_, I remember." Such an incident might, -of course, have happened at the "Pacification of Ghent," a treaty of -union between Holland, Zealand, and southern Netherlands under William -of Orange, against Philip II of Spain. The distance between Ghent and -Aix as mapped out in this poem is something more than ninety miles. Do -you think a horse could gallop that distance? Notice that the verse -gives the effect of galloping. - -[234] 10. =Pique=; seems to be the pommel. - -[235] 14 ff. =Lokeren=, =Boom=, =Düffeld=, =Mecheln=, =Aerschot=, -=Hasselt=, =Looz=, =Tongres=, =Dalhem=; towns varying from seven to -twenty-five miles apart on the route taken from Ghent to Aix. - -[236] See Note 235 above. - -[237] See Note 235 above. - -[238] See Note 235 above. - -[239] See Note 235 above. - -[240] See Note 235 above. - -[241] See Note 235 above. - -[242] See Note 235 above. - -[243] See Note 235 above. - -[244] 46. =Save Aix.= Notice that this is the first we know of the -purpose of this ride. Is this an advantage or a disadvantage? - - -INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP (Page 156) - -Ratisbon (German Regensburg), which has been besieged seventeen times -since the eighteenth century, was stormed by Napoleon, May, 1809, during -his Austrian campaign. Mrs. Sutherland Orr, the biographer of Browning, -says this incident actually happened, except that the hero was a man and -not a boy. - -[245] 5. =Neck out-thrust.= Notice how Browning gives the well-known -attitude of Napoleon. - -[246] 9. =Mused.= What effect has this supposed soliloquy of Napoleon? - -[247] 11. =Lannes=; a general of Napoleon's, and the Duke of Montebello. - -[248] 29. =Flag-bird.= What bird was on Napoleon's flag? - - -THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN (Page 158) - -There are many versions of this story which Browning might have used. He -is said to have used directly the account in _The Wonders of the Little -World; or a General History of Man_, written by Nathaniel Wanley and -published in 1678. This poem, however, from whatever source the story -was taken, was deservedly popular long before Browning himself was. It -was written to amuse, during a sickness, the son of William Macready, -the most prominent English actor of his time and a close friend of -Browning's. - -[249] 1. =Hamelin=; a town near Hanover, the capital of the province of -Brunswick, Prussia. - -[250] 37. =Guilder=; a Dutch coin worth about forty cents. - -[251] 68. =Trump of Doom.= The Archangel Gabriel was to blow his trumpet -to summon the dead on the Day of Judgment. - -[252] 79. =Pied Piper.= _Pied_ means variegated like a magpie. Cf. -_piebald_. - -[253] 89. =Cham.= The Great Cham, or Khan, was the ruler of Tartary. -Marco Polo, the Venetian traveller, gives an account of him. Dr. Johnson -was called the Great Cham of literature. - -[254] 91. =Nizam=; a native ruler of Hyderabad, India. - -[255] 123, 126. =Julius Cćsar and his Commentary.= Julius Cćsar, the -great Roman general and dictator, who wrote his _Commentaries_ on his -wars in Gaul and Britain. - -[256] 169. =Poke=; pocket. - -[257] 182. =Stiver=; a small Dutch coin. - -[258] 188. =Piebald.= Cf. _pied_, line 79. - -[259] 260. =Needle's eye.= Cf. _Matthew_ xix. 24; _Mark_ x. 25; _Luke_ -xviii. 25. - - -HERVÉ RIEL (Page 168) - -[260] 1. =Hogue.= Cape La Hogue, on the east side of the same peninsula -as Cape La Hague, was the scene, in 1692, of the defeat of the French by -the united English and Dutch fleets. - -[261] 5. =Saint Malo on the Rance=; a town on a small island near the -shore of France. The entrance to its fine harbor is very narrow and -filled with rocks. At high tide there is forty-five to fifty feet of -water, but at low tide this channel is dry. - -[262] 30. =Plymouth Sound.= Plymouth is on the southwestern coast of -England. - -[263] 43. =Pressed=; forced into military or naval service. - -[264] 43. =Tourville=; the famous French admiral, who commanded at La -Hogue. - -[265] 44. =Croisickese=; La Croisic, a small fishing village near the -mouth of the Loire, which Browning often visited. - - -DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI - -Dante Gabriel Rossetti was born in London, of Italian parentage, in -1828. He was educated at King's College School, but became very early a -student of painting, in which art he attained considerable prominence. -He was a member of the famous pre-Raphaelite group of artists and -authors, and was largely responsible for the movement started by them. -In 1861 he published _The Early Italian Poets_, a volume of -translations; in 1870, _Poems_; and in 1881, _Ballads and Sonnets_. His -last days were unhappy, his death in 1882 being hastened by -overindulgence in narcotics. - -Rossetti's painting had a marked effect upon his poetry, chiefly in -giving him the faculty of vivid and ornate description. Though -essentially a lyric poet, he revived old English ballad forms with much -success, and his narrative poems are vigorous and spirited. A good short -life of Rossetti is that by Joseph Knight in the Great Writers Series. - - -THE WHITE SHIP (Page 175) - -First published in 1881 in the volume called _Ballads and Sonnets_. - -Henry the First, the third son of William the Conqueror had, on the -death of his brother William the Second (William Rufus) in 1100, seized -the crown of England by force from his other elder brother, Robert, Duke -of Normandy. In 1106, after overthrowing Robert at Tenchebray, he became -also Duke of Normandy, thus uniting under himself the two nations. This -bond of union he further strengthened by marrying Mathilda, an English -princess. His reign, which lasted until 1135, marked a revival in -English national feeling, and a long step was taken toward the -assimilation of the victorious Normans by the people whom they had -conquered. - -Henry and Mathilda had only one son, William, who was born in 1103. The -following account of his death is given by William of Malmesbury (edited -by J. C. Giles): "Giving orders for returning to England, the king set -sail from Barfleur just before twilight on the seventh before the -kalends of December; and the breeze which filled his sails conducted him -safely to his kingdom and extensive fortunes. But the young prince, who -was now somewhat more than seventeen years of age, and, by his father's -indulgence, possessed everything but the name of king, commanded another -vessel to be prepared for himself; almost all the young nobility -flocking around him, from similarity of youthful pursuits. The sailors, -too, immoderately filled with wine, with that seaman's hilarity which -their cups excited, exclaimed, that those who were now ahead must soon -be left astern; for the ship was of the best construction and recently -fitted with new materials. When, therefore, it was now dark night, these -imprudent youths, overwhelmed with liquor, launched the vessel from the -shore.... The carelessness of the intoxicated crew drove her on a rock -which rose above the waves not far from shore.... The oars, dashing, -horribly crashed against the rock, and her battered prow hung immovably -fixed. Now, too, the water washed some of the crew overboard, and, -entering the chinks, drowned others; when the boat having been launched, -the young prince was received into it, and might certainly have been -saved by reaching the shore, had not his illegitimate sister, the -Countess of Perche, now struggling with death in the larger vessel, -implored her brother's assistance. Touched with pity, he ordered the -boat to return to the ship, that he might rescue his sister; and thus -the unhappy youth met his death through excess of affection; for the -skiff, overcharged by the multitudes who leaped into her, sank, and -buried all indiscriminately in the deep. One rustic alone escaped; who, -floating all night upon the mast, related in the morning the dismal -catastrophe of the tragedy." - -[266] Henry never recovered from the shock of this disaster; and -although he married again, he left at his death no direct male heir to -the throne. - -[267] 2. =Rouen=; a city in northwest France on the river Seine. - -[268] 14. =Clerkly Henry.= In his youth Henry had been a student and -scholar--hence his early nickname "Henry Beauclerc." - -[269] 15. =Ruthless=; pitiless. - -[270] 17. =Eyes were gone.= According to a legend, which, however, has -no historical foundation, Henry had put out the eyes of his brother -Robert. - -[271] 26. =Fealty.= Under the feudal system each vassal or dependant was -required to take an oath of allegiance to his overlord. - -[272] 35. =Liege=; having the right to allegiance. - -[273] 36. =Father's foot.= William the Conqueror, Henry's father, -defeated Harold, the English king, at Hastings in 1066 and thus became -master of England. - -[274] 39. =Rood=; the fourth part of an acre. - -[275] 45. =Harfleur's harbor.= Harfleur is a seaport town on the north -bank of the outlet of the river Seine in northwest France. - -[276] 59. =Hind=; servant. - -[277] 98. =Moil=; wet. - -[278] 138. =Maugre=; notwithstanding. - -[279] 163. =Honfleur=; a town on the south bank of the outlet of the -river Seine, opposite Harfleur. - -[280] 166. =Body of Christ=; the procession of the Holy Communion. - -[281] 178. =Hight=; called. - -[282] 198. =Foredone=; gone. - -[283] 211. =Shrift=; the confession made to a priest. - -[284] 214. =Winchester=; a cathedral city in southern England, the -ancient capital of the country. - -[285] 233. =Pleasaunce=; pleasure. - -[286] 236. =Pardie=; certainly or surely. It was originally an oath from -the French _par Dieu_. - -[287] 260. =Dais=; the platform on which was the king's throne. - -[288] 268. =Rede=; story. - - -WILLIAM MORRIS - -William Morris was born in 1834 in Walthamstead, Essex, England, and -died in London in 1896. He went to Exeter College, Oxford, in 1853, -where he formed a close friendship with Edward Burne-Jones, the future -artist. A little later he came under the influence of Rossetti, who -induced him to attempt painting, an art which he followed with no great -success. In 1858 he published _The Defence of Guinevere, and Other -Poems_. This volume was followed by _The Life and Death of Jason_ -(1867), _The Earthly Paradise_ (finished 1872), and _Sigurd the Volsung_ -(1876). In 1863 he became a manufacturer of wall paper and artistic -furniture, branching out afterwards into weaving, dyeing, and other -crafts. After 1885 he was a confirmed Socialist, speaking frequently at -laborers' meetings and pouring forth a steady stream of leaflets and -pamphlets in support of his radical beliefs. His death was probably due -to overwork. - -Morris was by instinct a lover of the beautiful and harmonious. A fluent -versifier, he delighted especially in the composition of narrative -poetry, which he adorned with ornate description and superb decoration. -This very richness sometimes cloys the taste and tends to arouse a -feeling of monotony. His longest work, _The Earthly Paradise_, is -modelled somewhat on Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales_, and contains -twenty-four stories, twelve medićval and twelve classic in origin. - -A satisfactory short life is that by Alfred Noyes in the English Men of -Letters Series. - - -ATALANTA'S RACE (Page 187) - -Published in 1868 as the first story in the collection called _The -Earthly Paradise_. The episode was a favorite with Greek and Latin -writers, and has been used occasionally in modern times. The metre in -this version is the antiquated Rime Royal. - -[289] 1. =Arcadia= was a province of the Grecian peninsula. - -[290] 14. =Cornel= is a kind of wood of great hardness used for making -bows. - -[291] 28. =King Schoenus=; a Boeotian king, the son of Athamas. Most -other versions of the story name Iasius as Atalanta's father. - -[292] 62. =Image of the sun=; a statue of Phoebus Apollo, the sun-god. - -[293] 63. =The Fleet-foot One=; Mercury (Hermes), the messenger of the -gods. - -[294] 79. =Diana=; the daughter of Jupiter and Latona, and the sister of -Apollo. She was the goddess of the moon and of the hunt. She was also -the protector of chastity. See Guerber, _Myths of Greece and Rome_, -Chapter VI. - -[295] 80. =Lists=; desires. - -[296] 177. =Saffron gown=; the orange-yellow dress indicative of the -bride. - -[297] 184. =The sea-born one=; Aphrodite (Venus). See page 266. - -[298] 206. The =Dryads= were wood-nymphs who were supposed to watch over -vegetation. - -[299] 208. =Adonis' bane=; the wild boar. Adonis was a beautiful youth -who was passionately loved by Venus, though he did not return her -affection. He was mortally wounded at a hunt by a wild boar, and died in -the arms of the goddess. - -[300] 211. =Argive=; Grecian. - -[301] 224. =Must=; the juice of the grape before fermentation. - -[302] 353. =Argos=; a city in Argolis, a province in the northeast part -of the Peloponnesian peninsula in Greece. - -[303] 373. =Queen Venus.= It was to Venus, the goddess of love, that -unhappy lovers were accustomed to turn for aid. - -[304] 391. =Holpen=; the old past participle of the word help. - -[305] 516. =Damascus=; the chief city of Syria. - -[306] 535. =Saturn= (Cronus or Time) was the father of Jupiter. Under -his rule came the so-called Golden Age of the world. - -[307] 671. =Phoenician.= The Phoenicians lived on the eastern shore -of the Mediterranean Sea, and were famous for their commerce and trade. - - -HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW - -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, on February 27, -1807. He entered Bowdoin College at the early age of fifteen, graduating -there in 1825. He then spent about three years abroad preparing himself -for a position, as Professor of Modern Languages at Bowdoin, which he -took on his return. There he remained six years, leaving in 1834 to -become a professor in Harvard College. His first book of poems, _Voices -of the Night_, appeared in 1839, and two years later he published -_Ballads and other Poems_. Both volumes were received cordially and had -a wide circulation. Other important later works were _Evangeline_ -(1847), _Hiawatha_ (1855), _The Courtship of Miles Standish_ (1858), and -_Tales of a Wayside Inn_ (finished 1873). In 1854 he left off teaching -and settled down to a quiet literary life. During a trip to Europe in -1868 he was given honorary degrees by both Oxford and Cambridge. He died -in Boston in 1882. It is a testimonial to his popularity in England that -his bust was placed in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey, the only -memorial to an American author there. - -Longfellow was a scholarly and cultured poet, influenced much by foreign -literatures and proficient in translation. His verse is rarely -impassioned, but is usually simple, smooth, and polished. America has -had no finer narrative poet; and it is unquestionable that this form of -poetry was well adapted to his genius, which was fluent, but not often -strongly emotional. - - -THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS (Page 211) - -Longfellow's diary for the date December 17, 1839, contains the -following entry: "News of shipwrecks horrible on the coast. Twenty -bodies washed ashore near Gloucester, one lashed to a piece of wreck. -There is a reef called Norman's Woe, where many of these took place; -among others the schooner Hesperus--I must write a ballad upon this." -Two weeks later he wrote: "I sat last evening till twelve o'clock by my -fire, smoking, when suddenly it came into my mind to write the 'Ballad -of the Schooner Hesperus,' which I accordingly did. Then I went to bed, -but I could not sleep. New thoughts were running in my mind, and I got -up to add them to the ballad. It was three by the clock. I then went to -bed and fell asleep. I feel pleased with the ballad. It hardly cost me -an effort. It did not come into my mind by lines, but by stanzas." - -Published first in 1841 in _Ballads and Other Poems_. - - -PAUL REVERE'S RIDE (Page 214) - -Published in 1863 as _The Landlord's Tale_ in the first series of _Tales -of a Wayside Inn_. - -General Gage, commander of the British forces in Boston and vicinity, -despatched, on the night of April 18, 1775, a body of troops to seize -stores said to be concealed at Concord. According to the story, Paul -Revere spread the warning throughout the surrounding country, and when -the British arrived at Lexington they found a small body of militia -lined up to oppose them. A skirmish ensued in which the first blood of -the war was spilled, several being killed and others wounded. - -[308] 2. =Paul Revere= (1735-1818) was a goldsmith and engraver who -became one of the most active of the colonial patriots. - -[309] 9. =North Church.= There is some dispute as to what church is -referred to here. A tablet on the front of Christ Church, Salem Street, -Boston, points that out as the church from which the lanterns were hung. -Other good authorities, however, support the claims of the North Church, -formerly standing in North Square, but now torn down. - -[310] 88. =Medford= is on the Mystic River about five miles northwest of -Boston. - -[311] 102. =Concord= is about nineteen miles northwest of Boston. - - -JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER - -John Greenleaf Whittier was born in Haverhill, Massachusetts, December -17, 1807, and died at Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, September 7, 1892. -Whittier's ancestors for several generations had been New England -farmers on the same farm where the original Whittier immigrant had -settled. The family was too poor to give Whittier an education, so that -two terms at Haverhill Academy, the tuition for which he paid by -shoemaking and school teaching, completed his school training. He early -became interested in journalism, and was employed in editorial work in -Boston and in Hartford. When abolition became an agitation, Whittier -became one of the leaders. He was instrumental in bringing the English -Abolitionist, George Thompson, to America; and, while on a tour with -him, was stoned and shot at by a mob in Concord, New Hampshire. Later, -when he was editor of the _Philadelphia Freeman_, his office was burned -by a mob. During this period he wrote many anti-slavery poems, such as -the _Ballads_, _Anti-Slavery Poems_, etc., of 1838 and the _Voices of -Freedom_ of 1841. In spite of his interest in politics, for he was twice -elected to the Massachusetts legislature, Whittier led a very simple -life in accordance with his Quaker beliefs. He never married, partly, it -seems, because he had the care of his mother and sister Elizabeth, until -the latter's death in 1864. The latter part of his life he lived at -Amesbury and Danvers, Massachusetts. - -Whittier's poetry is of three kinds. He is at times more thoroughly than -any other writer the poet of New England country life; again he is -essentially an anti-slavery poet; and, finally, he has written many -religious poems. His best-known poem is _Snow-Bound_, which gives an -admirable picture of a farmer's life in the hard storms of a New England -winter. - - -SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE (Page 219) - -[312] 3. =Apuleius's Golden Ass.= Apuleius was a Roman satirist who -lived in the first half of the second century. His most celebrated work -was _Metamorphoses, or the Golden Ass_, a satirical romance to ridicule -Christianity. - -[313] 4. =Calender's horse of brass.= See the story in the _Arabian -Nights_. - -[314] 6. =Islam's prophet on Al-Borák.= Mohammed was believed to make -his journeys between heaven and earth upon a creature, which some say -was a camel, named Al-Borák. (The word signifies lightning.) - -[315] 26. =Bacchus=; the god of wine and revelry. A Bacchanalian revel -was a common subject for decorations. - -[316] 30. =Mćnads=; women who attended Bacchus, the god of wine, waving, -as they danced and sang, the thyrsus, a wand entwined with ivy and -surmounted by a pine cone. - -[317] 35. =Chaleur Bay=; an inlet of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, between -Gaspé and New Brunswick. It is a great resort for mackerel fishing. - - -BARCLAY OF URY (Page 222) - -"Among the earliest converts to the doctrines of the Friends in Scotland -was Barclay of Ury, an old and distinguished soldier, who had fought -under Gustavus Adolphus, in Germany. As a Quaker, he became the object -of persecution and abuse at the hands of the magistrates and populace. -None bore the indignities of the mob with greater patience and nobleness -of soul than this once proud gentleman and soldier. One of his friends, -on an occasion of uncommon rudeness, lamented that he should be treated -so harshly in his old age who had been so honored before. 'I find more -satisfaction,' said Barclay, 'as well as honor, in being thus insulted -for my religious principles, than when, a few years ago, it was usual -for the magistrates, as I passed the city of Aberdeen, to meet me on the -road and conduct me to public entertainment in their hall, and then -escort me out again, to gain my favor.'"--WHITTIER. - -[318] 1. =Aberdeen=; a city in northeastern Scotland. - -[319] 2. =Kirk=; the Scotch word for church. - -[320] 3. =Laird=; lord. - -[321] 10. =Carlin=; Scotch word for old woman. - -[322] 35. =Lützen=; a town in Saxony, province of Prussia. - -[323] 56. =Tilly.= "The barbarities of Count de Tilly after the siege of -Magdeburg made such an impression upon our forefathers that the phrase -'like old Tilly' is still heard sometimes in New England of any piece of -special ferocity."--WHITTIER. - -[324] 57. =Walloon=; from certain provinces of Belgium. - -[325] 81. =Snooded.= The snood was a band which a Scottish maiden wore -in her hair as a sign of her maidenhood. - -[326] 99. =Tolbooth=; a name commonly applied to a Scottish prison. - -[327] 117. =Fallow=; ploughed but unsown land. - - -BARBARA FRIETCHIE (Page 226) - -"This poem was written in strict conformity to the account of the -incident as I had it from respectable and trustworthy sources. It has -since been the subject of a good deal of conflicting testimony, and the -story was probably incorrect in some of its details. It is admitted by -all that Barbara Frietchie was no myth, but a worthy and highly esteemed -gentlewoman, intensely loyal and a hater of the Slavery Rebellion, -holding her Union flag sacred and keeping it with her Bible; that when -the Confederates halted before her house, and entered her dooryard, she -denounced them in vigorous language, shook her cane in their faces, and -drove them out; and when General Burnside's troops followed close upon -Jackson's, she waved her flag and cheered them. It is stated that May -Quantrell, a brave and loyal lady in another part of the city, did wave -her flag in sight of the Confederates. It is possible that there has -been a blending of the two incidents."--WHITTIER. - - -OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES - -Oliver Wendell Holmes was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1809. He -studied at Phillips Academy, Andover, and later at Harvard College, -where he graduated in the famous class of 1829. He tried law for a year, -but gave this up for medicine. In 1833 he went abroad, returning in 1835 -for a medical degree at Harvard. He at once began the active practice of -his profession, but accepted a professorship at Dartmouth in 1838. He -remained there only a short time, coming back again to Boston, where he -married and resumed his work as a physician. In 1847 he became Parkman -Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Harvard, and held this position -until 1882. In 1857, through the influence of James Russell Lowell, he -began to contribute regularly to the _Atlantic Monthly_. After 1882 he -devoted himself almost exclusively to writing and lecturing. He died in -1894 in Boston. - -While Holmes is best known as the author of _The Autocrat of the -Breakfast Table_ and other prose works, he published numerous poems, -most of them humorous in tone. Many of them were written for specific -occasions, and as such are distinguished for their wit and cleverness -rather than for strong emotion or profound thought. - - -GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER HILL BATTLE (Page 230) - -First published in 1875 at the time of the centennial of the battle of -Bunker Hill. - -The so-called battle of Bunker Hill was the first important engagement -of the Revolutionary War. On June 17, 1775, five thousand British -soldiers under Howe, Clinton, and Pigott attacked a smaller number of -Americans then stationed on Breed's Hill near Boston, under Colonel -William Prescott. They were twice beaten back, but captured the hill on -their third charge. The British loss was about twelve hundred men, while -the Americans lost only four hundred, among them, however, being the -patriot, Dr. Joseph Warren. - -[328] 2. =Times that tried men's souls=; a quotation from the first of a -series of tracts called _The Crisis_ by Thomas Paine, 1776. - -[329] 3. =Whig and Tory.= In the Colonies the Whigs were the -Revolutionists, while the Tories were the supporters of the King. The -Whigs were also called Rebels. - -[330] 5. =April running battle=; the fight at Lexington and Concord, -April 19, 1775, when the British forces were led by Lord Percy. - -[331] 16. =Mohawks=; one of the tribes of the Six Nations notorious for -their cruelty in the French and Indian War. - -[332] 42. =Banyan=; a colored morning-gown. - -[333] 67. =Dan'l Malcolm=; an allusion to an inscription on a gravestone -in Copp's Hill Burial Ground, Boston. The inscription is as follows:-- - - "Here lies buried in a - Stone Grave 10 feet deep - Capt. Daniel Malcolm Mercht - Who departed this Life - October 23, 1769, - Aged 44 years, - A true son of Liberty, - A Friend to the Publick, - An Enemy to oppression, - And one of the foremost - In opposing the Revenue Acts - On America." - -[334] 147. =J. S. Copley= (1737-1815) was a distinguished American -portrait-painter. - - - - - Macmillan's - - Pocket Series of English Classics - - Cloth _Uniform In Size and Binding_ 25 cents each - - - =Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley.= Edited by ZELMA GRAY, East - Side High School, Saginaw, Mich. - - =Andersen's Fairy Tales.= Translated from the Danish by - CAROLINE PEACHEY and Dr. H. W. DULCKEN. With biographical - notes and introduction by SARAH C. BROOKS, Training School, - Baltimore, Md. - - =Arabian Nights.= Edited by CLIFTON JOHNSON. - - =Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum and other Poems.= Edited by JUSTUS - COLLINS CASTLEMAN, Bloomington High School, Bloomington, - Ind. - - =Bacon's Essays.= Edited by Professor GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE, - Mercer University, Macon, Ga. - - =Blackmore's Lorna Doone.= Edited by ALBERT L. BARBOUR, - Superintendent of Schools, Natick, Mass. - - =Browning's Shorter Poems.= Edited by FRANKLIN T. BAKER, - Teachers College, New York City. - - =Mrs. Browning's Poems= (Selections from). Edited by HELOISE E. - HERSHEY. - - =Bryant's Thanatopsis, Sella, and other Poems.= Edited by J. H. - Castleman, Michigan Military Academy, Orchard Lake, Mich. - - =Bulwer-Lytton's Last Days of Pompeii.= Edited by J. H. - CASTLEMAN. - - =Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress.= Edited by Professor HUGH - MOFFATT, Central High School, Philadelphia, Pa. - - =Burke's Speech on Conciliation.= Edited by S. C. NEWSOM, - Manual Training High School, Indianapolis, Ind. - - =Burns' Poems and Songs.= Selected by P. M. BUCK, JR. - - =Byron's Shorter Poems.= Edited by RALPH HARTT BOWLES, - Instructor in English in The Phillips Exeter Academy, - Exeter, N.H. - - =Carlyle's Essay on Burns=, with Selections. Edited by WILLARD - C. GORE, Armour Institute, Chicago, Ill. - - =Carlyle's Heroes and Hero Worship.= Edited by Mrs. ANNIE - RUSSELL MARBLE. - - =Carroll's Alice in Wonderland.= Edited by CHARLES A. MCMURRY. - - =Chaucer's Prologue to the Book of the Tales of Canterbury, the - Knight's Tale, and the Nun's Priest's Tale.= Edited by - ANDREW INGRAHAM. - - =Church's The Story of the Iliad.= - - =Church's The Story of the Odyssey.= - - =Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner.= Edited by T. F. HUNTINGTON, - Leland Stanford Junior University. - - =Cooper's Last of the Mohicans.= Edited by W. K. WICKES, - Principal of the High School, Syracuse, N.Y. - - =Cooper's The Deerslayer.= - - =Cooper's The Spy.= Edited by SAMUEL THURBER, JR. - - =Dana's Two Years before the Mast.= Edited by HOMER E. KEYES, - Dartmouth College. - - =Defoe's Robinson Crusoe.= Edited by CLIFTON JOHNSON. - - =De Quincey's Confessions of an English Opium-Eater.= Edited by - ARTHUR BEATTY, University of Wisconsin. - - =De Quincey's Joan of Arc and The English Mail-Coach.= Edited - by CAROL M. NEWMAN, Virginia Polytechnic Institute. - - =Dickens's A Christmas Carol and The Cricket on the Hearth. = - Edited by JAMES M. SAWIN, with the collaboration of IDA M. - THOMAS. - - =Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities.= Edited by H. G. BUEHLER, - Hotchkiss School, Lakeville, Conn., and L. MASON. - - =Dryden's Palamon and Arcite.= Edited by PERCIVAL CHUBB, - Vice-Principal Ethical Culture Schools, New York City. - - =Early American Orations, 1760-1824.= Edited by LOUIE R. - HELLER, Instructor in English in the De Witt Clinton High - School, New York City. - - =Edwards's (Jonathan) Sermons (Selections).= Edited by H. N. - GARDINER, Professor of Philosophy, Smith College. - - =Emerson's Earlier Poems.= Edited by O. C. GALLAGHER. - - =Emerson's Essays (Selected).= Edited by EUGENE D. HOLMES. - - =Emerson's Representative Men.= Edited by PHILO MELVYN BUCK, - JR., William McKinley High School, St. Louis, Mo. - - =Epoch-making Papers in United States History.= Edited by M. S. - BROWN, New York University. - - =Franklin's Autobiography.= - - =Mrs. Gaskell's Cranford.= Edited by Professor MARTIN W. - SAMPSON, Indiana University. - - =George Eliot's Silas Marner.= Edited by E. L. GULICK, - Lawrenceville School, Lawrenceville, N.J. - - =Goldsmith's The Deserted Village and The Traveller.= Edited by - ROBERT N. WHITEFORD, High School, Peoria, Ill. - - =Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield.= Edited by H. W. BOYNTON, - Phillips Academy, Andover, Mass. - - =Gray's Elegy.= Edited by J. H. CASTLEMAN. - - =Grimm's Fairy Tales.= Edited by JAMES H. FASSETT, - Superintendent of Schools, Nashua, N.H. - - =Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair.= Edited by H. H. KINGSLEY, - Superintendent of Schools, Evanston, Ill. - - =Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables.= Edited by CLYDE - FURST, Secretary of Teachers College, Columbia University. - - =Hawthorne's Mosses from an Old Manse.= Edited by C. E. - BURBANK. - - =Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales.= Edited by R. H. BEGGS. - - =Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales.= Edited by C. R. GASTON. - - =Hawthorne's The Wonder-Book.= Edited by L. E. WOLFE, - Superintendent of Schools, San Antonio, Texas. - - =Homer's Iliad.= Translated by LANG, LEAF, and MYERS. - - =Homer's Odyssey.= Translated by BUTCHER and LANG. - - =Hughes' Tom Brown's School Days.= Edited by CHARLES S. THOMAS. - - =Irving's Alhambra.= Edited by ALFRED M. HITCHCOCK, Public High - School, Hartford, Conn. - - =Irving's Knickerbocker History of New York.= Edited by Prof. - E. A. GREENLAW, Adelphi College, New York City. - - =Irving's Life of Goldsmith.= Edited by GILBERT SYKES BLAKELY, - Teacher of English in the Morris High School, New York - City. - - =Irving's Sketch Book.= - - =Keary's Heroes of Asgard.= Edited by CHARLES H. MORSS. - - =Kingsley's The Heroes: Greek Fairy Tales.= Edited by CHARLES - A. MCMURRY, Ph.D. - - =Lamb's Essays of Elia.= Edited by HELEN J. ROBINS. - - =Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare.= Edited by A. AINGER. - - =Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish.= Edited by HOMER P. - LEWIS. - - =Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish, and Minor Poems.= - Edited by W. D. HOWE, Butler College, Indianapolis, Ind. - - =Longfellow's Evangeline.= Edited by LEWIS B. SEMPLE, - Commercial High School, Brooklyn, N.Y. - - =Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn.= Edited by J. H. - CASTLEMAN. - - =Longfellow's The Song of Hiawatha.= Edited by ELIZABETH J. - FLEMING, Teachers' Training School, Baltimore, Md. - - =Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal.= Edited by HERBERT E. BATES, - Manual Training High School, Brooklyn, N.Y. - - =Macaulay's Essay on Addison.= Edited by C. W. FRENCH, - Principal of Hyde Park High School, Chicago, Ill. - - =Macaulay's Essay on Clive.= Edited by J. W. PEARCE, Assistant - Professor of English in Tulane University. - - =Macaulay's Essay on Johnson.= Edited by WILLIAM SCHUYLER, - Assistant Principal of the St. Louis High School. - - =Macaulay's Essay on Milton.= Edited by C. W. FRENCH. - - =Macaulay's Essay on Warren Hastings.= Edited by Mrs. M. J. - FRICK, Los Angeles, Cal. - - =Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, and other Poems.= Edited by - FRANKLIN T. BAKER, Teachers College, Columbia University. - - =Malory's Morte d'Arthur (Selections).= Edited by _D. W. - Swiggett_. - - =Memorable Passages from the Bible (Authorized Version).= - Selected and edited by FRED NEWTON SCOTT, Professor of - Rhetoric in the University of Michigan. - - =Milton's Paradise Lost, Books I and II.= Edited by W. I. - CRANE. - - =Old English Ballads.= Edited by WILLIAM D. ARMES, of the - University of California. - - =Out of the Northland.= Edited by EMILIE KIP BAKER. - - =Palgrave's Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics.= - - =Plutarch's Lives of Cćsar, Brutus, and Antony.= Edited by - MARTHA BRIER, Polytechnic High School, Oakland, Cal. - - =Poe's Poems.= Edited by CHARLES W. KENT, University of - Virginia. - - =Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from).= - - =Pope's Homer's Iliad.= Edited by ALBERT SMYTH, Head Professor - of English Language and Literature, Central High School, - Philadelphia, Pa. - - =Pope's The Rape of the Lock.= Edited by ELIZABETH M. KING. - - =Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies and The King of the Golden River.= - Edited by HERBERT E. BATES. - - =Scott's Ivanhoe.= Edited by ALFRED M. HITCHCOCK. - - =Scott's Kenilworth.= Edited by J. H. CASTLEMAN, Editor of - Gray's Elegy, Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn, Bryant's - Thanatopsis, etc. - - =Scott's Lady of the Lake.= Edited by ELIZABETH A. PACKARD. - - =Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel.= Edited by RALPH H. BOWLES. - - =Scott's Marmion.= Edited by GEORGE B. AITON, State Inspector - of High Schools for Minnesota. - - =Scott's Quentin Durward.= Edited by ARTHUR LLEWELLYN ENO, - Instructor in the University of Illinois. - - =Scott's The Talisman.= Edited by FREDERICK TREUDLEY, State - Normal College, Ohio University. - - Shakespeare's As You Like It. Edited by CHARLES ROBERT GASTON. - - =Shakespeare's Hamlet.= Edited by L. A. SHERMAN, Professor of - English Literature in the University of Nebraska. - - =Shakespeare's Henry V.= Edited by RALPH HARTT BOWLES, Phillips - Exeter Academy, Exeter, N.H. - - =Shakespeare's Julius Cćsar.= Edited by GEORGE W. HUFFORD and - LOIS G. HUFFORD, High School, Indianapolis, Ind. - - =Shakespeare's Macbeth.= Edited by C. W. FRENCH. - - =Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice.= Edited by CHARLOTTE W. - UNDERWOOD, Lewis Institute, Chicago, Ill. - - =Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream.= Edited by E. C. NOYES. - - =Shakespeare's Richard II.= Edited by JAMES HUGH MOFFATT. - - =Shakespeare's The Tempest.= Edited by S. C. NEWSOM. - - =Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.= Edited by EDWARD P. MORTON. - - =Shelley and Keats (Selections from).= Edited by S. C. NEWSOM. - - =Sheridan's The Rivals, and The School for Scandal.= Edited by - W. D. HOWE. - - =Southern Poets (Selections from).= Edited by W. L. WEBER. - - =Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I.= Edited by GEORGE ARMSTRONG - WAUCHOPE, Professor of English in the South Carolina - College. - - =Stevenson's Kidnapped.= Edited by JOHN THOMPSON BROWN. - - =Stevenson's Master of Ballantrae.= Edited by H. A. WHITE. - - =Stevenson's Treasure Island.= Edited by _H. A. Vance_, - Professor of English in the University of Nashville. - - =Swift's Gulliver's Travels.= Edited by CLIFTON JOHNSON. - - =Tennyson's Shorter Poems.= Edited by CHARLES READ NUTTER. - - =Tennyson's The Princess.= Edited by WILSON FARRAND. - - =Thackeray's Henry Esmond.= Edited by JOHN BELL HENNEMAN, - Universityof the South, Sewanee, Tenn. - - =Washington's Farewell Address, and Webster's First Bunker Hill - Oration.= Edited by WILLIAM T. PECK. - - =John Woolman's Journal.= - - =Wordsworth's Shorter Poems.= Edited by EDWARD FULTON. - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK - - - [** Transcriber's Note: - - - [=a] stands for an "a" with a bar over it - - [oe] ligatures replaced with simply "oe" - - in LOCHNIVAR, l.34, changed bridgroom to bridegroom - - in HOHENLINDEN, l.89, changed "." to "," - - in ENOCH ARDEN corrected line number to 355 from 455 - - in ending advert, changed Lambs' to Lamb's - **] - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of English Narrative Poems, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH NARRATIVE POEMS *** - -***** This file should be named 42058-8.txt or 42058-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/0/5/42058/ - -Produced by David Starner, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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 - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |