Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey
Page 30
Say that from every joy of life remote
At evening’s closing hour he quits the throng,
Listening alone the ring-dove’s plaintive note
Who pours like him her solitary song.
Say that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh,
Say that of all her charms he loves to speak,
In fancy feels the magic of her eye,
In fancy views the smile illume her cheek,
Courts the lone hour when Silence stills the grove
And heaves the sigh of Memory and of Love.
SONNET II.
Think Valentine, as speeding on thy way
Homeward thou hastest light of heart along,
If heavily creep on one little day
The medley crew of travellers among,
Think on thine absent friend: reflect that here
On Life’s sad journey comfortless he roves,
Remote from every scene his heart holds dear,
From him he values, and from her he loves.
And when disgusted with the vain and dull
Whom chance companions of thy way may doom,
Thy mind, of each domestic comfort full,
Turns to itself and meditates on home,
Ah think what Cares must ache within his breast
Who loaths the lingering road, yet has no home of rest!
SONNET III.
Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale
Of days departed. Time in his career
Arraigns not thee that the neglected year
Has past unheeded onward. To the vale
Of years thou journeyest. May the future road
Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend
Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend,
‘Till full of days he reach the calm abode
Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age
Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold
The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old
That whilome mock’d the rushing tempest’s rage
Now like the monument of strength decayed
With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.
SONNET IV.
What tho’ no sculptur’d monument proclaim
Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear
Inshrin’d the sad remembrance; yet thy name
Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR
The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart,
Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn
Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect’s keen dart,
And Penury’s hard ills, and pitying Scorn,
And the dark spectre of departed JOY
Inhuman MEMORY. Often on thy grave
Love I the solitary hour to employ
Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh
Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave
Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.
SONNET V.
Hard by the road, where on that little mound
The high grass rustles to the passing breeze,
The child of Misery rests her head in peace.
Pause there in sadness. That unhallowed ground
Inshrines what once was Isabel. Sleep on
Sleep on, poor Outcast! lovely was thy cheek,
And thy mild eye was eloquent to speak
The soul of Pity. Pale and woe-begone
Soon did thy fair cheek fade, and thine eye weep
The tear of anguish for the babe unborn,
The helpless heir of Poverty and Scorn.
She drank the draught that chill’d her soul to sleep.
I pause and wipe the big drop from mine eye,
Whilst the proud Levite scowls and passes by.
SONNET VI
to a brook near the village of Corston.
As thus I bend me o’er thy babbling stream
And watch thy current, Memory’s hand pourtrays
The faint form’d scenes of the departed days,
Like the far forest by the moon’s pale beam
Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn
Upon thy banks the live-long hour away,
When sportive Childhood wantoned thro’ the day,
Joy’d at the opening splendour of the morn,
Or as the twilight darken’d, heaved the sigh
Thinking of distant home; as down my cheek
At the fond thought slow stealing on, would speak
The silent eloquence of the full eye.
Dim are the long past days, yet still they please
As thy soft sounds half heard, borne on the inconstant breeze.
SONNET VII.
TO THE EVENING RAINBOW.
Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky
Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray
Each in the other melting. Much mine eye
Delights to linger on thee; for the day,
Changeful and many-weather’d, seem’d to smile
Flashing brief splendor thro’ its clouds awhile,
That deepen’d dark anon and fell in rain:
But pleasant is it now to pause, and view
Thy various tints of frail and watery hue,
And think the storm shall not return again.
Such is the smile that Piety bestows
On the good man’s pale cheek, when he in peace
Departing gently from a world of woes,
Anticipates the realm where sorrows cease.
SONNET VIII.
With many a weary step, at length I gain
Thy summit, Lansdown; and the cool breeze plays,
Gratefully round my brow, as hence the gaze
Returns to dwell upon the journeyed plain.
’Twas a long way and tedious! to the eye
Tho fair the extended vale, and fair to view
The falling leaves of many a faded hue,
That eddy in the wild gust moaning by.
Even so it fared with Life! in discontent
Restless thro’ Fortune’s mingled scenes I went,
Yet wept to think they would return no more!
But cease fond heart in such sad thoughts to roam,
For surely thou ere long shall reach thy home,
And pleasant is the way that lies before.
SONNET IX.
Fair is the rising morn when o’er the sky
The orient sun expands his roseate ray,
And lovely to the Bard’s enthusiast eye
Fades the meek radiance of departing day;
But fairer is the smile of one we love,
Than all the scenes in Nature’s ample sway.
And sweeter than the music of the grove,
The voice that bids us welcome. Such delight
EDITH! is mine, escaping to thy sight
From the hard durance of the empty throng.
Too swiftly then towards the silent night
Ye Hours of happiness! ye speed along,
Whilst I, from all the World’s cold cares apart,
Pour out the feelings of my burthen’d heart.
SONNET X.
How darkly o’er yon far-off mountain frowns
The gather’d tempest! from that lurid cloud
The deep-voiced thunders roll, aweful and loud
Tho’ distant; while upon the misty downs
Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain.
I never saw so terrible a storm!
Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain
Wraps his torn raiment round his shivering form
Cold even as Hope within him! I the while
Pause me in sadness tho’ the sunbeams smile
Cheerily round me. Ah that thus my lot
Might be with Peace and Solitude assign’d,
Where I might from some little quiet cot,
Sigh for the crimes and miseries of mankind!
MONODRAMAS
CONTEN
TS
SAPPHO.
XIMALPOCA.
THE WIFE OF FERGUS.
LUCRETIA.
LA CABA.
SAPPHO.
Argument.
To leap from the promontory of LEUCADIA was believed by the Greeks to be a remedy for hopeless love, if the self-devoted victim escaped with life. Artemisia lost her life in the dangerous experiment: and Sappho is said thus to have perished, in attempting to cure her passion for Phaon.
SAPPHO
(Scene the promontory of Leucadia.)
This is the spot:—’tis here Tradition says
That hopeless Love from this high towering rock
Leaps headlong to Oblivion or to Death.
Oh ’tis a giddy height! my dizzy head
Swims at the precipice—’tis death to fall!
Lie still, thou coward heart! this is no time
To shake with thy strong throbs the frame convuls’d.
To die, — to be at rest — oh pleasant thought!
Perchance to leap and live; the soul all still,
And the wild tempest of the passions husht
In one deep calm; the heart, no more diseas’d
By the quick ague fits of hope and fear,
Quietly cold!
Presiding Powers look down!
In vain to you I pour’d my earnest prayers,
In vain I sung your praises: chiefly thou
VENUS! ungrateful Goddess, whom my lyre
Hymn’d with such full devotion! Lesbian groves,
Witness how often at the languid hour
Of summer twilight, to the melting song
Ye gave your choral echoes! Grecian Maids
Who hear with downcast look and flushing cheek
That lay of love bear witness! and ye Youths,
Who hang enraptur’d on the empassion’d strain
Gazing with eloquent eye, even till the heart
Sinks in the deep delirium! and ye too
Shall witness, unborn Ages! to that song
Of warmest zeal; ah witness ye, how hard,
Her fate who hymn’d the votive hymn in vain!
Ungrateful Goddess! I have hung my lute
In yonder holy pile: my hand no more
Shall wake the melodies that fail’d to move
The heart of Phaon — yet when Rumour tells
How from Leucadia Sappho hurl’d her down
A self-devoted victim — he may melt
Too late in pity, obstinate to love.
Oh haunt his midnight dreams, black NEMESIS!
Whom, self-conceiving in the inmost depths
Of CHAOS, blackest NIGHT long-labouring bore,
When the stern DESTINIES, her elder brood.
And shapeless DEATH, from that more monstrous birth
Leapt shuddering! haunt his slumbers, Nemesis,
Scorch with the fires of Phlegethon his heart,
Till helpless, hopeless, heaven-abandon’d wretch
He too shall seek beneath the unfathom’d deep
To hide him from thy fury.
How the sea
Far distant glitters as the sun-beams smile,
And gayly wanton o’er its heaving breast
Phoebus shines forth, nor wears one cloud to mourn
His votary’s sorrows! God of Day shine on —
By Man despis’d, forsaken by the Gods,
I supplicate no more.
How many a day,
O pleasant Lesbos! in thy secret streams
Delighted have I plung’d, from the hot sun
Screen’d by the o’er-arching groves delightful shade,
And pillowed on the waters: now the waves
Shall chill me to repose.
Tremendous height!
Scarce to the brink will these rebellious limbs
Support me. Hark! how the rude deep below
Roars round the rugged base, as if it called
Its long-reluctant victim! I will come.
One leap, and all is over! The deep rest
Of Death, or tranquil Apathy’s dead calm
Welcome alike to me. Away vain fears!
Phaon is cold, and why should Sappho live?
Phaon is cold, or with some fairer one —
Thought worse than death!
(She throws herself from the precipice.)
XIMALPOCA.
Scene — The Temple of Mexitli,
Subjects! friends! children! I may call you children
For I have ever borne a father’s love
Towards you; it is thirteen years since first
You saw me in the robes of royalty,..
Since here the multitudes of Mexico
Hail’d me their King. I thank you friends that now,
In equal numbers and with equal love,
You come to grace my death.
For thirteen years
What I have been, ye know: that with all care,
That with all justice and all gentleness,
Seeking your weal, I govern’d. Is there one
Whom I have injured? one whose just redress
I have denied, or baffled by delay?
Let him come forth, that so no evil tongue
Speak shame of me hereafter. O my people,
Not by my sins have I drawn down upon me
The wrath of Heaven.
The wrath is heavy on me
Heavy! a burthen more than I can bear!
I have endured contempt, insult and wrongs
From that Acolhuan tyrant! should I seek
Revenge? alas my people, we are few,..
Feeble our growing state! it hath not yet
Rooted itself to bear the hurricane;
It is the lion-cub that tempts not yet
The tyger’s full-aged fury. Mexicans,
He sent to bid me wear a woman’s robe;..
When was the day that ever I look’d back
In battle? Mexicans, the wife I loved,
To faith and friendship trusted, in despite
Of me, of heaven, he seized, and spurned her back
Polluted!.. coward villain! and he lurks
Behind his armies and his multitudes
And mocks my idle wrath!... it is not fit
It is not possible that I should live!
Live! and deserve to be the finger-mark
Of slave-contempt! his blood I cannot reach,
But in my own all stains shall be effaced.
It shall blot out the marks of infamy,
And when the warriors of the days to come
Tell of Ximalpoca, it shall be said,
He died the brave man’s death.!
Not of the God
Unworthy, do I seek his altar thus,
A voluntary victim. And perchance
The sacrifice of life may profit ye
My people, tho’ all living efforts fail’d
..By fortune, not by fault.
Cease your lament!
And if your ill-doom’d King deserved your love,
Say of him to your children, lie was one
Who bravely bore misfortune; who when life
Became dishonour, shook his body off,
And join’d the Spirits of the heroes dead.
Yes! not in Miclanteuctli’s dark abode
With cowards shall your King receive his doom;
Not in the icy caverns of the North
Suffer thro’ endless ages! He shall join
The Spirits of the brave, with them at mom
Shall issue from the eastern gate of Heaven,
And follow thro’ his fields of light the Sun;
With them shall raise the song and weave the dance
Sport in the stream of splendour; company
Down to the western palace of his rest
The Prince of Glory; and with equal eye
Endure his centered radiance. Not of you
Forgetful, O my people, even then
But often in th
e amber cloud of noon
Diffus’d, will I o’erspread your summer fields.
And on the freshened maize and brightening meads
Shower plenty,
Spirits of my valiant Sires,
I come! Mexitli, never at thy shrine
Flow’d braver blood! never a nobler heart
Steam’d up its life to thee! Priest of the God,
Perform your office!
THE WIFE OF FERGUS.
Fergusius 3. periit veneno ab uxore dalo. Alii seribim cum uxor sæpe exprobrasset ei matrimonii content ptum et pellicum greges, neque quicquam profecisset, tandem noctu dormientem ab eâ strangulalum. Quæstione de morte ejus habita, cum amicorum plurimi insimularentur, nec quis- quam ne in gravissimis quidem tormentis quicquam fat ere- tur, mulier, alioquiferox, tot innoxiorum capitum miserta, in medium processit, ac e superiare loco cædem a se faclam confessa, ne ad ludibrium superesset, pectus cultro transfodit: quod ejus factum varie pro cujusque ingenio est acceptum, ac perinde sermonibus celebratum.
Buchanan.
Scene — The Palace Court. The Queen speaking from the Battlements.
Cease... cease your torments! spare the sufferers!
Scotchmen, not theirs the deed;.. the crime was mine,
Mine is the glory.
Idle threats! I stand
Secure. All access to these battlements
Is barr’d beyond your sudden strength to force;
And lo! the dagger by which Fergus died!
Shame on ye Scotchmen, that a woman’s hand
Was left to do this deed! Shame on ye Thanes,
Who with slave-patience have so long endured
The wrongs, and insolence of tyranny!
Ye coward race!.. that not a husband’s sword
Smote that adulterous King! that not a wife
Revenged her own pollution; in his blood
Wash’d her soul pure, and for the sin compell’d
Aton’d by virtuous murder! O my God!
Of what beast matter hast thou moulded them