Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  If he chose to get up and ride away.

  There was no keeping Vampires under ground;

  And bad as a Vampire he might be found,

  Pests against whom it was understood

  Exorcism never had done any good.

  But fire, they said, had been proved to be

  The only infallible remedy;

  So they were for burning the body outright,

  Which would put a stop to his riding by night.

  Others were for searching the mystery out,

  And setting a guard the gallows about,

  Who should keep a careful watch, and see

  Whether Witch or Devil it might be

  That helped him down from the triple tree.

  For that there were Witches in the land,

  Was what all by this might understand;

  And they must not let the occasion slip

  For detecting that cursed fellowship.

  Some were for this, and some for that,

  And some they could not tell for what:

  And never was such commotion known

  In that great city of Cologne.

  PART IV.

  PIETER SNOYE was a boor of good renown,

  Who dwelt about an hour and a half from the town:

  And he, while the people were all in debate,

  Went quietly in at the city gate.

  For Father Kijf he sought about,

  His confessor, till he found him out;

  But the Father Confessor wondered to see

  The old man, and what his errand might be.

  The good Priest did not wonder less

  When Pieter said he was come to confess;

  “Why, Pieter, how can this be so?

  I confessed thee some ten days ago!

  Thy conscience, methinks, may be well at rest,

  An honest man among the best;

  I would that all my flock, like thee,

  Kept clear accounts with Heaven and me!”

  Always before, without confusion,

  Being sure of easy absolution,

  Pieter his little slips had summ’d;

  But he hesitated now, and he haw’d, and humm’d.

  And something so strange the Father saw

  In Pieter’s looks, and his hum and his haw,

  That he began to doubt it was something more

  Than a trifle omitted in last week’s score.

  At length it came out, that in the affair

  Of Roprecht the Robber he had some share;

  The Confessor then gave a start in fear —

  “God grant there have been no witchcraft here!”

  Pieter Snoye, who was looking down,

  With something between a smile and a frown,

  Felt that suspicion move his bile,

  And look’d up with more of a frown than a smile.

  “Fifty years I, Pieter Snoye,

  Have lived in this country, man and boy,

  And have always paid the Church her due,

  And kept short scores with Heaven and you.

  The Devil himself, though Devil he be,

  Would not dare impute that sin to me;

  He might charge me as well with heresy:

  And if he did, here, in this place,

  I’d call him liar, and spit in his face!”

  The Father, he saw, cast a gracious eye

  When he heard him thus the Devil defy;

  The wrath, of which he had eased his mind,

  Left a comfortable sort of warmth behind,

  Like what a cheerful cup will impart,

  In a social hour, to an honest man’s heart:

  And he added, “For all the witchcraft here,

  I shall presently make that matter clear.

  Though I am, as you very well know, Father Kijf,

  A peaceable man, and keep clear of strife,

  It’s a queerish business that now I’ve been in;

  But I can’t say that it ‘s much of a sin.

  However, it needs must be confess’d,

  And as it will set this people at rest,

  To come with it at once was best:

  Moreover, if I delayed, I thought

  That some might perhaps into trouble be brought.

  Under the seal I tell it you,

  And you will judge what is best to do,

  That no hurt to me and my son may ensue.

  No earthly harm have we intended,

  And what was ill done, has been well mended.

  I and my son Piet Pieterszoon,

  Were returning home by the light of the moon,

  From this good city of Cologne,

  On the night of the execution day;

  And hard by the gibbet was our way.

  About midnight it was we were passing by,

  My son Piet Pieterszoon, and I,

  When we heard a moaning as we came near,

  Which made us quake at first for fear.

  But the moaning was presently heard again,

  And we knew it was nothing ghostly then;

  ‘Lord help us, Father! ‘ Piet Pieterszoon said,

  ‘Roprecht, for certain, is not dead!’

  So under the gallows our cart we drive,

  And, sure enough, the man was alive;

  Because of the irons that he was in,

  He was hanging, not by the neck, but the chin.

  The reason why things had got thus wrong,

  Was, that the rope had been left too long;

  The Hangman’s fault — a clumsy rogue,

  He is not fit to hang a dog.

  Now Roprecht, as long as the people were there,

  Never stirr’d hand or foot in the air;

  But when at last he was left alone,

  By that time so much of his strength was gone,

  That he could do little more than groan.

  Piet and I had been sitting it out,

  Till a latish hour, at a christening bout;

  And perhaps we were rash, as you may think,

  And a little soft or so, for drink.

  Father Kijf, we could not bear

  To leave him hanging in misery there;

  And’t was an act of mercy, I cannot but say,

  To get him down, and take him away.

  And, as you know, all people said

  What a goodly end that day he had made;

  So we thought for certain, Father Kijf,

  That if he were saved he would mend his life.

  My son, Piet Pieterszoon, and I,

  We took him down, seeing none was nigh;

  And we took off his suit of irons with care,

  When we got him home, and we hid him there.

  The secret, as you may guess, was known

  To Alit, my wife, but to her alone;

  And never sick man, I dare aver,

  Was better tended than he was by her.

  Good advice, moreover, as good could be,

  He had from Alit my wife, and me;

  And no one could promise fairer than he:

  So that we and Piet Pieterszoon our son,

  Thought that we a very good deed had done.

  You may well think we laughed in our sleeve,’

  At what the people then seem’d to believe;

  Queer enough it was to hear them say,

  That the Three Kings took Roprecht away.

  Or that St. Ursula, who is in bliss,

  With her Army of Virgins had done this:

  The Three Kings and St. Ursula, too,

  I warrant, had something better to do.

  Piet Pieterszoon my son, and I,

  We heard them talk as we stood by,

  And Piet look’d at me with a comical eye.

  We thought them fools, but, as you shall see,

  Not over-wise ourselves were we.

  For I must tell you, Father Kijf,

  That when we told this to Alit my wife,

  She at the notion perk’d up with deli
ght,

  And said she believed the people were right.

  Had not Roprecht put in the Saints his hope,

  And who but they should have loosen’d the rope,

  When they saw that no one could intend

  To make at the gallows a better end?

  Yes, she said, it was perfectly clear

  That there must have been a miracle here;

  And we had the happiness to be in it,

  Having been brought there just at the minute.

  And therefore it would become us to make

  An offering for this favour’s sake

  To the Three Kings and the Virgins too,

  Since we could not tell to which it was due.

  For greater honour there could be none

  Than what in this business the Saints had done

  To us and Piet Pieterszoon our son;

  She talk’d me over, Father Kijf,

  With that tongue of hers, did Alit my wife.

  Lord, forgive us! as if the Saints would deign

  To come and help such a rogue in grain;

  When the only mercy the case could admit

  Would have been to make his halter fit!

  That would have made one hanging do,

  In happy season for him too,

  When he was in a proper cue;

  And have saved some work, as you will see,

  To my son Piet Pieterszoon, and me.

  Well, father, we kept him at bed and board,

  Till his neck was cured and his strength restored;

  And we should have sent him off this day

  With something to help him on his way.

  But this wicked Roprecht, what did he?

  Though he had been saved thus mercifully;

  Hanging had done him so little good,

  That he took to his old ways as soon as he could.

  Last night, when we were all asleep,

  Out of his bed did this gallows-bird creep,

  Piet Pieterszoon’s boots and spurs he put on,

  And stole my best horse, and away he was gone!

  Now Alit, my wife, did not sleep so hard,

  But she heard the horse’s feet in the yard;

  And when she jogg’d me, and bade me awake,

  My mind misgave me as soon as she spake.

  To the window my good woman went,

  And watch’d which way his course he bent;

  And in such time as a pipe can be lit,

  Our horses were ready with bridle and bit

  Away, as fast as we could hie,

  We went, Piet Pieterszoon and I;

  And still on the plain we had him in sight;

  The moon did not shine for nothing that night

  Knowing the ground, and riding fast,

  We came up with him at last,

  And — would you believe it? Father Kijf,

  The ungrateful wretch would have taken my life,

  If he had not miss’d his stroke with a knife!

  The struggle in no long time was done,

  Because, you know, we were two to one;

  But yet all our strength we were fain to try,

  Piet Pieterszoon my son, and I.

  When we had got him on the ground,

  We fastened his hands, and his legs we bound;

  And across the horse we laid him then,

  And brought him back to the house again.

  “We have robb’d the gallows, and that was ill done!”

  Said I, to Piet Pieterszoon my son;

  “And restitution we must make

  To that same gallows, for justice’ sake.”

  In his suit of irons the rogue we array’d,

  And once again in the cart he was laid!

  Night not yet so far was spent,

  But there was time enough for our intent;

  And back to the triple tree we went.

  His own rope was ready there;

  To measure the length we took good care;

  And the job which the bungling Hangman begun,

  This time, I think, was properly done,

  By me and Piet Pieterszoon my son.”

  THE YOUNG DRAGON.

  PART I.

  PITHYRIAN was a Pagan,

  An easy-hearted man,

  And Pagan sure he thought to end

  As Pagan he began;

  Thought he, the one must needs be true,

  The old Religion, or the new,

  And therefore nothing care I;

  I call Diana the Divine;

  My daughter worships at the shrine

  Of the Christian Goddess, Mary,

  In this uncertain matter

  If I the wrong course take,

  Mary to me will mercy show

  For my Marana’s sake.

  If I am right, and Dian bend

  Her dreadful bow, or Phoebus send

  His shafts abroad for slaughter,

  Safe from their arrows shall I be

  And the twin Deities for me

  Will spare my dear-loved daughter.

  If every one in Antioch

  Had reasoned in this strain,

  It never would have raised alarm

  In Satan’s dark domain.

  But Mary’s Image every day

  Looks down on crowds who come to pray;

  Her votaries never falter:

  While Dian’s temple is so bare,

  That unless her Priestess take good care,

  She will have a grass-green altar.

  Perceiving this, the old Dragon

  Inflamed with anger grew;

  Earthquakes and Plagues were common ills,

  There needed something new;

  Some vengeance so severe and strange

  That forepast times in all their range

  With no portent could match it:

  So for himself a nest he made,

  And in that nest an egg he laid,

  And down he sate to hatch it.

  He built it by the fountain

  Of Phlegethon’s red flood,

  In the innermost abyss, the place

  Of central solitude;

  Of adamantine blocks unhewn,

  With lava scoria interstrewn,

  The sole material fitting;

  With amianth he lined the nest,

  And incombustible asbest,

  To bear the fiery sitting.

  There with malignant patience

  He sate in fell despite,

  Till this dracontine cockatrice

  Should break its way to light.

  Meantime his angry heart to cheer,

  He thought that all this while no fear

  The Antiocheans stood in,

  Of what on deadliest vengeance bent

  With imperturbable intent

  He there for them was brooding.

  The months of incubation

  At length were duly past,

  And now the infernal Dragon-chick

  Hath burst its shell at last;

  At which long-look’d-for sight enrapt,

  For joy the father Dragon clapt

  His brazen wings like thunder,

  So loudly that the mighty sound

  Was like an earthquake felt around

  And all above and under.

  The diabolic youngling

  Came out no callow birth,

  Puling, defenceless, blind and weak,

  Like bird or beast of earth;

  Or man, most helpless thing of all

  That fly, or swim, or creep, or crawl;

  But in his perfect figure;

  His horns, his dreadful tail, his sting,

  Scales, teeth, and claws and every thing

  Complete and in their vigour.

  The Old Dragon was delighted,

  And proud withal to see

  In what perfection he had hatch’d

  His hellish progeny;

  And round and round, with fold on fold,

  His tail about the i
mp he roll’d

  In fond and close enlacement;

  And neck round neck with many a turn

  He coil’d, which was, you may discern,

  Their manner of embracement.

  PART II.

  A VOICE was heard in Antioch,

  Whence uttered none could know,

  But from their sleep it wakened all,

  Proclaiming woe, woe, woe!

  It sounded here, it sounded there,

  Within, without, and every where,

  A terror, and a warning;

  Repeated thrice the dreadful word

  By every living soul was heard

  Before the hour of morning.

  And in the air a rushing

  Past over, in the night;

  And as it past, there past with it

  A meteoric light;

  The blind that piercing light intense

  Felt in their long seal’d visual sense,

  With sudden short sensation:

  The deaf that rushing in the sky

  Could hear, and that portentous cry

  Reach’d them with consternation.

  The astonished Antiocheans

  Impatiently await

  The break of day, not knowing when

  Or what might be their fate.

  Alas! what then the people hear,

  Only with certitude of fear

  Their sinking hearts affrighted;

  For in the fertile vale below,

  Came news that, in that* night of woe,

  A Dragon had alighted.

  It was no earthly monster

  In Libyan deserts nurst;

  Nor had the Lerna lake sent forth

  This winged worm accurst;

  The Old Dragon’s own laid egg was this,

  The fierce Young Dragon of the abyss,

  Who from the fiery fountain,

  Through earth’s concavities that night

  Had made his way, and taken flight

  Out of a burning mountain.