Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  You’d weep at the relation.

  But Pierre in Santiago still

  His constant faith profess’d;

  When to the gallows he was led,

  “‘T was a short way to Heaven,” he said,

  “Though not the pleasantest.”

  And from their pilgrimage he charged

  His parents not to cease,

  Saying that unless they promised this,

  He could not be hang’d in peace.

  They promised it with heavy hearts;

  Pierre then, therewith content,

  Was hang’d: and they upon their way

  To Compostella went.

  THE PILGRIM TO COMPOSTELLA: PART II.

  FOUR weeks they travell’d painfully,

  They paid their vows, and then

  To La Calzada’s fatal town

  Did they come back again.

  The Mother would not be withheld,

  But go she must to see

  Where her poor Pierre was left to hang

  Upon the gallows tree.

  Oh tale most marvellous to hear,

  Most marvellous to tell I

  Eight weeks had he been hanging there,

  And yet was alive and well!

  “Mother,” said he, “I am glad you’re return’d,

  It is time I should now be released:

  Though I cannot complain that I’m tired,

  And my neck does not ache in the least.

  “The Sun has not scorch’d me by day,

  The Moon has not chill’d me by night;

  And the winds have but help’d me to swing,

  As if in a dream of delight.

  “Go you to the Alcayde,

  That hasty Judge unjust,

  Tell him Santiago has saved me,

  And take me down he must!”

  Now, you must know the Alcayde,

  Not thinking himself a great sinner,

  Just then at table had sate down,

  About to begin his dinner.

  His knife was raised to carve,

  The dish before him then;

  Two roasted fowls were laid therein,

  That very morning they had been

  A Cock and his faithful Hen.

  In came the Mother wild with joy;

  “A miracle!” she cried;

  But that most hasty Judge “unjust

  Repell’d her in his pride.

  “Think not,” quoth he, “to tales like this

  That I should give belief!

  Santiago never would bestow

  His miracles, full well I know,

  On a Frenchman and a thief.”

  And pointing to the Fowls, o’er which

  He held his ready knife,;

  “As easily might I believe

  These birds should come to life!”

  The good Saint would not let him thus

  The Mother’s true tale withstand;

  So up rose the Fowls in the dish,

  And down dropt the knife from his hand.

  The Cock would have crow’d if he could;

  To cackle the Hen had a wish;

  And they both slipt about in the gravy

  Before they got out of the dish.

  And when each would have open’d its eyes,

  For the purpose of looking about them,

  They saw they had no eyes to open,

  And that there was no seeing without them.

  All this was to them a great wonder;

  They stagger’d and reel’d on the table;

  And either to guess where they were,

  Or what was their plight, or how they came there,

  Alas! they were wholly unable:

  Because, you must know, that that morning,

  A thing which they thought very hard,

  The Cook had cut off their heads.

  And thrown them away in the yard.

  The Hen would have prank’d up her feathers,

  But plucking had sadly deform’d her;

  And for want of them she would have shiver’d with cold,

  If the roasting she had had not warm’d her.

  And the Cock felt exceedingly queer;

  He thought it a very odd thing

  That his head and his voice were he did not know where,

  And his gizzard tuck’d under his wing.

  The gizzard got into its place,

  But how Santiago knows best:

  And so, by the help of the Saint,

  Did the liver and all the rest.

  The heads saw their way to the bodies,

  In they came from the yard without check,

  And each took its own proper station,

  To the very great joy of the neck.

  And in flew the feathers, like snow in a shower,

  For they all became white on the way;

  And the Cock and the Hen in a trice were refledged,

  And then who so happy as they!

  Cluck! cluck! cried the Hen right merrily then,

  The Cock his clarion blew,

  Full glad was he to hear again

  His own cock-a-doo-del-doo!

  THE PILGRIM TO COMPOSTELLA: PART III.

  “A MIRACLE!” a miracle!”

  The people shouted, as they might well,

  When the news went through the town;

  And every child and woman and man

  Took up the cry, and away they ran

  To see Pierre taken down.

  They made a famous procession;

  My good little women and men,

  Such a sight was never seen before,

  And I think will never again.

  Santiago’s Image, large as life,

  Went first with banners and drum and fife;

  And next, as was most meet,

  The twice-born Cock and Hen were borne

  Along the thronging, street.

  Perch’d on a cross-pole hoisted high,

  They were raised in sight of the crowd;

  And, when the people set up a cry,

  The Hen she cluck’d in sympathy,

  And the Cock he crow’d aloud.

  And because they very well knew for why

  They were carried in such solemnity.

  And saw the Saint and his banners before ‘em,

  They behaved with the greatest propriety,

  And most correct decorum.

  The Knife, which had cut off their heads that morn,

  Still red with their innocent blood, was borne,

  The scullion boy he carried it;

  And the Skewers also made a part of the show,

  With which they were truss’d for the spit.

  The Cook in triumph bore that Spit

  As high as he was able;

  And the Dish was display’d wherein they were laid

  When they had been served at table.

  With eager faith the crowd prest round;

  There was a scramble of women and men

  For who should dip a finger-tip

  In the blessed Gravy then.

  Next went the Alcayde, beating his breast,

  Crying aloud like a man distrest,

  And amazed at the loss of his dinner,

  “Santiago, Santiago!

  Have mercy on me a sinner!”

  And lifting oftentimes his hands

  Towards the Cock and Hen,

  “Orate pro nobis!” devoutly he cried,

  And as devoutly the people replied,

  Whenever he said it, “Amen!”

  The Father and Mother were last in the train;

  Rejoicingly they came,

  And extoll’d, with tears of gratitude,

  Santiago’s glorious name.

  So, with all honours that might be.

  They gently unhang’d Pierre;

  No hurt or harm had he sustain’d,

  But, to make the wonder clear,

  A deep black halter-mark remain’d

  Just under his left ear.<
br />
  THE PILGRIM TO COMPOSTELLA: PART IV.

  And now, my little listening dears

  With open mouths and open ears,

  Like a rhymer whose only art is

  That of telling a plain unvarnish’d tale,

  To let you know I must not fail,

  What became of all the parties.

  Pierre went on to Compostella

  To finish his pilgrimage,

  His parents went back with him joyfully,

  After which they returned to their own country;

  And there, I believe, that all the three

  Lived to a good old age.

  For the gallows on which Pierre

  So happily had swung,

  It was resolved that never more

  On it should man be hung.

  To the Church it was transplanted,

  As ancient books declare:

  And the people in commotion,

  With an uproar of devotion,

  Set it up for a relic there.

  What became of the halter I know not,

  Because the old books show not;

  But we may suppose and hope,

  That the city presented Pierre

  With that interesting rope.

  For in his family, and this

  The Corporation knew,

  It rightly would be valued more

  Than any cordon bleu.

  The Innkeeper’s wicked daughter

  Confess’d what she had done,

  So they put her in a Convent,

  And she was made a Nun.

  The Alcayde had been so frighten’d

  That he never ate fowls again;

  And he always pull’d off his hat

  When he saw a Cock and Hen.

  Wherever he sat at table

  Not an egg might there be placed;

  And he never even muster’d courage for a custard,

  Though garlic tempted him to taste

  Of an omelet now and then.

  But always after such a transgression

  He hasten’d away to make confession;

  And not till he had confess’d,

  And the Priest had absolved him, did he feel

  His conscience and stomach at rest.

  The twice-born Birds to the Pilgrim’s Church,

  As by miracle consecrated,

  Were given; and there unto the Saint

  They were publicly dedicated.

  At their dedication the Corporation

  A fund for their keep supplied;

  And after following the Saint and his banners,

  This Cock and Hen were so changed in their manners,

  That the Priests were edified.

  Gentle as any turtle-dove,

  Saint Cock became all meekness and love;

  Most dutiful of wives,

  Saint Hen she never peck’d again,

  So they led happy lives.

  The ways of ordinary fowls

  You must know they had clean forsaken;

  And if every Cock and Hen in Spain

  Had their example taken,

  Why then... the Spaniards would have had

  No eggs to eat with bacon.

  These blessed Fowls, at seven years end,

  In the odour of sanctity died;

  They were carefully pluck’d, and then

  They were buried, side by side.

  And lest the fact should be forgotten,

  (Which would have been a pity,)

  ‘T was decreed, in honour of their worth,

  That a Cock and Hen should be borne thenceforth

  In the arms of that ancient City.

  Two eggs Saint Hen had laid, no more;

  The chicken were her delight;

  A Cock and Hen they proved,

  And both, like their parents, were virtuous and white.

  The last act of the Holy Hen

  Was to rear this precious brood; and, when

  Saint Cock and she were dead,

  This couple, as the lawful heirs,

  Succeeded in their stead.

  They also lived seven years,

  And they laid eggs but two,

  From which two milk-white chicken

  To Cock and Henhood grew;

  And always their posterity

  The self-same course pursue.

  Not one of these eggs ever addled,

  (With wonder be it spoken!)

  Not one of them ever was lost,

  Not one of them ever was broken.

  Sacred they are; neither magpie, nor rat,

  Snake, weasel, nor marten approaching them

  And woe to the irreverent wretch

  Who should even dream of poaching them!

  Thus then is this great miracle

  Continued to this day;

  And to their Church all Pilgrims go,

  When they are on the way;

  And some of the feathers are given them;

  For which they always pay.

  No price is set upon them,

  And this leaves all persons at ease;

  The Poor give as much as they can,

  The Rich as much as they please.

  But that the more they give the better,

  Is very well understood;

  Seeing whatever is thus disposed of,

  Is for their own souls’ good;

  For Santiago will always

  Befriend his true believers;

  And the money is for him, the Priests

  Being only his receivers.

  To make the miracle the more,

  Of these feathers there is always store,

  And all are genuine too;

  All of the original Cock and Hen,

  Which the Priests will swear is true.

  Thousands a thousand times told have bought them,

  And if myriads and tens of myriads sought them,

  They would still find some to buy;

  For however great were the demand,

  So great would be the supply.

  And if any of you, my small friends,

  Should visit those parts, I dare say

  You will bring away some of the feathers,

  And think of old Robin Gray.

  — Whereby, my little friends, we see

  That an original may sometimes be

  No better than its fac-simile;

  A useful truth I trow,

  Which picture-buyers won’t believe,

  But which picture-dealers know.

  Young Connoisseurs who will be!

  Remember I say this,..

  For your benefit hereafter,..

  In a parenthesis.

  And not to interrupt

  The order of narration,

  This warning shall be printed

  By way of annotation.

  THE CURSE OF KEHAMA

  First appearing in 1810, this epic poem is formed of twelve books and tells the story of Kehama, a Brahmin priest, as he makes sacrifices to Shiva to gain power and conquer death, wishing to become a god himself. A sub-plot introduces Arvalan, Kehama’s son, who attempts to take Kailyal, a peasant girl. He is stopped by Ladurlad, another peasant, and killed. Kehama decides to war against Yamen, the god of death while also seeking to torture Ladurlad in revenge. Ladurlad is cursed to be separated from nature and unable to live a human life, which included not being able to sleep. However, his separation from nature gives him the ability to do what others cannot.

  Southey was partly inspired with the idea for the poem during his school days when he suffered insomnia and was disturbed by thoughts of a dark and mysterious schoolmate, who looked like a ‘fiend’, forming the basis for one of the poem’s villains, the character Arvalan. However, the poem was not started until 1802, following the publication of the other epic Thalaba the Destroyer. After giving up on the poem for a few years, Southey returned to it after the prompting of his friend Walter Savage Landor, who saw great merit in the piece and encouraged Southey to complete the poem.
When it was finally published, The Curse of Kehama sold more copies than any of Southey’s other works.

  Although the poem describes a Hindu myth, it is heavily influenced by Zoroastrian theology and the ideal of a dualistic moral system. Part of Southey’s focus on India stems from the recent British colonial expansion into India and rising interest of British citizens in Indian culture. The poem received mixed reviews, with many critics praising the quality of language, whilst others felt that the plot and choice of subject matter was lacking. Nevertheless, Southey had achieved commercial success, bringing much needed financial security. The work went through several editions. Shelley called it “my most favourite poem” in a letter of June 1811, and seven years later he modelled Prometheus’s powerful curse on The Curse of Kehama (Prometheus Unbound, Act 1, 779–802). Keats also drew on the poem for several narrative details when composing Endymion.

  Chola dynasty statue depicting Shiva dancing as Nataraja

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE.

  ORIGINAL PREFACE.

  I. THE FUNERAL

  II. THE CURSE

  III. THE RECOVERY.

  IV. THE DEPARTURE.

  V. THE SEPARATION.

  VI. CASYAPA.

  VII. THE SWERGA.

  VIII. THE SACRIFICE.

  IX. THE HOME-SCENE.

  X. MOUNT MERU.

  XI. THE ENCHANTRESS.

  XII. THE SACRIFICE COMPLEATED.

  XIII. THE RETREAT.

  XIV. JAGA-NAUT.

  XV. THE CITY OF BALY.

  XVI. THE ANCIENT SEPULCHRES.

  XVII. BALY.

  XVIII. KEHAMA’S DESCENT.

  XIX. MOUNT CALASAY.

  XX. THE EMBARKATION.

  XXI. THE WORLD’S END.

  XXII. THE GATE OF PADALON.