Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Follow the splendour that saves,

  Happy, her children, her chosen,

  Loyally led of her on.

  The sheep of the priests, and the cattle

  That feed in the penfolds of kings,

  Sleek is their flock and well-fed;

  Hardly she giveth you bread,

  Hardly a rest for the head,

  Till the day of the blast of the battle

  And the storm of the wind of her wings.

  Ye that have joy in your living,

  Ye that are careful to live,

  You her thunders go by:

  Live, let men be, let them lie,

  Serve your season, and die;

  Gifts have your masters for giving,

  Gifts hath not Freedom to give;

  She, without shelter or station,

  She, beyond limit or bar,

  Urges to slumberless speed

  Armies that famish, that bleed,

  Sowing their lives for her seed,

  That their dust may rebuild her a nation,

  That their souls may relight her a star.

  Happy are all they that follow her;

  Them shall no trouble cast down;

  Though she slay them, yet shall they trust in her,

  For unsure there is nought nor unjust in her,

  Blemish is none, neither rust in her;

  Though it threaten, the night shall not swallow her,

  Tempest and storm shall not drown.

  Hither, O strangers, that cry for her,

  Holding your lives in your hands,

  Hither, for here is your light,

  Where Italy is, and her might;

  Strength shall be given you to fight,

  Grace shall be given you to die for her,

  For the flower, for the lady of lands;

  Turn ye, whose anguish oppressing you

  Crushes, asleep and awake,

  For the wrong which is wrought as of yore;

  That Italia may give of her store,

  Having these things to give and no more;

  Only her hands on you, blessing you;

  Only a pang for her sake;

  Only her bosom to die on;

  Only her heart for a home,

  And a name with her children to be

  From Calabrian to Adrian sea

  Famous in cities made free

  That ring to the roar of the lion

  Proclaiming republican Rome.

  MENTANA: FIRST ANNIVERSARY

  At the time when the stars are grey,

  And the gold of the molten moon

  Fades, and the twilight is thinned,

  And the sun leaps up, and the wind,

  A light rose, not of the day,

  A stronger light than of noon.

  As the light of a face much loved

  Was the face of the light that clomb;

  As a mother’s whitened with woes

  Her adorable head that arose;

  As the sound of a God that is moved,

  Her voice went forth upon Rome.

  At her lips it fluttered and failed

  Twice, and sobbed into song,

  And sank as a flame sinks under;

  Then spake, and the speech was thunder,

  And the cheek as he heard it paled

  Of the wrongdoer grown grey with the wrong.

  “Is it time, is it time appointed,

  Angel of time, is it near?

  For the spent night aches into day

  When the kings shall slay not or pray,

  And the high-priest, accursed and anointed,

  Sickens to deathward with fear.

  “For the bones of my slain are stirred,

  And the seed of my earth in her womb

  Moves as the heart of a bud

  Beating with odorous blood

  To the tune of the loud first bird

  Burns and yearns into bloom.

  “I lay my hand on her bosom,

  My hand on the heart of my earth,

  And I feel as with shiver and sob

  The triumphant heart in her throb,

  The dead petals dilate into blossom,

  The divine blood beat into birth.

  “O my earth, are the springs in thee dry?

  O sweet, is thy body a tomb?

  Nay, springs out of springs derive,

  And summers from summers alive,

  And the living from them that die;

  No tomb is here, but a womb.

  “O manifold womb and divine,

  Give me fruit of my children, give!

  I have given thee my dew for thy root,

  Give thou me for my mouth of thy fruit;

  Thine are the dead that are mine,

  And mine are thy sons that live.

  “O goodly children, O strong

  Italian spirits, that wear

  My glories as garments about you,

  Could time or the world misdoubt you,

  Behold, in disproof of the wrong,

  The field of the grave-pits there.

  “And ye that fell upon sleep,

  We have you too with us yet.

  Fairer than life or than youth

  Is this, to die for the truth:

  No death can sink you so deep

  As their graves whom their brethren forget.

  “Were not your pains as my pains?

  As my name are your names not divine?

  Was not the light in your eyes

  Mine, the light of my skies,

  And the sweet shed blood of your veins,

  O my beautiful martyrs, mine?

  “Of mine earth were your dear limbs made,

  Of mine air was your sweet life’s breath;

  At the breasts of my love ye were fed,

  O my children, my chosen, my dead,

  At my breasts where again ye are laid,

  At the old mother’s bosom, in death.

  “But ye that live, O their brothers,

  Be ye to me as they were;

  Give me, my children that live,

  What these dead grudged not to give,

  Who alive were sons of your mother’s,

  Whose lips drew breath of your air.

  “Till darkness by dawn be cloven,

  Let youth’s self mourn and abstain;

  And love’s self find not an hour,

  And spring’s self wear not a flower,

  And Lycoris, with hair unenwoven,

  Hail back to the banquet in vain.

  “So sooner and surer the glory

  That is not with us shall be,

  And stronger the hands that smite

  The heads of the sons of night,

  And the sound throughout earth of our story

  Give all men heart to be free.”

  BLESSED AMONG WOMEN — TO THE SIGNORA CAIROLI

  1

  Blessed was she that bare,

  Hidden in flesh most fair,

  For all men’s sake the likeness of all love;

  Holy that virgin’s womb,

  The old record saith, on whom

  The glory of God alighted as a dove;

  Blessed, who brought to gracious birth

  The sweet-souled Saviour of a man-tormented earth.

  2

  But four times art thou blest,

  At whose most holy breast

  Four times a godlike soldier-saviour hung;

  And thence a fourfold Christ

  Given to be sacrificed

  To the same cross as the same bosom clung;

  Poured the same blood, to leave the same

  Light on the many-folded mountain-skirts of fame.

  3

  Shall they and thou not live,

  The children thou didst give

  Forth of thine hands, a godlike gift, to death,

  Through fire of death to pass

  For her high sake that was

  Thine and their mother, that gave all you breath?

  Shal
l ye not live till time drop dead,

  O mother, and each her children’s consecrated head?

  4

  Many brought gifts to take

  For her love’s supreme sake,

  Life and life’s love, pleasure and praise and rest,

  And went forth bare; but thou,

  So much once richer, and now

  Poorer than all these, more than these be blest;

  Poorer so much, by so much given,

  Than who gives earth for heaven’s sake, not for earth’s sake heaven.

  5

  Somewhat could each soul save,

  What thing soever it gave,

  But thine, mother, what has thy soul kept back?

  None of thine all, not one,

  To serve thee and be thy son,

  Feed with love all thy days, lest one day lack;

  All thy whole life’s love, thine heart’s whole,

  Thou hast given as who gives gladly, O thou the supreme soul.

  6

  The heart’s pure flesh and blood,

  The heaven thy motherhood,

  The live lips, the live eyes, that lived on thee;

  The hands that clove with sweet

  Blind clutch to thine, the feet

  That felt on earth their first way to thy knee;

  The little laughter of mouths milk-fed,

  Now open again to feed on dust among the dead;

  7

  The fair, strong, young men’s strength,

  Light of life-days and length,

  And glory of earth seen under and stars above,

  And years that bring to tame

  Now the wild falcon fame,

  Now, to stroke smooth, the dove-white breast of love;

  The life unlived, the unsown seeds,

  Suns unbeholden, songs unsung, and undone deeds.

  8

  Therefore shall man’s love be

  As an own son to thee,

  And the world’s worship of thee for a child;

  All thine own land as one

  New-born, a nursing son,

  All thine own people a new birth undefiled;

  And all the unborn Italian time,

  And all its glory, and all its works, thy seed sublime.

  9

  That henceforth no man’s breath,

  Saying “Italy,” but saith

  In that most sovereign word thine equal name;

  Nor can one speak of thee

  But he saith “Italy,”

  Seeing in two suns one co-eternal flame;

  One heat, one heaven, one heart, one fire,

  One light, one love, one benediction, one desire.

  10

  Blest above praise and prayer

  And incense of men’s air,

  Thy place is higher than where such voices rise

  As in men’s temples make

  Music for some vain sake,

  This God’s or that God’s, in one weary wise;

  Thee the soul silent, the shut heart,

  The locked lips of the spirit praise thee that thou art.

  11

  Yea, for man’s whole life’s length,

  And with man’s whole soul’s strength,

  We praise thee, O holy, and bless thee, O mother of lights;

  And send forth as on wings

  The world’s heart’s thanksgivings,

  Song-birds to sing thy days through and thy nights;

  And wrap thee around and arch thee above

  With the air of benediction and the heaven of love.

  12

  And toward thee our unbreathed words

  Fly speechless, winged as birds,

  As the Indian flock, children of Paradise,

  The winged things without feet,

  Fed with God’s dew for meat,

  That live in the air and light of the utter skies;

  So fleet, so flying a footless flight,

  With wings for feet love seeks thee, to partake thy sight.

  13

  Love like a clear sky spread

  Bends over thy loved head,

  As a new heaven bends over a new-born earth,

  When the old night’s womb is great

  With young stars passionate

  And fair new planets fiery-fresh from birth;

  And moon-white here, there hot like Mars,

  Souls that are worlds shine on thee, spirits that are stars.

  14

  Till the whole sky burns through

  With heaven’s own heart-deep hue,

  With passion-coloured glories of lit souls;

  And thine above all names

  Writ highest with lettering flames

  Lightens, and all the old starriest aureoles

  And all the old holiest memories wane,

  And the old names of love’s chosen, found in thy sight vain.

  15

  And crowned heads are discrowned,

  And stars sink without sound,

  And love’s self for thy love’s sake waxes pale

  Seeing from his storied skies

  In what new reverent wise

  Thee Rome’s most highest, her sovereign daughters, hail;

  Thee Portia, thee Veturia grey,

  Thee Arria, thee Cornelia, Roman more than they.

  16

  Even all these as all we

  Subdue themselves to thee,

  Bow their heads haloed, quench their fiery fame;

  Seen through dim years divine,

  Their faint lights feminine

  Sink, then spring up rekindled from thy flame;

  Fade, then reflower and reillume

  From thy fresh spring their wintering age with new-blown bloom.

  17

  To thy much holier head

  Even theirs, the holy and dead,

  Bow themselves each one from her heavenward height;

  Each in her shining turn,

  All tremble toward thee and yearn

  To melt in thine their consummated light;

  Till from day’s Capitolian dome

  One glory of many glories lighten upon Rome.

  18

  Hush thyself, song, and cease,

  Close, lips, and hold your peace;

  What help hast thou, what part have ye herein?

  But you, with sweet shut eyes,

  Heart-hidden memories,

  Dreams and dumb thoughts that keep what things have been

  Silent, and pure of all words said,

  Praise without song the living, without dirge the dead.

  19

  Thou, strengthless in these things,

  Song, fold thy feebler wings,

  And as a pilgrim go forth girt and shod,

  And where the new graves are,

  And where the sunset star,

  To the pure spirit of man that men call God,

  To the high soul of things, that is

  Made of men’s heavenlier hopes and mightier memories;

  20

  To the elements that make

  For the soul’s living sake

  This raiment of dead things, of shadow and trance,

  That give us chance and time

  Wherein to aspire and climb

  And set our life’s work higher than time or chance

  The old sacred elements, that give

  The breath of life to days that die, to deeds that live;

  21

  To them, veiled gods and great,

  There bow thee and dedicate

  The speechless spirit in these thy weak words hidden;

  And mix thy reverent breath

  With holier air of death,

  At the high feast of sorrow a guest unbidden,

  Till with divine triumphal tears

  Thou fill men’s eyes who listen with a heart that hears.

  THE LITANY OF NATIONS

  [Greek text which cannot be reproduced] AESCH. Supp. 890.

  CHORUS

/>   If with voice of words or prayers thy sons may reach thee,

  We thy latter sons, the men thine after-birth,

  We the children of thy grey-grown age, O Earth,

  O our mother everlasting, we beseech thee,

  By the sealed and secret ages of thy life;

  By the darkness wherein grew thy sacred forces;

  By the songs of stars thy sisters in their courses;

  By thine own song hoarse and hollow and shrill with strife;

  By thy voice distuned and marred of modulation;

  By the discord of thy measure’s march with theirs;

  By the beauties of thy bosom, and the cares;

  By thy glory of growth, and splendour of thy station;

  By the shame of men thy children, and the pride;

  By the pale-cheeked hope that sleeps and weeps and passes,

  As the grey dew from the morning mountain-grasses;

  By the white-lipped sightless memories that abide;

  By the silence and the sound of many sorrows;

  By the joys that leapt up living and fell dead;

  By the veil that hides thy hands and breasts and head,

  Wrought of divers-coloured days and nights and morrows;

  Isis, thou that knowest of God what worlds are worth,

  Thou the ghost of God, the mother uncreated,

  Soul for whom the floating forceless ages waited

  As our forceless fancies wait on thee, O Earth;

  Thou the body and soul, the father-God and mother,

  If at all it move thee, knowing of all things done

  Here where evil things and good things are not one,

  But their faces are as fire against each other;

  By thy morning and thine evening, night and day;

  By the first white light that stirs and strives and hovers

  As a bird above the brood her bosom covers,

  By the sweet last star that takes the westward way;

  By the night whose feet are shod with snow or thunder,