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

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

  Says, “Eat your fill of your flesh, my lord,

  And drink your fill of your wine;

  For a’ thing’s yours and only yours

  That has been yours and mine.”

  Says, “Drink your fill of your wine, my lord,

  And eat your fill of your bread:

  I would they were quick in my body again,

  Or I that bare them dead.”

  He struck her head frae her fair body,

  And dead for grief he fell:

  And there were twae mair sangs in heaven,

  And twae mair sauls in hell.

  THE BRIDE’S TRAGEDY

  “The wind wears roun’, the day wears doun,

  The moon is grisly grey;

  There’s nae man rides by the mirk muirsides,

  Nor down the dark Tyne’s way.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “And winna ye watch the night wi’ me,

  And winna ye wake the morn?

  Foul shame it were that your ae mither

  Should brook her ae son’s scorn.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “O mither, I may not sleep nor stay,

  My weird is ill to dree;

  For a fause faint lord of the south seaboard

  Wad win my bride of me.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “The winds are strang, and the nights are lang,

  And the ways are sair to ride:

  And I maun gang to wreak my wrang,

  And ye maun bide and bide.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “Gin I maun bide and bide, Willie,

  I wot my weird is sair:

  Weel may ye get ye a light love yet,

  But never a mither mair.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “O gin the morrow be great wi’ sorrow,

  The wyte be yours of a’:

  But though ye slay me that haud and stay me,

  The weird ye will maun fa’.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  When cocks were crawing and day was dawing,

  He’s boun’ him forth to ride:

  And the ae first may he’s met that day

  Was fause Earl Robert’s bride.

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  O blithe and braw were the bride-folk a’,

  But sad and saft rade she;

  And sad as doom was her fause bridegroom,

  But fair and fain was he.

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “And winna ye bide, sae saft ye ride,

  And winna ye speak wi’ me?

  For mony’s the word and the kindly word

  I have spoken aft wi’ thee.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “My lamp was lit yestreen, Willie,

  My window-gate was wide:

  But ye camena nigh me till day came by me

  And made me not your bride.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  He’s set his hand to her bridle-rein,

  He’s turned her horse away:

  And the cry was sair, and the wrath was mair,

  And fast and fain rode they.

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  But when they came by Chollerford,

  I wot the ways were fell;

  For broad and brown the spate swang down,

  And the lift was mirk as hell.

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “And will ye ride yon fell water,

  Or will ye bide for fear?

  Nae scathe ye’ll win o’ your father’s kin,

  Though they should slay me here.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “I had liefer ride yon fell water,

  Though strange it be to ride,

  Than I wad stand on the fair green strand

  And thou be slain beside.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “I had liefer swim yon wild water,

  Though sair it be to bide,

  Than I wad stand at a strange man’s hand,

  To be a strange man’s bride.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  “I had liefer drink yon dark water,

  Wi’ the stanes to make my bed,

  And the faem to hide me, and thou beside me,

  Than I wad see thee dead.”

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  He’s kissed her twice, he’s kissed her thrice,

  On cheek and lip and chin:

  He’s wound her rein to his hand again,

  And lightly they leapt in.

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  Their hearts were high to live or die,

  Their steeds were stark of limb:

  But the stream was starker, the spate was darker,

  Than man might live and swim.

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  The first ae step they strode therein,

  It smote them foot and knee:

  But ere they wan to the mid water

  The spate was as the sea.

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  But when they wan to the mid water,

  It smote them hand and head:

  And nae man knows but the wave that flows

  Where they lie drowned and dead.

  In, in, out and in,

  Blaws the wind and whirls the whin.

  A JACOBITE’S FAREWELL

  1716

  There’s nae mair lands to tyne, my dear,

  And nae mair lives to gie:

  Though a man think sair to live nae mair,

  There’s but one day to die.

  For a’ things come and a’ days gane,

  What needs ye rend your hair?

  But kiss me till the morn’s morrow,

  Then I’ll kiss ye nae mair.

  O lands are lost and life’s losing,

  And what were they to gie?

  Fu’ mony a man gives all he can,

  But nae man else gives ye.

  Our king wons ower the sea’s water,

  And I in prison sair:

  But I’ll win out the morn’s morrow,

  And ye’ll see me nae mair.

  A JACOBITE’S EXILE

  1746

  The weary day rins down and dies,

  The weary night wears through:

  And never an hour is fair wi’ flower,

  And never a flower wi’ dew.

  I would the day were night for me,

  I would the night were day:

  For then would I stand in my ain fair land,

  As now in dreams I may.

  O lordly flow the Loire and Seine,

  And loud the dark Durance:

  But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne

  Than a’ the fields of France;

  And the waves of Till that speak sae still

  Gleam goodlier where they glance.

  O weel were they that fell fighting

  On dark Drumossie’s day:

  They keep their hame ayont the faem,

  And we die far away.

  O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep,

  But night and day wake we;

  And ever b
etween the sea-banks green

  Sounds loud the sundering sea.

  And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep,

  But sweet and fast sleep they;

  And the mool that haps them roun’ and laps them

  Is e’en their country’s clay;

  But the land we tread that are not dead

  Is strange as night by day.

  Strange as night in a strange man’s sight,

  Though fair as dawn it be:

  For what is here that a stranger’s cheer

  Should yet wax blithe to see?

  The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep,

  The fields are green and gold:

  The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring,

  As ours at home of old.

  But hills and flowers are nane of ours,

  And ours are oversea:

  And the kind strange land whereon we stand,

  It wotsna what were we

  Or ever we came, wi’ scathe and shame,

  To try what end might be.

  Scathe, and shame, and a waefu’ name,

  And a weary time and strange,

  Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing

  Can die, and cannot change.

  Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn,

  Though sair be they to dree:

  But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide,

  Mair keen than wind and sea.

  Ill may we thole the night’s watches,

  And ill the weary day:

  And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep,

  A waefu’ gift gie they;

  For the sangs they sing us, the sights they bring us,

  The morn blaws all away.

  On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw,

  The burn rins blithe and fain:

  There’s nought wi’ me I wadna gie

  To look thereon again.

  On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide;

  There sounds nae hunting-horn

  That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat

  Round banks where Tyne is born.

  The Wansbeck sings with all her springs,

  The bents and braes give ear;

  But the wood that rings wi’ the sang she sings

  I may not see nor hear;

  For far and far thae blithe burns are,

  And strange is a’ thing near.

  The light there lightens, the day there brightens,

  The loud wind there lives free:

  Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me

  That I wad hear or see.

  But O gin I were there again,

  Afar ayont the faem,

  Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed

  That haps my sires at hame!

  We’ll see nae mair the sea-banks fair,

  And the sweet grey gleaming sky,

  And the lordly strand of Northumberland,

  And the goodly towers thereby:

  And none shall know but the winds that blow

  The graves wherein we lie.

  THE TYNESIDE WIDOW

  There’s mony a man loves land and life,

  Loves life and land and fee;

  And mony a man loves fair women,

  But never a man loves me, my love,

  But never a man loves me.

  O weel and weel for a’ lovers,

  I wot weel may they be;

  And weel and weel for a’ fair maidens,

  But aye mair woe for me, my love,

  But aye mair woe for me.

  O weel be wi’ you, ye sma’ flowers,

  Ye flowers and every tree;

  And weel be wi’ you, a’ birdies,

  But teen and tears wi’ me, my love,

  But teen and tears wi’ me.

  O weel be yours, my three brethren,

  And ever weel be ye;

  Wi’ deeds for doing and loves for wooing,

  But never a love for me, my love,

  But never a love for me.

  And weel be yours, my seven sisters,

  And good love-days to see,

  And long life-days and true lovers,

  But never a day for me, my love,

  But never a day for me.

  Good times wi’ you, ye bauld riders,

  By the hieland and the lee;

  And by the leeland and by the hieland

  It’s weary times wi’ me, my love,

  It’s weary times wi’ me.

  Good days wi’ you, ye good sailors,

  Sail in and out the sea;

  And by the beaches and by the reaches

  It’s heavy days wi’ me, my love,

  It’s heavy days wi’ me.

  I had his kiss upon my mouth,

  His bairn upon my knee;

  I would my soul and body were twain,

  And the bairn and the kiss wi’ me, my love,

  And the bairn and the kiss wi’ me.

  The bairn down in the mools, my dear,

  O saft and saft lies she;

  I would the mools were ower my head,

  And the young bairn fast wi’ me, my love,

  And the young bairn fast wi’ me.

  The father under the faem, my dear,

  O sound and sound sleeps he;

  I would the faem were ower my face,

  And the father lay by me, my love,

  And the father lay by me.

  I would the faem were ower my face,

  Or the mools on my ee-bree;

  And waking-time with a’ lovers,

  But sleeping-time wi’ me, my love,

  But sleeping-time wi’ me.

  I would the mools were meat in my mouth,

  The saut faem in my ee;

  And the land-worm and the water-worm

  To feed fu’ sweet on me, my love,

  To feed fu’ sweet on me.

  My life is sealed with a seal of love,

  And locked with love for a key;

  And I lie wrang and I wake lang,

  But ye tak’ nae thought for me, my love,

  But ye tak’ nae thought for me.

  We were weel fain of love, my dear,

  O fain and fain were we;

  It was weel with a’ the weary world,

  But O, sae weel wi’ me, my love,

  But O, sae weel wi’ me.

  We were nane ower mony to sleep, my dear,

  I wot we were but three;

  And never a bed in the weary world

  For my bairn and my dear and me, my love,

  For my bairn and my dear and me.

  DEDICATION

  The years are many, the changes more,

  Since wind and sun on the wild sweet shore

  Where Joyous Gard stands stark by the sea

  With face as bright as in years of yore

  Shone, swept, and sounded, and laughed for glee

  More deep than a man’s or a child’s may be,

  On a day when summer was wild and glad,

  And the guests of the wind and the sun were we.

  The light that lightens from seasons clad

  With darkness now, is it glad or sad?

  Not sad but glad should it shine, meseems,

  On eyes yet fain of the joy they had.

  For joy was there with us; joy that gleams

  And murmurs yet in the world of dreams

  Where thought holds fast, as a constant warder,

  The days when I rode by moors and streams,

  Reining my rhymes into buoyant order

  Through honied leagues of the northland border.

  Though thought or memory fade, and prove

  A faithless keeper, a thriftless hoarder,

  One landmark never can change remove,

  One sign can the years efface not. Love,

  More strong than death or than doubt may be,

  Treads down their strengths, and abides above.

  Yea, change and death are his servants: we,

  Whom love of th
e dead links fast, though free,

  May smile as they that beheld the dove

  Bear home her signal across the sea.

  SONGS OF THE SPRINGTIDES

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION TO EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY

  THALASSIUS

  ON THE CLIFFS

  THE GARDEN OF CYMODOCE

  BIRTHDAY ODE FOR THE ANNIVERSARY FESTIVAL OF VICTOR HUGO, FEBRUARY 26, 1880

  Swinburne, 1891

  DEDICATION TO EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY

  A sea-mew on a sea-king’s wrist alighting,

  As the north sea-wind caught and strained and curled

  The raven-figured flag that led men fighting

  From field to green field of the water-world,

  Might find such brief high favour at his hand

  For wings imbrued with brine, with foam impearled,

  As these my songs require at yours on land,

  That durst not save for love’s free sake require,

  Being lightly born between the foam and sand,

  But reared by hope and memory and desire

  Of lives that were and life that is to be,

  Even such as filled his heavenlier song with fire

  Whose very voice, that sang to set man free,

  Was in your ears as ever in ours his lyre,

  Once, ere the flame received him from the sea.

  THALASSIUS

  Upon the flowery forefront of the year,

  One wandering by the grey-green April sea

  Found on a reach of shingle and shallower sand

  Inlaid with starrier glimmering jewellery

  Left for the sun’s love and the light wind’s cheer

  Along the foam-flowered strand

  Breeze-brightened, something nearer sea than land