Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50)

by Homer

  And constancy lives in realms above; 410

  And life is thorny; and youth is vain;

  And to be wroth with one we love

  Doth work like madness in the brain.

  And thus it chanced, as I divine,

  With Roland and Sir Leoline. 415

  Each spake words of high disdain

  And insult to his heart’s best brother:

  They parted — ne’er to meet again!

  But never either found another

  To free the hollow heart from paining — 420

  They stood aloof, the scars remaining,

  Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;

  A dreary sea now flows between.

  But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,

  Shall wholly do away, I ween, 425

  The marks of that which once hath been.

  Sir Leoline, a moment’s space,

  Stood gazing on the damsel’s face:

  And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine

  Came back upon his heart again. 430

  O then the Baron forgot his age,

  His noble heart swelled high with rage;

  He swore by the wounds in Jesu’s side

  He would proclaim it far and wide,

  With trump and solemn heraldry, 435

  That they, who thus had wronged the dame

  Were base as spotted infamy!

  ‘And if they dare deny the same,

  My herald shall appoint a week,

  And let the recreant traitors seek 440

  My tourney court — that there and then

  I may dislodge their reptile souls

  From the bodies and forms of men!’

  He spake: his eye in lightning rolls!

  For the lady was ruthlessly seized; and he kenned 445

  In the beautiful lady the child of his friend!

  And now the tears were on his face,

  And fondly in his arms he took

  Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace,

  Prolonging it with joyous look. 450

  Which when she viewed, a vision fell

  Upon the soul of Christabel,

  The vision of fear, the touch and pain!

  She shrunk and shuddered, and saw again —

  (Ah, woe is me! Was it for thee, 455

  Thou gentle maid! such sights to see?)

  Again she saw that bosom old,

  Again she felt that bosom cold,

  And drew in her breath with a hissing sound:

  Whereat the Knight turned wildly round 460

  And nothing saw but his own sweet maid

  With eyes upraised, as one that prayed.

  The touch, the sight, had passed away,

  And in its stead that vision blest,

  Which comforted her after-rest, 465

  While in the lady’s arms she lay,

  Had put a rapture in her breast.

  And on her lips and o’er her eyes

  Spread smiles like light!

  With new surprise, 470

  ‘What ails then my beloved child?’

  The Baron said — His daughter mild

  Made answer, ‘All will yet be well!’

  I ween, she had no power to tell

  Aught else: so mighty was the spell. 475

  Yet he, who saw this Geraldine,

  Had deemed her sure a thing divine.

  Such sorrow with such grace she blended,

  As if she feared she had offended

  Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid! 480

  And with such lowly tones she prayed

  She might be sent without delay

  Home to her father’s mansion.

  ‘Nay!

  Nay, by my soul!’ said Leoline. 485

  ‘Ho! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine!

  Go thou, with music sweet and loud,

  And take two steeds with trappings proud,

  And take the youth whom thou lov’st best

  To bear thy harp, and learn thy song, 490

  And clothe you both in solemn vest,

  And over the mountains haste along,

  Lest wandering folk, that are abroad

  Detain you on the valley road.

  ‘And when he has crossed the Irthing flood, 495

  My merry bard! he hastes, he hastes

  Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth Wood,

  And reaches soon that castle good

  Which stands and threatens Scotland’s wastes.

  ‘Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet, 500

  Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet,

  More loud than your horses’ echoing feet!

  And loud and loud to Lord Roland call,

  Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall!

  Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free — 505

  Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me.

  He bids thee come without delay

  With all thy numerous array;

  And take thy lovely daughter home;

  And he will meet thee on the way 510

  With all his numerous array

  White with their panting palfreys’ foam:

  And, by mine honour! I will say,

  That I repent me of the day

  When I spake words of fierce disdain 515

  To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine! —

  — For since that evil hour hath flown,

  Many a summer’s sun hath shone;

  Yet ne’er found I a friend again

  Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.’ 520

  The lady fell, and clasped his knees,

  Her face upraised, her eyes o’erflowing;

  And Bracy replied, with faltering voice,

  His gracious hail on all bestowing:

  ‘Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, 525

  Are sweeter than my harp can tell;

  Yet might I gain a boon of thee,

  This day my journey should not be,

  So strange a dream hath come to me;

  That I had vowed with music loud 530

  To clear yon wood from thing unblest,

  Warn’d by a vision in my rest!

  For in my sleep I saw that dove,

  That gentlest bird, whom thou dost love,

  And call’st by thy own daughter’s name — 535

  Sir Leoline! I saw the same,

  Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan,

  Among the green herbs in the forest alone.

  Which when I saw and when I heard,

  I wonder’d what might ail the bird; 540

  For nothing near it could I see,

  Save the grass and green herbs underneath the old tree.

  ‘And in my dream, methought, I went

  To search out what might there be found;

  And what the sweet bird’s trouble meant, 545

  That thus lay fluttering on the ground.

  I went and peered, and could descry

  No cause for her distressful cry;

  But yet for her dear lady’s sake

  I stooped, methought, the dove to take, 550

  When lo! I saw a bright green snake

  Coiled around its wings and neck.

  Green as the herbs on which it couched,

  Close by the dove’s its head it crouched;

  And with the dove it heaves and stirs, 555

  Swelling its neck as she swelled hers!

  I woke; it was the midnight hour,

  The clock was echoing in the tower;

  But though my slumber was gone by,

  This dream it would not pass away — 560

  It seems to live upon my eye!

  And thence I vowed this self-same day

  With music strong and saintly song

  To wander through the forest bare,

  Lest aught unholy loiter there.’ 565

  Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while,

  Half-listening heard him with a smile;

  Then turn’d to Lady Geraldine,
/>   His eyes made up of wonder and love;

  And said in courtly accents fine, 570

  ‘Sweet maid, Lord Roland’s beauteous dove,

  With arms more strong than harp or song,

  Thy sire and I will crush the snake!’

  He kissed her forehead as he spake,

  And Geraldine in maiden wise 575

  Casting down her large bright eyes,

  With blushing cheek and courtesy fine

  She turned her from Sir Leoline;

  Softly gathering up her train,

  That o’er her right arm fell again; 580

  And folded her arms across her chest,

  And couched her head upon her breast,

  And looked askance at Christabel —

  Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

  A snake’s small eye blinks dull and shy, 585

  And the lady’s eyes they shrunk in her head,

  Each shrunk up to a serpent’s eye,

  And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread,

  At Christabel she look’d askance! —

  One moment — and the sight was fled! 590

  But Christabel in dizzy trance

  Stumbling on the unsteady ground

  Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound;

  And Geraldine again turned round,

  And like a thing that sought relief, 595

  Full of wonder and full of grief,

  She rolled her large bright eyes divine

  Wildly on Sir Leoline.

  The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,

  She nothing sees — no sight but one! 600

  The maid, devoid of guile and sin,

  I know not how, in fearful wise,

  So deeply had she drunken in

  That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,

  That all her features were resigned 605

  To this sole image in her mind:

  And passively did imitate

  That look of dull and treacherous hate!

  And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,

  Still picturing that look askance 610

  With forced unconscious sympathy

  Full before her father’s view —

  As far as such a look could be

  In eyes so innocent and blue!

  And when the trance was o’er, the maid 615

  Paused awhile, and inly prayed:

  Then falling at the Baron’s feet,

  ‘By my mother’s soul do I entreat

  That thou this woman send away!’

  She said: and more she could not say: 620

  For what she knew she could not tell,

  O’er-mastered by the mighty spell.

  Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,

  Sir Leoline? Thy only child

  Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride. 625

  So fair, so innocent, so mild;

  The same, for whom thy lady died!

  O, by the pangs of her dear mother

  Think thou no evil of thy child!

  For her, and thee, and for no other, 630

  She prayed the moment ere she died:

  Prayed that the babe for whom she died,

  Might prove her dear lord’s joy and pride!

  That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,

  Sir Leoline! 635

  And wouldst thou wrong thy only child,

  Her child and thine?

  Within the Baron’s heart and brain

  If thoughts, like these, had any share,

  They only swelled his rage and pain, 640

  And did but work confusion there.

  His heart was cleft with pain and rage,

  His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild,

  Dishonour’d thus in his old age;

  Dishonour’d by his only child, 645

  And all his hospitality

  To the insulted daughter of his friend

  By more than woman’s jealousy

  Brought thus to a disgraceful end —

  He rolled his eye with stern regard 650

  Upon the gentle minstrel bard,

  And said in tones abrupt, austere —

  ‘Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?

  I bade thee hence!’ The bard obeyed;

  And turning from his own sweet maid, 655

  The aged knight, Sir Leoline,

  Led forth the lady Geraldine!

  THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE SECOND

  A little child, a limber elf,

  Singing, dancing, to itself,

  A fairy thing with red round cheeks, 660

  That always finds, and never seeks,

  Makes such a vision to the sight

  As fills a father’s eyes with light;

  And pleasures flow in so thick and fast

  Upon his heart, that he at last 665

  Must needs express his love’s excess

  With words of unmeant bitterness.

  Perhaps ’tis pretty to force together

  Thoughts so all unlike each other;

  To mutter and mock a broken charm, 670

  To dally with wrong that does no harm.

  Perhaps ’tis tender too and pretty

  At each wild word to feel within

  A sweet recoil of love and pity.

  And what, if in a world of sin 675

  (O sorrow and shame should this be true!)

  Such giddiness of heart and brain

  Comes seldom save from rage and pain,

  So talks as it’s most used to do.

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Dejection: an Ode

  Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834)

  Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,

  With the old Moon in her arms;

  And I fear, I fear, my master dear!

  We shall have a deadly storm.

  Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence

  I

  WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made

  The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,

  This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence

  Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade

  Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, 5

  Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes

  Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,

  Which better far were mute.

  For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!

  And overspread with phantom light, 10

  (With swimming phantom light o’erspread

  But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)

  I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling

  The coming-on of rain and squally blast,

  And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, 15

  And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!

  Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed

  And sent my soul abroad,

  Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,

  Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! 20

  II

  A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,

  A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,

  Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,

  In word, or sigh, or tear —

  O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, 25

  To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo’d,

  All this long eve, so balmy and serene,

  Have I been gazing on the western sky,

  And its peculiar tint of yellow green;

  And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye! 30

  And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,

  That give away their motion to the stars:

  Those stars, that glide behind them or between,

  Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen;

  Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew 35

  In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;

  I see them all so excellently
fair,

  I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

  III

  My genial spirits fail;

  And what can these avail 40

  To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?

  It were a vain endeavour,

  Though I should gaze for ever

  On that green light that lingers in the west;

  I may not hope from outward forms to win 45

  The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

  IV

  O Lady! we receive but what we give,

  And in our life alone does Nature live;

  Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!

  And would we aught behold, of higher worth, 50

  Than that inanimate cold world allowed

  To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,

  Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth

  A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud

  Enveloping the Earth — 55

  And from the soul itself must there be sent

  A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,

  Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

  V

  O pure of heart! thou need’st not ask of me

  What this strong music in the soul may be! 60

  What, and wherein it doth exist,

  This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,

  This beautiful and beauty-making power.

  Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne’er was given,

  Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, 65

  Life, and life’s effluence, cloud at once and shower,

  Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,

  Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower,

  A new Earth and new Heaven,

  Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud — 70

  Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud —

  We in ourselves rejoice!

  And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,

  All melodies the echoes of that voice,

  All colours a suffusion from that light. 75

  VI

  There was a time when, though my path was rough,

  This joy within me dallied with distress,

  And all misfortunes were but as the stuff

  Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:

  For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, 80

  And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.

  But now afflictions bow me down to earth:

  Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;

  But oh! each visitation