by Homer
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, 85
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man — 90
This was my sole resource, my only plan;
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
VII
Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality’s dark dream! 95
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav’st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree, 100
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches’ home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers, 105
Mak’st Devils’ yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty Poet, even to frenzy bold!
What tell’st thou now about? 110
’Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans of trampled men, with smarting wounds —
At once they groan with pain and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, 115
With groans, and tremulous shudderings — all is over —
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway’s self had framed the tender lay. 120
’Tis of a little child,
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way;
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear. 125
VIII
’Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, 130
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes.
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole, 135
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus may’st thou ever, evermore rejoice.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Robert Southey
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Joan of Arc. The First Book.
Robert Southey (1774–1843)
THERE was high feasting held at Vaucouleur,
For old Sir Robert had a famous guest,
The Bastard Orleans; and the festive hours,
Cheer’d with the Trobador’s sweet minstrelsy,
Pass’d gaily at his hospitable board. 5
But not to share the hospitable board
And hear sweet minstrelsy, Dunois had sought
Sir Robert’s hall; he came to rouse Lorraine,
And glean what force the wasting war had left
For one last effort. Little had the war 10
Left in Lorraine, but age, and youth unripe
For slaughter yet, and widows, and young maids
Of widow’d loves. And now with his great guest
The Lord of Vaucouleur sat communing
On what might profit France, and found no hope,
Despairing of their country, when he heard 16
An old man and a maid awaited him
In the castle-hall. He knew the old man well,
His vassal Claude; and at his bidding Claude
Approach’d, and after meet obeisance made, 20
Bespake Sir Robert.
“Good my Lord, I come
With a strange tale; I pray you pardon me
If it should seem impertinent, and like
An old man’s weakness. But, in truth, this Maid
Hath with such boding thoughts impress’d my heart,
I think I could not longer sleep in peace 26
Gainsaying what she sought. She saith that God
Bids her go drive the Englishmen from France!
Her parents mock at her and call her crazed,
And father Regnier says she is possess’d;.. 30
But I, who know that never thought of ill
Found entrance in her heart,.. for, good my Lord,
From her first birth-day she hath been to me
As mine own child,.. and I am an old man,
Who have seen many moon-struck in my time, 35
And some who were by evil Spirits vex’d,..
I, Sirs, do think that there is more in this.
And who can tell but, in these perilous times,
It may please God,... but hear the Maid yourselves,
For if, as I believe, this is of Heaven, 40
My silly speech doth wrong it.”
While he spake,
Curious they mark’d the Damsel. She appear’d
Of eighteen years; there was no bloom of youth
Upon her cheek, yet had the loveliest hues
Of health with lesser fascination fix’d 45
The gazer’s eye; for wan the Maiden was,
Of saintly paleness, and there seem’d to dwell
In the strong beauties of her countenance
Something that was not earthly.
“I have heard
Of this your niece’s malady,” replied 50
The Lord of Vaucouleur, “that she frequents
The loneliest haunts and deepest solitude,
Estranged from human kind and human cares
With loathing like to madness. It were best
To place her with some pious sisterhood, 55
Who duly morn and eve for her soul’s health
Soliciting Heaven, may likeliest remedy
The stricken mind, or frenzied or possess’d.”
So as Sir Robert ceased, the Maiden cried,
“I am not mad. Possess’d indeed I am! 60
The hand of GOD is strong upon my soul,
And I have wrestled vainly with the LORD,
And stubbornly, I fear me. I can save
This country, Sir! I can deliver France! 64
Yea.. I must save the country!.. GOD is in me;
I speak not, think not, feel not of myself.
HE knew and sanctified me ere my birth;
HE to the nations hath ordained me;
And whither HE shall send me, I must go;
And whatso HE commands, that I must speak; 70
And whatso is HIS will, that I must do;
And I must put away all fear of man,
Lest HE in wrath confound me.”
At the first
With pity or with scorn Dunois had heard
The Maid inspired; but now he in his heart 75
Felt that misgiving which precedes belief
In what was disbelieved and scoff’d at late
For folly. “Damsel!” said the Chief, “methinks
It would be wisely done to doubt this call,
Haply of some ill Spirit prompting thee 80
&nbs
p; To self destruction.”
“Doubt!” the Maid exclaim’d,
“It were as easy when I gaze around
On all this fair variety of things,
Green fields and tufted woods, and the blue depth
Of heaven, and yonder glorious sun, to doubt 85
Creating wisdom! When in the evening gale
I breathe the mingled odours of the spring,
And hear the wild wood melody, and hear
The populous air vocal with insect life, 89
To doubt GOD’S goodness! There are feelings, Chief,
Which cannot lie; and I have oftentimes
Felt in the midnight silence of my soul
The call of GOD.”
They listen’d to the Maid,
And they almost believed. Then spake Dunois,
“Wilt thou go with me, Maiden, to the King, 95
And there announce thy mission?” thus he said,
For thoughts of politic craftiness arose
Within him, and his faith, yet unconfirm’d,
Determin’d to prompt action. She replied,
“Therefore I sought the Lord of Vaucouleur, 100
That with such credence as prevents delay,
He to the King might send me. Now beseech you
Speed our departure!”
Then Dunois address’d
Sir Robert, “Fare thee well, my friend and host!
It were ill done to linger here when Heaven 105
Vouchsafes such strange assistance. Let what force
Lorraine can raise to Chinon follow us;
And with the tidings of this holy Maid,
Sent by the LORD, fill thou the country; soon
Therewith shall France awake as from the sleep
Of death. Now Maid! depart we at thy will.” 111
“GOD’S blessing go with ye!” exclaim’d old Claude,
“Good Angels guard my girl!” and as he spake
The tears stream’d fast adown his aged cheeks.
“And if I do not live to see thee more, 115
As sure I think I shall not,.. yet sometimes
Remember thine old Uncle. I have loved thee
Even from thy childhood Joan! and I shall lose
The comfort of mine age in losing thee.
But GOD be with thee, Child!”
Nor was the Maid,
Though all subdued of soul, untroubled now 121
In that sad parting;.. but she calm’d herself,
Painfully keeping down her heart, and said,
“Comfort thyself, my Uncle, with the thought
Of what I am, and for what enterprize 125
Chosen from among the people. Oh! be sure
I shall remember thee, in whom I found
A parent’s love, when parents were unkind!
And when the ominous broodings of my soul,
Were scoff’d and made a mock of by all else, 130
Thou for thy love didst hear me and believe.
Shall I forget these things?”... By this Dunois
Had arm’d, the steeds stood ready at the gate.
But then she fell upon the old man’s neck 134
And cried, “Pray for me!.. I shall need thy prayers!
Pray for me, that I fail not in my hour!”
Thereat awhile, as if some aweful thought
Had overpower’d her, on his neck she hung;
Then rising with flush’d cheek and kindling eye,
“Farewell!” quoth she, “and live in hope! Anon
Thou shalt hear tidings to rejoice thy heart, 141
Tidings of joy for all, but most for thee!
Be this thy comfort!” The old man received
Her last embrace, and weeping like a child,
Scarcely through tears could see them on their steeds
Spring up, and go their way.
So on they went,
And now along the mountain’s winding path
Upward they journey’d slow, and now they paused
And gazed where o’er the plain the stately towers
Of Vaucouleur arose, in distance seen, 150
Dark and distinct; below its castled height,
Through fair and fertile pastures, the deep Meuse
Roll’d glittering on. Domremi’s cottages
Gleam’d in the sun hard by, white cottages,
That in the evening traveller’s weary mind 155
Had waken’d thoughts of comfort and of home,
Making him yearn for rest. But on one spot,
One little spot, the Virgin’s eye was fix’d,
Her native Arc; embower’d the hamlet lay
Upon the forest edge, whose ancient woods, 160
With all their infinite varieties,
Now form’d a mass of shade. The distant plain
Rose on the horizon rich with pleasant groves,
And vineyards in the greenest hue of spring, 164
And streams now hidden on their winding way,
Now issuing forth in light.
The Maiden gazed
Till all grew dim upon her dizzy eye.
“Oh what a blessed world were this!” she cried,
“But that the great and honourable men
Have seized the earth, and of the heritage 170
Which God, the Sire of all, to all had given,
Disherited their brethren! Happy those
Who in the after-days shall live when Time
Hath spoken, and the multitude of years 174
Taught wisdom to mankind!... Unhappy France!
Fiercer than evening wolves thy bitter foes
Rush o’er the land, and desolate, and kill;
Long has the widow’s and the orphan’s groan
Accused Heaven’s justice; — but the hour is come!
GOD hath inclined his ear, hath heard the voice
Of mourning, and his anger is gone forth.” 181
Then said the Son of Orleans, “Holy Maid!
Fain would I know, if blameless I may seek
Such knowledge, how the heavenly call was heard
First in thy waken’d soul; nor deem in me 185
Aught idly curious, if of thy past life
I ask the story. In the hour of age,
If haply I survive to see this realm
Deliver’d, precious then will be the thought
That I have known the delegated Maid, 190
And heard from her the wondrous ways of Heaven.”
“A simple tale,” the mission’d Maid replied;
“Yet may it well employ the journeying hour,
And pleasant is the memory of the past. 194
“See’st thou, Sir Chief, where yonder forest skirts
The Meuse, that in its winding mazes shows,
As on the farther bank, the distant towers
Of Vaucouleur? there in the hamlet Arc
My father’s dwelling stands; a lowly hut,
Yet nought of needful comfort did it lack, 200
For in Lorraine there lived no kinder Lord
Than old Sir Robert, and my father Jaques
In flocks and herds was rich; a toiling man,
Intent on worldly gains, one in whose heart
Affection had no root. I never knew 205
A parent’s love; for harsh my mother was,
And deem’d the care which infancy demands
Irksome, and ill-repaid. Severe they were,
And would have made me fear them; but my soul
Possess’d the germ of inborn fortitude, 210
And stubbornly I bore unkind rebuke
And angry chastisement. Yet was the voice
That spake in tones of tenderness most sweet
To my young heart; how have I felt it leap
With transport, when my Uncle Claude approach’d!
For he would take me on his knee, and tell 216
Such wondrous tales as childhood loves to hear,
Listening wi
th eager eyes and open lips
Devoutly in attention. Good old man!
Oh if I ever pour’d a prayer to Heaven 220
Unhallow’d by the grateful thought of him,
Methinks the righteous winds would scatter it!
He was a parent to me, and his home
Was mine, when in advancing years I found
No peace, no comfort in my father’s house. 225
With him I pass’d the pleasant evening hours,
By day I drove my father’s flock afield,
And this was happiness.
“Amid these wilds
Often to summer pasture have I driven 229
The flock; and well I know these woodland wilds,
And every bosom’d vale, and valley stream
Is dear to memory. I have laid me down
Beside yon valley stream, that up the ascent
Scarce sends the sound of waters now, and watch’d
The beck roll glittering to the noon-tide sun, 235
And listened to its ceaseless murmuring,
Till all was hush’d and tranquil in my soul,
Fill’d with a strange and undefined delight
That pass’d across the mind like summer clouds
Over the vale at eve; their fleeting hues 240
The traveller cannot trace with memory’s eye,
Yet he remembers well how fair they were,
How beautiful.
“In solitude and peace
Here I grew up, amid the loveliest scenes
Of unpolluted nature. Sweet it was, 245
As the white mists of morning roll’d away,
To see the upland’s wooded heights appear
Dark in the early dawn, and mark the slope
With gorse-flowers glowing, as the sun illumed
Their golden glory with his deepening light; 250
Pleasant at noon beside the vocal brook
To lay me down, and watch the floating clouds,
And shape to fancy’s wild similitudes
Their ever-varying forms; and oh how sweet!
To drive my flock at evening to the fold, 255
And hasten to our little hut, and hear
The voice of kindness bid me welcome home.
“Amid the village playmates of my youth
Was one whom riper years approved a friend.
A gentle maid was my poor Madelon; 260
I loved her as a sister, and long time
Her undivided tenderness possess’d,
Until a better and a holier tie