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

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