by Homer
Gave her one nearer friend; and then my heart
Partook her happiness, for never lived 265
A happier pair than Arnaud and his wife.
“Lorraine was call’d to arms, and with her youth
Went Arnaud to the war. The morn was fair,
Bright shone the sun, the birds sung cheerfully,
And all the fields seem’d joyous in the spring; 270
But to Domremi wretched was that day,
For there was lamentation, and the voice
Of anguish, and the deeper agony
That spake not. Never can my heart forget 274
The feelings that shot through me, when the horn
Gave its last call, and through the castle-gate
The banner moved, and from the clinging arms
Which hung on them, as for a last embrace,
Sons, brethren, husbands, went.
“More frequent now
Sought I the converse of poor Madelon, 280
For now she needed friendship’s soothing voice.
All the long summer did she live in hope
Of tidings from the war; and as at eve
She with her mother by the cottage door
Sat in the sunshine, if a traveller 285
Appear’d at distance coming o’er the brow,
Her eye was on him, and it might be seen
By the flush’d cheek what thoughts were in her heart,
And by the deadly paleness which ensued,
How her heart died within her. So the days 290
And weeks and months pass’d on; and when the leaves
Fell in the autumn, a most painful hope
That reason own’d not, that with expectation
Did never cheer her as she rose at morn,
Still linger’d in her heart, and still at night 295
Made disappointment dreadful. Winter came,
But Arnaud never from the war return’d,
He far away had perish’d; and when late
The tidings of his certain death arrived,
Sore with long anguish underneath that blow 300
She sunk. Then would she sit and think all day
Upon the past, and talk of happiness
That never could return, as though she found
Best solace in the thoughts which minister’d
To sorrow: and she loved to see the sun 305
Go down, because another day was gone,
And then she might retire to solitude
And wakeful recollections, or perchance
To sleep more wearying far than wakefulness,
Dreams of his safety and return, and starts 310
Of agony; so neither night nor day
Could she find rest, but pined and pined away.
“DEATH! to the happy thou art terrible;
But how the wretched love to think of thee
Oh thou true comforter, the friend of all 315
Who have no friend beside! By the sick bed
Of Madelon I sat, when sure she felt
The hour of her deliverance drawing near;
I saw her eye kindle with heavenly hope,
I had her latest look of earthly love, 320
I felt her hand’s last pressure.... Son of Orleans!
I would not wish to live to know that hour,
When I could think upon a dear friend dead,
And weep not: but they are not bitter tears,...
Not painful now; for Christ hath risen, first fruits
Of them that slept; and we shall meet again, 326
Meet, not again to part: the Grave hath lost
It’s victory.
“I remember as her bier
Went to the grave, a lark sprung up aloft,
And soar’d amid the sunshine, carolling 330
So full of joy, that to the mourner’s ear
More mournfully than dirge or passing bell,
The joyous carol came, and made us feel
That of the multitude of beings, none
But man was wretched.
“Then my soul awoke,
For it had slumber’d long in happiness, 336
And never feeling misery, never thought
What others suffer. I, as best I might,
Solaced the keen regret of Elinor; 339
And much my cares avail’d, and much her son’s,
On whom, the only comfort of her age,
She center’d now her love. A younger birth,
Aged nearly as myself was Theodore,
An ardent youth, who with the kindest care
Had sooth’d his sister’s sorrow. We had knelt 345
By her death-bed together, and no bond
In closer union knits two human hearts
Than fellowship in grief.
“It chanced as once
Beside the fire of Elinor I sat, 349
The night was comfortless, the loud blast howl’d,
And as we drew around the social hearth,
We heard the rain beat hard. Driven by the storm
A warrior mark’d our distant taper’s light;
We heapt the fire, and spread the friendly board.
‘’Tis a rude night;’ the stranger cried: ‘safe housed
Pleasant it is to hear the pelting rain. 356
I too could be content to dwell in peace.
Resting my head upon the lap of love,
But that my country calls. When the winds roar,
Remember sometimes what a soldier suffers, 360
And think on Conrade.’
“Theodore replied,
‘Success go with thee! Something we have known
Of war, and tasted its calamity;
And I am well content to dwell in peace,
Albeit inglorious, thanking the good God 365
Who made me to be happy.’
“Did that God’
Cried Conrade, ‘form thy heart for happiness,
When Desolation royally careers
Over thy wretched country? Did that God
Form thee for Peace when Slaughter is abroad, 370
When her brooks run with blood, and Rape, and Murder,
Stalk through her flaming towns? Live thou in peace,
Young man! my heart is human: I must feel
For what my brethren suffer,’ While he spake
Such mingled passions character’d his face 375
Of fierce and terrible benevolence,
That I did tremble as I listen’d to him.
And in my heart tumultuous thoughts arose
Of high achievements, indistinct, and wild,
And vast,.. yet such they were as made me pant
As though by some divinity possess’d. 381
‘But is there not some duty due to those
We love?’ said Theodore; ‘Is there an employ
More righteous than to cheer declining age,
And thus with filial tenderness repay 385
Parental care?
“Hard is it,’ Conrade cried,
Ay, hard indeed, to part from those we love;
And I have suffer’d that severest pang.
I have left an aged mother; I have left
One upon whom my heart has fasten’d all 390
Its dearest, best affections. Should I live
Till France shall see the blessed hour of peace,
I shall return; my heart will be content,
My duties then will have been well discharged,
And I may then be happy. There are those 395
Who deem such thoughts the fancies of a mind
Strict beyond measure, and were well content,
If I should soften down my rigid nature
Even to inglorious ease, to honour me.
But pure of heart and high in self-esteem 400
I must be honour’d by myself: all else,
The breath of Fame, is as the unsteady wind Worthless.’
“So saying from his b
elt he took
The encumbering sword. I held it, listening to him,
And wistless what I did, half from the sheath 405
Drew forth its glittering blade. I gazed upon it,
And shuddering, as I touch’d its edge, exclaim’d,
How horrible it is with the keen sword
To gore the finely-fibred human frame! 409
I could not strike a lamb.
“He answer’d me
‘Maiden, thou sayest well. I could not strike
A lamb!..But when the merciless invader
Spares not grey age, and mocks the infant’s shriek
As it doth writhe upon his cursed lance,
And forces to his foul embrace the wife 415
Even where her slaughter’d husband bleeds to death.
Almighty God! I should not be a man
If I did let one weak and pitiful feeling
Make mine arm impotent to cleave him down. 419
Think well of this, young man!’ he cried, and took
The hand of Theodore; ‘think well of this;
As you are human, as you hope to live
In peace, amid the dearest joys of home,
Think well of this! You have a tender mother;
As you do wish that she may die in peace, 425
As you would even to madness agonize
To hear this maiden call on you in vain
For help, and see her dragg’d, and hear her scream
In the blood-reeking soldier’s lustful grasp, 429
Think that there are such horrors! that even now,
Some city flames, and haply, as in Roan,
Some famish’d babe on his dead mother’s breast
Yet hangs and pulls for food!.. Woe be to those
By whom the evil comes! And woe to him,..
For little less his guilt,..who dwells in peace, 435
When every arm is needed for the strife!’
“When we had all betaken us to rest,
Sleepless I lay, and in my mind revolved
The high-soul’d warrior’s speech. Then Madelon
Rose in remembrance; over her the grave 440
Had closed; her sorrows were not register’d
In the rolls of fame; but when the tears run down
The widow’s cheek, shall not her cry be heard
In Heaven against the oppressor? will not God
In sunder smite the unmerciful, and break 445
The sceptre of the wicked?.. Thoughts like these
Possess’d my soul, till at the break of day
I slept; nor did my heated brain repose
Even then; for visions, sent, as I believe, 449
From the Most-High, arose. A high-tower’d town
Hemm’d in and girt with enemies, I saw,
Where Famine on a heap of carcasses,
Half envious of the unutterable feast,
Mark’d the gorged raven clog his beak with gore.
I turn’d me then to the besieger’s camp, 455
And there was revelry: a loud lewd laugh
Burst on mine ear, and I beheld the chiefs
Sit at their feast, and plan the work of death.
My soul grew sick within me; I look’d up, 459
Reproaching Heaven,.. lo! from the clouds an arm
As of the avenging Angel was put forth,
And from his hand a sword, like lightning, fell.
“From that night I could feel my burthen’d soul
Heaving beneath incumbent Deity.
I sate in silence, musing on the days 465
To come, unheeding and unseeing all
Around me, in that dreaminess of thought
When every bodily sense is as it slept,
And the mind alone is wakeful. I have heard 469
Strange voices in the evening wind; strange forms
Dimly discover’d throng’d the twilight air.
The neighbours wonder’d at the sudden change,
They call’d me crazed; and my dear Uncle too,
Would sit and gaze upon me wistfully,
A heaviness upon his aged brow, 475
And in his eye such sorrow, that my heart
Sometimes misgave me. I had told him all
The mighty future labouring in my breast,
But that the hour, methought, not yet was come.
“At length I heard of Orleans, by the foe 480
Wall’d in from human help: thither all thoughts
All hopes were turn’d; that bulwark beaten down,
All were the invaders. Then my troubled soul
Grew more disturb’d, and shunning every eye,
I loved to wander where the woodland shade 485
Was deepest, there on mightiest deeds to brood
Of shadowy vastness, such as made my heart
Throb loud: anon I paused, and in a state
Of half expectance, listen’d to the wind.
“There is a fountain in the forest call’d 490
The Fountain of the Fairies: when a child
With a delightful wonder I have heard
Tales of the Elfin tribe who on its banks
Hold midnight revelry. An ancient oak,
The goodliest of the forest, grows beside; 495
Alone it stands, upon a green grass plat,
By the woods bounded like some little isle.
It ever hath been deem’d their favourite tree,
They love to lie and rock upon its leaves, 499
And bask in moonshine. Here the Woodman leads
His boy, and shewing him the green-sward mark’d
With darker circlets, says their midnight dance
Hath traced the rings, and bids him spare the tree.
Fancy had cast a spell upon the place
Which made it holy; and the villagers 505
Would say that never evil thing approach’d
Unpunish’d there. The strange and fearful pleasure
Which fill’d me by that solitary spring,
Ceased not in riper years; and now it woke
Deeper delight, and more mysterious awe. 510
“A blessed spot! Oh how my soul enjoy’d
Its holy quietness, with what delight
Escaping from mankind I hasten’d there
To solitude and freedom! Thitherward
On a spring eve I had betaken me, 515
And there I sat, and mark’d the deep red clouds
Gather before the wind.. the rising wind,
Whose sudden gusts, each wilder than the last,
Appear’d to rock my senses. Soon the night
Darken’d around, and the large rain-drops fell 520
Heavy; anon tempestuously the gale
Swept o’er the wood. Methought the thunder-shower
Fell with refreshing coolness on my head,
And the hoarse dash of waters, and the rush
Of winds that mingled with the forest roar, 525
Made a wild music. On a rock I sat,
The glory of the tempest fill’d my soul;
And when the thunders peal’d, and the long flash
Hung durable in heaven, and on my sight 529
Spread the grey forest, memory, thought, were gone.
All sense of self annihilate, I seem’d
Diffused into the scene.
“At length a light
Approach’d the spring; I saw my Uncle Claude;
His grey locks dripping with the midnight storm,
He came, and caught me in his arms, and cried
‘My God! my child is safe!’
“I felt his words
Pierce in my heart; my soul was overcharged;
I fell upon his neck and told him all; 538
GOD was within me, as I felt, I spake,
And he believed.
“Aye, Chieftain! and the world
Shall soon believe my mission; for the LORD
Will raise up indignation and pour on’t
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His wrath, and they shall perish who oppress.”
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
After Blenheim
Robert Southey (1774–1843)
IT was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar’s work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;
And by him sported on the green 5
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round
Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found; 10
He came to ask what he had found
That was so large and smooth and round.
Old Kaspar took it from the boy
Who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head, 15
And with a natural sigh
‘’Tis some poor fellow’s skull,’ said he.
‘Who fell in the great victory.
‘I find them in the garden,
For there’s many here about; 20
And often when I go to plough
The ploughshare turns them out.
For many thousand men,’ said he,
‘Were slain in that great victory.’
‘Now tell us what ’twas all about,’ 25
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes;
‘Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for.’ 30
‘It was the English,’ Kaspar cried,
‘Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for
I could not well make out.
But everybody said,’ quoth he, 35
‘That ’twas a famous victory.
‘My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly: 40
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.
‘With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a childing mother then 45
And newborn baby died:
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.
‘They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won; 50
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun: