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

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
/>
  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: