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

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Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) Page 237

by Homer


  And at the mast-head,

  White, blue, and red, 250

  A flag unrolls the stripes and stars.

  Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless,

  In foreign harbors shall behold

  That flag unrolled,

  ‘T will be as a friendly hand 255

  Stretched out from his native land,

  Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless!

  All is finished! and at length

  Has come the bridal day

  Of beauty and of strength. 260

  To-day the vessel shall be launched!

  With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched,

  And o’er the bay,

  Slowly, in all his splendors dight,

  The great sun rises to behold the sight. 265

  The ocean old,

  Centuries old,

  Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled,

  Paces restless to and fro,

  Up and down the sands of gold. 270

  His beating heart is not at rest;

  And far and wide,

  With ceaseless flow,

  His beard of snow

  Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 275

  He waits impatient for his bride.

  There she stands,

  With her foot upon the sands,

  Decked with flags and streamers gay,

  In honor of her marriage day, 280

  Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending,

  Round her like a veil descending,

  Ready to be

  The bride of the gray old sea.

  On the deck another bride 285

  Is standing by her lover’s side.

  Shadows from the flags and shrouds,

  Like the shadows cast by clouds,

  Broken by many a sudden fleck,

  Fall around them on the deck. 290

  The prayer is said,

  The service read,

  The joyous bridegroom bows his head;

  And in tears the good old Master

  Shakes the brown hand of his son, 295

  Kisses his daughter’s glowing cheek

  In silence, for he cannot speak,

  And ever faster

  Down his own the tears begin to run.

  The worthy pastor — 300

  The shepherd of that wandering flock,

  That has the ocean for its wold,

  That has the vessel for its fold,

  Leaping ever from rock to rock —

  Spake, with accents mild and clear, 305

  Words of warning, words of cheer,

  But tedious to the bridegroom’s ear.

  He knew the chart

  Of the sailor’s heart,

  All its pleasures and its griefs, 310

  All its shallows and rocky reefs,

  All those secret currents, that flow

  With such resistless undertow,

  And lift and drift, with terrible force,

  The will from its moorings and its course. 315

  Therefore he spake, and thus said he: —

  ‘Like unto ships far off at sea,

  Outward or homeward bound, are we.

  Before, behind, and all around,

  Floats and swings the horizon’s bound, 320

  Seems at its distant rim to rise

  And climb the crystal wall of the skies,

  And then again to turn and sink,

  As if we could slide from its outer brink.

  Ah! it is not the sea, 325

  It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,

  But ourselves

  That rock and rise

  With endless and uneasy motion,

  Now touching the very skies, 330

  Now sinking into the depths of ocean.

  Ah! if our souls but poise and swing

  Like the compass in its brazen ring,

  Ever level and ever true

  To the toil and the task we have to do, 335

  We shall sail securely, and safely reach

  The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach

  The sights we see, and the sounds we hear,

  Will be those of joy and not of fear!’

  Then the Master, 340

  With a gesture of command,

  Waved his hand;

  And at the word,

  Loud and sudden there was heard,

  All around them and below, 345

  The sound of hammers, blow on blow,

  Knocking away the shores and spurs.

  And see! she stirs!

  She starts, — she moves, — she seems to feel

  The thrill of life along her keel, 350

  And, spurning with her foot the ground,

  With one exulting, joyous bound,

  She leaps into the ocean’s arms!

  And lo! from the assembled crowd

  There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 355

  That to the ocean seemed to say,

  ‘Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray,

  With all her youth and all her charms!’

  How beautiful she is! How fair

  She lies within those arms, that press 360

  Her form with many a soft caress

  Of tenderness and watchful care!

  Sail forth into the sea, O ship!

  Through wind and wave, right onward steer!

  The moistened eye, the trembling lip, 365

  Are not the signs of doubt or fear.

  Sail forth into the sea of life,

  O gentle, loving, trusting wife,

  And safe from all adversity

  Upon the bosom of that sea 370

  Thy comings and thy goings be!

  For gentleness and love and trust

  Prevail o’er angry wave and gust;

  And in the wreck of noble lives

  Something immortal still survives! 375

  Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!

  Sail on, O UNION, strong and great!

  Humanity with all its fears,

  With all the hopes of future years,

  Is hanging breathless on thy fate! 380

  We know what Master laid thy keel,

  What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,

  Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,

  What anvils rang, what hammers beat,

  In what a forge and what a heat 385

  Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!

  Fear not each sudden sound and shock,

  ’Tis of the wave and not the rock;

  ’Tis but the flapping of the sail,

  And not a rent made by the gale! 390

  In spite of rock and tempest’s roar,

  In spite of false lights on the shore,

  Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!

  Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,

  Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 395

  Our faith triumphant o’er our fears,

  Are all with thee, — are all with thee!

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  My Lost Youth

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

  OFTEN I think of the beautiful town

  That is seated by the sea;

  Often in thought go up and down

  The pleasant streets of that dear old town,

  And my youth comes back to me. 5

  And a verse of a Lapland song

  Is haunting my memory still

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’

  I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 10

  And catch, in sudden gleams,

  The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,

  And islands that were the Hesperides

  Of all my boyish dreams.

  And the burden of that old song, 15

  It murmurs and whispers still:

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s wil
l,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’

  I remember the black wharves and the slips,

  And the sea-tides tossing free; 20

  And the Spanish sailors with bearded lips,

  And the beauty and mystery of the ships,

  And the magic of the sea.

  And the voice of that wayward song

  Is singing and saying still: 25

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’

  I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

  And the fort upon the hill;

  The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, 30

  The drum-beat repeated o’er and o’er,

  And the bugle wild and shrill.

  And the music of that old song

  Throbs in my memory still:

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will, 35

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’

  I remember the sea-fight far away,

  How it thundered o’er the tide!

  And the dead captains, as they lay

  In their graves, o’erlooking the tranquil bay 40

  Where they in battle died.

  And the sound of that mournful song

  Goes through me with a thrill:

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’ 45

  I can see the breezy dome of groves,

  The shadows of Deering’s Woods;

  And the friendship old and the early loves

  Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves

  In quiet neighborhoods. 50

  And the verse of that sweet old song,

  It flutters and murmurs still:

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’

  I remember the gleams and glooms that dart 55

  Across the school-boy’s brain;

  The song and the silence in the heart,

  That in part are prophecies, and in part

  Are longings wild and vain.

  And the voice of that fitful song 60

  Sings on, and is never still:

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’

  There are things of which I may not speak;

  There are dreams that cannot die; 65

  There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

  And bring a pallor into the cheek,

  And a mist before the eye.

  And the words of that fatal song

  Come over me like a chill: 70

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’

  Strange to me now are the forms I meet

  When I visit the dear old town;

  But the native air is pure and sweet, 75

  And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

  As they balance up and down,

  Are singing the beautiful song,

  Are sighing and whispering still:

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will, 80

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’

  And Deering’s Woods are fresh and fair,

  And with joy that is almost pain

  My heart goes back to wander there,

  And among the dreams of the days that were, 85

  I find my lost youth again.

  And the strange and beautiful song,

  The groves are repeating it still:

  ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’ 90

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz

  May 28, 1857

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

  IT was fifty years ago

  In the pleasant month of May,

  In the beautiful Pays de Vaud,

  A child in its cradle lay.

  And Nature, the old nurse, took 5

  The child upon her knee,

  Saying: ‘Here is a story-book

  Thy Father has written for thee.’

  ‘Come, wander with me,’ she said,

  ‘Into regions yet untrod; 10

  And read what is still unread

  In the manuscripts of God.’

  And he wandered away and away

  With Nature, the dear old nurse,

  Who sang to him night and day 15

  The rhymes of the universe.

  And whenever the way seemed long,

  Or his heart began to fail,

  She would sing a more wonderful song,

  Or tell a more marvellous tale. 20

  So she keeps him still a child,

  And will not let him go,

  Though at times his heart beats wild

  For the beautiful Pays de Vaud;

  Though at times he hears in his dreams 25

  The Ranz des Vaches of old,

  And the rush of mountain streams

  From glaciers clear and cold;

  And the mother at home says, ‘Hark!

  For his voice I listen and yearn; 30

  It is growing late and dark,

  And my boy does not return!’

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  The Children’s Hour

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

  BETWEEN the dark and the daylight,

  When the night is beginning to lower,

  Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,

  That is known as the Children’s Hour.

  I hear in the chamber above me 5

  The patter of little feet,

  The sound of a door that is opened,

  And voices soft and sweet.

  From my study I see in the lamplight,

  Descending the broad hall stair, 10

  Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,

  And Edith with golden hair.

  A whisper, and then a silence:

  Yet I know by their merry eyes

  They are plotting and planning together 15

  To take me by surprise.

  A sudden rush from the stairway,

  A sudden raid from the hall!

  By three doors left unguarded

  They enter my castle wall! 20

  They climb up into my turret

  O’er the arms and back of my chair;

  If I try to escape, they surround me;

  They seem to be everywhere.

  They almost devour me with kisses, 25

  Their arms about me entwine,

  Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen

  In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

  Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,

  Because you have scaled the wall, 30

  Such an old mustache as I am

  Is not a match for you all!

  I have you fast in my fortress,

  And will not let you depart,

  But put you down into the dungeon 35

  In the round-tower of my heart.

  And there will I keep you forever,

  Yes, forever and a day,

  Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,

  And moulder in dust away! 40

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Paul Revere’s Ride

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

  LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear

  Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

  On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;

  Hardly a man is now alive

  Who remembers that famous day and year. 5

  He said to his friend, ‘If the British march

  By land
or sea from the town to-night,

  Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch

  Of the North Church tower as a signal light, —

  One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 10

  And I on the opposite shore will be,

  Ready to ride and spread the alarm

  Through every Middlesex village and farm,

  For the country folk to be up and to arm.’

  Then he said, ‘Good-night!’ and with muffled oar 15

  Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,

  Just as the moon rose over the bay,

  Where swinging wide at her moorings lay

  The Somerset, British man-of-war;

  A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 20

  Across the moon like a prison bar,

  And a huge black hulk, that was magnified

  By its own reflection in the tide.

  Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,

  Wanders and watches with eager ears, 25

  Till in the silence around him he hears

  The muster of men at the barrack door,

  The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,

  And the measured tread of the grenadiers,

  Marching down to their boats on the shore. 30

  Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,

  By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,

  To the belfry-chamber overhead,

  And startled the pigeons from their perch

  On the sombre rafters, that round him made 35

  Masses and moving shapes of shade, —

  By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,

  To the highest window in the wall,

  Where he paused to listen and look down

  A moment on the roofs of the town, 40

  And the moonlight flowing over all.

  Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,

  In their night-encampment on the hill,

  Wrapped in silence so deep and still

  That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread, 45

  The watchful night-wind, as it went

  Creeping along from tent to tent,

  And seeming to whisper, ‘All is well!’

  A moment only he feels the spell

 

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