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 246

by Homer


  Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 15

  Scores of women, old and young,

  Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,

  Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,

  Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:

  ‘Here’s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 20

  Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt

  By the women o’ Morble’ead!’

  Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,

  Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,

  Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 25

  Bacchus round some antique vase,

  Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,

  Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,

  With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns’ twang,

  Over and over the Maenads sang: 30

  ‘Here’s Flud Orison, fur his horrd horrt,

  Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt

  By the women o’ Morble’ead!’

  Small pity for him! — He sailed away

  From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, — 35

  Sailed away from a sinking wreck,

  With his own town’s-people on her deck!

  ‘Lay by! lay by!’ they called to him.

  Back he answered, ‘Sink or swim!

  Brag of your catch of fish again!’ 40

  And off hée sailed through the fog and rain!

  Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,

  Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart

  By the women of Marblehead!

  Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 45

  That wreck shall lie forevermore.

  Mother and sister, wife and maid,

  Looked from the rocks of Marblehead

  Over the moaning and rainy sea, —

  Looked for the coming that might not be! 50

  What did the winds and the sea-birds say

  Of the cruel captain who sailed away?

  Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,

  Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart

  By the women of Marblehead! 55

  Through the street, on either side,

  Up flew windows, doors swung wide;

  Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,

  Treble lent the fish-horn’s bray.

  Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 60

  Hulks of old sailors run aground,

  Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,

  And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:

  ‘Here’s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,

  Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt 65

  By the women o’ Morble’ead!’

  Sweetly along the Salem road

  Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.

  Little the wicked skipper knew

  Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. 70

  Riding there in his sorry trim,

  Like an Indian idol glum and grim,

  Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear

  Of voices shouting, far and near:

  ‘Here’s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 75

  Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt

  By the women o’ Morble’ead!’

  ‘Hear me, neighbors!’ at last he cried, —

  ‘What to me is this noisy ride?

  What is the shame that clothes the skin 80

  To the nameless horror that lives within?

  Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,

  And hear a cry from a reeling deck!

  Hate me and curse me, — I only dread

  The hand of God and the face of the dead!’ 85

  Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,

  Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart

  By the women of Marblehead!

  Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea

  Said, ‘God has touched him! Why should we!’ 90

  Said an old wife mourning her only son,

  ‘Cut the rogue’s tether and let him run!’

  So with soft relentings and rude excuse,

  Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,

  And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 95

  And left him alone with his shame and sin.

  Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,

  Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart

  By the women of Marblehead!

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  The Pipes at Lucknow

  John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892)

  PIPES of the misty moorlands,

  Voice of the glens and hills;

  The droning of the torrents,

  The treble of the rills!

  Not the braes of bloom and heather, 5

  Nor the mountains dark with rain,

  Nor maiden bower, nor border tower,

  Have heard your sweetest strain!

  Dear to the Lowland reaper,

  And plaided mountaineer, — 10

  To the cottage and the castle

  The Scottish pipes and dear; —

  Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch

  O’er mountain, loch, and glade;

  But the sweetest of all music 15

  The pipes at Lucknow played.

  Day by day the Indian tiger

  Louder yelled, and nearer crept;

  Round and round the jungle-serpent

  Near and nearer circles swept. 20

  ‘Pray for rescue, wives and mothers, —

  Pray to-day!’ the soldier said;

  ‘To-morrow, death’s between us

  And the wrong and shame we dread.’

  Oh, they listened, looked, and waited, 25

  Till their hope became despair;

  And the sobs of low bewailing

  Filled the pauses of their prayer.

  Then up spake a Scottish maiden,

  With her ear unto the ground: 30

  ‘Dinna ye hear it? — dinna ye hear it?

  The pipes o’ Havelock sound!’

  Hushed the wounded man his groaning;

  Hushed the wife her little ones;

  Alone they heard the drum-roll 35

  And the roar of Sepoy guns.

  But to sounds of home and childhood

  The Highland ear was true; —

  As her mother’s cradle-crooning

  The mountain pipes she knew. 40

  Like the march of soundless music

  Through the vision of the seer,

  More of feeling than of hearing,

  Of the heart than of the ear,

  She knew the droning pibroch, 45

  She knew the Campbell’s call:

  ‘Hark! hear ye no MacGregor’s,

  The grandest o’ them all!’

  Oh, they listened, dumb and breathless,

  And they caught the sound at last; 50

  Faint and far beyond the Goomtee

  Rose and fell the piper’s blast!

  Then a burst of wild thanksgiving

  Mingled woman’s voice and man’s;

  ‘God be praised! — the march of Havelock! 55

  The piping of the clans!’

  Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance,

  Sharp and shrill as swords at strife,

  Came the wild MacGregor’s clan-call,

  Stinging all the air to life. 60

  But when the far-off dust-cloud

  To plaided legions grew,

  Full tenderly and blithesomely

  The pipes of rescue blew!

  Round the silver domes of Lucknow, 65

  Moslem mosque and Pagan shrine,

  Breathed the air to Britons dearest,

  The air of Auld Lang Syne.

  O’er the cruel roll of war-drums

  Rose that sweet and homelike strain; 70

  And the tartan clove the turban,

  As the Goomtee cleaves the plain.

  Dear to the corn
-land reaper

  And plaided mountaineer, —

  To the cottage and the castle 75

  The piper’s song is dear.

  Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch

  O’er mountain, glen, and glade;

  But the sweetest of all music

  The pipes at Lucknow played! 80

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Barbara Frietchie

  John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892)

  UP from the meadows rich with corn,

  Clear in the cool September morn,

  The clustered spires of Frederick stand

  Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

  Round about them orchards sweep, 5

  Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

  Fair as the garden of the Lord

  To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

  On that pleasant morn of the early fall

  When Lee marched over the mountain-wall; 10

  Over the mountains winding down,

  Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

  Forty flags with their silver stars,

  Forty flags with their crimson bars,

  Flapped in the morning wind: the sun 15

  Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

  Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,

  Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

  Bravest of all in Frederick town,

  She took up the flag the men hauled down; 20

  In her attic window the staff she set,

  To show that one heart was loyal yet.

  Up the street came the rebel tread,

  Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

  Under his slouched hat left and right 25

  He glanced; the old flag met his sight

  ‘Halt!’ — the dust-brown ranks stood fast.

  ‘Fire!’ — out blazed the rifle-blast.

  It shivered the window, pane and sash;

  It rent the banner with seam and gash. 30

  Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff

  Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.

  She leaned far out on the window-sill,

  And shook it forth with a royal will.

  ‘Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 35

  But spare your country’s flag,’ she said.

  A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,

  Over the face of the leader came;

  The nobler nature within him stirred

  To life at that woman’s deed and word; 40

  ‘Who touches a hair of yon gray head

  Dies like a dog! March on!’ he said.

  All day long through Frederick street

  Sounded the tread of marching feet:

  All day long that free flag tost 45

  Over the heads of the rebel host.

  Ever its torn folds rose and fell

  On the loyal winds that loved it well;

  And through the hill-gaps sunset light

  Shone over it with a warm good-night. 50

  Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,

  And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.

  Honor to her! and let a tear

  Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier.

  Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave, 55

  Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

  Peace and order and beauty draw

  Round thy symbol of light and law;

  And ever the stars above look down

  On thy stars below in Frederick town! 60

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  The Chambered Nautilus

  Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809–1894)

  THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,

  Sails the unshadowed main, —

  The venturous bark that flings

  On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings

  In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, 5

  And coral reefs lie bare,

  Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

  Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;

  Wrecked is the ship of pearl!

  And every chambered cell, 10

  Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,

  As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,

  Before thee lies revealed, —

  Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

  Year after year beheld the silent toil 15

  That spread his lustrous coil;

  Still, as the spiral grew,

  He left the past year’s dwelling for the new,

  Stole with soft step its shining archway through,

  Built up its idle door, 20

  Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

  Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

  Child of the wandering sea,

  Cast from her lap, forlorn!

  From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 25

  Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!

  While on mine ear it rings,

  Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: —

  Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

  As the swift seasons roll! 30

  Leave thy low-vaulted past!

  Let each new temple, nobler than the last,

  Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

  Till thou at length art free,

  Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea! 35

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Old Ironsides

  Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809–1894)

  AY, tear her tattered ensign down!

  Long has it waved on high,

  And many an eye has danced to see

  That banner in the sky;

  Beneath it rung the battle shout, 5

  And burst the cannon’s roar; —

  The meteor of the ocean air

  Shall sweep the clouds no more.

  Her deck once red with heroes’ blood,

  Where knelt the vanquished foe, 10

  When winds were hurrying o’er the flood

  And waves were white below,

  No more shall feel the victor’s tread,

  Or know the conquered knee; —

  The harpies of the shore shall pluck 15

  The eagle of the sea!

  Oh, better that her shattered hulk

  Should sink beneath the wave;

  Her thunders shook the mighty deep,

  And there should be her grave: 20

  Nail to the mast her holy flag,

  Set every threadbare sail,

  And give her to the god of storms,

  The lightning and the gale!

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  The Last Leaf

  Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809–1894)

  I SAW him once before,

  As he passed by the door;

  And again

  The pavement stones resound,

  As he totters o’er the ground 5

  With his cane.

  They say that in his prime,

  Ere the pruning-knife of Time

  Cut him down,

  Not a better man was found 10

  By the Crier on his round

  Through the town.

  But now he walks the streets,

  And he looks at all he meets

  Sad and wan; 15

  And shakes his feeble head,

  That it seems as if he said,

  “They are gone.”

  The mossy marbles rest

  On the lips that he has prest 20

  In their bloom;

 
And the names he loved to hear

  Have been carved for many a year

  On the tomb.

  My grandmamma has said — 25

  Poor old lady, she is dead

  Long ago —

  That he had a Roman nose,

  And his cheek was like a rose

  In the snow. 30

  But now his nose is thin,

  And it rests upon his chin

  Like a staff;

  And a crook is in his back,

  And a melancholy crack 35

  In his laugh.

  I know it is a sin

  For me to sit and grin

  At him here;

  But the old three-cornered hat, 40

  And the breeches and all that,

  Are so queer!

  And if I should live to be

  The last leaf upon the tree

  In the spring, 45

  Let them smile, as I do now,

  At the old forsaken bough

  Where I cling.

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Contentment

  Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809–1894)

  ‘Man wants but little here below.’

  LITTLE I ask; my wants are few;

  I only wish a hut of stone

  (A very plain brown stone will do)

  That I may call my own; —

  And close at hand is such a one, 5

  In yonder street that fronts the sun.

  Plain food is quite enough for me;

  Three courses are as good as ten; —

  If Nature can subsist on three,

 

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