The Project Gutenberg eBook of October, and Other Poems; with Occasional Verses on the War
Title: October, and Other Poems; with Occasional Verses on the War
Author: Robert Bridges
Release date: July 2, 2017 [eBook #55031]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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| THE COLLECTED EDITION OF THE POETICAL WORKS OF A. C. SWINBURNE | |
| In 6 Vols. Cr. 8vo. 45s. net. | |
| I. | POEMS AND BALLADS (1st series) |
| II. | SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE and SONGS OF TWO NATIONS |
| III. | POEMS AND BALLADS (2nd and 3rd series), and SONGS OF THE SPRINGTIDES |
| IV. | TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE, THE TALE OF BALEN, ATALANTA IN CALYDON, ERECHTHEUS |
| V. | STUDIES IN SONG, A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS, SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS, THE HEPTALOGIA, etc. |
| VI. | A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY, ASTROPHEL, A CHANNEL PASSAGE, and other Poems |
| LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN, BEDFORD ST. | |
OCTOBER
AND OTHER POEMS
| THE GOLDEN PINE EDITION OF SWINBURNE’S WORKS | |
| Each Volume Cr. 8vo. Cloth 4s. net; Leather 6s. net. | |
| I. | POEMS AND BALLADS (1st series) |
| II. | POEMS AND BALLADS (2nd and 3rd series) |
| III. | SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE (Including Songs of Italy) |
| IV. | ATALANTA IN CALYDON AND ERECHTHEUS |
| V. | TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE |
| VI. | A STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE |
| LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN, BEDFORD ST. | |
O C T O B E R
AND OTHER POEMS
WITH OCCASIONAL VERSES
ON THE WAR
BY
ROBERT BRIDGES
POET LAUREATE
TO
GENERAL THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
JAN CHRISTIAAN SMUTS
Prime Minister of the Union
of South Africa
SOLDIER, STATESMAN, & SEER
WITH THE AUTHOR’S
HOMAGE
PREFACE
This miscellaneous volume is composed of three sections. The first twelve poems were written in 1913, and printed privately by Mr. Hornby in 1914.
The last of these poems proved to be a “war poem,” and on that follow eighteen pieces which were called forth on occasion during the War, the last being a broadsheet on the surrender of the German ships. All of these verses appeared in some journal or serial. There were a few others, but they are not included in this collection, either because they are lost, or because they show decidedly inferior claims to salvage.
The last six poems or sonnets are of various dates.
R. B.
CONTENTS
OCTOBER.
met with his lover May
where she came garlanded.
The blossoming boughs o’erhead
were thrill’d to bursting by
the dazzle from the sky
and the wild music there
that shook the odorous air.
hasten’d to deck the earth
in the gay sunbeams.
Between their kisses dreams:
And dream and kiss were rife
with laughter of mortal life.
is still as a picture upon a wall
or a poem in a book lying open unread.
Or whatever else is shrined
when the Virgin hath vanishèd:
Footsteps of eternal Mind
on the path of the dead.
THE FLOWERING TREE.
while I slept in the sun?
As if a flowering tree
were standing over me:
Its young stem strong and lithe
went branching overhead
And willowy sprays around
fell tasseling to the ground
All with wild blossom gay
as is the cherry in May
When her fresh flaunt of leaf
gives crowns of golden green.
in the shifting splendour
And I saw through on high
to soft lakes of blue sky:
Ne’er was mortal slumber
so lapt in luxury.
would I sleep in the sun
Neath the trees divinely
with day’s azure above
When my love of Beauty
is met by beauty’s love.
under my loving tree
Till from his late resting
the sweet songster of night
Rousing awaken’d me:
Then! this—the birdis note—
Was the voice of thy throat
which thou gav’st me to kiss.
NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE, 1913.
Pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis.
when the stars were shining
Fared I forth alone
where westward falls the hill,
And from many a village
in the water’d valley
Distant music reach’d me
peals of bells aringing:
The constellated sounds
ran sprinkling on earth’s floor
As the dark vault above
with stars was spangled o’er.
that first Christmas of all
When the shepherds watching
by their folds ere the dawn
Heard music in the fields
and marveling could not tell
Whether it were angels
or the bright stars singing.
that crown England so fair
That stand up strong in prayer
unto God for our souls:
Blessed be their founders
(said I) an’ our country folk
Who are ringing for Christ
in the belfries to-night
With arms lifted to clutch
the rattling ropes that race
Into the dark above
and the mad romping din.
it was starry music
Angels’ song, comforting
as the comfort of Christ
When he spake tenderly
to his sorrowful flock:
The old words came to me
by the riches of time
Mellow’d and transfigured
as I stood on the hill
Heark’ning in the aspect
of th’ eternal silence.
IN DER FREMDE.
far in the world away
Restless nor knowest why
only thou canst not stay
And now turnest trembling
hearing the wind to sigh:
’Twas thy lover calling
whom thou didst leave forby.
so far and yet so fain—
“Return belov’d to me”
but thou must onward strain:
Thy trembling is in vain
as thy wand’ring shall be.
What so well thou lovest
thou nevermore shalt see.
THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS MISTRESS.
Suffer her full eclipse
Riding at night’s high noon
Beyond the earth’s ellipse.
Her splendour in its robe:
And darkling we beheld
A dim and lurid globe;
Nor waited we to see
The sullen dragon fled,
The heav’nly Queen go free.
One hour o’ershadow thine,
I fear for thee no stain,
Thou wilt come forth and shine:
Will slip to empty space
Invisible, but made
Happier for that embrace.
NARCISSUS.
Whether in a cradle of astral whirlfire
Or globed in a piercing star thou slumb’rest
The impassive body of God:
Thou deep i’ the core of earth—Almighty!—
From numbing stress and gloom profound
Madest escape in life desirous
To embroider her thin-spun robe.
In a running water thou sawest thyself
Or leaning over a pool: The sedges
Were twinn’d at the mirror’s brim
The sky was there and the trees—Almighty!—
A bird of a bird and white clouds floating
And seeing thou knewest thine own image
To love it beyond all else.
Of beauty and wisdom of art and worship
Didst build the fanes of Zeus and Apollo
The high cathedrals of Christ.
Heart-felt music and lyric song
Language the eager grasp of knowledge
All that we think is thine.
Whence and whither? Hast thou mistaken?
Or dost forget? Look again! Thou seest
A shadow and not thyself.
OUR LADY.
I.
That standing barefoot upon the moon
Or throned as a Queen of the earth
Tranquilly smilest to hold
The Child-god in thine arms,
Whence thy glory? Art not she
The country maiden of Galilee
Simple in dowerless poverty
Who from humble cradle to grave
Hadst no thought of this wonder?
Dawn’d at length graciously
Thy might of Motherhood
The starry Truth beam’d on his home;
Then with insight exalted he gave thee
The trappings—Lady—wherewith his art
Delighteth to picture his spirit to sense
And that grace is immortal.
Mother of the Word eternal
Atoning man with God:
Who set thee apart as a garden enclosed
From Nature’s all-producing wilds
To rear the richest fruit o’ the Life
Ever continuing out from Him
Urgent since the beginning.
II.
And hallowing his untemper’d love
Crowneth and throneth thee ador’d
(Tranquilly joyous to hold
The man-child in thine arms)
God-like apart from conflict to save thee
To guard thy weak caressive beauty
With incontaminate jewels of soul
Courage, patience, and self-devotion:
All this glory he gave thee.
Imperceptibly moving
With surely determinate aim:
To woman it fell to be early in prime
Ready to labour, mould, and cherish
The delicate head of all Production
The wistful late-maturing boy
Who made Knowing of Being.
Mother of God in man
Naturing nurse of power:
They who adore not thee shall perish
But thou shalt keep thy path of joy
Envied of Angels because the All-father
Call’d thee to mother his nascent Word
And complete the creation.
THE CURFEW TOWER.
Nothing spake to me more superbly
Than the round bastion of Windsor’s wall
An old inheritor of Norman prowess
Was call’d by the folk the Curfew Tow’r.
A turreted clock of Caroline fashion
Told time to the town in black and gold.
As kingly a mentor of English story
As Homer’s poem is of Ilion:
Than when we saw its white bulk halo’d
In a lattice of slender scaffoldings.
Workmen labour’d hacking and hoisting
Till again the tower was stript to the sun:
From footing to battlemented skyline
And topt with a cap the slice of a cone
The smoothest thing in all the high-street
As Eton scholars to-day may see:
And feed their boyhood on Time’s enchantment—
See never the Tow’r that spoke to me.
FLYCATCHERS.
Expectantly happy, where ye can watch below
Your parents a-hunting i’ the meadow grasses
All the gay morning to feed you with flies;
When, a young chubby chap, I sat just so
With others on a school-form rank’d in a row,
Not less eager and hungry than you, I trow,
With intelligences agape and eyes aglow,
While an authoritative old wise-acre
Stood over us and from a desk fed us with flies.
That buzzed at the panes until they fell stiff-baked on the sill,
Or are roll’d up asleep i’ the blinds at sunrise,
Or wafer’d flat in a shrunken folio.
On skins and skeletons, stale from top to toe
With all manner of rubbish and all manner of lies.
GHOSTS.
In my heart like lost bats in a cave fluttering,
Mock ye the charm whereby I thought reverently to lay you,
When to the wall I nail’d your reticent effigys?
Έτώσιον ἄχθος ἀρούρης
Can’t jump over a gate nor run across the meadow.
I’m but an old whitebeard of inane identity. Pass on!
What’s left of me to-day will very soon be nothing.
HELL AND HATE.
Hell with a ruddy torch of fire,
And Hate with gasping mouth,
Striving to seize two children fair
Who play’d on the upper curve of the Earth.
But the Earth was small
As the moon’s rim appeareth
Scann’d through an optic glass.
As a charioteer in a car
Or a dancer with arm upraised;
Her whole form—barely clad
From feet to golden head—
Leapt brightly against the uttermost azure,
Whereon the stars were splashes of light
Dazed in the gulfing beds of space.
The lady who led my boyish love;
But her face was graver than e’er to me
When I look’d in her eyes long ago,
And the hair on her shoulders fal’n
Nested its luminous brown
I’ the downy spring of her wings:
Her figure aneath was screen’d by the Earth,
Whereoff—so small that was
No footing for her could be—
She appeared to be sailing free
I’ the glide and poise of her flight.
Who was guarding human Love.
Contented as mankind longeth to be,
Not merry as children are;
And show’d no fear of the Fiends’ pursuit,
As ever those demons clutched in vain;
And I, who had fear’d awhile to see
Such gentleness in such jeopardy,
Lost fear myself; for I saw the foes
Were slipping aback and had no hold
On the round Earth that sped its course.
But the artist’s mind was there:
The longer I look’d the more I knew
They were falling, falling away below
To the darkness out of sight.
“WAKE UP, ENGLAND!”[A]
Thou peacemaker, fight!
Stand England for honour
And God guard the Right!
Thy cavil and play;
The fiend is upon thee
And grave is the day.
Thy trial must be;
But they that love life best
Die gladly for thee.
But thou through the flood
Shalt win to salvation,
To beauty through blood.
Ye peacemakers, fight!
Stand England for honour,
And God guard the Right!
August, 1914.
LORD KITCHENER.
And face thy country’s peril wheresoe’er,
Directing war and peace with equal care,
Till by long toil ennobled thou wert he
Whom England call’d and bade “Set my arm free
To obey my will and save my honour fair”—
What day the foe presumed on her despair
And she herself had trust in none but thee:
That mass’d the labour of ten years in one
Shall be thy monument. Thy work is done
Ere we could thank thee; and the high sea-swell
Surgeth unheeding where thy proud ship fell
By the lone Orkneys, at the set of sun.
ODE ON THE TERCENTENARY COMMEMORATION OF SHAKESPEARE, 1916.
The noblest kings would give their diadems,
Mother who hast ruled our home so long,
How suddenly art thou fled!
Leaving our cities astir with war;
And yet on the fair fields deserted
Lingerest, wherever the gaudy seasons
Deck with excessive splendour
The sorrow-stricken year,
Where cornlands bask and high elms rustle gently,
And still the unweeting birds sing on by brae and bourn.
Be then thy soft reposeful music dumb;
Yet shall thy lovers awhile give ear
—Tho’ in war’s garb they come—
To the praise of England’s gentlest son;
Whom when she bore the Muses lov’d
Above the best of eldest honour
—Yea, save one without peer—
And by great Homer set,
Not to impugn his undisputed throne,
The myriad-hearted by the mighty-hearted one.
And gave him to know Nature and the ways of men:
To dower with inexhaustible treasure
A world-conquering speech,
Which surg’d as a river high-descended
That gathering tributaries of many lands
Rolls through the plain a bounteous flood,
Picturing towers and temples
And ruin of bygone times,
And floateth the ships deep-laden with merchandise
Out on the windy seas to traffic in foreign climes.
Since England bore thee, the master of human song,
Thy folk are we, children of thee,
Who knitting in one her realm
And strengthening with pride her sea-borne clans,
Scorn’st in the grave the bruize of death.
All thy later-laurel’d choir
Laud thee in thy world-shrine:
London’s laughter is thine;
One with thee is our temper in melancholy or might,
And in thy book Great-Britain’s rule readeth her right.
Honour Justice and Truth and Love to man.
Though first from a pirate ancestry
She took her home on the wave,
Her gentler spirit arose disdainful,
And smiting the fetters of slavery
Made the high seaways safe and free,
In wisdom bidding aloud
To world-wide brotherhood,
Till her flag was hail’d as the ensign of Liberty,
And the boom of her guns went round the earth in salvos of peace.
To borrow an ecstasy of man’s art from thee,
Thou her poet secure as she
Of the shows of eternity,
Didst never fear thy work should fall
To fashion’s craze nor pedant’s folly
Nor devastator whose arrogant arms
Murder and maim mankind;
Who when in scorn of grace
He hath batter’d and burn’d some loveliest dearest shrine,
Laugheth in ire and boasteth aloud his brazen god.
Mounting the heavenly stair with Time on high,
Growing ever younger in the brightening air
Of the everlasting dawn:
It was not terror in his eyes nor wonder,
That glance of the intimate exaltation
Which lieth as Power under all Being,
And broodeth in Thought above,
As a bird wingeth over the ocean,
Whether indolently the heavy water sleepeth
Or is dash’d in a million waves, chafing or lightly laughing.
In echoing chant and cadenced litany,
In country song and pastoral piping
And silvery dances of mirth:
And oft, as the eyes of a lion in the brake,
His presence hath startled me,
In austere shapes of beauty lurking,
Beautiful for Beauty’s sake;
As a lonely blade of life
Ariseth to flower whensoever the unseen Will
Stirreth with kindling aim the dark fecundity of Being.
The thing that is good for man, and he dreameth well:
But the lot of the gentle heart is hard
That is cast in an epoch of life,
When evil is knotted and demons fight,
Who know not, they, that the lowest lot
Is treachery hate and trust in sin
And perseverance in ill,
Doom’d to oblivious Hell,
To pass with the shames unspoken of men away,
Wash’d out with their tombs by the grey unpitying tears of Heaven.
Put on England’s glory as a common coat,
And in your stature of masking grace
Stood forth warriors complete,
No praise o’ershadoweth yours to-day,
Walking out of the home of love
To match the deeds of all the dead.—
Alas! alas! fair Peace,
These were thy blossoming roses.
Look on thy shame, fair Peace, thy tearful shame!
Turn to thine isle, fair Peace; return thou and guard it well!