Steep are the seas and savaging and cold
In broken waters terrible to try;
And vast against the winter night the wold,
And harbourless for any sail to lie.
But you shall lead me to the lights, and I
Shall hymn you in a harbour story told.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.
In broken waters terrible to try;
And vast against the winter night the wold,
And harbourless for any sail to lie.
But you shall lead me to the lights, and I
Shall hymn you in a harbour story told.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.
III
Help of the half-defeated, House of gold,
Shrine of the Sword, and Tower of Ivory;
Splendour apart, supreme and aureoled,
The Battler’s vision and the World’s reply.
You shall restore me, O my last Ally,
To vengeance and the glories of the bold.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.
Shrine of the Sword, and Tower of Ivory;
Splendour apart, supreme and aureoled,
The Battler’s vision and the World’s reply.
You shall restore me, O my last Ally,
To vengeance and the glories of the bold.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.
Envoi
BALLADE OF HELL AND OF MRS ROEBECK
I
I’m going out to dine at Gray’s
With Bertie Morden, Charles and Kit,
And Manderly who never pays,
And Jane who wins in spite of it,
And Algernon who won’t admit
The truth about his curious hair
And teeth that very nearly fit:—
And Mrs Roebeck will be there.
With Bertie Morden, Charles and Kit,
And Manderly who never pays,
And Jane who wins in spite of it,
And Algernon who won’t admit
The truth about his curious hair
And teeth that very nearly fit:—
And Mrs Roebeck will be there.
II
III
And so through each declining phase
Of emptied effort, jaded wit,
And day by day of London days
Obscurely, more obscurely, lit;
Until the uncertain shadows flit
Announcing to the shuddering air
A Darkening, and the end of it:—
And Mrs Roebeck will be there.
Of emptied effort, jaded wit,
And day by day of London days
Obscurely, more obscurely, lit;
Until the uncertain shadows flit
Announcing to the shuddering air
A Darkening, and the end of it:—
And Mrs Roebeck will be there.
Envoi
BALLADE OF UNSUCCESSFUL MEN
I
The cause of all the poor in ’93:
The cause of all the world at Waterloo:
The shouts of what was terrible and free
Behind the guns of Vengeance and her crew:
The Maid that rode so straightly and so true
And broke the line to pieces in her pride—
They had to chuck it up; it wouldn’t do;
The Devil didn’t like them, and they died.
The cause of all the world at Waterloo:
The shouts of what was terrible and free
Behind the guns of Vengeance and her crew:
The Maid that rode so straightly and so true
And broke the line to pieces in her pride—
They had to chuck it up; it wouldn’t do;
The Devil didn’t like them, and they died.
II
Cæsar and Alexander shall agree
That right athwart the world their bugles blew:
And all the lads that marched in Lombardy
Behind the young Napoleon charging through:
All that were easy swordsmen, all that slew
The Monsters, and that served our God and tried
The temper of this world—they lost the clue.
The Devil didn’t like them, and they died.
That right athwart the world their bugles blew:
And all the lads that marched in Lombardy
Behind the young Napoleon charging through:
All that were easy swordsmen, all that slew
The Monsters, and that served our God and tried
The temper of this world—they lost the clue.
The Devil didn’t like them, and they died.
III
You, the strong sons of anger and the sea,
What darkness on the wings of battle flew?
Then the great dead made answer: “Also we
With Nelson found oblivion: Nelson, who
When cheering out of port in spirit grew
To be one purpose with the wind and tide—
Our nameless hulks are sunk and rotted through:
The Devil didn’t like us and we died.”
What darkness on the wings of battle flew?
Then the great dead made answer: “Also we
With Nelson found oblivion: Nelson, who
When cheering out of port in spirit grew
To be one purpose with the wind and tide—
Our nameless hulks are sunk and rotted through:
The Devil didn’t like us and we died.”
Envoi
BALLADE OF THE HERESIARCHS
I
John Calvin whose peculiar fad
It was to call God murderous,
Which further led that feverish cad
To burn alive the Servetus.
The horrible Bohemian Huss,
The tedious Wycliffe, where are they?
But where is old Nestorius?
The wind has blown them all away.
It was to call God murderous,
Which further led that feverish cad
To burn alive the Servetus.
The horrible Bohemian Huss,
The tedious Wycliffe, where are they?
But where is old Nestorius?
The wind has blown them all away.
II
III
Of Smith the gallant Mormon lad
That took of wives an over-plus:
Johanna Southcott who was mad
And nasty Nietzsche, who was worse.
Of Tolstoy, the Eccentric Russ,
Our strong Posterity shall say:
“Lord Jesus! What are these to us?
The wind has blown them all away!”
That took of wives an over-plus:
Johanna Southcott who was mad
And nasty Nietzsche, who was worse.
Of Tolstoy, the Eccentric Russ,
Our strong Posterity shall say:
“Lord Jesus! What are these to us?
The wind has blown them all away!”
Envoi
V
EPIGRAMS
I
On His Books
When I am dead, I hope it may be said:
“His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.”
“His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.”
II
On Noman, a Guest
Dear Mr Noman, does it ever strike you,
The more we see of you, the less we like you?
The more we see of you, the less we like you?
III
A Trinity
Of three in One and One in three
My narrow mind would doubting be
Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met
And all at once were Juliet
My narrow mind would doubting be
Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met
And all at once were Juliet
IV
On Torture, a Public Singer
V
On Paunch, a Parasite
Paunch talks against good liquor to excess,
And then about his raving Patroness;
And then he talks about himself. And then
We turn the conversation on to men.
And then about his raving Patroness;
And then he talks about himself. And then
We turn the conversation on to men.
VI
On Hygiene
Of old when folk lay sick and sorely tried
The doctors gave them physic, and they died.
But here’s a happier age: for now we know
Both how to make men sick and keep them so.
The doctors gave them physic, and they died.
But here’s a happier age: for now we know
Both how to make men sick and keep them so.
VII
On Lady Poltagrue, a Public Peril
The Devil, having nothing else to do,
Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue.
My Lady, tempted by a private whim,
To his extreme annoyance, tempted him.
Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue.
My Lady, tempted by a private whim,
To his extreme annoyance, tempted him.
VIII
The Mirror
IX
The Elm
This is the place where Dorothea smiled.
I did not know the reason, nor did she.
But there she stood, and turned, and smiled at me:
A sudden glory had bewitched the child.
The corn at harvest, and a single tree.
This is the place where Dorothea smiled.
I did not know the reason, nor did she.
But there she stood, and turned, and smiled at me:
A sudden glory had bewitched the child.
The corn at harvest, and a single tree.
This is the place where Dorothea smiled.
X
The Telephone
To-night in million-voicèd London I
Was lonely as the million-pointed sky
Until your single voice. Ah! So the Sun
Peoples all heaven, although he be but one.
Was lonely as the million-pointed sky
Until your single voice. Ah! So the Sun
Peoples all heaven, although he be but one.
XI
The Statue
XII
Epitaph on the Favourite Dog of a Politician
Here lies a Dog: may every Dog that dies
Lie in security—as this Dog lies.
Lie in security—as this Dog lies.
XIII
Epitaph on the Politician Himself
Here richly, with ridiculous display,
The Politician’s corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.
The Politician’s corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.
XIV
Another on the Same
This, the last ornament among the peers,
Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years:
But Death’s what even Politicians fail
To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail.
Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years:
But Death’s what even Politicians fail
To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail.
XV
On Mundane Acquaintances
XVI
On a Rose for Her Bosom
Go, lovely rose, and tell the lovelier fair
That he which loved her most was never there.
That he which loved her most was never there.
XVII
On the Little God
Of all the gods that gave me all their glories
To-day there deigns to walk with me but one.
I lead him by the hand and tell him stories.
It is the Queen of Cyprus’ little son.
To-day there deigns to walk with me but one.
I lead him by the hand and tell him stories.
It is the Queen of Cyprus’ little son.
XVIII
On a Prophet
Of old ’twas Samuel sought the Lord: to-day
The Lord runs after Samuel—so they say.
The Lord runs after Samuel—so they say.
XIX
On a Dead Hostess
XX
On a Great Election
The accursèd power which stands on Privilege
(And goes with Women, and Champagne and Bridge)
Broke—and Democracy resumed her reign:
(Which goes with Bridge, and Women and Champagne).
(And goes with Women, and Champagne and Bridge)
Broke—and Democracy resumed her reign:
(Which goes with Bridge, and Women and Champagne).
XXI
On a Mistaken Mariner
He whistled thrice to pass the Morning Star,
Thinking that near which was so very far.
So I, whenas I meet my Dearest Dear,
Still think that far which is so very near.
Thinking that near which was so very far.
So I, whenas I meet my Dearest Dear,
Still think that far which is so very near.
XXII
On a Sleeping Friend
XXIII
Fatigued
I’m tired of Love: I’m still more tired of Rhyme.
But Money gives me pleasure all the time.
But Money gives me pleasure all the time.
XXIV
On Benicia, who Wished Him Well
Benicia wished me well; I wished her well.
And what I wished her more I may not tell.
And what I wished her more I may not tell.
XXV
The False Heart
I said to Heart, “How goes it?” Heart replied:
“Right as a Ribstone Pippin!” But it lied.
“Right as a Ribstone Pippin!” But it lied.
XXVI
Partly from the Greek
VI
THE BALLAD OF VAL-ÈS-DUNES
THE VICTORY OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR IN HIS YOUTH OVER THE REBELS AT VAL-ÈS-DUNES IN THE YEAR 1047
[This piece of verse is grossly unhistorical. Val-ès-Dunes is not on the sea but inland. No Norman blazoned a shield or a church window in the middle eleventh century, still less would he frame one in silver, and I doubt gilt spurs. It was not the young Bastard of Falaise, but the men of the King in Paris that really won the battle. There was nothing Scandinavian left in Normandy, and whatever there had been five generations before was slight. The Colentin had no more Scandinavian blood than the rest. There is no such place as Longuevaile. There is a Hauteville, but it has no bay and had nothing to do with the Harcourts, and the Harcourts were not of Bloodroyal—and so forth.]
I
The men that lived in Longuevaile
Came out to fight by bands.
They jangled all in welded mail,
Their shields were rimmed of silver pale
And blazoned like a church-vitrail:
Their swords were in their hands.
But the harsh raven of the Old Gods
Was on the rank sea-sands.
Came out to fight by bands.
They jangled all in welded mail,
Their shields were rimmed of silver pale
And blazoned like a church-vitrail:
Their swords were in their hands.
But the harsh raven of the Old Gods
Was on the rank sea-sands.
There rose a wind on heath and den:
The sky went racing grey.
The Bastard and his wall of men
Were a charger’s course away.
The sky went racing grey.
The Bastard and his wall of men
Were a charger’s course away.
II
The Old Gods of the Northern Hall
Are in their narrow room.
Their thrones are flanked of spearmen tall,
The three that have them in their thrall,
Sit silently before them all,
They weave upon their loom;
And round about them as they weave
The Scalds sing doom.
Are in their narrow room.
Their thrones are flanked of spearmen tall,
The three that have them in their thrall,
Sit silently before them all,
They weave upon their loom;
And round about them as they weave
The Scalds sing doom.
III
The Bastard out of Normandy
Was angry for his wrong.
His eyes were virginal to see,
For nothing in his heart had he
But a hunger for his great degree;
And his back was broad and strong
As are the oxen of the field,
That pull the ploughs along.
Was angry for his wrong.
His eyes were virginal to see,
For nothing in his heart had he
But a hunger for his great degree;
And his back was broad and strong
As are the oxen of the field,
That pull the ploughs along.
IV
He saw that column of cavalry wheel,
Split outward, and deploy.
He heard, he heard the Oliphant peal.
He crooked an angry knee to feel
The scabbard against his gilded heel.
He had great joy:
And he stood upright in the stirrup steel.
Because he was a boy.
. . . . . .
We faced their ordering, all the force,
And there was little sound;
But Haribert-Le-Marshall’s horse
Pawed heavily the ground.
Split outward, and deploy.
He heard, he heard the Oliphant peal.
He crooked an angry knee to feel
The scabbard against his gilded heel.
He had great joy:
And he stood upright in the stirrup steel.
Because he was a boy.
. . . . . .
We faced their ordering, all the force,
And there was little sound;
But Haribert-Le-Marshall’s horse
Pawed heavily the ground.
V
As the broad ships out of Barbary
Come driving from the large,
With yards a-bend and courses free,
And tumbling down their decks a-lee,
The hurrahing of the exultant sea,
So drave they to the charge.
But the harsh raven of the Old Gods
Was on the rank sea-marge.
Come driving from the large,
With yards a-bend and courses free,
And tumbling down their decks a-lee,
The hurrahing of the exultant sea,
So drave they to the charge.
But the harsh raven of the Old Gods
Was on the rank sea-marge.
VI
VII
They tonsured me but Easter year,
I swore to Christ and Rome.
My name is not mine older name....
But ah! to see them as they came,
With thundering and with points aflame,
I smelt foam.
And my heart was like a wandering man’s,
Who piles his boat on Moorna sands
And serves a slave in alien lands,
And then beneath a harper’s hands
Hears suddenly of home.
. . . . . .
For their cavalry came in a curling leaf,
They shouted as they drave,
And the Bastard’s line was like a reef
But theirs was like a wave.
I swore to Christ and Rome.
My name is not mine older name....
But ah! to see them as they came,
With thundering and with points aflame,
I smelt foam.
And my heart was like a wandering man’s,
Who piles his boat on Moorna sands
And serves a slave in alien lands,
And then beneath a harper’s hands
Hears suddenly of home.
. . . . . .
For their cavalry came in a curling leaf,
They shouted as they drave,
And the Bastard’s line was like a reef
But theirs was like a wave.
VIII
IX
Our long line quivered but it did not break,
It countered and was strong.
The first bolt went through the wind with a wail,
And another and a-many with a thudding on the mail;
Pattered all the arrows in an April hail;
Whistled the ball and thong:
And I, the priest, with that began
The singing of my song.
It countered and was strong.
The first bolt went through the wind with a wail,
And another and a-many with a thudding on the mail;
Pattered all the arrows in an April hail;
Whistled the ball and thong:
And I, the priest, with that began
The singing of my song.
X
Press inward, inward, Normandy;
Press inward, Cleres and Vaux;
Press inward, Mons and Valery;
Press inward, Yvetot.
Stand hard the men of the Beechen Ford
(Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!)
Battle is a net and a struggle in a cord.
Battle is a wrestler’s throw.
The middle holding as the wings made good,
The far wings closing as the centre stood.
Battle is a mist and battle is a wood,
And battle is won so.
Press inward, Cleres and Vaux;
Press inward, Mons and Valery;
Press inward, Yvetot.
Stand hard the men of the Beechen Ford
(Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!)
Battle is a net and a struggle in a cord.
Battle is a wrestler’s throw.
The middle holding as the wings made good,
The far wings closing as the centre stood.
Battle is a mist and battle is a wood,
And battle is won so.
XI
The fishermen fish in the River of Seine,
They haul the long nets in.
They haul them in and they haul again,
(The fishermen fish in the River of Seine)
They haul them in and they haul again,
A million glittering fin:
With the hauling in of our straining ends
That Victory did begin.
They haul the long nets in.
They haul them in and they haul again,
(The fishermen fish in the River of Seine)
They haul them in and they haul again,
A million glittering fin:
With the hauling in of our straining ends
That Victory did begin.
XII
The tall son of the Seven Winds
Galloped hot-foot from the Hither Hithe.
So strongly went he down the press,
Almost he did that day redress
With his holping and his hardiness,
For his sword was like a scythe
In Arques when the grass is high,
And all the swaithes in order lie,
And there’s the bailiff standing by—
A gathering of the tithe.
Galloped hot-foot from the Hither Hithe.
So strongly went he down the press,
Almost he did that day redress
With his holping and his hardiness,
For his sword was like a scythe
In Arques when the grass is high,
And all the swaithes in order lie,
And there’s the bailiff standing by—
A gathering of the tithe.
XIII
And now, go forward, Normandy,
Go forward all in one.
The press was caught and trampled and it broke
From the sword and its swinger and the axe’s stroke,
Pouring through the gap in a whirl of smoke
As a blinded herd will run.
And so fled many and a very few
With mounts all spent would staggering pursue,
But the race fell scattered as the evening grew:
The battle was over and done.
. . . . . .
Like birds against the reddening day
They dwindled one by one,
And I heard a trumpet far away
At the setting of the sun.
. . . . . .
Go forward all in one.
The press was caught and trampled and it broke
From the sword and its swinger and the axe’s stroke,
Pouring through the gap in a whirl of smoke
As a blinded herd will run.
And so fled many and a very few
With mounts all spent would staggering pursue,
But the race fell scattered as the evening grew:
The battle was over and done.
. . . . . .
Like birds against the reddening day
They dwindled one by one,
And I heard a trumpet far away
At the setting of the sun.
. . . . . .
XIV
XV
How many in the tufted grass,
How many dead there lay.
For there was found the Fortenbras
And young Garain of Hault, alas!
And the Wardens of the Breton pass
Who were lords of his array,
And Hugh that trusted in his glass
But came not home the day.
How many dead there lay.
For there was found the Fortenbras
And young Garain of Hault, alas!
And the Wardens of the Breton pass
Who were lords of his array,
And Hugh that trusted in his glass
But came not home the day.
XVI
I saw the miller of Martindall,
I saw that archer die.
The blunt quarrel caught him at the low white wall,
And he tossed up his arrow to the Lord God of all,
But long before the first could fall
His soul was in the sky.
I saw that archer die.
The blunt quarrel caught him at the low white wall,
And he tossed up his arrow to the Lord God of all,
But long before the first could fall
His soul was in the sky.
XVII
XVIII
In his high town that Faëry is,
And stands on Harcourt bay,
The fisher surging through the night
Takes bearing by that castle height,
And moors him harboured in the bight,
And watches for the day.
But with the broadening of the light,
It vanishes away.
And stands on Harcourt bay,
The fisher surging through the night
Takes bearing by that castle height,
And moors him harboured in the bight,
And watches for the day.
But with the broadening of the light,
It vanishes away.
XIX
In his high town that Faëry is,
And stands on Harcourt Lea.
To summon him up his arrier-ban,
His writ beyond the mountains ran;
My father was his serving man,
Although the farm was free.
Before the angry wars began
He was a friend to me.
And stands on Harcourt Lea.
To summon him up his arrier-ban,
His writ beyond the mountains ran;
My father was his serving man,
Although the farm was free.
Before the angry wars began
He was a friend to me.
XX
XXI
The Horse from Cleres and Valery,
The foot from Yvetot,
And all the men of the Harbour Towns
That live by fall and flow.
And all the men of the Beechen Ford
—Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!—
And all the sails in Michael’s ward,
And all the shields of Caux,
Shall follow you out across the world,
With sword and lance and bow,
To Beachy and to Pevensey Bar,
To Chester through the snow,
With sack and pack and camping tent,
A-grumbling as they go:
My lord is William of Falaise.
Haro!
The foot from Yvetot,
And all the men of the Harbour Towns
That live by fall and flow.
And all the men of the Beechen Ford
—Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!—
And all the sails in Michael’s ward,
And all the shields of Caux,
Shall follow you out across the world,
With sword and lance and bow,
To Beachy and to Pevensey Bar,
To Chester through the snow,
With sack and pack and camping tent,
A-grumbling as they go:
My lord is William of Falaise.
Haro!
FOOTNOTES:
But do not think I shall explain
To any great extent. Believe me,
I partly write to give you pain,
And if you do not like me, leave me.
To any great extent. Believe me,
I partly write to give you pain,
And if you do not like me, leave me.
And least of all can you complain,
Reviewers, whose unholy trade is,
To puff with all your might and main
Biographers of single ladies.
Reviewers, whose unholy trade is,
To puff with all your might and main
Biographers of single ladies.
[C] Never mind.
The plan forgot (I know not how,
Perhaps the Refectory filled it),
To put a chapel in; and now
We’re mortgaging the rest to build it.
Perhaps the Refectory filled it),
To put a chapel in; and now
We’re mortgaging the rest to build it.
[E] To be pronounced as a monosyllable in the Imperial fashion.
[F] Mr Punt, Mr Howl, and Mr Grewcock (now, alas, deceased).
[G] A neat rendering of “Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.”
[H] To the Examiners: These facts (of which I guarantee the accuracy) were given me by a Director.
[I] A reminiscence of Milton: “Fas est et ab hoste docere.”
[J] Lambkin told me he regretted this line, which was for the sake of Rhyme. He would willingly have replaced it, but to his last day could construct no substitute.