The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell | ||
GUIDARELLO GUIDARELLI
RAVENNA WARRIOR (1502)
[_]
What was said to the Duke by the sculptor concerning Guidarello Guidarelli, and of the monument he made of his friend.
I
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Ran a murmur low or loud,
As he rode with lifted vizor,
Smiling on the anxious crowd.
Ran a murmur low or loud,
As he rode with lifted vizor,
Smiling on the anxious crowd.
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Rang the cry from street and tower,
As our Guido rode to battle
In Ravenna's darkest hour.
Rang the cry from street and tower,
As our Guido rode to battle
In Ravenna's darkest hour.
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Little thought we of his doom
When a love-cast rain of roses
Fell on saddle, mail, and plume.
Little thought we of his doom
When a love-cast rain of roses
Fell on saddle, mail, and plume.
364
Low he bowed, and laughing gaily
Set one red rose in his crest,
All his mail a scarlet splendor
Frem the red sun of the west.
Set one red rose in his crest,
All his mail a scarlet splendor
Frem the red sun of the west.
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
So, he passed to meet his fate,
With the cry of “Guidarelli!”
And the clangor of the gate.
So, he passed to meet his fate,
With the cry of “Guidarelli!”
And the clangor of the gate.
II
Well, at eve we bore him homeward,
Lying on our burdened spears.
Ah! defeat had been less bitter,
And had cost us fewer tears.
Lying on our burdened spears.
Ah! defeat had been less bitter,
And had cost us fewer tears.
At her feet we laid her soldier,
While men saw her with amaze—
Fearless, tearless, waiting patient,
Some wild challenge in her gaze.
While men saw her with amaze—
Fearless, tearless, waiting patient,
Some wild challenge in her gaze.
Then the hand that rained the roses
Fell upon his forehead cold.
“Go!” she cried, “ye faltering cravens!
One that fled, your shame has told.
Fell upon his forehead cold.
“Go!” she cried, “ye faltering cravens!
One that fled, your shame has told.
“Go! How dare ye look upon him—
Ye who failed him in the fight?
Off! ye beaten hounds, and leave me
With my lonely dead to-night!”
Ye who failed him in the fight?
Off! ye beaten hounds, and leave me
With my lonely dead to-night!”
No man answered, and they left us
Where our darling Guido lay.
I alone, who stood beside him
In the fight, made bold to stay.
Where our darling Guido lay.
365
In the fight, made bold to stay.
“Shut the gate!” she cried. I closed it.
“Lay your hand upon his breast:
Were you true to him?” “Ay, surely,
As I hope for Jesu's rest!”
“Lay your hand upon his breast:
Were you true to him?” “Ay, surely,
As I hope for Jesu's rest!”
Then I saw her staring past me,
As to watch a bird that flies,
All the light of youthful courage
Fading from her valiant eyes.
As to watch a bird that flies,
All the light of youthful courage
Fading from her valiant eyes.
And with one hoarse cry of anguish
On the courtyard stones she fell,
Crying, “Guido Guidarelli!”
Like the harsh notes of a bell
On the courtyard stones she fell,
Crying, “Guido Guidarelli!”
Like the harsh notes of a bell
Breaking with its stress of sweetness,
Hence to know a voiceless pain.
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Never did she speak again:
Hence to know a voiceless pain.
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Never did she speak again:
Save, 't is said, she wins, when dreaming,
Tender memories of delight;
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Crying through the quiet night.
Tender memories of delight;
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Crying through the quiet night.
III
Ah! you like it? Well, I made it
Ere death aged upon his face.
See, I caught the parted lip-lines
And the lashes' living grace:
Ere death aged upon his face.
See, I caught the parted lip-lines
And the lashes' living grace:
366
For the gentle soul within him,
Freed by death, had lingered here,
Kissing his dead face to beauty,
As to bless a home grown dear.
Freed by death, had lingered here,
Kissing his dead face to beauty,
As to bless a home grown dear.
He, my lord, was pure as woman,
Past the thought of man's belief;
Truth and honor here are written,
And some strangeness of relief
Past the thought of man's belief;
Truth and honor here are written,
And some strangeness of relief
Born beneath my eager chisel
As a child is born—a birth
To my parent-skill mysterious,
Of, and yet not all of, earth.
As a child is born—a birth
To my parent-skill mysterious,
Of, and yet not all of, earth.
Still one hears our women singing,—
For a love-charm, so 't is said,—
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Like a love-mass for the dead.
For a love-charm, so 't is said,—
“Guidarello Guidarelli!”
Like a love-mass for the dead.
In caressing iteration
With his name their voices play—
“Elli, Nelli, Guidarelli,”
Through some busy market-day.
With his name their voices play—
“Elli, Nelli, Guidarelli,”
Through some busy market-day.
Ah, my lord, I have the fancy
That through many a year to come
This I wrought shall make the stranger
Share our grief when mine is dumb.
That through many a year to come
This I wrought shall make the stranger
Share our grief when mine is dumb.
Venice, June 1897.
The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell | ||