 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
THE OLD WARRIOR
Once more on rock and chasm the gilded eve
Sets into flying lights of pale-rayed fire,
And yet again the retinue of clouds,
Above the sun-fall, veined with rushing gleams,
Drag out their chain of crumbling island crags,
Lovely to all but these my leaden eyes.
Sets into flying lights of pale-rayed fire,
And yet again the retinue of clouds,
Above the sun-fall, veined with rushing gleams,
Drag out their chain of crumbling island crags,
Lovely to all but these my leaden eyes.
The blind and barren life-lamp of my brain
Fails out unkindled at this certain round
Of visible beauty, and I hunger change
Nor earthward find it, if not this slow orb
Divides his rest some hand-breadths to the north,
And crimsons icier summits fall by fall.
Thy tune is old, old elm-tree, as the wind
Shakes out thy leafy sails; hast been my rest
These many changeless years. Perchance thy voice
Shall float between the bells, when I am laid
Beside the kirk-tower yonder in their ranks,
O'er whom the voices of the bells peal prayer,
And rolling organs, yet they will not come.
Fails out unkindled at this certain round
Of visible beauty, and I hunger change
Nor earthward find it, if not this slow orb
Divides his rest some hand-breadths to the north,
And crimsons icier summits fall by fall.
Thy tune is old, old elm-tree, as the wind
Shakes out thy leafy sails; hast been my rest
These many changeless years. Perchance thy voice
Shall float between the bells, when I am laid
Beside the kirk-tower yonder in their ranks,
O'er whom the voices of the bells peal prayer,
And rolling organs, yet they will not come.
23
I am forgotten from the files of war.
At times I fancy that old self of mine
Has faded out and left a nerveless hull.
Ay me, that I am fallen from my praise,
This is the bitter sequel of our time;
Thus he the human demigod to-day
Shook off, mere bruised lumber, on the next,
Pines out in dreamy memories what has been,
Blurr'd with the silence of the things to come:
An ancient watch-tower that has served its turn,
A rampart on the pathless blasts, a fire
To watch and cheat the shrill waves of their prey,
Now stain'd and patch'd with ruin and disuse,
Rots stagnant in time's shadow stone by stone.
Why should man live declined? the noble years
Perish, and quavering dotage, garrulous,
Unsays his own renown with witless prate,
Self-wounding calumny. The glowing eye
Is faded; shrunken arms and trembling hands
Unmeet for wars. The measure of his time
Has numb'd his drooping manhood lock'd in calm.
At times I fancy that old self of mine
Has faded out and left a nerveless hull.
Ay me, that I am fallen from my praise,
This is the bitter sequel of our time;
Thus he the human demigod to-day
Shook off, mere bruised lumber, on the next,
Pines out in dreamy memories what has been,
Blurr'd with the silence of the things to come:
An ancient watch-tower that has served its turn,
A rampart on the pathless blasts, a fire
To watch and cheat the shrill waves of their prey,
Now stain'd and patch'd with ruin and disuse,
Rots stagnant in time's shadow stone by stone.
Why should man live declined? the noble years
Perish, and quavering dotage, garrulous,
Unsays his own renown with witless prate,
Self-wounding calumny. The glowing eye
Is faded; shrunken arms and trembling hands
Unmeet for wars. The measure of his time
Has numb'd his drooping manhood lock'd in calm.
O rusted harness, dost thou speak reproach?
I shall not wear thee, for my veins are slow,
Until thou case my unremembered dust.
Old brand, art shamed with my unsinew'd gripe?
Old gauntlet, spacious for the wasted hand,
'Tis long since maiden fingers touch'd thy palm.
Long, since bright ringlets pillow'd on my mail,
For some deliverance wrought, some dread o'erthrown.
I shall not wear thee, for my veins are slow,
Until thou case my unremembered dust.
Old brand, art shamed with my unsinew'd gripe?
Old gauntlet, spacious for the wasted hand,
'Tis long since maiden fingers touch'd thy palm.
Long, since bright ringlets pillow'd on my mail,
For some deliverance wrought, some dread o'erthrown.
Lo, as a dead and stranger'd thing I rust,
Out-lived into an age I cannot reap,
And sunder'd from the vigour of my time,
Unlink'd from current action and renown.
I see them sometimes, the new blood, fair knights,
Come plumed and spurr'd and glistering down the vale.
I crane from this rock edge with misty eyes;
Or, when the tilts are toward, down I crawl
As far as yonder road-bend to the town,
My utmost limit; deemed in age as far
As my youth held the miles to Palestine.
Out-lived into an age I cannot reap,
And sunder'd from the vigour of my time,
Unlink'd from current action and renown.
I see them sometimes, the new blood, fair knights,
Come plumed and spurr'd and glistering down the vale.
I crane from this rock edge with misty eyes;
Or, when the tilts are toward, down I crawl
As far as yonder road-bend to the town,
My utmost limit; deemed in age as far
As my youth held the miles to Palestine.
I cheat the grave too long with bloodless days,
Ripe tribute to the pale and iron sleep.
I cheat my weary heirs of heritage,
Greying their locks and warping all their youth.
I shall not vex them long. The waste is set
Before me and the darkness. I shall pass
Upon it with a firm old heart, and turn
To nameless sleep undaunted as forgot.
The accident of record cannot change
The man to lesser, or contract the soul
That has been, shadow'd outwardly to men
In functions and in purposes achieved,
Tho' crusting years have blurr'd its name away.
That flash of glory, the majestic deed
Has still its greatness in oblivion
Great then, and now, and always. Its reward
Vital within its doing, self-sustain'd,
Recks not the voices of the after-years.
Ripe tribute to the pale and iron sleep.
I cheat my weary heirs of heritage,
24
I shall not vex them long. The waste is set
Before me and the darkness. I shall pass
Upon it with a firm old heart, and turn
To nameless sleep undaunted as forgot.
The accident of record cannot change
The man to lesser, or contract the soul
That has been, shadow'd outwardly to men
In functions and in purposes achieved,
Tho' crusting years have blurr'd its name away.
That flash of glory, the majestic deed
Has still its greatness in oblivion
Great then, and now, and always. Its reward
Vital within its doing, self-sustain'd,
Recks not the voices of the after-years.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |