 | England |  |
43
THE LEGENDARY KINGS.
I had a dream of bells one night;
It seem'd my body woke,
And, then, as if dim forms of might,
In earthly voices spoke;
Dim forms of might, like ancient Kings. [OMITTED]
I heard them faintly through my dream,—
A quavering in my ear,—
With troubled awe, as when do seem
Strange carven shapes of fear;
Strange shapes of carven on a tomb,
With hands held up to pray,
Or Angels, that hang down in gloom,
With shading wings alway.
—Danby's Poems.
It seem'd my body woke,
And, then, as if dim forms of might,
In earthly voices spoke;
Dim forms of might, like ancient Kings. [OMITTED]
I heard them faintly through my dream,—
A quavering in my ear,—
With troubled awe, as when do seem
Strange carven shapes of fear;
Strange shapes of carven on a tomb,
With hands held up to pray,
Or Angels, that hang down in gloom,
With shading wings alway.
—Danby's Poems.
Kings of the desert, men whose stately tread,
Stirs from the dust the sound of Liberty.
—Wilson.
Stirs from the dust the sound of Liberty.
—Wilson.
As one, who, waking from a deathful trance,
And, at lone midnight, in the abbey aisle,
(The round moon looking through the gloom askance)
Beholds the mighty spirits of the pile
March o'er the sounding marble, rank and file—
Each starting mail'd forth from the sculptur'd stone;
Thus, then, (my mind still brooding on our isle,
And pondering o'er the heroic ages gone)
These glorious shapes stalk'd forth, and in my vision shone.
And, at lone midnight, in the abbey aisle,
(The round moon looking through the gloom askance)
Beholds the mighty spirits of the pile
March o'er the sounding marble, rank and file—
Each starting mail'd forth from the sculptur'd stone;
Thus, then, (my mind still brooding on our isle,
And pondering o'er the heroic ages gone)
These glorious shapes stalk'd forth, and in my vision shone.
44
O, but ye were indeed a glorious band!
Your crowned heads, long robes, barbaric grace,
And glittering swords, each in your steady hand;
The glory of past deeds on every face,
Borne forth from conquering war, and conquering chase;
And Freedom join'd their footsteps, and around
Each forehead shed such light as never was;
Calm, strong, majestic, in proud concourse bound,
Never can sight so grand shine more on earthly ground.
Your crowned heads, long robes, barbaric grace,
And glittering swords, each in your steady hand;
The glory of past deeds on every face,
Borne forth from conquering war, and conquering chase;
And Freedom join'd their footsteps, and around
Each forehead shed such light as never was;
Calm, strong, majestic, in proud concourse bound,
Never can sight so grand shine more on earthly ground.
Oh, gorgeous, beyond all that mortal gaze
Hath ever seen! giants in strength of bone;
Gods in the solemn grandeur of each face—
Gods in the greatness that around them shone;
Each aspect bore the glories that are gone—
The splendour of old pictur'd halls—the might
By conquest, from old seas and mountains won—
The solemn reverence—the homag'd right
From slaves who still were men, nor knelt without delight.
Hath ever seen! giants in strength of bone;
Gods in the solemn grandeur of each face—
Gods in the greatness that around them shone;
Each aspect bore the glories that are gone—
The splendour of old pictur'd halls—the might
By conquest, from old seas and mountains won—
The solemn reverence—the homag'd right
From slaves who still were men, nor knelt without delight.
Bred of the royal lineage that is gone—
The race of Cæsar, Pompey, Antony—
The great—the brave, of times that now are none;
As proud as theirs your steps, as proud your eye:
Yours was as good a right—ye look'd as high,
Although the blood of millions at your feet
Hiss'd not; nor empires fell when ye were nigh—
Nor precious wealth and conquests, shower'd sweet,
Nor castles, mountains, cliffs, sunk 'neath your footsteps' beat.
The race of Cæsar, Pompey, Antony—
The great—the brave, of times that now are none;
As proud as theirs your steps, as proud your eye:
Yours was as good a right—ye look'd as high,
Although the blood of millions at your feet
Hiss'd not; nor empires fell when ye were nigh—
Nor precious wealth and conquests, shower'd sweet,
Nor castles, mountains, cliffs, sunk 'neath your footsteps' beat.
45
Mighty as they, ye rul'd your own domain,
Nor sought the triumphs of the chariot wheel—
Ye had the chase, and love, and battle plain—
Heroic contest, honour, and the weal
Of England at your hearts; and ye did feel
As truly royal as the old Kings dead:
And though at tomb, nor mausoleum, kneel—
Nor pyramid—your worshippers: your bed
Is sweet as theirs; as calm ye rest the fever'd head.
Nor sought the triumphs of the chariot wheel—
Ye had the chase, and love, and battle plain—
Heroic contest, honour, and the weal
Of England at your hearts; and ye did feel
As truly royal as the old Kings dead:
And though at tomb, nor mausoleum, kneel—
Nor pyramid—your worshippers: your bed
Is sweet as theirs; as calm ye rest the fever'd head.
The lion's heart beat in each ample breast—
The eagle's eye glar'd in each lofty head—
The wild deer's swiftness slept beneath your rest,
And, 'neath your calm, a storm to wake the dead;
And, when ye lay upon your midnight bed,
The spirits of slain heroes slumber'd near;
Unto the war-gods' halls your spirits sped—
Where your proud fathers quaff the nectar clear,
And sing the battle hymns they love so well to hear!
The eagle's eye glar'd in each lofty head—
The wild deer's swiftness slept beneath your rest,
And, 'neath your calm, a storm to wake the dead;
And, when ye lay upon your midnight bed,
The spirits of slain heroes slumber'd near;
Unto the war-gods' halls your spirits sped—
Where your proud fathers quaff the nectar clear,
And sing the battle hymns they love so well to hear!
Oh, noble hearts, how shall I sound your praise?
How lift your natures who did stand so high?
Imagination can do nought to raise
Kings, e'en like gods, of old idolatry!
Such souls are less of earth than of the sky:
But when I say that ye were bold and brave;
In your religion resolute to die;
Good sires and lords—staunch patriots—quick to save;
Such other kings in vain I summon from the grave.
How lift your natures who did stand so high?
Imagination can do nought to raise
Kings, e'en like gods, of old idolatry!
Such souls are less of earth than of the sky:
But when I say that ye were bold and brave;
In your religion resolute to die;
Good sires and lords—staunch patriots—quick to save;
Such other kings in vain I summon from the grave.
46
There was no foul-mouth'd mob to hem ye in,
Nor traitor's council, nor the scoundrel's lie;
Red treason's guile, nor discord's deadly sin—
And thus they bore a look of majesty,
And uncontrolled strength that might not die!
Well did the brave old spirits know their right—
Their right divine o'er hogs within the sty;
And each bold lord, that battled in their sight,
Was, as a king himself, and wore his sword by might.
Nor traitor's council, nor the scoundrel's lie;
Red treason's guile, nor discord's deadly sin—
And thus they bore a look of majesty,
And uncontrolled strength that might not die!
Well did the brave old spirits know their right—
Their right divine o'er hogs within the sty;
And each bold lord, that battled in their sight,
Was, as a king himself, and wore his sword by might.
They all are gone, that train majestical!
Swept clean away from out my vision's range,
As if they heard some mighty spirit's call!
The walks by vision chosen, are wild and strange,
Devious, perplex'd, with many a sudden change—
Shrubs, trees, and flowers immortal, blossom there,
Whilst heavenly visitants their leaves arrange:
We look again—gone is the pageant fair,
And thus my dream is o'er, and past into the air.
Swept clean away from out my vision's range,
As if they heard some mighty spirit's call!
The walks by vision chosen, are wild and strange,
Devious, perplex'd, with many a sudden change—
Shrubs, trees, and flowers immortal, blossom there,
Whilst heavenly visitants their leaves arrange:
We look again—gone is the pageant fair,
And thus my dream is o'er, and past into the air.
| England | |