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133
SELECTED PAGEANT POEMS
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The Sherborne Pageant
(Edward VI. Episode)
Fons Limpidus
O shrine of the silver waterspring, name renowned
When Saxon and Dane strove mightily which should win,
Once Queen of the west, and once by a King recrowned,
Almost with the birth of England didst thou begin!
How reckon the tale of summers that o'er thee rolled
Ere Roger the mighty upreared thy Norman hold?
O Sherborne, won from the wilderness who knows when?
For the days that are past we bless thee, Mother of men!
When Saxon and Dane strove mightily which should win,
Once Queen of the west, and once by a King recrowned,
Almost with the birth of England didst thou begin!
How reckon the tale of summers that o'er thee rolled
Ere Roger the mighty upreared thy Norman hold?
O Sherborne, won from the wilderness who knows when?
For the days that are past we bless thee, Mother of men!
What though thy cloisters have echoed to saints and kings,
And Ealdhelm loved thee, and Alfred about thee played,
From heroes perished a seed as of heroes springs,
Thy crown is a crown of youth, and it doth not fade:
And musing on many, thy later-born, through thee
From fetters of self or of craven fear set free,
Made holy of heart, and famous with sword or pen,
For the days that are now we bless thee, Mother of men!
And Ealdhelm loved thee, and Alfred about thee played,
From heroes perished a seed as of heroes springs,
Thy crown is a crown of youth, and it doth not fade:
And musing on many, thy later-born, through thee
From fetters of self or of craven fear set free,
Made holy of heart, and famous with sword or pen,
For the days that are now we bless thee, Mother of men!
Nor lacketh there yet to comfort us saint and king;
The soul of our Alfred standeth at God's right hand,
Yet haply as sweet shall the name of Edward ring,
Who trims thee, a lamp for ever to light the land.
For us, we are born, we perish, our days are few;
Thy days are many, to-day thou art born anew;
Immortal amidst our threescore years and ten,
For the ages to be we bless thee, Mother of men!
The soul of our Alfred standeth at God's right hand,
Yet haply as sweet shall the name of Edward ring,
Who trims thee, a lamp for ever to light the land.
For us, we are born, we perish, our days are few;
Thy days are many, to-day thou art born anew;
Immortal amidst our threescore years and ten,
For the ages to be we bless thee, Mother of men!
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Triumph Song
Down the ocean of the ages, over seas that broke and boiled,
Or where belts of tropic slumber lulled the dreaming halcyon's breast,
Where the stabbing reef thrust upward, where the warping current foiled,
We have tracked the good ship Sherborne to this haven of her rest.
Or where belts of tropic slumber lulled the dreaming halcyon's breast,
Where the stabbing reef thrust upward, where the warping current foiled,
We have tracked the good ship Sherborne to this haven of her rest.
Oak of England, pine of Ida, for the poet's palm may vie;
Never sown was lustier timber than the axe of Ealdhelm felled;
Never keel was straightlier fashioned, never mast so neared the sky;
Never canvass whitelier woven was by fairer gale impelled.
Never sown was lustier timber than the axe of Ealdhelm felled;
Never keel was straightlier fashioned, never mast so neared the sky;
Never canvass whitelier woven was by fairer gale impelled.
Storm and stress of youth were over when once more she took the main;
By the star of truth she steered her, led by captains of renown;
She has thrid the shoals of knowledge, and again and yet again
She shall flap the self-same pennon, she shall tread the surges down.
By the star of truth she steered her, led by captains of renown;
She has thrid the shoals of knowledge, and again and yet again
She shall flap the self-same pennon, she shall tread the surges down.
Men of might who thronged her bulwarks, men whose fame the world knew well,
Men whose fame the world ne'er heard of—and who knows the happier lot?—
These and all who thought and wrought for her, or fought for her and fell,
Are the nearer to our heart of heart because we name them not.
Men whose fame the world ne'er heard of—and who knows the happier lot?—
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Are the nearer to our heart of heart because we name them not.
With the tribute of our praises, words of worship and of love,
Though not half be said or sung for her that in our breast we bore,
With twelve hundred years beneath her, and the bend of heaven above,
Down the ocean of the ages lo! we launch her forth once more!
Though not half be said or sung for her that in our breast we bore,
With twelve hundred years beneath her, and the bend of heaven above,
Down the ocean of the ages lo! we launch her forth once more!
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Dover Pageant
Henry VIII. Episode
ChoragusLet us be glad for the splendour and strength of Kings,
The lords of armies, the doers of doughty things!
Chorus
Apparelled in praise and mailed in might they ride,
And the time seems long till their lust be satisfied.
Their laughter is as the sea's, their wrath like fire,
And who shall hinder them of their heart's desire?
They daunt the main, they measure the earth with a rod,
They carry the scales of Doom and the sword of God;
The lives of a thousand men are a little thing,
So they be sped of their mind's imagining;
They covet and have, they ask and take no nay,
For the word in their mouth is mighty, to save or slay.
Choragus
Let us be glad for the labours of lowly men,
The tillers of earth, the tamers of field and fen,
The wielders of hod and hammer, of axe or wedge,
The harbour-builders, the hands that delve or dredge!
Chorus
They deepen the dyke and bridle the swelling brine,
They set the beacon-tower on the hill to shine;
They fashion the limber oar, and shape the sail,
They curve their keels to weather the roaring gale,
They weather the roaring gale and know no fear,
For little in life have they, to deem it dear;
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They wrestle and swink and starve, and ask not why,
And the days seem weary-long till they come to die.
Chorus
Let us now look, and ponder upon these things,
The travail of lowly men, and the pomp of Kings!
Chorus
Before the Final Tableau
Britons and French, with hearts and hands
Knit ye the league of the neighbour lands!
Doubts and fears to the deep be hurled!
Freedom and friendship win the world!
We have conquered each other enough to prove
That that which must conquer at last is love:
For a loveless man is a lifeless clod,
And the spirit of love is a spark from God:
O Love-star, rise on the night, we pray,
And lead, lead on the diviner day!
Knit ye the league of the neighbour lands!
Doubts and fears to the deep be hurled!
Freedom and friendship win the world!
We have conquered each other enough to prove
That that which must conquer at last is love:
For a loveless man is a lifeless clod,
And the spirit of love is a spark from God:
O Love-star, rise on the night, we pray,
And lead, lead on the diviner day!
The nations have heard, they have heard a call,
The voice was the voice of the Lord of all:
His mould is ready, His furnace hot,
He hath men's hearts in the smelting-pot:
For a time is coming—ah! let it come!—
When the tiger in man shall be quelled and dumb,
When the shuttle of death shall ply no more
‘Twixt the hands of the weaver whose warp is war,
And envy and hate no more have sway,
For the former things shall have passed away.
The voice was the voice of the Lord of all:
His mould is ready, His furnace hot,
He hath men's hearts in the smelting-pot:
For a time is coming—ah! let it come!—
When the tiger in man shall be quelled and dumb,
When the shuttle of death shall ply no more
‘Twixt the hands of the weaver whose warp is war,
And envy and hate no more have sway,
For the former things shall have passed away.
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The Triumph Song
All hail to thee, dauntless Dover, in ages beyond our ken,
The dread of the wild sea-rover, the door of the lion's den!
New foes thou wert always facing, but never, we trust again
Shall shrink from thine arm's embracing the vessels of outland men.
The dread of the wild sea-rover, the door of the lion's den!
New foes thou wert always facing, but never, we trust again
Shall shrink from thine arm's embracing the vessels of outland men.
No longer aloof we screen us, or fend from imagined foes;
What erst was a gulf between us a watery highway flows:
Go, envious isolation, where that which begat thee goes,
For the cloud 'twixt nation and nation is lifting, no more to close.
What erst was a gulf between us a watery highway flows:
Go, envious isolation, where that which begat thee goes,
For the cloud 'twixt nation and nation is lifting, no more to close.
But what of the word
Our ears once heard
That, or ever the ages cease,
King Arthur himself should homage pay
To a mightier one of wider sway,
Whom, North, South, East, and West obey,
Lover and Lord of Peace?
O winds, be whist, O waters, dumb!
The King is coming! the King is come!
Our ears once heard
That, or ever the ages cease,
King Arthur himself should homage pay
To a mightier one of wider sway,
Whom, North, South, East, and West obey,
Lover and Lord of Peace?
O winds, be whist, O waters, dumb!
The King is coming! the King is come!
And ye that hearken the while we sing,
Look up, and behold a wondrous thing!
For these her daughters from oversea,
That follow in Dover's company,
Forty and four
The wide world o'er,
And mothers of mighty sons to be—
These from the ends of the earth who came,
Share her honour, and bear her name—
With home-felt rapture around her throng,
And thrill to the close of her triumph-song!—
Look up, and behold a wondrous thing!
For these her daughters from oversea,
That follow in Dover's company,
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The wide world o'er,
And mothers of mighty sons to be—
These from the ends of the earth who came,
Share her honour, and bear her name—
With home-felt rapture around her throng,
And thrill to the close of her triumph-song!—
O fair and majestic haven, couched under the sea-cliffs white,
That title upon thee graven, INVICTA, was thine of right,
For one with the waves thy glory, and one with the winds thy might,
And the web of thine endless story is woven, by day and night,
Of ocean's infinite yearning, criss-crossed with the to-and-fro
Of a thousand keels returning, a thousand that outward go!
From the frowning towers above thee to the fringing foam below
To think of thee is to love thee, as all that have known thee know.
That title upon thee graven, INVICTA, was thine of right,
For one with the waves thy glory, and one with the winds thy might,
And the web of thine endless story is woven, by day and night,
Of ocean's infinite yearning, criss-crossed with the to-and-fro
Of a thousand keels returning, a thousand that outward go!
From the frowning towers above thee to the fringing foam below
To think of thee is to love thee, as all that have known thee know.
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Bury St. Edmunds
The New Age
Hark! the music of the ages,
Dirge and paean, masque and chime,
Loves and hates—heroic rages—
Deeds tyrannic, deaths sublime!
Slowly, sadly,
Swiftly, madly,
Swells the mighty march of time.
Dirge and paean, masque and chime,
Loves and hates—heroic rages—
Deeds tyrannic, deaths sublime!
Slowly, sadly,
Swiftly, madly,
Swells the mighty march of time.
Thrones and faiths are falling, changing,
Vanishing like morning dew!
Hark! the unseen fingers ranging,
Mingling false and mingling true—
Joy and sorrow,
Night and morrow—
Weave the fugue of old and new.
Vanishing like morning dew!
Hark! the unseen fingers ranging,
Mingling false and mingling true—
Joy and sorrow,
Night and morrow—
Weave the fugue of old and new.
Still for ampler knowledge yearning,
Life we think with discord teems,
Only in the end discerning
That which is from that which seems.
Heaven will show it,
Earth shall know it,
When she wakens from her dreams.
Life we think with discord teems,
Only in the end discerning
That which is from that which seems.
Heaven will show it,
Earth shall know it,
When she wakens from her dreams.
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Retrospect
Think gently of our moving show—
Not idly and for naught
Forgotten forms of long ago
Within your vision brought.
Not idly and for naught
Forgotten forms of long ago
Within your vision brought.
They passed not with the passing day,
The great ones that are gone;
Their bodies fell beside the way,
Their spirit leads us on.
The great ones that are gone;
Their bodies fell beside the way,
Their spirit leads us on.
Who thrills not to the sacred flame
Of that sublime desire
Which gave to earth a quenchless name
To heaven a soul of fire?
Of that sublime desire
Which gave to earth a quenchless name
To heaven a soul of fire?
Eyes dull to many a meaner thing
Must yet behold with awe
This “Sanctuary of the King”
This “Cradle of the Law,”
Must yet behold with awe
This “Sanctuary of the King”
This “Cradle of the Law,”
Made glad as in a glass to see
Around her crumbled shrine
The men who lived for liberty,
And knew the soul divine.
Around her crumbled shrine
The men who lived for liberty,
And knew the soul divine.
Yes, there is something that abides
Behind the dust and din,
When history like a veil divides,
And shows the form within.
Behind the dust and din,
When history like a veil divides,
And shows the form within.
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From passion unto passion hurled,
And tossed from pain to pain—
The long delirium of a world
That, waking, shall be sane.
And tossed from pain to pain—
The long delirium of a world
That, waking, shall be sane.
Turn from this arid crust of things,
Loud power and flaunting wealth,
To where aeonian water-springs
Whisper of hidden health:
Loud power and flaunting wealth,
To where aeonian water-springs
Whisper of hidden health:
Think amid clash of race and sect,
The strife of caste and clan,
“Thus doth the unseen Architect
Evolve His perfect plan.”
The strife of caste and clan,
“Thus doth the unseen Architect
Evolve His perfect plan.”
So haply, as we turn the page
Of dedicative art,
These visions of a bygone age
Shall vitalise the heart.
Of dedicative art,
These visions of a bygone age
Shall vitalise the heart.
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York Pageant
Semi-Chorus IWhere are the old gods' altars, where
The primal powers of earth and air—
Jove, and Apollo lord of light?—
Semi-Chorus II
Gone, like the dreams of yester-night.
Semi-Chorus I
Where is the faith in which men died,
Or lived, for love of the Crucified,
Suffering gladly scathe and scorn?—
Semi-Chorus II
Flown with the mists of yestermorn.
Semi-Chorus I
What are the gods they bow before?—
Semi-Chorus II
Saturn and Woden, Friga, Thor.
Semi-Chorus I
Trow ye, then, they are come to stay?—
Semi-Chorus II
These shall be soon with yesterday.
Semi-Chorus I
Who be those that they welcome home?—
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Daughters and sons set free from Rome,
Happy, with all their tears and teen
Past like the dews of yester-e'en.
Semi-Chorus I
What are the tidings that they bring,
Or what the note of their triumphing?—
Semi-Chorus II
Death defeated, and sin's dark fear
Blown to the winds of yester-year.
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Warwick
Ave Atque Vale
The revels o'er, the actors passed away,
Of this fair pageant, say,
This ebb and flow of human times and tides,
What most with us abides?
Of this fair pageant, say,
This ebb and flow of human times and tides,
What most with us abides?
Not the high deeds and legendary state
That erst made Warwick great;
No, nor King Avon riding o'er the lea
Mantled in poesy,
That erst made Warwick great;
No, nor King Avon riding o'er the lea
Mantled in poesy,
And waving, as he floats by tower and town,
His banner of renown,
Nor all the dead re-risen, nor all the praise
Of those heroic days:
His banner of renown,
Nor all the dead re-risen, nor all the praise
Of those heroic days:
But rather that all life beneath the sun
Is in all ages one,
And the deep sense that of each moving scene
Ourselves a part have been.
Is in all ages one,
And the deep sense that of each moving scene
Ourselves a part have been.
Where is the gulf of space, O soul of man,
Too vast for thee to span?
Or when the time, how long soe'er forgot,
When thou thyself wert not?
Too vast for thee to span?
Or when the time, how long soe'er forgot,
When thou thyself wert not?
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Colchester
Chorus of Druids before the Final Tableau
Choragus IIWhat spoil of the spreading ages have ye to their tops who climb?
And where are the fruits once gathered, that hung from the boughs of time?
Choragus I
Or ye that have ploughed Life's furrows, what wage of your work remains
But longing and heavy labour, and earth-hued harvest-stains?
Semi-Chorus I
Since we in our dark delusion stood awed at the sun's eclipse,
New realms to the earth are added, new flight to the sea-borne ships,
We have wrung from the hills their secrets, and harnessed the hidden springs,
And how if we chain the lightning, and challenge the air with wings!
Semi-Chorus II
Nay more, for of inward greatness what growth since the days began!
What light of emancipation now dawns in the face of man!
And softly we hear up-swelling, but never again to cease,
The hum of the swordless armies whose leader and lord is Peace.
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Not idle, I wot, your boasting: this Mother, our hearts invoke,
Hath sown thro' the earth fair cities, and love is their only yoke:
Soon thrall and lord shall be brothers—
Choragus I
But tell me of lord or thrall
Who tastes of his life's fulfilment, ere foiled by the end of all.
Full Chorus
Though hard be the strife before us with blindness of heart and brain,
Though ages be heaped on ages ere the Slayer himself be slain,
The One that is All grows clearer to souls that have eyes to see,
And nearer and ever nearer the Knowledge that maketh free.
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The Triumph Song
Choragus IArise, O Muse of Colchester, and strike a loud refrain!
Our hearts and lips are trembling to rehearse the triumph-strain!
Choragus II
But the sum of all her triumphs can never be told in rhyme,
For the Ages are her minstrels, and her melodist is Time.
Semi-Chorus I
See the mighty ones approaching! let us greet them as they come,
Though before their marching multitudes our eloquence be dumb!
Look on Kymbeline the valiant, King of Britain's ancient state,
By his son in soul out-splendoured through the Faith that conquers Fate!
Hail, Caràdoc, foiled, defeated! how through earth thy glory rings,
From the bonds of Rome returning to proclaim the King of Kings!
Semi-Chorus II
Lo! where Claudius rides in triumph, while the thronging crowds make room,
In his heart the lust of living, at his ear the hiss of doom!
See the pomp of priest and senate, see the oxen's steaming breath,
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The dancers and the lictors see, with laurelled axe and rod,
And the incense-teeming censers, as they hail him for a god!
Choragus II
Such are Kings, who at their bidding deem the bolts of fate are hurled,
And behold they are but levers in the hand that drives the world!
Semi-Chorus I
On Boadicea bend your gaze, that heart of living flame,
The wonder of all woman-hood, and Rome's eternal shame!
Nor moth of envy can corrupt, not tooth of time impair,
Her seamless constancy of soul, her splendour of despair!
Semi-Chorus II
Comes Coel, too, and Helena, afire with love divine,
Whom brave Constantius took to bride, who bare him Constantine.
Comes St. Osyth and her Saxons, Ingvar, Ubba, and the Danes!
Cometh Ecgwyn with King Edward crowned, and their attendant Thanes!
Choragus I
But the spokes of time spin onward, and the Norman Lords are here,
And their breath is fire before them, and they rule by force and fear.
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Of the monarchs and their minions see the proud procession glide,
Girt with monks and priests and barons in one seething human tide!
E'en as fierce conflicting waters chase each other to the main,
Come Plantagenets, and Tudors, and the Stuart's baneful reign,
Till bewildered eyes grow dizzy, as we view them from the verge!
Choragus I
But from out the battling billows say what stately forms emerge,
Tall as Tethys and her sea-nymphs?
Choragus II
Can ye question who are these?
'Tis Colcestria, Rose of Essex, and from many lands and seas,
Those that spring from her, and cling to her, and share her race and name,
Hither homing to their Mother's arms, her triumph to acclaim!
Full Chorus
Ah! we knit the words together, and we blend them, chord by chord,
With the soul-dividing harmonies from voice and viol poured,
But the sum of all her triumphs can be never told in rhyme,
For the Ages are her minstrels, and her melodist is Time!
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