Written on hearing of the outbreak of the Polish Insurrection.
BLOW ye the trumpet, gather from afar
The hosts to battle: be not bought and sold. Arise, brave Poles, the boldest of the bold; Break through your iron shackles-fling them far. O for those days of Piast, ere the Czar
Grew to this strength among his deserts cold;' ́ When even to Moscow's cupolas were rolled The growing murmurs of the Polish war! Now must your noble anger blaze out more Than when from Sobieski, clan by clan, The Moslem myriads fell, and fled before- Than when Zamoysky smote the Tartar Khan; Than earlier, when on the Baltic shore Boleslas drove the Pomeranian.
How long, O God, shall men be ridden down, And trampled under by the last and least
Of men? The heart of Poland hath not ceased To quiver, though her sacred blood doth drown The fields; and out of every smouldering town Cries to Thee, lest brute Power be increased, Till that o'ergrown Barbarian in the East Transgress his ample bound to some new crown: Cries to Thee, "Lord, how long shall these things be? How long shall the icy-hearted Muscovite Oppress the region ? Us, O Just and Good, Forgive, who smiled when she was torn in three; Us, who stand now, when we should aid the right— A matter to be wept with tears of blood!
NATURE, So far as in her lies,
Imitates God, and turns her face
To every land beneath the skies,
Counts nothing that she meets with base, But lives and loves in every place:
Fills out the homely quickset-screens, And makes the purple lilac ripe, Steps from her airy hill, and greens
The swamps, where humm'd the dropping snipe, With moss and braided marish-pipe ;
And on thy heart a finger lays,
Saying, "Beat quicker, for the time Is pleasant, and the woods and ways Are pleasant, and the beech and lime Put forth and feel a gladder clime."
And murmurs of a deeper voice, Going before to some far shrine,
Teach that sick heart the stronger choice, Till all thy life one way incline With one wide will that closes thine.
And when the zoning eve has died
Where yon dark valleys wind forlorn, Come Hope and Memory, spouse and bride, From out the borders of the morn, With that fair child betwixt them born.
And when no mortal motion jars
The blackness round the tombing sod, Thro' silence and the trembling stars
Comes Faith from tracts no feet have trod, And Virtue, like a household god
Promising empire; such as those
That once at dead of night did greet Troy's wandering prince, so that he rose With sacrifice, while all the fleet
Had rest by stony hills of Crete.
TO THE QUEEN
REVERED, beloved-O you that hold A nobler office upon earth
Than arms, or power of brain, or birth Could give the warrior kings of old,
Victoria, since your Royal grace To one of less desert allows
This laurel greener from the brows Of him that utter'd nothing base;
And should your greatness, and the care That yokes with empire, yield you time To make demand of modern rhyme If aught of ancient worth be there;
Then-while a sweeter music wakes, And thro' wild March the throstle calls, Where all about your palace-walls The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes-
Take, Madam, this poor book of song; For tho' the faults were thick as dust In vacant chambers, I could trust Your kindness. May you rule us long,
And leave us rulers of your blood
As noble till the latest day!
May children of our children say, "She wrought her people lasting good;
"Her court was pure; her life serene; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as Mother, Wife and Queen ;
"And statesmen at her council met
Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet
"By shaping some august decree,
Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the inviolate sea."
So all day long the noise of battle roll'd Among the mountains by the winter sea; Until King Arthur's table, man by man, Had fall'n in Lyonness about their Lord, King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep, The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, A broken chancel with a broken cross, That stood on a dark strait of barren land. On one side lay the Ocean, and on one Lay a great water, and the moon was full. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: "The sequel of to-day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep-the men I loved. I think that we Shall never more, at any future time,
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made,- Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more-but let what will be, be, I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword-and how I row'd across And took it, and have worn it, like a king: And, wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime, this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur, And fling him far into the middle mere:
Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word." To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
"It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm- A little thing may harm a wounded man. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word." So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men, Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down By zig-zag paths, and juts of pointed rock, Came on the shining levels of the lake.
There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : For all the haft twinkled with diamond studs, Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood, This way and that dividing the swift mind, In act to throw but at the last it seem'd Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd There in the many-knotted waterflags, That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. So strode he back slow to the wounded king.
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: "Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave ? What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard? And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,
And the wild water lapping on the crag.'
To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale: Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name, Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had follow'd, either hand, Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing I bad thee, watch, and lightly bring me word." Then went Sir Bedivere the second time Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere, Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought; But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, How curiously and strangely chased, he smote His palms together, and he cried aloud.
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