Graded Poetry: Seventh Year Part 5

But for his stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town!"

"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena; "and bring him safe to sh.o.r.e; For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before."

And now he feels the bottom;--now on dry earth he stands; Now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands.

And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, He enters through the river gate, borne by the joyous crowd.

SEVENTH YEAR--SECOND HALF

ALFRED TENNYSON ENGLAND, 1809-1892

EARLY SPRING

Once more the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And domes the red-plow'd hills With loving blue; The blackbirds have their wills, The throstles too.

Opens a door in Heaven; From skies of gla.s.s A Jacob's ladder falls On greening gra.s.s, And o'er the mountain-walls Young angels pa.s.s.

Before them fleets the shower, And bursts the buds, And s.h.i.+ne the level lands, And flash the floods; The stars are from their hands Flung thro' the woods.

The woods with living airs How softly fann'd, Light airs from where the deep, All down the sand, Is breathing in his sleep, Heard by the land.

O follow, leaping blood, The season's lure!

O heart, look down and up Serene, secure.

Warm as the crocus cup, Like snowdrops, pure!

Past, Future, glimpse and fade Thro' some slight spell, A gleam from yonder vale, Some far blue fell, And sympathies, how frail, In sound and smell.

Till at thy chuckled note, Thou twinkling bird, The fairy fancies range, And, lightly stirr'd, Ring little bells of change From word to word.

For now the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And thaws the cold, and fills The flower with dew; The blackbirds have their wills, The poets too.

SIR GALAHAD

My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.

The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The hard brands s.h.i.+ver on the steel, The splintered spear shafts crack and fly, The horse and rider reel; They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands.

How sweet are looks that ladies bend On whom their favors fall!

For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall; But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine.

More bounteous aspects on me beam, Me mightier transports move and thrill; So keep I fair through faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and will.

When down the stormy crescent goes, A light before me swims, Between dark stems the forest glows, I hear a noise of hymns: Then by some secret shrine I ride; I hear a voice, but none are there; The stalls are void, the doors are wide, The tapers burning fair.

Fair gleams the snowy altar cloth, The silver vessels sparkle clean, The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chants resound between.

Sometimes on lonely mountain meres I find a magic bark; I leap on board: no helmsman steers: I float till all is dark.

A gentle sound, an awful light!

Three angels bear the Holy Grail; With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail.

Ah, blessed vision! blood of G.o.d!

My spirit beats her mortal bars, As down dark tides the glory slides, And starlike mingles with the stars.

When on my goodly charger borne Through dreaming towns I go, The c.o.c.k crows ere the Christmas morn, The streets are dumb with snow.

The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail.

I leave the plain, I climb the height; No branchy thicket shelter yields; But blessed forms in whistling storms Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.

A maiden knight--to me is given Such hope, I know not fear; I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease, Pure s.p.a.ces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odors haunt my dreams, And, stricken by an angel's hand, This mortal armor that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touched, are turned to finest air.

The clouds are broken in the sky, And through the mountain walls A rolling organ-harmony Swells up, and shakes and falls.

Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear: "O just and faithful knight of G.o.d!

Ride on! the prize is near."

So pa.s.s I hostel, hall, and grange; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All armed I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the Holy Grail.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!" he said; Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismayed?

Not though the soldier knew Some one had blundered; Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die: Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and sh.e.l.l, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of death, Into the mouth of h.e.l.l Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabers bare, Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered.

Plunged in the battery smoke, Right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reeled from the saber-stroke-- Shattered and sundered.

Then they rode back, but not-- Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and sh.e.l.l, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of death, Back from the mouth of h.e.l.l, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

Oh, the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made, Honor the Light Brigade, n.o.ble six hundred!

RING OUT, WILD BELLS

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light; The year is dying in the night: Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow; The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.