Poems & Ballads Volume III Part 1

Poems and Ballads.

Third Series.

by Algernon Charles Swinburne.

MARCH: AN ODE

1887

I

Ere frost-flower and snow-blossom faded and fell, and the splendour of winter had pa.s.sed out of sight, The ways of the woodlands were fairer and stranger than dreams that fulfil us in sleep with delight; The breath of the mouths of the winds had hardened on tree-tops and branches that glittered and swayed Such wonders and glories of blossomlike snow or of frost that outlightens all flowers till it fade That the sea was not lovelier than here was the land, nor the night than the day, nor the day than the night, Nor the winter sublimer with storm than the spring: such mirth had the madness and might in thee made, March, master of winds, bright minstrel and marshal of storms that enkindle the season they smite.

II

And now that the rage of thy rapture is satiate with revel and ravin and spoil of the snow, And the branches it brightened are broken, and shattered the tree-tops that only thy wrath could lay low, How should not thy lovers rejoice in thee, leader and lord of the year that exults to be born So strong in thy strength and so glad of thy gladness whose laughter puts winter and sorrow to scorn?

Thou hast shaken the snows from thy wings, and the frost on thy forehead is molten: thy lips are aglow As a lover's that kindle with kissing, and earth, with her raiment and tresses yet wasted and torn, Takes breath as she smiles in the grasp of thy pa.s.sion to feel through her spirit the sense of thee flow.

III

Fain, fain would we see but again for an hour what the wind and the sun have dispelled and consumed, Those full deep swan-soft feathers of snow with whose luminous burden the branches implumed Hung heavily, curved as a half-bent bow, and fledged not as birds are, but petalled as flowers, Each tree-top and branchlet a pinnacle jewelled and carved, or a fountain that s.h.i.+nes as it showers, But fixed as a fountain is fixed not, and wrought not to last till by time or by tempest entombed, As a pinnacle carven and gilded of men: for the date of its doom is no more than an hour's, One hour of the sun's when the warm wind wakes him to wither the snow-flowers that froze as they bloomed.

IV

As the suns.h.i.+ne quenches the snows.h.i.+ne; as April subdues thee, and yields up his kingdom to May; So time overcomes the regret that is born of delight as it pa.s.ses in pa.s.sion away, And leaves but a dream for desire to rejoice in or mourn for with tears or thanksgivings; but thou, Bright G.o.d that art gone from us, maddest and gladdest of months, to what goal hast thou gone from us now?

For somewhere surely the storm of thy laughter that lightens, the beat of thy wings that play, Must flame as a fire through the world, and the heavens that we know not rejoice in thee: surely thy brow Hath lost not its radiance of empire, thy spirit the joy that impelled it on quest as for prey.

V

Are thy feet on the ways of the limitless waters, thy wings on the winds of the waste north sea?

Are the fires of the false north dawn over heavens where summer is stormful and strong like thee Now bright in the sight of thine eyes? are the bastions of icebergs a.s.sailed by the blast of thy breath?

Is it March with the wild north world when April is waning? the word that the changed year saith, Is it echoed to northward with rapture of pa.s.sion reiterate from spirits triumphant as we Whose hearts were uplift at the blast of thy clarions as men's rearisen from a sleep that was death And kindled to life that was one with the world's and with thine?

hast thou set not the whole world free?

VI

For the breath of thy lips is freedom, and freedom's the sense of thy spirit, the sound of thy song, Glad G.o.d of the north-east wind, whose heart is as high as the hands of thy kingdom are strong, Thy kingdom whose empire is terror and joy, twin-featured and fruitful of births divine, Days lit with the flame of the lamps of the flowers, and nights that are drunken with dew for wine, And sleep not for joy of the stars that deepen and quicken, a denser and fierier throng, And the world that thy breath bade whiten and tremble rejoices at heart as they strengthen and s.h.i.+ne, And earth gives thanks for the glory bequeathed her, and knows of thy reign that it wrought not wrong.

VII

Thy spirit is quenched not, albeit we behold not thy face in the crown of the steep sky's arch, And the bold first buds of the whin wax golden, and witness arise of the thorn and the larch: Wild April, enkindled to laughter and storm by the kiss of the wildest of winds that blow, Calls loud on his brother for witness; his hands that were laden with blossom are sprinkled with snow, And his lips breathe winter, and laugh, and relent; and the live woods feel not the frost's flame parch; For the flame of the spring that consumes not but quickens is felt at the heart of the forest aglow, And the sparks that enkindled and fed it were strewn from the hands of the G.o.ds of the winds of March.

THE COMMONWEAL

1887

I

Eight hundred years and twenty-one Have shone and sunken since the land Whose name is freedom bore such brand As marks a captive, and the sun Beheld her fettered hand.

II

But ere dark time had shed as rain Or sown on sterile earth as seed That bears no fruit save tare and weed An age and half an age again, She rose on Runnymede.

III

Out of the shadow, starlike still, She rose up radiant in her right, And spake, and put to fear and flight The lawless rule of awless will That pleads no right save might.

IV

Nor since hath England ever borne The burden laid on subject lands, The rule that curbs and binds all hands Save one, and marks for servile scorn The heads it bows and brands.

V

A commonweal arrayed and crowned With gold and purple, girt with steel At need, that foes must fear or feel, We find her, as our fathers found, Earth's lordliest commonweal.

VI

And now that fifty years are flown Since in a maiden's hand the sign Of empire that no seas confine First as a star to seaward shone, We see their record s.h.i.+ne.

VII

A troubled record, foul and fair, A simple record and serene, Inscribes for praise a blameless queen, For praise and blame an age of care And change and ends unseen.

VIII

Hope, wide of eye and wild of wing, Rose with the sundawn of a reign Whose grace should make the rough ways plain, And fill the worn old world with spring, And heal its heart of pain.

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