Poems by George Meredith - BestLightNovel.com
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XII
Uprose the day of crimson sight, The day without a G.o.d.
At morn the hero said Good-night: See there that stain on sod!
XIII
At morn the Countess Louis heard Young light sing in the lark.
Ere eve it was that other bird, Which brings the starless dark.
XIV
To heaven she vowed herself, and yearned Beside her lord to lie.
Archd.u.c.h.ess Anne on Kraken turned, All white as a dead eye.
XV
If I could kill thee! shrieked her look: If lightning sprang from Will!
An oaken head old Kraken shook, And she might thank or kill.
XVI
The pride that fenced her heart in mail By mortal pain was torn.
Forth from her bosom leaped a wail, As of a babe new-born.
XVII
She clad herself in courtly use, And one who heard them prate Had said they differed upon views Where statecraft raised debate.
XVIII
The wretch detested must she trust, The servant master own: Confide to G.o.dless cause so just, And for G.o.d's blessing moan.
XIX
Austerely she her heart kept down, Her woman's tongue was mute When voice of People, voice of Crown, In cannon held dispute.
XX
The Crown on seas of blood, like swine, Swam forefoot at the throat: It drank of its dear veins for wine, Enough if it might float!
XXI
It sank with piteous yelp, resurged Electrical with fear.
O had she on old Kraken urged Her word of mercy clear!
XXII
O had they with Count Louis been Accordant in his plea!
Cursed are the women vowed to screen A heart that all can see!
XXIII
The G.o.dless drove unto a goal Was worse than vile defeat.
Did vengeance p.r.i.c.k Count Louis' soul They dressed him luscious meat.
XXIV
Worms will the faithless find their lies In the close treasure-chest.
Without a G.o.d no day can rise, Though it should slay our best.
XXV
The Crown it furled a draggled flag, It sheathed a broken blade.
Behold its triumph in the hag That lives with looks decayed!
XXVI
And lo, the man of oaken head, Of soldier's honour bare, He fled his land, but most he fled His Lady's frigid stare.
XXVII
Judged by the issue we discern G.o.d's blessing, and the bane.
Count Louis' dust would fill an urn, His deeds are waving grain.
XXVIII
And she that helped to slay, yet bade To spare the fated man, Great were her errors, but she had Great heart, Archd.u.c.h.ess Anne.
THE SONG OF THEODOLINDA
I
Queen Theodolind has built In the earth a furnace-bed: There the Traitor Nail that spilt Blood of the anointed Head, Red of heat, resolves in shame: White of heat, awakes to flame.
Beat, beat! white of heat, Red of heat, beat, beat!
II
Mark the skeleton of fire Lightening from its thunder-roof: So comes this that saw expire Him we love, for our behoof!
Red of heat, O white of heat, This from off the Cross we greet.
III
Brown-cowled hammermen around Nerve their naked arms to strike Death with Resurrection crowned, Each upon that cruel spike.
Red of heat the furnace leaps, White of heat transfigured sleeps.
