Lyra Heroica Part 37

Through the black fir-forest Thunder harsh and dry, Shattering down the snow-flakes Off the curdled sky.

Hark! The brave North-easter!

Breast-high lies the scent, On by holt and headland, Over heath and bent.

Chime, ye dappled darlings, Through the sleet and snow.

Who can over-ride you?

Let the horses go!

Chime, ye dappled darlings, Down the roaring blast; You shall see a fox die Ere an hour be past.

Go! and rest to-morrow, Hunting in your dreams, While our skates are ringing O'er the frozen streams.

Let the luscious South-wind Breathe in lovers' sighs, While the lazy gallants Bask in ladies' eyes.

What does he but soften Heart alike and pen?

'Tis the hard grey weather Breeds hard English men.

What's the soft South-wester?

'Tis the ladies' breeze, Bringing home their true-loves Out of all the seas: But the black North-easter, Through the snowstorm hurled, Drives our English hearts of oak Seaward round the world.

Come, as came our fathers, Heralded by thee, Conquering from the eastward, Lords by land and sea.

Come; and strong within us Stir the Vikings' blood; Bracing brain and sinew; Blow, thou wind of G.o.d!

_Kingsley._

CVI

THE BIRKENHEAD

Amid the loud ebriety of War, With shouts of 'la Republique' and 'la Gloire,'

The Vengeur's crew, 'twas said, with flying flag And broadside blazing level with the wave Went down erect, defiant, to their grave Beneath the sea.--'Twas but a Frenchman's brag, Yet Europe rang with it for many a year.

Now we recount no fable; Europe, hear!

And when they tell thee 'England is a fen Corrupt, a kingdom tottering to decay, Her nerveless burghers lying an easy prey For the first comer,' tell how the other day A crew of half a thousand Englishmen Went down into the deep in Simon's Bay!

Not with the cheer of battle in the throat, Or cannon-glare and din to stir their blood, But, roused from dreams of home to find their boat Fast sinking, mustered on the deck they stood, Biding G.o.d's pleasure and their chief's command.

Calm was the sea, but not less calm that band Close ranged upon the p.o.o.p, with bated breath But flinching not though eye to eye with Death! Heroes!

Who were those Heroes? Veterans steeled To face the King of Terrors mid the scaith Of many an hurricane and trenched field?

Far other: weavers from the stocking-frame; Boys from the plough; cornets with beardless chin, But steeped in honour and in discipline!

Weep, Britain, for the Cape whose ill-starred name, Long since divorced from Hope suggests but shame, Disaster, and thy Captains held at bay By naked hordes; but as thou weepest, thank Heaven for those undegenerate sons who sank Aboard the Birkenhead in Simon's Bay!

_Yule._

CVII

APOLLO

Through the black, rus.h.i.+ng smoke-bursts Thick breaks the red flame; All Etna heaves fiercely Her forest-clothed frame.

Not here, O Apollo!

Are haunts meet for thee.

But, where Helicon breaks down In cliff to the sea,

Where the moon-silvered inlets Send far their light voice Up the still vale of Thisbe, O speed, and rejoice!

On the sward at the cliff-top Lie strewn the white flocks.

On the cliff-side the pigeons Roost deep in the rocks.

In the moonlight the shepherds, Soft lulled by the rills, Lie wrapt in their blankets Asleep on the hills.

--What forms are these coming So white through the gloom?

What garments out-glistening The gold-flowered broom?

What sweet-breathing presence Out-perfumes the thyme?

What voices enrapture The night's balmy prime?--

'Tis Apollo comes leading His choir, the Nine.

--The leader is fairest, But all are divine.

They are lost in the hollows!

They stream up again!

What seeks on this mountain The glorified train?--

They bathe on this mountain, In the spring by the road; Then on to Olympus, Their endless abode.

--Whose praise do they mention?

Of what is it told?-- What will be for ever; What was from of old.

First hymn they the Father Of all things; and then, The rest of immortals, The action of men.

The day in his hotness, The strife with the palm; The night in her silence, The stars in their calm.

_Arnold._

CVIII

THE DEATH OF SOHRAB

THE DUEL

He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed Together, as two eagles on one prey Come rus.h.i.+ng down together from the clouds, One from the east, one from the west; their s.h.i.+elds Dashed with a clang together, and a din Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart at morn, Of hewing axes, cras.h.i.+ng trees--such blows Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.

And you would say that sun and stars took part In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darkened the sun Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair.

In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone; For both the on-looking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.

But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the s.h.i.+eld Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin, And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan.

Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm, Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest He sh.o.r.e away, and that proud horsehair plume, Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; And Rustum bowed his head; but then the gloom Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse, Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry;-- No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pained desert-lion, who all day Hath trailed the hunter's javelin in his side, And comes at night to die upon the sand.