SOHRAB AND RUSTUM And I shall never end this life of blood." Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied:"A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful Man! But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now; Not yet but thou shalt have it on that day, When thou shalt sail in a high-masted Ship, Thou and the other peers of Kai-Khosroo, Returning home over the salt blue sea, From laying thy dear Master in his grave." 830 And Rustum gazed on Sohrab's face, and said: - "Soon be that day, my Son, and deep that sea! Till then, if Fate so wills, let me endure." He spoke; and Sohrab smil'd on him, and took The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased His wound's imperious anguish: but the blood Came welling from the open gash, and life Flow'd with the stream; all down his cold white side 840 The crimson torrent pour'd, dim now and soil'd Convuls'd him back to life, he open'd them, Unwillingly the spirit fled away, 850 And night came down over the solemn waste, And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, And darken'd all; and a cold fog, with night, Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose, As of a great assembly loosed, and fires Began to twinkle through the fog: for now Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal: The Persians took it on the open sands Southward; the Tartars by the river marge: And Rustum and his son were left alone. But the majestic River floated on, Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight, and there mov'd, 870 517 Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian waste, Right for the Polar Star, past Orgunjè, stars Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. PHILOMELA Hark! ah, the Nightingale! The tawny-throated! Hark! from that moonlit cedar what a burst! O Wanderer from a Grecian shore, The too clear web, and thy dumb Sister's shame? Thy flight, and feel come over thee, How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves! But once, years after, in the country lanes, His mates, had arts to rule as they desir'd And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: "And I," he said, "the secret of their art, When fully learn'd, will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill." This said, he left them, and return'd no more, 51 But rumours hung about the country side That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray, Seen by rare glimpses pensive and tongue-tied, In hat of antique shape, and cloak of grey. The same the Gipsies wore. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring: At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire COVENTRY PATMORE Her graces make him rich, and ask No guerdon; this imperial style Affronts him; he disdains to bask, The pensioner of her priceless smile. He prays for some hard thing to do, Some work of fame and labour immense, To stretch the languid bulk and thew Of love's fresh-born magnipotence. No smallest boon were bought too dear, Though bartered for his love-sick life; Yet trusts he, with undaunted cheer, To vanquish heaven, and call her Wife. He notes how queens of sweetness still Neglect their crowns, and stoop to mate; How, self-consign'd with lavish will, They ask but love proportionate; How swift pursuit by small degrees, Love's tactic, works like miracle; How valour, clothed in courtesies, Brings down the loftiest citadel; And therefore, though he merits not To kiss the braid upon her skirt, His hope discouraged ne'er a jot, Out-soars all possible desert. BOOK I, CANTO VIII. PRELUDES What's that, which, ere I spake, was gone: Did see, could not be now more clear. And nothing transient be desired; II. THE REVELATION An idle poet, here and there, Is duller than a witling's jest. 521 20 25 30 35 40 5 ΙΟ 15 5 |