Captain Sword and Captain Pen Part 1

Captain Sword and Captain Pen.

by Leigh Hunt.

I.

HOW CAPTAIN SWORD MARCHED TO WAR.

Captain Sword got up one day, Over the hills to march away, Over the hills and through the towns, They heard him coming across the downs, Stepping in music and thunder sweet, Which his drums sent before him into the street.

And lo! 'twas a beautiful sight in the sun; For first came his foot, all marching like one, With tranquil faces, and bristling steel, And the flag full of honour as though it could feel, And the officers gentle, the sword that hold 'Gainst the shoulder heavy with trembling gold, And the ma.s.sy tread, that in pa.s.sing is heard, Though the drums and the music say never a word.

And then came his horse, a cl.u.s.tering sound Of shapely potency, forward bound, Glossy black steeds, and riders tall, Rank after rank, each looking like all, Midst moving repose and a threatening charm, With mortal sharpness at each right arm, And hues that painters and ladies love, And ever the small flag blush'd above.

And ever and anon the kettle-drums beat Hasty power midst order meet; And ever and anon the drums and fifes Came like motion's voice, and life's; Or into the golden grandeurs fell Of deeper instruments, mingling well, Burdens of beauty for winds to bear; And the cymbals kiss'd in the s.h.i.+ning air, And the trumpets their visible voices rear'd, Each looking forth with its tapestried beard, Bidding the heavens and earth make way For Captain Sword and his battle-array.

He, nevertheless, rode indifferent-eyed, As if pomp were a toy to his manly pride, Whilst the ladies lov'd him the more for his scorn, And thought him the n.o.blest man ever was born, And tears came into the bravest eyes, And hearts swell'd after him double their size, And all that was weak, and all that was strong, Seem'd to think wrong's self in him could not be wrong; Such love, though with bosom about to be gored, Did sympathy get for brave Captain Sword.

So, half that night, as he stopp'd in the town, 'Twas all one dance, going merrily down, With lights in windows and love in eyes, And a constant feeling of sweet surprise; But all the next morning 'twas tears and sighs; For the sound of his drums grew less and less, Walking like carelessness off from distress; And Captain Sword went whistling gay, "Over the hills and far away."

II.

HOW CAPTAIN SWORD WON A GREAT VICTORY.

Through fair and through foul went Captain Sword, Pacer of highway and piercer of ford, Steady of face in rain or sun, He and his merry men, all as one; Till they came to a place, where in battle-array Stood thousands of faces, firm as they, Waiting to see which could best maintain b.l.o.o.d.y argument, lords of pain; And down the throats of their fellow-men Thrust the draught never drunk again.

It was a spot of rural peace, Ripening with the year's increase And singing in the sun with birds, Like a maiden with happy words-- With happy words which she scarcely hears In her own contented ears, Such abundance feeleth she Of all comfort carelessly, Throwing round her, as she goes, Sweet half-thoughts on lily and rose, Nor guesseth what will soon arouse All ears--that murder's in the house; And that, in some strange wrong of brain, Her father hath her mother slain.

Steady! steady! The ma.s.ses of men Wheel, and fall in, and wheel again, Softly as circles drawn with pen.

Then a gaze there was, and valour, and fear, And the jest that died in the jester's ear, And preparation, n.o.ble to see, Of all-accepting mortality; Tranquil Necessity gracing Force; And the trumpets danc'd with the stirring horse; And lordly voices, here and there, Call'd to war through the gentle air; When suddenly, with its voice of doom, Spoke the cannon 'twixt glare and gloom, Making wider the dreadful room: On the faces of nations round Fell the shadow of that sound.

Death for death! The storm begins; Rush the drums in a torrent of dins; Crash the muskets, gash the swords; Shoes grow red in a thousand fords; Now for the flint, and the cartridge bite; Darkly gathers the breath of the fight, Salt to the palate and stinging to sight; Muskets are pointed they scarce know where, No matter: Murder is cluttering there.

Reel the hollows: close up! close up!

Death feeds thick, and his food is his cup.

Down go bodies, snap burst eyes; Trod on the ground are tender cries; Brains are dash'd against plas.h.i.+ng ears; Hah! no time has battle for tears; Cursing helps better--cursing, that goes Slipping through friends' blood, athirst for foes'.

What have soldiers with tears to do?-- We, who this mad-house must now go through, This twenty-fold Bedlam, let loose with knives-- To murder, and stab, and grow liquid with lives-- Gasping, staring, treading red mud, Till the drunkenness' self makes us steady of blood?

[Ill.u.s.tration:

DOWN GO BODIES--SNAP BURST EYES-- TROD ON THE GROUND ARE TENDER CRIES.

_Canto_ II. _p. 8._]

[Oh! shrink not thou, reader! Thy part's in it too; Has not thy praise made the thing they go through Shocking to read of, but n.o.ble to do?]

No time to be "breather of thoughtful breath"

Has the giver and taker of dreadful death.

See where comes the horse-tempest again, Visible earthquake, b.l.o.o.d.y of mane!

Part are upon us, with edges of pain; Part burst, riderless, over the plain, Cras.h.i.+ng their spurs, and twice slaying the slain.

See, by the living G.o.d! see those foot Charging down hill--hot, hurried, and mute!

They loll their tongues out! Ah-hah! pell-mell!

Horses roll in a human h.e.l.l; Horse and man they climb one another-- Which is the beast, and which is the brother?

Mangling, stifling, stopping shrieks With the tread of torn-out cheeks, Drinking each other's b.l.o.o.d.y breath-- Here's the fleshliest feast of Death.

An odour, as of a slaughter-house, The distant raven's dark eye bows.

Victory! victory! Man flies man; Cannibal patience hath done what it can-- Carv'd, and been carv'd, drunk the drinkers down, And now there is one that hath won the crown: One pale visage stands lord of the board-- Joy to the trumpets of Captain Sword!

His trumpets blow strength, his trumpets neigh, They and his horse, and waft him away; They and his foot, with a tir'd proud flow, Tatter'd escapers and givers of woe.

Open, ye cities! Hats off! hold breath!

To see the man who has been with Death; To see the man who determineth right By the virtue-perplexing virtue of might.

Sudden before him have ceas'd the drums, And lo! in the air of empire he comes!

All things present, in earth and sky, Seem to look at his looking eye.

III.

OF THE BALL THAT WAS GIVEN TO CAPTAIN SWORD.

But Captain Sword was a man among men, And he hath become their playmate again: Boot, nor sword, nor stern look hath he, But holdeth the hand of a fair ladye, And floweth the dance a palace within, Half the night, to a golden din, Midst lights in windows and love in eyes, And a constant feeling of sweet surprise; And ever the look of Captain Sword Is the look that's thank'd, and the look that's ador'd.

There was the country-dance, small of taste; And the waltz, that loveth the lady's waist; And the galopade, strange agreeable tramp, Made of a sc.r.a.pe, a hobble, and stamp; And the high-stepping minuet, face to face, Mutual wors.h.i.+p of conscious grace; And all the shapes in which beauty goes Weaving motion with blithe repose.

And then a table a feast displayed, Like a garden of light without a shade, All of gold, and flowers, and sweets, With wines of old church-lands, and sylvan meats, Food that maketh the blood feel choice; Yet all the face of the feast, and the voice, And heart, still turn'd to the head of the board; For ever the look of Captain Sword Is the look that's thank'd, and the look that's ador'd.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

THERE WAS THE COUNTRY DANCE, SMALL OF TASTE; AND THE WALTZ, THAT LOVETH THE LADY'S WAIST.

_Canto_ III. _p._ 14.]

Well content was Captain Sword; At his feet all wealth was pour'd; On his head all glory set; For his ease all comfort met; And around him seem'd entwin'd All the arms of womankind.

And when he had taken his fill Thus, of all that pampereth will, In his down he sunk to rest, Clasp'd in dreams of all its best.

IV.

ON WHAT TOOK PLACE ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE THE NIGHT AFTER THE VICTORY.