Collected Poems 1897 - 1907, by Henry Newbolt Part 11

The Last Word

Before the April night was late A rider came to the castle gate; A rider breathing human breath, But the words he spoke were the words of Death.

"Greet you well from the King our lord, He marches hot for the eastward ford; Living or dying, all or one, Ye must keep the ford till the race be run.

Sir Alain rose with lips that smiled, He kissed his wife, he kissed his child: Before the April night was late Sir Alain rode from the castle gate.

He called his men-at-arms by name, But one there was uncalled that came: He bade his troop behind him ride, But there was one that rode beside.

"Why will you spur so fast to die?

Be wiser ere the night go by.

A message late is a message lost; For all your haste the foe had crossed.

"Are men such small unmeaning things To strew the board of smiling Kings?

With life and death they play their game, And life or death, the end's the same."

Softly the April air above Rustled the woodland homes of love: Softly the April air below Carried the dream of buds that blow.

"Is he that bears a warrior's fame To shun the pointless stroke of shame?

Will he that propped a trembling throne Not stand for right when right's his own?

"Your oath on the four gospels sworn?

What oath can bind resolves unborn?

You lose that far eternal life?

Is it yours to lose? Is it child and wife?

But now beyond the pathway's bend, Sir Alain saw the forest end, And winding wide beneath the hill, The gla.s.sy river lone and still.

And now he saw with lifted eyes The East like a great chancel rise, And deep through all his senses drawn, Received the sacred wine of dawn.

He set his face to the stream below, He drew his axe from the saddle bow: "Farewell, Messire, the night is sped; There lies the ford, when all is said"

The Viking's Song

When I thy lover first Shook out my canvas free And like a pirate burst Into that dreaming sea, The land knew no such thirst As then tormented me.

Now when at eve returned I near that sh.o.r.e divine, Where once but watch-fires burned I see thy beacon s.h.i.+ne, And know the land hath learned Desire that welcomes mine.

The Sufi In The City

I.

When late I watched the arrows of the sleet Against the windows of the Tavern beat, I heard a Rose that murmured from her Pot: "Why trudge thy fellows yonder in the Street?

II.

"Before the phantom of False Morning dies, Choked in the bitter Net that binds the skies, Their feet, bemired with Yesterday, set out For the dark alleys where To-morrow lies.

III.

"Think you, when all their petals they have bruised, And all the fragrances of Life confused, That Night with sweeter rest will comfort these Than us, who still within the Garden mused?

IV.

"Think you the Gold they fight for all day long Is worth the frugal Peace their clamours wrong?

Their t.i.tles, and the Name they toil to build--- Will they outlast the echoes of our Song?"

V.

O Sons of Omar, what shall be the close Seek not to know, for no man living knows: But while within your hands the Wine is set Drink ye--to Omar and the Dreaming Rose!

Yattendon

Among the woods and tillage That fringe the topmost downs, All lonely lies the village, Far off from seas and towns.

Yet when her own folk slumbered I heard within her street Murmur of men unnumbered And march of myriad feet.

For all she lies so lonely, Far off from towns and seas, The village holds not only The roofs beneath her trees: While Life is sweet and tragic And Death is veiled and dumb, Hither, by singer's magic, The pilgrim world must come.

Among The Tombs

She is a lady fair and wise, Her heart her counsel keeps, And well she knows of time that flies And tide that onward sweeps; But still she sits with restless eyes Where Memory sleeps--- Where Memory sleeps.

Ye that have heard the whispering dead In every wind that creeps, Or felt the stir that strains the lead Beneath the mounded heaps, Tread softly, ah! more softly tread Where Memory sleeps--- Where Memory sleeps.