Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

ROBERT BROWNING

THERE is delight in singing, though none hear
Beside the singer; and there is delight
In praising, though the praiser sit alone
And see the prais'd far off him, far above.
Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's;
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,
No man hath walk'd along our roads with step
So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue

So varied in discourse. But warmer climes
Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze
Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on
Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where

The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

5

10

THE SEA

THE sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,

It runneth the earth's wide regions round;
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!

I am where I would ever be;

With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;

If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

10

I love, O, how I love to ride

On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the sou'west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more,
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was, and is, to me;
For I was born on the open sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise roll'd,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcom'd to life the ocean-child!

15

20

25

30

I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers, a sailor's life,

With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea!

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER.

35

THE BATTLE OF NASEBY

BY OBADIAH BIND-THEIR-KINGS-IN

CHAINS-AND-THEIR-NOBLES-WITH

LINKS-OF-IRON, SERGEANT IN
IRETON'S REGIMENT.

OH! wherefore come ye forth in triumph from the north,

With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all

red?

And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous

shout?

And whence be the grapes of the wine-press that ye tread ?

Oh! evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,

And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod; For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong,

Who sate in the high places and slew the saints of God.

It was about the noon of a glorious day of June,
That we saw their banners dance and their cuirasses

shine,

And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair,

And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the
Rhine.

Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword,
The general rode along us to form us for the fight;
When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell'd into a
shout

Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right.

5

ΤΟ

15

And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore,

The cry of battle rises along their charging line:

For God! for the Cause! for the Church! for the Laws! For Charles, King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine! 20

The furious German comes, with his clarions and his

drums,

His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of Whitehall;

They are bursting on our flanks! Grasp your pikes!
Close your ranks!

For Rupert never comes, but to conquer, or to fall.

They are here

- they rush on

we are broken we

are gone

25

Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast.
O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the

right!

Stand back to back, in God's name! and fight it to the last!

Stout Skippon hath a wound the centre hath given

ground.

Hark! hark! what means the trampling of horsemen

on our rear?

Whose banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he! thank God! 't is he, boys!

Bear up

another minute! Brave Oliver is here.

Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row,
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the

dikes,

30

Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst, 35 And at a shock have scatter'd the forest of his pikes.

Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide, Their coward heads, predestin'd to rot on Temple Bar; And he he turns! he flies! shame on those cruel eyes That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war! 40

Ho, comrades! scour the plain; and ere you strip the

slain,

First give another stab to make your search secure;
Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces

and lockets,

The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor.

Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold,

When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day; And to-morrow shall the fox from her chamber in the rocks

Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey.

Where be your tongues, that late mock'd at heaven and hell and fate?

And the fingers that were once so busy with your blades?

Your perfum'd satin clothes, your catches and your

oaths?

Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades?

Down, down, for ever down with the mitre and the

crown,

With the Belial of the court, and the Mammon of the

Pope !

45

50

« AnteriorContinuar »