Lyra Heroica: A Book of Verse for Boys
Chapter 1
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Daniel Emerson Griffith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
LYRA HEROICA
A BOOK OF VERSE FOR BOYS SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! To all the sensual world proclaim One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.
_Sir Walter Scott._
NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1920
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
*** The selections from Walt Whitman are published by permission of Mr. Whitman; and those from Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier, and Bret Harte, through the courtesy of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., the publishers of their works.
TO WALTER BLAIKIE
ARTIST-PRINTER
MY PART IN THIS BOOK
W. E. H.
Edinburgh, July 1891.
PREFACE
This book of verse for boys is, I believe, the first of its kind in English. Plainly, it were labour lost to go gleaning where so many experts have gone harvesting; and for what is rarest and best in English Poetry the world must turn, as heretofore, to the several 'Golden Treasuries' of Professor Palgrave and Mr. Coventry Patmore, and to the excellent 'Poets' Walk' of Mr. Mowbray Morris. My purpose has been to choose and sheave a certain number of those achievements in verse which, as expressing the simpler sentiments and the more elemental emotions, might fitly be addressed to such boys--and men, for that matter--as are privileged to use our noble English tongue.
To set forth, as only art can, the beauty and the joy of living, the beauty and the blessedness of death, the glory of battle and adventure, the nobility of devotion--to a cause, an ideal, a passion even--the dignity of resistance, the sacred quality of patriotism, that is my ambition here. Now, to read poetry at all is to have an ideal anthology of one's own, and in that possession to be incapable of content with the anthologies of all the world besides. That is, the personal equation is ever to be reckoned withal, and I have had my preferences, as those that went before me had theirs. I have omitted much, as Aytoun's 'Lays,' whose absence many will resent; I have included much, as that brilliant piece of doggerel of Frederick Marryat's, whose presence some will regard with distress. This without reference to enforcements due to the very nature of my work.
I have adopted the birth-day order: for that is the simplest. And I have begun with--not Chaucer, nor Spenser, nor the ballads, but--Shakespeare and Agincourt; for it seemed to me that a book of heroism could have no better starting-point than that heroic pair of names. As for the ballads, I have placed them, after much considering, in the gap between old and new, between classic and romantic, in English verse. The witness of Sidney and Drayton's example notwithstanding, it is not until 1765, when Percy publishes the 'Reliques,' that the ballad spirit begins to be the master influence that Wordsworth confessed it was; while as for the history of the matter, there are who hold that 'Sir Patrick Spens,' for example, is the work of Lady Wardlaw, which to others, myself among them, is a thing preposterous and distraught.
It remains to add that, addressing myself to boys, I have not scrupled to edit my authors where editing seemed desirable, and that I have broken up some of the longer pieces for convenience in reading. Also, the help I have received while this book of 'Noble Numbers' was in course of growth--help in the way of counsel, suggestion, remonstrance, permission to use--has been such that it taxes gratitude and makes complete acknowledgment impossible.
W. E. H.
CONTENTS
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616) and MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563-1631). PAGE I. AGINCOURT Introit 1 Interlude 2 Harfleur 3 The Eve 4 The Battle 6 After 10
SIR HENRY WOTTON (1568-1639).
II. LORD OF HIMSELF 11
BEN JONSON (1574-1637).
III. TRUE BALM 12
IV. HONOUR IN BUD 13
JOHN FLETCHER (1576-1625).
V. THE JOY OF BATTLE 13
FRANCIS BEAUMONT (1586-1616).
VI. IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 15
ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674).
VII. GOING A-MAYING 15
VIII. TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING 18
GEORGE HERBERT (1593-1638).
IX. MEMENTO MORI 19
JAMES SHIRLEY (1594-1666).
X. THE KING OF KINGS 20
JOHN MILTON (1608-1674).
XI. LYCIDAS 21
XII. ARMS AND THE MUSE 27
XIII. TO THE LORD GENERAL 28
XIV. THE LATE MASSACRE 28
XV. ON HIS BLINDNESS 29
XVI. EYELESS AT GAZA 30
XVII. OUT OF ADVERSITY 31
JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE (1612-1650).
XVIII. HEROIC LOVE 31
RICHARD LOVELACE (1618-1658).
XIX. GOING TO THE WARS 32
XX. FROM PRISON 33
ANDREW MARVELL (1620-1678).
XXI. TWO KINGS 34
XXII. IN EXILE 39
JOHN DRYDEN (1631-1701).
XXIII. ALEXANDER'S FEAST 40
SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784).
XXIV. THE QUIET LIFE 45
BALLADS
XXV. CHEVY CHASE The Hunting 47 The Challenge 49 The Battle 51 The Slain 54 The Tidings 56
XXVI. SIR PATRICK SPENS 57
XXVII. BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY 60
XXVIII. HUGHIE THE GR∆ME 64
XXIX. KINMONT WILLIE The Capture 66 The Keeper's Wrath 67 The March 69 The Rescue 71
XXX. THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL 73
XXXI. HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL 77
XXXII. THE TWA CORBIES 79
THOMAS GRAY (1716-1771).
XXXIII. THE BARD 80
WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800).
XXXIV. THE ROYAL GEORGE 85
XXXV. BOADICEA 86
GRAHAM OF GARTMORE (1735-1797).
XXXVI. TO HIS LADY 88
CHARLES DIBDIN (1745-1814).
XXXVII. CONSTANCY 89
XXXVIII. THE PERFECT SAILOR 90
JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN (1750-1817).
XXXIX. THE DESERTER 91
PRINCE HOARE (1755-1834).
XL. THE ARETHUSA 92
WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1823).
XLI. THE BEAUTY OF TERROR 94
ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796).
XLII. DEFIANCE 95
XLIII. THE GOAL OF LIFE 96
XLIV. BEFORE PARTING 97
XLV. DEVOTION 98
XLVI. TRUE UNTIL DEATH 99
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770-1850).
XLVII. VENICE 100
XLVIII. DESTINY 101
XLIX. THE MOTHER LAND 101
L. IDEAL 102
LI. TO DUTY 103
LII. TWO VICTORIES 105
SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832).
LIII. IN MEMORIAM 107
LIV. LOCHINVAR 112
LV. FLODDEN The March 114 The Attack 116 The Last Stand 119
LVI. THE CHASE 121
LVII. THE OUTLAW 126
LVIII. PIBROCH 129
LIX. THE OMNIPOTENT 130
LX. THE RED HARLAW 131
LXI. FAREWELL 133
LXII. BONNY DUNDEE 134
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772-1834).
LXIII. ROMANCE 136
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR (1775-1864).
LXIV. SACRIFICE 138
THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777-1844).
LXV. SOLDIER AND SAILOR 140
LXVI. 'YE MARINERS' 143
LXVII. THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 144
EBENEZER ELLIOTT (1781-1846).
LXVIII. BATTLE SONG 146
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785-1842).
LXIX. LOYALTY 147
LXX. A SEA-SONG 148
BRYANT WALLER PROCTOR (1787-1874).
LXXI. A SONG OF THE SEA 149
GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON (1788-1824).
LXXII. SENNACHERIB 150
LXXIII. THE STORMING OF CORINTH The Signal 151 The Assault 153 The Magazine 156
LXXIV. ALHAMA 160
LXXV. FRIENDSHIP 164
LXXVI. THE RACE WITH DEATH 165
LXXVII. THE GLORY THAT WAS GREECE 167
LXXVIII. HAIL AND FAREWELL 171
CHARLES WOLFE (1791-1823).
LXXIX. AFTER CORUNNA 172
FREDERICK MARRYAT (1792-1848).
LXXX. THE OLD NAVY 174
FELICIA HEMANS (1793-1825).
LXXXI. CASABIANCA 175
LXXXII. THE PILGRIM FATHERS 177
JOHN KEATS (1796-1821).
LXXXIII. TO THE ADVENTUROUS 179
THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY (1800-1859).
LXXXIV. HORATIUS The Trysting 179 The Trouble in Rome 183 The Keeping of the Bridge 189 Father Tiber 196
LXXXV. THE ARMADA 200
LXXXVI. THE LAST BUCCANEER 205
LXXXVII. A JACOBITE'S EPITAPH 206
ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER (1803-1875).
LXXXVIII. THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN 207
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (1807-1882).
LXXXIX. THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP The Model 208 The Builders 210 In the Ship-Yard 214 The Two Bridals 217
XC. THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 223
XCI. THE CUMBERLAND 227
XCII. A DUTCH PICTURE 228
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (b. 1807).
XCIII. BARBARA FRIETCHIE 230
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON (b. 1809).
XCIV. A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 232
XCV. THE HEAVY BRIGADE 239
SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE (1810-1888).
XCVI. THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS 242
XCVII. THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR 244
ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1890).
XCVIII. HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA 248
XCIX. HERV… RIEL 248
WALT WHITMAN (b. 1819).
C. THE DYING FIREMAN 254
CI. A SEA-FIGHT 255
CII. BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! 257
CIII. TWO VETERANS 258
CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819-1875).
CIV. THE PLEASANT ISLE OF AV»S 260
CV. A WELCOME 262
SIR HENRY YULE (1820-1889).
CVI. THE BIRKENHEAD 264
MATTHEW ARNOLD (1822-1888).
CVII. APOLLO 265
CVIII. THE DEATH OF SOHRAB The Duel 267 Sohrab 269 The Recognition 272 Ruksh the Horse 275 Rustum 277 Night 280
CIX. FLEE FRO' THE PRESS 282
WILLIAM CORY (b. 1823).
CX. SCHOOL FENCIBLES 284
CXI. THE TWO CAPTAINS 285
GEORGE MEREDITH (b. 1828).
CXII. THE HEAD OF BRAN 290
WILLIAM MORRIS (b. 1834).
CXIII. THE SLAYING OF THE NIBLUNGS Hogni 293 Gunnar 297 Gudrun 301 The Sons of Giuki 304
ALFRED AUSTIN (b. 1835).
CXIV. IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 308
SIR ALFRED LYALL (b. 1835).
CXV. THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS 311
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE (b. 1837).
CXVI. THE OBLATION 316
CXVII. ENGLAND 317
CXVIII. THE JACOBITE IN EXILE 319
BRET HARTE (b. 1839).
CXIX. THE REVEILL… 322
CXX. WHAT THE BULLET SANG 323
AUSTIN DOBSON (b. 1840).
CXXI. A BALLAD OF THE ARMADA 324
ANDREW LANG (b. 1844).
CXXII. THE WHITE PACHA 325
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON (b. 1850).
CXXIII. MOTHER AND SON 326
HENRY CHARLES BEECHING (b. 1859).
CXXIV. PRAYERS 328
RUDYARD KIPLING (b. 1865).
CXXV. A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 329
CXXVI. THE FLAG OF ENGLAND 335
NOTES 341
INDEX 359
For I trust, if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill, And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam, That the smooth-faced snub-nosed rogue would leap from his counter and till, And strike, if he could, were it but with his cheating yard-wand, home.
_Tennyson._
LYRA HEROICA
I
AGINCOURT
INTROIT
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leashed in like hounds, should Famine, Sword and Fire Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, The flat unraisËd spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object. Can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million, And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high uprearËd and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Into a thousand parts divide one man, And make imaginary puissance; Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass.
INTERLUDE
Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With wingËd heels, as English Mercuries: For now sits Expectation in the air, And hides a sword from hilts unto the point With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Promised to Harry and his followers. The French, advised by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear, and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault: France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, Have for the gilt of France--O guilt indeed!-- Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must die, If hell and treason hold their promises, Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton!--
HARFLEUR
Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton Pier Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning: Play with your fancies, and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think You stand upon the rivage and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing! For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow: Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, And leave your England, as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, Or passed or not arrived to pith and puissance; For who is he, whose chin is but enriched With one appearing hair, that will not follow These culled and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege: Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter, and with her to dowry Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, And down goes all before them!
THE EVE
Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp through the foul womb of night The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch: Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umbered face; Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents The armourers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, And the third hour of drowsy morning name. Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, The confident and over-lusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice, And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemnËd English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently and inly ruminate The morning's danger, and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruined band Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!' For forth he goes and visits all his host, Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile, And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. Upon his royal face there is no note How dread an army hath enrounded him; Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watchËd night, But freshly looks and over-bears attaint With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty, That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. A largess universal like the sun His liberal eye doth give to every one, Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all, Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night-- And so our scene must to the battle fly.
_Shakespeare._
THE BATTLE
Fair stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry; But putting to the main, At Caux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry.
And taking many a fort, Furnished in warlike sort, Marched towards Agincourt In happy hour, Skirmishing day by day With those that stopped his way, Where the French gen'ral lay With all his power:
Which, in his height of pride, King Henry to deride, His ransom to provide To the king sending; Which he neglects the while As from a nation vile, Yet with an angry smile Their fall portending.
And turning to his men, Quoth our brave Henry then, 'Though they to one be ten, Be not amazËd. Yet have we well begun, Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun By fame been raisËd.
And for myself, quoth he, This my full rest shall be: England ne'er mourn for me, Nor more esteem me; Victor I will remain Or on this earth lie slain; Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me.
Poitiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell; No less our skill is Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, By many a warlike feat Lopped the French lilies.'
The Duke of York so dread The eager vaward led; With the main Henry sped, Amongst his henchmen; Excester had the rear, A braver man not there: O Lord, how hot they were On the false Frenchmen!
They now to fight are gone, Armour on armour shone, Drum now to drum did groan, To hear was wonder; That with the cries they make The very earth did shake, Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder.
Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham, Which did the signal aim To our hid forces! When from the meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Struck the French horses.
With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts Stuck close together.