LIFE

OF

WILLIAM BLAKE,

“PICTOR IGNOTUS”



WITH SELECTIONS FROM HIS POEMS AND OTHER WRITINGS







BY THE LATE



ALEXANDER GILCHRISTA

OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT LAW;

AUTHOR OF “THE LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.”



ILLUSTRATED FROM BLAKE’S OWN WORKS,

IN FASCIMILÉ BY W. J. LINTON,

AND IN PHOTOLITHOGRAPHY;

WITH A FEW OF BLAKE’S ORIGINAL PLATES.



IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.



London and Cambridge:

MACMILLAN AND CO.

1863.

[ The Right of Translation is reserved.]

   

POETICAL SKETCHES.
• Introductory Note.. .. .. 3
• Song. My silks and fine array. . . . . 4
• Song. Love and harmony combine. . . . . 5
• Song. I love the jocund dance. . . . . 6
• Mad Song. The wild winds weep. . . . . 7
• Song. How sweet I roamed from field to field . .. .. 8
• Song. Memory, hither come. .. . . 9
• To the Muses. Whether on Ida’s shady brow . .. .. 10
• To the Evening Star. Thou fair-hair’d angel of the Evening . .. .. 11
• To Spring. O thou with dewy locks who lookest down . .. .. 12
• To Summer. O thou who passest thro’ out valleys in . .. .. 13
• Blind-Man’s Buff. When silver snow decks Susan’s clothes . .. .. 14
• King Edward the Third (Selections from).. .. . . 16

SONGS OF INNOCENCE.
• Introductory Note.. .. .. 25
• Introduction. Piping down the valleys wild . .. .. 26
• The Shepherd. How sweet is the shepherd’s sweet lot . .. .. 27
• The Echoing Green. The sun does arise . .. .. 28
• The Lamb. Little lamb, who made thee? . .. .. 29
• The Little Black Boy. My mother bore me in the southern wild . .. .. 30
• The Blossom. Merry, merry sparrow! . . .. . 31
• The Chimney-Sweeper. When my mother died I was very young . .. .. 32
• The Little Boy Lost. Father, father, where are you going? . .. .. 33
• The Little Boy Found. The little boy lost in the lonely fen . .. .. 33
• Laughing Song. When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy . .. .. 34
• A Cradle Song. Sweet dreams form a shade . .. .. 35
• The Divine Image. To mercy, pity, peace, and love . .. .. 36
• Holy Thursday. ‘Twas a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean . .. 37
page: vi  
Note: The order of “The Sick Rose” and “Nurse’s Song” is reversed on this page: in the text,“Nurse’s Song” appears before “The Sick Rose.”
• Night. The sun descending in the West . .. .. 38
• Spring. Sound the flute!. .. . . 40
• Nurse’s Song. When the voices of children are heard on the green . .. .. 41
• Infant Joy. I have no name. .. . . 42
• A Dream. Once a dream did weave a shade . .. .. 43
• On Another’s Sorrow. Can I see another’s woe . .. .. 44
• The Voice of the Ancient Bard. Youth of delight, come hither . .. .. 45

SONGS OF EXPERIENCE.
• Introduction. Hear the voice of the bard. . .. .. 47
• Earth’s Answer. Earth raised up her head . .. .. 48
• The Clod and the Pebble. Love seeketh not itself to please . .. .. 49
• Holy Thursday. Is this a holy thing to see . .. .. 50
• The Little Girl Lost. In futurity . . .. . 51
• The Little Girl Found. All the night in woe . .. .. 53
• The Chimney Sweeper. A litle black thing among the snow . .. .. 55
• The Sick Rose. O Rose, thou art sick . .. .. 56
• Nurse’s Song. When the voices of children are heard on the green . .. .. 56
• The Fly. Little Fly. .. . . 57
• The Angel. I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?. .. .. 58
• The Tiger. Tiger, tiger, burning bright . .. .. 59
• My Pretty Rose Tree. A flower was offer’d to me . .. .. 60
• Ah Sunflower! Ah Sunflower! weary of time . .. .. 60
• The Lily. The modest rose puts forth a thorn . .. .. 61
• The Garden of Love. I laid me down upon a bank . .. .. 61
• The Little Vagabond. Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold . .. . 62
• London. I wander through each charter’d street . .. .. 63
• The Human Abstract. Pity would be no more . .. .. 64
• Infant Sorrow. My mother groaned, my father wept . .. .. 65
• Christian Forbearance. I was angry with my friend . .. .. 65
• A Little Lost Boy. Nought loves another as itself . .. .. 66
• A Little Lost Girl. Children of the future age . .. .. 67
• A Cradle Song. Sleep, sleep, beauty bright . .. .. 68
• A Schoolboy. I love to rise on a summer morn . .. .. 69
• To Tirzah. Whate’er is born of mortal birth . .. .. 70

THE BOOK OF THEL.. .. .. 71

POEMS HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED.
• Introductory Note.. .. .. 76
• The Birds. Where thou dwellest, in what grove . .. .. 78
• Broken Love. My spectre around me night and day . .. .. 79
• The Two Songs. I heard an angel singing . .. .. 81
• The Defiled Santuary. I saw a chapel, all of gold . .. .. 82
page: vii  
• Cupid. Why was Cupid a boy?. .. . . 83
• The Woman taken in Adultery. The vision of Christ that thou dost see . . 84
• Love’s Secret. Never seek to tell thy love . .. .. 86
• The Wild Flower’s Song. As I wandered in the forest . .. .. 87
• The Crystal Cabinet. The maiden caught me in the wild . .. .. 88
• Smile and Frown. There is a smile of love . .. .. 89
• The Golden Net. Beneath a white thorn’s lovely May . .. .. 90
• The Land of Dreams. Awake, awake, my little boy! . .. .. 91
• Mary. Sweet Mary, the first time she was ever was there . .. .. 92
• Auguries of Innocence. To see a world in a grain of sand . .. .. 94
• The Mental Traveller. I travelled through a land of men . .. .. 98
• William Bond. I wonder whether the girls are mad . .. .. 103
• Scoffers. Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau . .. .. 105
• The Agony of Faith. I see, I see, the mother said . .. .. 106
• Daybreak. To find the western path . .. .. 107
• Thames and Ohio. Why should I care for the men of Thames . .. .. 107
• Young Love. Are not the joys of morning sweeter . .. .. 108
• Riches. Since all the riches of the world . .. .. 108
• Opportunity. He who bends to himself a joy . .. .. 108
• Seed Sowing. Thou hast a lapful of seed . .. .. 109
• Barren Blosom. I feared the fury of my wind . .. .. 109
• Night and Day. Silent, silent night . .. .. 110
• In a Myrtle Shade. To a lovely myrtle bound . .. .. 111
• Couplets and Fragments. .. .. 112
• Epigrams and Satirical Pieces on Art and Artists. . . .. 114

PROSE WRITINGS.
• Introductory Note. .. .. 118
• Descriptive Catalogue. .. .. 119
• Public Address. .. .. 144
• Memoranda by Blake of his Modes of Engraving. .. . . 158
• Sybilline Leaves. .. .. 159
• A Vision of the Last Judgment. .. .. 161

APPENDIX.
Note: Appendix materials unrelated to DGR are omitted from the transcription.
• Letters from Blake to Mr. Butts. .. .. 178
• Annotated Catalogue of Blake’s Pictures and Drawings. List I. of Works in Colours.

• Section a. Dated Works. .. .. 201

• Section b. Undated Works, Biblical and Sacred. . 223

• Ditto Ditto Poetical and Miscellaneous. . . .. 232

page: [viii]  
• List II. Uncoloured Works.

• Section a. Dated Works. . .. .. 240

• Section b. Undated Works, Biblical and Sacred. . 223

• Ditto ditto Poetical and Miscellaneous. . . .. .. . 248

• List III. Works of Unascrertained Method.

• Biblical and Sacred .. .. .. 255

• Poetic and Miscellaneous .. .. .. 255

• Accounts between Blake and Mr. Butts.. .. .. .. .. . 256
• List of Engravings.

• Works designed as well as engraved by Blake .. .. .. 257

• Works engraved, but not designed by Blake.. .. .. 259

• Works designed, but not engraved by Blake.. .. .. 261

• List of Writings.. .. .. .. .. 261
• Prospecture by Blake issued in 1793.. .. .. 263
• Engraved Designs by Blake.. .. . . .. .. 265

• The Book of Job.

• Songs of Innocence and Experience.

   

• I give you the end of a golden string:
• Only wind it into a ball,
• It will lead you in at Heaven’s gate,
• Built in Jerusalem wall.

   

• My silks and fine array,
• My smiles and languished air,
• By love are driven away.
• And mournful lean Despair
• Brings me yew to deck my grave:
• Such end true lovers have.

• His face is fair as heaven
• When springing buds unfold;
• Oh, why to him was’t given,
• 10Whose heart is wintry cold?
• His breast is Love’s all-worshipped tomb
• Where all love’s pilgrims come.

• Bring me an axe and spade
• bring me a winding-sheet;
• When I my grave have made,
• Let winds and tempests beat:
• Then down I’ll lie, as cold as clay.
• True love doth pass away!

 

• Love and harmony combine
• And around our souls entwine,
• While thy branches mix with mine
• And our roots together join.

• Joys upon our branches sit,
• Chirping loud and singing sweet;
• Like gentle streams beneath our feet,
• Innocence and virtue meet.

• Thou the golden fruit dost bear,
• 10I am clad in flowers fair;
• Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,
• And the turtle buildeth there.

• There she sits and feeds her young;
• Sweet I hear her mournful song:
• And thy lovely leaves among,
• There is Love: I hear his tongue.

• There his charm’d nest he doth lay,
• There he sleeps the night away,
• There he sports along the day,
• 20And doth among our branches play.

 

• I Love the jocund dance,
• The softly-breathing song,
• Where innocent eyes do glance,
• Where lisps the maiden’s tongue.

• I love the laughing vale,
• I love the echoing hill,
• Where mirth does never fail,
• And the jolly swain laughs his fill.

• I love the pleasant cot,
• 10I love the innocent bower,
• Where white and brown is our lot,
• Or fruit in the mid-day hour.

• I love the oaken seat
• Beneath the oaken tree,
• Where all the old villagers meet,
• And laugh our sports to see.

• I love our neighbours all,
• But, Kitty, I better love thee:
• And love them I ever shall,
• 20But thou art all to me.

 

• The wild winds weep,
• And the night is a-cold;
• Come hither, Sleep,
• And my griefs unfold!
• But lo! The Morning peeps
• Over the eastern steeps,
• And rustling birds of dawn
• The earth do scorn.

• Lo! to the vault
• 10Of paved heaven,
• With sorrow fraught,
• My notes are driven:
• They strike the ear of night,
• Make weep the eyes of day;
• They make mad the roaring winds,
• And with tempests play.

• Like a fiend in a cloud
• With howling woe
• After night I do crowd,
• 20And with night will go;
• I turn my back to the East
• Whence comforts have increas’d;
• For light doth seize my brain
• With frantic pain.

 

• How sweet I roamed from field to field,
• And tasted all the summer’s pride,
• ’Till I the Prince of Love beheld,
• Who in the sunny beams did glide!

• He show’d me lilies for my hair,
• And blushing roses for my brow;
• He led me through his gardens fair,
• Where all his golden pleasures grow.

• With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
• 10And Phœbus fired my vocal rage;
• He caught me in his silken net,
• And shut me in his golden cage.

• He loves to sit and hear me sing,
• Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
• Then stretches out my golden wing,
• And mocks my loss of liberty.

 

• Memory, hither come,
• And tune your merry notes;
• And, while upon the wind
• Your music floats,
• I’ll pore upon the stream
• Where sighing lovers dream,
• And fish for fancies as they pass
• Within the watery glass.

• I’ll drink of the clear stream,
• 10And hear the linnet’s song;
• And there I’ll lie and dream
• The day along:
• And, when night comes, I’ll go
• To places fit for woe;
• Walking along the darkened valley
• With silent Melancholy.

 

• Whether on Ida’s shady brow,
• Or in the chambers of the East,
• The chambers of the sun that now
• From ancient melody have ceased;

• Whether in Heaven ye wander fair,
• Or the green corners of the earth,
• Or the blue regions of the air,
• Where the melodious winds have birth;

• Whether on crystal rocks ye rove
• 10Beneath the bosom of the sea,
• Wandering in many a coral grove;
• Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;

• How have you left the ancient love
• That bards of old enjoy’d in you!
• The languid strings do scarcely move,
• The sound is forced, the notes are few.

 

• Thou fair-hair’d angel of the Evening,
• Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
• Thy brilliant torch of love; thy radiant crown
• Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
• Smile on our loves; and whilst thou drawest round
• The curtains of the sky, scatter thy dew
• On every flower that closes its sweet eyes
• In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on
• The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
• 10 And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon
• Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
• And then the lion glares through the dun forest.
• The fleeces of our flocks are covered with
• Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence.

 

• O Thou, with dewy locks, who lookest down
• Thro’ the clear windows of the morning, turn
• Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
• Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

• The hills do tell each other, and the listening
• Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
• Up to thy bright pavilion: issue forth,
• And let thy holy feet visit our clime!

• Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
• 10 Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
• Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
• Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

• O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
• Thy softest kisses on her bosom, and put
• Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head
• Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.

 

• O Thou who passest thro’ our valleys in
• Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
• That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O summer!
• Oft pitched’st here thy golden tent, and oft
• Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
• With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

• Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
• Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
• Rode o’er the deep of heaven. Beside our springs
• 10 Sit down, and in our mossy valleys; on
• Some bank beside a river clear, throw all
• Thy draperies off, and rush into the stream!
• Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.

• Our bards are famed who strike the silver wire;
• Our youths are bolder than the southern swains;
• Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance;
• We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
• Nor echoes sweet nor waters clear as heaven,
• Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.

 

• When silver snow decks Susan’s clothes,
• And jewel hangs at th’ shepherd’s nose,
• The chimney-nook is all my care,
• With hearth so red and walls so fair;
• ‘ Heap the sea-coal, come, heap it higher,
• ‘ The oaken log lay on the fire.’
• The well-washed stools, a circling row,
• With lad and lass, how fair the show!
• The merry can of nut-brown ale,
• 10The laughing jest, the love-sick tale:
• ’Till, tired of chat, the game begins,
• The lasses prick the lads with pins;
• Roger from Dolly twitched the stool,
• She falling, kissed the ground, poor fool!
• She blushed so red, with side-long glance
• At hob-nail Dick who grieved the chance.
• But now for Blind-man’s Buff they call;
• Of each incumbrance clear the hall!

• Jenny her silken ’kerchief folds,
• 20And blear-eyed Will the black lot holds;
• Now, laughing, stops, with ‘Silence! Hush!’
• And Peggy Pout gives Sam a push.
• The Blind-man’s arms, extended wide,
• Sam slips between;—O woe betide
• Thee, clumsy Will!—but tittering Kate
• Is penned up in the corner strait!
• And now Will’s eyes beheld the play,
• He thought his face was t’other way.
• Now, Kitty, now! what chance hast thou!
• 30 Roger so near thee trips!—I vow
• She catches him!—then Roger ties
• His own head up, but not his eyes;
• For thro’ the slender cloth he sees,
page: 15  
• And runs at Sam, who slips with ease
• His clumsy hold; and, dodging round,
• Sukey is tumbled on the ground!
• See what it is to play unfair!
• Where cheating is, there’s mischief there.
• But Roger still pursues the chace,—
• 40‘He sees! he sees!’ cries softly Grace.
• O Roger, thou, unskill’d in art.
• Must, surer bound, go through thy part!

• Now Kitty, pert, repeats the rhymes,
• And Roger turns him round three times;
• Then pauses ere he starts—But Dick
• Was mischief-bent upon a trick:
• Down on his hands and knees he lay,
• Directly in the Blind-man’s way—
• Then cries out, ‘Hem!’ Hodge heard, and ran
• 50 With hood-winked chance—sure of his man;
• But down he came.—Alas, how frail
• Our best of hopes, how soon they fail!
• With crimsom drops he stains the ground,
• Confusion startles all around
• Poor piteous Dick supports his head,
• And fain would cure the hurt he made;
• But Kitty hastens with a key,
• And down his back they straight convey
• The cold relief; the blood is stay’d,
• 60And Hodge again holds up his head.

• Such are the fortunes of the game;
• And those who play should stop the same
• By wholesome laws: such as,—all those
• Who on the blinded man impose
• Stand in his stead. So, long a-gone,
• When men were first a nation grown,
• Lawless they lived, till wantonness
• And liberty began to increase,
• 70And one man lay in another’s way:
• Then laws were made to keep fair play.

   

---

• King.. .. . Our names are written equal
• In Fame’s wide-trophied halls; ’tis ours to gild
• The letters, and to make them shine with gold
• That never tarnishes: whether Third Edward,
• Or Prince of Wales or Montacute or Mortimer,
• Or e’en the least by birth, gain brightest fame,
• Is in His hand to whom all men are equal.
• The world of men is like the numerous stars
• That beam and twinkle in the depth of night,
• 10 Each clad in glory according to his sphere:—
• But we that wander from our native seats,
• And beam forth lustre on a darkling world,
• Grow larger as we advance; and some, perhaps
• The most obscure at home, that scarce were seen
• To twinkle in their sphere, may so advance
• That the astonish’d world, with upturn’d eyes,
• Regardless of the moon and those once bright,
• Stand only but to gaze upon their splendour.

• Now let us take a just revenge for those
• 20 Brave lords who fell beneath the bloody axe
• At Paris. Noble Harcourt, thanks, for ’twas
• By your advice we landed here in Brittany,
• A country not as yet sown with destruction,
• And where the fiery whirlwind of swift war
• Hath not yet swept its desolating wing.
• Into three parties we divide by day,
• And separate march, but join again at night:
• Each knows his rank, and Heaven marshal all.

 

• King. What can Sir Thomas Dagworth
• Request that Edward can refuse?

• Dagw. I hope
• Your majesty cannot refuse so mere
• A trifle: I’ve gilt your cause with my best blood,
• And would again, were I not now forbid
• By him whom I am bound to obey. My hands
• Are tied up, all my courage shrunk and wither’d,
• My sinews slacken’d, and my voice scarce heard:
• 10 Therefore I beg I may return to England.

• King. I know not what you could have ask’d, Sir Thomas,
• That I would not have sooner parted with
• Than such a soldier as you, and such a friend;
• Nay, I will know the most remote particulars
• Of this your strange petition, that if I can
• I still may keep you here.

• Dagw. Here on the fields of Cressy we are settled,
• ‘Till Philip spring the timorous covey again.
• The wolf is hunted down by causeless fear;
• 20 The lion flees, and fear usurps his heart,
• Startled, astonish’d at the clamorous cock.
• The eagle that doth gaze upon the sun
• Fears the small fire that plays about the fen;
• If at this moment of their idle fear
• The dog seize the wolf, the forester the lion,
• The negro, in the crevice of the rock,
• Seize on the soaring eagle, undone by flight
• They tame submit—such the effect flight has
• On noble souls. Now hear its opposite:
• 30The timorous stag starts from the thicket wild,
• The fearful crane springs from the plashy fen,
• The shining snake glides o’er the bending grass:
• The stag turns head, and bays the crying hounds,
• The crane o’ertaken fighteth with the hawk,
• The snake cloth turn and bite the padding foot.
page: 18  
• And if your majesty’s afraid of Philip,
• You are more like a lion than a crane:
• Therefore I beg I may return to England.

• King. Sir Thomas, now I understand your mirth,
• 40 Which often plays with wisdom for its pastime,
• And brings good counsel from the breast of laughter.
• I hope you’ll stay, and see us fight this battle,
• And reap rich harvest in the field of Cressy,
• Then go to England, tell them how we fight,
• And set all hearts on fire to be with us.
• Philip is plum’d, and thinks we flee from him,
• Else he would never dare to attack us. Now,
• Now is the quarry set! and Death doth sport
• In the bright sunshine of this fatal day.

• 50 Dagw. Now my heart dances, and I am as light
• As the young bridegroom going to be married.
• Now must I to my soldiers, get them ready,
• Furbish our armours bright, new plume our helms,
• And we will sing like the young housewives busied
• In the dairy. Now my feet are wing’d, but not
• For flight, an ‘t please your grace.

• King. If all my soldiers are as pleased as you,
• ‘Twill be a gallant thing to fight or die.
• Then I can never he afraid of Philip.

• 60 Dagw. A rawbon’d fellow t’other day pass’d by me;
• I told him to put off his hungry looks;
• He said: ‘I hunger for another battle.’
• I saw a Welchman with a fiery face:
• I told him that he look’d like a candle half
• Burn’d out. He answer’d he was ‘pig enough
• To light another pattle.’ Last night beneath
• The moon I walk’d abroad when all had pitch’d
• Their tents, and all were still:
• I heard a blooming youth singing a song
• 70He had compos’d, and at each pause he wip’d
• His dropping eyes. The ditty was,—‘If he
• Return’d victorious he should wed a maiden
• Fairer than snow and rich as midsummer.’
• Another wept, and wish’d health to his father.
• I chid them both, but gave them noble hopes.
page: 19  
Sig. C 2
• These are the minds that glory in the battle,
• And leap and dance to hear the trumpet sound.

• King. Sir Thomas Dagworth, be thou near our person:
• Thy heart is richer than the vales of France;
• 80 I will not part with such a man as thou.
• If Philip came arm’d in the ribs of death,
• And shook his mortal dart against my head,
• Thou’dst laugh his fury into nerveless shame!
• Go now, for thou art suited to the work,
• Throughout the camp; inflame the timorous,
• Blow up the sluggish into ardour, and
• Confirm the strong with strength, the weak inspire,
• And wing their brows with hope and expectation:
• Then to our tent return, and meet the Council.

---

• 90 Prince. Now we are alone, Sir John, I will unburthen
• And breathe my hopes into the burning air,
• Where thousand deaths are posting up and down;
• Commission’d to this fatal field of Cressy.
• Methinks I see them arm my gallant soldiers,
• And gird the sword upon each thigh, and fit
• Each shining helm, and string each stubborn bow,
• And dance unto the neighing of our steeds:
• Methinks the shout begins, the battle burns;
• Methinks I see them perch on English crests,
• 100 And roar the wild flame of fierce war upon
• The thronged enemy. In truth, I am too full;
• It is my sin to love the noise of war.
• Chandos, thou seest my weakness; for strong Nature
• Will bend or break us. My blood like a spring-tide
• Does rise so high to overflow all bounds
• Of moderation; while Reason in her
• Frail bark can see no shore or bound for vast
• Ambition. Come then, take the helm, my Chandos
• That my full blown sails overset me not
• 110In the wild tempest; condemn my venturous youth
• That plays with danger as the innocent child,
page: 20  
• Unthinking, plays upon the viper’s den:
• I am a coward in my reason, Chandos.

• Chandos. You are a man, my Prince, and a brave man,
• If I can judge of actions; but your heat
• Is the effect of youth and want of use;
• Use makes the armed field and noisy war
• Pass over as a cloud does, unregarded,
• Or but expected as a thing of course.
• 120Age is contemplative; each rolling year
• Doth bring forth fruit to the mind’s treasure house;
• While vacant Youth doth crave and seek about
• Within itself, and findeth discontent;
• Then, tir’d of thought, impatient takes the wing,
• Seizes the fruits of Time, attacks Experience,
• Roams round vast Nature’s forest, where no bounds
• Are set; the swiftest may have room, the strongest
• Find prey; till, tir’d at length, sated and tir’d
• With the still changing sameness, old variety,
• 130 We sit us down, and view our former joys
• As worthless.

• Prince. Then, if we must tug for experience,
• Let us not fear to beat round Nature’s wilds
• And rouse the strongest prey; then if we fall,
• We fall with glory: for I know the wolf
• Is dangerous to fight, not good for food,
• Nor is the hide a comely vestment; so
• We have our battle for our pains. I know
• That youth has need of age to point fit prey,
• 140 And oft the stander-by shall steal the fruit
• Of the other’s labour. This is philosophy;
• These are the tricks of the world; but the pure soul
• Shall mount on wings, disdaining little sport,
• And cut a path into the heaven of glory,
• Leaving a track of light for men to wonder at.
• I’m glad my father does not hear me talk:
• You can find friendly excuses for me, Chandos;
• But, do you not think, Sir John, that if it please
• The Almighty to stretch out my span of life
• 150 I shall with pleasure view a glorious action
• Which my youth master’d
page: 21  

• Chand. Age, my lord, views motives,
• And views not acts. When neither warbling voice
• Nor trilling pipe is heard, nor pleasure sits
• With trembling age, the voice of Conscience, then
• Sweeter than music in a summer’s eve,
• Shall warble round the snowy head, and keep
• Sweet symphony to feather’d angels sitting
• As guardians round your chair; then shall the pulse
• 160Beat slow; and taste and touch, sight, sound, and smell,
• That sing and dance round Reason’s fine-wrought throne,
• Shall flee away, and lease him all forlorn—
• Yet not forlorn if Conscience is his friend.

 

• Sir Walter. Sir Thomas Dagworth, I have been a-weeping
• Over the men that are to die to-day.

• Dagw. Why, brave Sir Walter, you or I may fall.

• Sir Walter. I know this breathing flesh must lie and rot
• Cowed with silence and forgetfulness.—
• Death wons in cities’ smoke, and in still night,
• When men sleep in their beds, walketh about!
• How many in walled cities lie and groan,
• Turning themselves about upon their beds,
• 10 Talking with Death, answering his hard demands!
• How many walk in darkness, terrors around
• The curtains of their beds, destruction still
• Ready without the door! how many sleep
• In earth, cover’d with stones and deathy dust,
• Resting in quietness, whose spirits walk
• Upon the clouds of heaven, to die no more!
• Yet death is terrible, though on angels’ wings :
• How terrible, then, is the field of death!
• Where he doth rend the vault of heav’n, and shake
• 20 The gates of hell! Oh Dagworth! France is sick:
• The very sky, tho’ sunshine light it, seems
• To me as pale as the pale fainting man
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• On his death-bed, whose face is shown by light
• Of sickly taper! It makes me sad and sick
• At very heart. Thousands must fall to-day.

• Dagw. Thousands of souls must leave this prison house
• To be exalted to those heavenly fields,
• Where songs of triumph, palms of victory,
• Where peace, and joy, and love, and calm content
• 30 Sit singing in the azure clouds, and strew
• Flowers of heaven’s growth over the banquet table.
• Bind ardent Hope upon your feet like shoes,
• Put on the robe of preparation,
• The table is prepar’d in shining heav’n,
• The flowers of immortality are blown;
• Let those that fight fight in good steadfastness,
• And those that fall shall rise in victory.

• Sir Walter. I’ve often seen the burning field of war
• And often heard the dismal clang of arms;
• 40 But never, till this fatal day of Cressy,
• Has my soul fainted with these views of death.
• I seem to be in one great charnel-house,
• And seem to scent the rotten carcases!
• I seem to hear the dismal yells of Death,
• While the black gore drops from his horrid jaws;
• Yet I not fear the monster in his pride.—
• But oh, the souls that are to die to-day!

• Dagw. Stop, brave Sir Walter, let me drop a tear,
• Then let the clarion of war begin;
• 50I’ll fight and weep! ‘tis in my country’s cause;
• I’ll weep and shout for glorious liberty.
• Grim War shall laugh and shout, bedeck’d in tears,
• And blood shall flow like streams across the meadows,
• That murmur down their pebbly channels, and
• Spend their sweet lives to do their country service.
• Then England’s leaves shall shoot, her fields shall smile,
• Her ships shall sing across the foaming sea,
• Her mariners shall use the flute and viol,
• And rattling guns and black and dreary war
• 60 Shall be no more.

• Sir Walter. Well, let the trumpet sound and the drum beat;
• Let war stain the blue heavens with bloody banners.
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• I’ll draw my sword, nor ever sheath it up,
• Till England blow the trump of victory,
• Or I lie stretch’d upon the field of death.

 

• O Sons of Trojan Brutus, cloth’d in war,
• Whose voices are the thunder of the field,

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• Your ancestors came from the fires of Troy,
• (Like lions rous’d by light’ning from their dens,
• Whose eyes do glare against the stormy fires,)
• Heated with war, fill’d with the blood of Greeks,
• With helmets hewn, and shields covered with gore,
• In navies black, broken with wind and tide.

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• They landed in firm array upon the rocks
• 10Of Albion; they kiss’d the rocky shore:
• ‘Be thou our mother and our nurse,’ they said,
• ‘Our children’s mother; and thou shalt be our grave,
• ‘The sepulchre of ancient Troy, from whence
• ‘Shall rise cities, and thrones, and awful powers.’

• Our fathers swarm from the ships. Giant voices
• Are heard from out the hills; the enormous sons
• Of Ocean run from rocks and caves: wild men,
• Naked, and roaring like lions, hurling rocks,
• And wielding knotty clubs, like oaks entangled,
• 20 Thick as a forest ready for the axe.

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• Our fathers move in firm array to battle;
• The savage monsters rush like roaring fire,
• Like as