« PredošláPokračovať »
yonder they move, from yonder visible sky
shoot influence down: and even at this day
’tis Jupiter who gives whate'er is great,
and Venus who brings everything that's fair !
S. T. COLERIDGE from Schiller
our sea-sister at his feet I slept.
The mountain mists, condensing at our voice under the moon, had spread their snowy flakes, from the keen ice shielding our linkéd sleep. Then two dreams came. One, I remember not. But in the other his pale wound-worn limbs fell from Prometheus, and the azure night grew radiant with the glory of that form which lives unchanged within, and his voice fell like music which makes giddy the dim brain, faint with intoxication of keen joy: 'Sister of her whose footsteps pave the world with loveliness—more fair than aught but her, whose shadow thou art-lift thine eyes on me.' I lifted them: the overpowering light of that immortal shape was shadowed o'er by love; which, from his soft and flowing limbs, and passion-parted lips, and keen, faint eyes, steamed forth like vaporous fire; an atmosphere which wrapped me in its all-dissolving power, as the warm ether of the morning sun wraps ere it drinks some cloud of wandering dew.
863 CHATILLON AMBASSADOR TO PHILIP KING OF
'HEN turn your forces from this paltry siege,
and stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands, hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds, whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time to land his legions all as soon as I; his marches are expedient to this town, his forces strong, his soldiers confident. F.S. III
With him along is come the mother-queen,
an Até, stirring him to blood and strife;
and all the unsettled humours of the land,-
rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
with ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens,
have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
to make a hazard of new fortunes here:
in brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits,
than now the English bottoms have waft o'er,
did never float upon the swelling tide,
to do offence and scath in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums
cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand.
DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM
die, David, for the death of Absalon, and make these cursed news the bloody darts, that through his bowels rip thy wretched breast. Hence, David, walk the solitary woods, and in some cedar's shade, the thunder slew, and fire from heav'n hath made his branches black, sit mourning the decease of Absalon; against the body of that blasted plant in thousand shivers break thy ivory lute, hanging thy stringless harp upon his boughs, and through the hollow sapless. sounding trunk bellow the torments that perplex thy soul. There let the winds sit sighing till they burst ; let tempest, muffled with a cloud of pitch, threaten the forests with her hellish face, and, mounted fiercely on her iron wings, rend up the wretched engine by the roots that held my dearest Absalon to death. Then let them toss my broken lute to heaven, even to his hands that beats me with the strings, to show how sadly his poor shepherd sings.
G, PEELE 865
Neu. TOUR heart, dear lady, is disquieted!
and this is not the way that leads to quiet.
Thek. To a deep quiet, such as he has found,
it draws me on, I know not what to name it,
resistless does it draw me to his grave.
There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow.
O hasten, make no further questioning !
there is no rest for me till I have left
these walls—they fall in on me. . . A dim power
drives me from hence.--Oh mercy! what a feeling!
what pale and hollow forms are those! they fill,
they crowd the place! more still! the hideous swarm!
they press on me: they chase me from these walls ...
these hollow, bodiless forms of living men!
His spirit 'tis that calls me: 'tis the troop
of his true followers, who offered up
themselves to avenge his death: and they accuse me
of an ignoble loitering--they would not
forsake their leader even in his death—they died for
and shall I live ?--
for me too was that laurel-garland twined
that decks his bier.
S. T. COLERIDGE from Schiller
"HE army of the queen hath got the field:
my uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
and all my followers to the eager foe
turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starvéd wolves.
My sons-God knows what hath bechancéd them;
but this I know,--they have demean'd themselves
like men born to renown by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
and thrice cried,–Courage, father! fight it out!
and full as oft came Edward to my side,
with purple falchion, painted to the hilt
in blood of those that had encounter'd him :
and when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cried,—Charge! and give no foot of ground!
and cried,-A crown or else a glorious tomb!
a sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!
With this, we charg'd again: but out, alas!
we bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan
with bootless labour swim against the tide,
and spend her strength with over-matching waves.
Cas. U have mind upon your health, tempt 'me no
Bru. Away, slight man!
Cas. Is't possible?
Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
shall I be frighted, when a madman stares ? Cas. O ye gods! ye gods! must I endure all this? Bru. All this? ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;
go, show your slaves how choleric you are,
and make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
must I observe you? must I stand and crouch
under your testy humour? By the gods,
you shall digest the venom of your spleen,
though it do split you: for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
when you are waspish.
Cas. Is it come to this?
Bru. You say, you are a better soldier:
let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
and it shall please me well: for mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
868 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,
revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
for Cassius is a-weary of the world :
hated by one he loves; brav’d by his brother;
check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd,
set in a note-book, learn’d, and conn’d by rote,
to cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
my spirit from mine eyes !—There is my dagger,
and here my naked breast; within, a heart
dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
if that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know,
when thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him
better than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. Bru.
Sheath your dagger: be angry when you will, it shall have scope; do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius, you are yokéd with a lamb that carries anger as the fint bears fire; who, much enforcéd, shows a hasty spark, and straight is cold again.
REPROOF TO A FLATTERING COURTIER
AREST thou mention
affection, or a heart, that ne'er hadst any?
know'st not to love or hate, but by the scale,
as thy prince does 't before thee? that dost never
wear thy own face, but putt'st on his, and gather'st
baits for his ears; livest wholly at his beck,
and ere thou darest utter a thought's thine own,
must expect his; creep’st forth and wad'st into him,
as if thou wert to pass a ford, there proving
if yet thy tongue may step on safely or no;
then bring'st his virtue asleep, and stay'st the wheel
both of his reason and judgment that they move not ;
whit’st over all his vices, and at last
dost draw a cloud of words before his eyes,
till he can neither see thee nor himself?
Wretch! I dare give him honest counsels, I,
dare go the straightest way which still's the shortest,
walk on the thorns thou scatterest, parasite,
and tread 'em into nothing; and, if thou
then lett'st a look fall of the least dislike,
I'll rip thy crown up with my sword at height,
and pluck thy skin over thy face, in sight
of him thou flatterest.
THE DEATH OF THE DURE OF YORK
UFFOLK first died: and York, all haggled over,