Narrative Poems

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Macmillan, 1891 - English poetry - 187 pages
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Page 42 - Allah!" echoed wide, And the fezzes were waved and the bayonets lowered, And on to the last redoubt they poured. One fell, and a second quickly stopped The gap that he left when he reeled and dropped; The second, — a third straight filled his place; The third, — and a fourth kept up the race. Many a fez in the mud was crushed, Many a throat that cheered was hushed, Many a heart that sought the crest Found Allah's arms and a houri's breast.
Page 25 - Hunchbacked, gibbering, blear-eyed, halt, From forehead to footstep one foul fault, Crazy, contorted, mindless-born, The gentle's pity, the cruel's scorn — Who shall bar you the Gates of Day, So you have simple faith to say, 'Ave, Maria'?
Page 43 - Fly ! they are on us !" his men implored ; But he waved them on with his waving sword. " It cannot be held ; 'tis no shame to go !" But he stood with his face set hard to the foe. Then clung they about him, and tugged, and knelt ; He drew a pistol from out his belt, And fired it blank at the first that set Foot on the edge of the parapet.
Page 44 - Make her a bier of your arms," he said, "And daintily bury this dainty dead ! " Make her a grave where she stood and fell, 'Gainst the jackal's scratch and the vulture's smell. Did the Muscovite men like their maidens fight, In their lines we had scarcely supped to-night.
Page 22 - When morning smiled on the smiling deep, And the fisherman woke from dreamless sleep, And ran up his sail, and trimmed his craft, While his little ones leaped on the sand and laughed, The senseless cripple would stand and stare, Then suddenly holloa his wonted prayer, Ave...
Page 96 - I'm sure I hope that I shall be gone before: Better poor sweet silence of rural toil than the factory's opulent roar. XIII. " They're a mighty saving of labour, though; so at least I hear them tell, Making fewer hands and fewer mouths, but fewer hearts as well: They sweep up so close that there's nothing left for widows and bairns to glean; If machines are growing like men, man seems to be growing a half machine. There's no friendliness left; the only tie is the wage upon Saturday nights: Right used...
Page 178 - Soul, heart, and body, we thus singly name, Are not, in love, divisible and distinct, But each with each inseparably linked. One is not honour, and the other shame, But burn as closely fused as fuel, heat, and flame. "They do not love who give the body and keep The heart ungiven ; nor they who yield the soul, And guard the body. Love doth give the whole ; Its range being high as heaven, as ocean deep, Wide as the realms of air or planet's curving sweep.
Page 129 - Then louder, still louder he shrilled : " I sing For the pleasure and pride of shrilling, For the sheen and the sap and the showers of Spring That fill me to overfilling. VII. " Yet a something deeper than Spring-time, though It is Spring-like, my throat keeps flooding : Peep soft at my mate — she is there below — Where the bramble trails are budding.
Page 156 - Your face is as fragrant as moist musk-rose ; Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! All the year in your cheek the windflower blows ; Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! You flit as blithely as bird on wing ; And when you answer, and when they sing, I know not if they, or You, be Spring, In the month when pairs the cuckoo. Will you love me still when the blossom droops ? Cuckoo ! When the cracked husk falls and the fieldfare troops ? Cuckoo ! Let sere leaf or snowdrift shade your brow, By the soul of the Spring, sweet-heart, I vow, I...
Page 42 - And the ridge with their musket-rattle rang, Till the faces that lined the last redoubt Could see their faces and hear their shout. In the redoubt a fair form towered, That cheered up the brave and chid the coward ; Brandishing blade with a gallant air ; His head erect and his bosom bare. "Fly ! they are on us ! " his men implored ; But he waved them on with his waving sword.

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