PESCHIERA.

And what the words, that with his failing breathDid England hear her aged soldier say?I know not. Yielding tranquilly to death,With no proud speech, no boast, he passed away.Not stirring words, nor gallant deeds alone,Plain patient work fulfilled that length of life;Duty, not glory—Service, not a throne,Inspired his effort, set for him the strife.Therefore just Fortune, with one hasty blow,Spurning her minion, Glory’s, Victory’s lord,Gave all to him that was content to know,In service done its own supreme reward.The words he said, if haply words there were,When full of years and works he passed away,Most naturally might, methinks, referTo some poor humble business of to-day.‘That humble simple duty of the dayPerform,’ he bids; ‘ask not if small or great:Serve in thy post; be faithful, and obey;Who serves her truly, sometimes saves the State.’1852

And what the words, that with his failing breathDid England hear her aged soldier say?I know not. Yielding tranquilly to death,With no proud speech, no boast, he passed away.

And what the words, that with his failing breath

Did England hear her aged soldier say?

I know not. Yielding tranquilly to death,

With no proud speech, no boast, he passed away.

Not stirring words, nor gallant deeds alone,Plain patient work fulfilled that length of life;Duty, not glory—Service, not a throne,Inspired his effort, set for him the strife.

Not stirring words, nor gallant deeds alone,

Plain patient work fulfilled that length of life;

Duty, not glory—Service, not a throne,

Inspired his effort, set for him the strife.

Therefore just Fortune, with one hasty blow,Spurning her minion, Glory’s, Victory’s lord,Gave all to him that was content to know,In service done its own supreme reward.

Therefore just Fortune, with one hasty blow,

Spurning her minion, Glory’s, Victory’s lord,

Gave all to him that was content to know,

In service done its own supreme reward.

The words he said, if haply words there were,When full of years and works he passed away,Most naturally might, methinks, referTo some poor humble business of to-day.

The words he said, if haply words there were,

When full of years and works he passed away,

Most naturally might, methinks, refer

To some poor humble business of to-day.

‘That humble simple duty of the dayPerform,’ he bids; ‘ask not if small or great:Serve in thy post; be faithful, and obey;Who serves her truly, sometimes saves the State.’

‘That humble simple duty of the day

Perform,’ he bids; ‘ask not if small or great:

Serve in thy post; be faithful, and obey;

Who serves her truly, sometimes saves the State.’

1852

What voice did on my spirit fall,Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost?‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,Than never to have fought at all.’The tricolor—a trampled ragLies, dirt and dust; the lines I trackBy sentry boxes yellow-black,Lead up to no Italian flag.I see the Croat soldier standUpon the grass of your redoubts;The eagle with his black wings floutsThe breath and beauty of your land.Yet not in vain, although in vain,O men of Brescia, on the dayOf loss past hope, I heard you sayYour welcome to the noble pain.You say, ‘Since so it is,—good-byeSweet life, high hope; but whatsoe’erMay be, or must, no tongue shall dareTo tell, “The Lombard feared to die!”’You said (there shall be answer fit),‘And if our children must obey,They must; but thinking on this day’Twill less debase them to submit.’You said (Oh not in vain you said),‘Haste, brothers, haste, while yet we may;The hours ebb fast of this one dayWhen blood may yet be nobly shed.’Ah! not for idle hatred, notFor honour, fame, nor self-applause,But for the glory of the cause,You did, what will not be forgot.And though the stranger stand, ’tis true,By force and fortune’s right he stands;By fortune, which is in God’s hands,And strength, which yet shall spring in you.This voice did on my spirit fall,Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,Than never to have fought at all.’1849

What voice did on my spirit fall,Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost?‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,Than never to have fought at all.’

What voice did on my spirit fall,

Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost?

‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,

Than never to have fought at all.’

The tricolor—a trampled ragLies, dirt and dust; the lines I trackBy sentry boxes yellow-black,Lead up to no Italian flag.

The tricolor—a trampled rag

Lies, dirt and dust; the lines I track

By sentry boxes yellow-black,

Lead up to no Italian flag.

I see the Croat soldier standUpon the grass of your redoubts;The eagle with his black wings floutsThe breath and beauty of your land.

I see the Croat soldier stand

Upon the grass of your redoubts;

The eagle with his black wings flouts

The breath and beauty of your land.

Yet not in vain, although in vain,O men of Brescia, on the dayOf loss past hope, I heard you sayYour welcome to the noble pain.

Yet not in vain, although in vain,

O men of Brescia, on the day

Of loss past hope, I heard you say

Your welcome to the noble pain.

You say, ‘Since so it is,—good-byeSweet life, high hope; but whatsoe’erMay be, or must, no tongue shall dareTo tell, “The Lombard feared to die!”’

You say, ‘Since so it is,—good-bye

Sweet life, high hope; but whatsoe’er

May be, or must, no tongue shall dare

To tell, “The Lombard feared to die!”’

You said (there shall be answer fit),‘And if our children must obey,They must; but thinking on this day’Twill less debase them to submit.’

You said (there shall be answer fit),

‘And if our children must obey,

They must; but thinking on this day

’Twill less debase them to submit.’

You said (Oh not in vain you said),‘Haste, brothers, haste, while yet we may;The hours ebb fast of this one dayWhen blood may yet be nobly shed.’

You said (Oh not in vain you said),

‘Haste, brothers, haste, while yet we may;

The hours ebb fast of this one day

When blood may yet be nobly shed.’

Ah! not for idle hatred, notFor honour, fame, nor self-applause,But for the glory of the cause,You did, what will not be forgot.

Ah! not for idle hatred, not

For honour, fame, nor self-applause,

But for the glory of the cause,

You did, what will not be forgot.

And though the stranger stand, ’tis true,By force and fortune’s right he stands;By fortune, which is in God’s hands,And strength, which yet shall spring in you.

And though the stranger stand, ’tis true,

By force and fortune’s right he stands;

By fortune, which is in God’s hands,

And strength, which yet shall spring in you.

This voice did on my spirit fall,Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,Than never to have fought at all.’

This voice did on my spirit fall,

Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,

‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,

Than never to have fought at all.’

1849

Or shall I say, Vain word, false thought,Since Prudence hath her martyrs too,And Wisdom dictates not to do,Till doing shall be not for nought?Not ours to give or lose is life;Will Nature, when her brave ones fall,Remake her work? or songs recallDeath’s victim slain in useless strife?That rivers flow into the seaIs loss and waste, the foolish say,Nor know that back they find their way,Unseen, to where they wont to be.Showers fall upon the hills, springs flow,The river runneth still at hand,Brave men are born into the land,And whence the foolish do not know.No! no vain voice did on me fall,Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,‘’Tisbetter to have fought and lost,Than never to have fought at all.’1849

Or shall I say, Vain word, false thought,Since Prudence hath her martyrs too,And Wisdom dictates not to do,Till doing shall be not for nought?

Or shall I say, Vain word, false thought,

Since Prudence hath her martyrs too,

And Wisdom dictates not to do,

Till doing shall be not for nought?

Not ours to give or lose is life;Will Nature, when her brave ones fall,Remake her work? or songs recallDeath’s victim slain in useless strife?

Not ours to give or lose is life;

Will Nature, when her brave ones fall,

Remake her work? or songs recall

Death’s victim slain in useless strife?

That rivers flow into the seaIs loss and waste, the foolish say,Nor know that back they find their way,Unseen, to where they wont to be.

That rivers flow into the sea

Is loss and waste, the foolish say,

Nor know that back they find their way,

Unseen, to where they wont to be.

Showers fall upon the hills, springs flow,The river runneth still at hand,Brave men are born into the land,And whence the foolish do not know.

Showers fall upon the hills, springs flow,

The river runneth still at hand,

Brave men are born into the land,

And whence the foolish do not know.

No! no vain voice did on me fall,Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,‘’Tisbetter to have fought and lost,Than never to have fought at all.’

No! no vain voice did on me fall,

Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,

‘’Tisbetter to have fought and lost,

Than never to have fought at all.’

1849

Say not the struggle nought availeth,The labour and the wounds are vain,The enemy faints not, nor faileth,And as things have been they remain.If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;It may be, in yon smoke concealed,Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,And, but for you, possess the field.For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,Seem here no painful inch to gain,Far back, through creeks and inlets making,Comes silent, flooding in, the main,And not by eastern windows only,When daylight comes, comes in the light,In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,But westward, look, the land is bright.1849

Say not the struggle nought availeth,The labour and the wounds are vain,The enemy faints not, nor faileth,And as things have been they remain.

Say not the struggle nought availeth,

The labour and the wounds are vain,

The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;It may be, in yon smoke concealed,Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,And, but for you, possess the field.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;

It may be, in yon smoke concealed,

Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,

And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,Seem here no painful inch to gain,Far back, through creeks and inlets making,Comes silent, flooding in, the main,

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,

Seem here no painful inch to gain,

Far back, through creeks and inlets making,

Comes silent, flooding in, the main,

And not by eastern windows only,When daylight comes, comes in the light,In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,But westward, look, the land is bright.

And not by eastern windows only,

When daylight comes, comes in the light,

In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,

But westward, look, the land is bright.

1849

FOOTNOTES[1]This and the following Early Poems are reprinted from the volume calledAmbarvalia.[2]This was written for the twenty-fifth wedding-day of Mr. and Mrs. Walrond, of Calder Park.[3]Ho Thëos meta sou—God be with you![4]The manuscript of this poem is very imperfect, and bears no title.[5]The manuscript of this poem is incomplete; but it has been thought best to give all the separate fragments, since they evidently are conceived on the same plan, and throw light on each other.[6]This poem, as well as the ‘Mari Magno,’ was not published during the author’s lifetime, and should not be regarded as having received his finishing touches.[7]Flood.[8]Reap.[9]Reaping.[10]Shocks.[11]Public-house in the hamlet.[12]This poem is reprinted from the volume calledAmbarvalia.[13]Hic avidus stetitVulcanus, hic matrona Juno, etNunquam humeris positurus arcum;Qui rore puro Castaliæ lavitCrines solutos, qui Lyciæ tenetDumeta natalemque silvam,Delius et Patareus Apollo.[14]——domus Albuneæ resonantis,Et præceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et udaMobilibus pomaria rivis[15]These Sonnets have been brought together from very imperfect manuscripts. It is not to be supposed that their author would have given them to the public in their present state; but they are in parts so characteristic of his thought and style, that they will not be without interest to the readers of his poems.[16]These Tales were written only a few months before the writer’s death, during his journeys in Greece, Italy, and the Pyrenees, and had not been revised by him.[17]These songs were composed either during the writer’s voyage across the Atlantic in 1852, or during his residence in America.[18]Passages of the second letter of Parepidemus (vol. i. pp. 400, 401) illustrate the theory which Mr. Clough has carried into practice in these hexameters as well as in the Translations from the Iliad.[19]A great proportion of the Poems described as Miscellaneous have, like some included in previous divisions, been brought together from rough copies and unfinished manuscripts. Fragmentary and imperfect as they are, they yet are so characteristic of their writer, that they have been placed here along with others more finished.[20]This thought is taken from a passage on astronomy in Plato’sRepublic, in which the following sentence occurs, vii. 529, D: ‘We must use the fretwork of the sky as patterns, with a view to the study which aims at these higher realities, just as if we chanced to meet with diagrams cunningly drawn and devised by Dædalus or some other craftsman or painter.’

FOOTNOTES

[1]This and the following Early Poems are reprinted from the volume calledAmbarvalia.

[2]This was written for the twenty-fifth wedding-day of Mr. and Mrs. Walrond, of Calder Park.

[3]Ho Thëos meta sou—God be with you!

[4]The manuscript of this poem is very imperfect, and bears no title.

[5]The manuscript of this poem is incomplete; but it has been thought best to give all the separate fragments, since they evidently are conceived on the same plan, and throw light on each other.

[6]This poem, as well as the ‘Mari Magno,’ was not published during the author’s lifetime, and should not be regarded as having received his finishing touches.

[7]Flood.

[8]Reap.

[9]Reaping.

[10]Shocks.

[11]Public-house in the hamlet.

[12]This poem is reprinted from the volume calledAmbarvalia.

[13]Hic avidus stetitVulcanus, hic matrona Juno, etNunquam humeris positurus arcum;Qui rore puro Castaliæ lavitCrines solutos, qui Lyciæ tenetDumeta natalemque silvam,Delius et Patareus Apollo.

[13]

Hic avidus stetitVulcanus, hic matrona Juno, etNunquam humeris positurus arcum;Qui rore puro Castaliæ lavitCrines solutos, qui Lyciæ tenetDumeta natalemque silvam,Delius et Patareus Apollo.

Hic avidus stetit

Vulcanus, hic matrona Juno, et

Nunquam humeris positurus arcum;

Qui rore puro Castaliæ lavit

Crines solutos, qui Lyciæ tenet

Dumeta natalemque silvam,

Delius et Patareus Apollo.

[14]——domus Albuneæ resonantis,Et præceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et udaMobilibus pomaria rivis

[14]

——domus Albuneæ resonantis,Et præceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et udaMobilibus pomaria rivis

——domus Albuneæ resonantis,

Et præceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et uda

Mobilibus pomaria rivis

[15]These Sonnets have been brought together from very imperfect manuscripts. It is not to be supposed that their author would have given them to the public in their present state; but they are in parts so characteristic of his thought and style, that they will not be without interest to the readers of his poems.

[16]These Tales were written only a few months before the writer’s death, during his journeys in Greece, Italy, and the Pyrenees, and had not been revised by him.

[17]These songs were composed either during the writer’s voyage across the Atlantic in 1852, or during his residence in America.

[18]Passages of the second letter of Parepidemus (vol. i. pp. 400, 401) illustrate the theory which Mr. Clough has carried into practice in these hexameters as well as in the Translations from the Iliad.

[19]A great proportion of the Poems described as Miscellaneous have, like some included in previous divisions, been brought together from rough copies and unfinished manuscripts. Fragmentary and imperfect as they are, they yet are so characteristic of their writer, that they have been placed here along with others more finished.

[20]This thought is taken from a passage on astronomy in Plato’sRepublic, in which the following sentence occurs, vii. 529, D: ‘We must use the fretwork of the sky as patterns, with a view to the study which aims at these higher realities, just as if we chanced to meet with diagrams cunningly drawn and devised by Dædalus or some other craftsman or painter.’

Back to Index Next