IDLENESS.
It was a leisure day, and I had shutMy door upon intrusion, and set downWith a true book to read. My study fireMade music to my ear; the placid browOf my Madonna, and the shadowy tintsOf an old Flemish picture that I keep,Might pass for company; and for reliefTo weary eyes, a sweet geranium stoodIn the half shuttered window, breathing outIts odors with the pleasant smell of books;And a soft landscape, given me by oneWho has a noble nature, hung in light,Serving me as a ground for poetry.I read a tale of Séville. It was whenDarkness was over Spain, and Christian heartsWere standing out for truth, undauntedly.The daily light brought martyrdom, and menOf a pure life went faithfully to die,For the rich hope hereafter. There was setA scaffold on the ‘golden Guadalquivir;’And in the greenest valley of the land,With its bright shore and water tempting themLike an affection, did they meekly die.Nobles as just men perished, where their siresHeld the chivalric tournament; and oneWhose ancestors had been Castilia’s kings,Died calmly. He had loved to come aloneAnd watch that stealing river, and ’tis toldThat when the axe fell frequently, he wentEver at evening there, that he might lookUpon its bloody evidence, and nerveHis spirit to the trial.’Tis a taleOf high and manly fortitude, and oneTo elevate the nobler nature. IHave told it to defend my idle time,And prove that a companionship with booksBetters the spirit, and that gliding backUpon these by-past histories revealsPerfect example, and may teach sometimes,How noble and how beautiful appearsThe finer temper of humanity.
It was a leisure day, and I had shutMy door upon intrusion, and set downWith a true book to read. My study fireMade music to my ear; the placid browOf my Madonna, and the shadowy tintsOf an old Flemish picture that I keep,Might pass for company; and for reliefTo weary eyes, a sweet geranium stoodIn the half shuttered window, breathing outIts odors with the pleasant smell of books;And a soft landscape, given me by oneWho has a noble nature, hung in light,Serving me as a ground for poetry.I read a tale of Séville. It was whenDarkness was over Spain, and Christian heartsWere standing out for truth, undauntedly.The daily light brought martyrdom, and menOf a pure life went faithfully to die,For the rich hope hereafter. There was setA scaffold on the ‘golden Guadalquivir;’And in the greenest valley of the land,With its bright shore and water tempting themLike an affection, did they meekly die.Nobles as just men perished, where their siresHeld the chivalric tournament; and oneWhose ancestors had been Castilia’s kings,Died calmly. He had loved to come aloneAnd watch that stealing river, and ’tis toldThat when the axe fell frequently, he wentEver at evening there, that he might lookUpon its bloody evidence, and nerveHis spirit to the trial.’Tis a taleOf high and manly fortitude, and oneTo elevate the nobler nature. IHave told it to defend my idle time,And prove that a companionship with booksBetters the spirit, and that gliding backUpon these by-past histories revealsPerfect example, and may teach sometimes,How noble and how beautiful appearsThe finer temper of humanity.
It was a leisure day, and I had shutMy door upon intrusion, and set downWith a true book to read. My study fireMade music to my ear; the placid browOf my Madonna, and the shadowy tintsOf an old Flemish picture that I keep,Might pass for company; and for reliefTo weary eyes, a sweet geranium stoodIn the half shuttered window, breathing outIts odors with the pleasant smell of books;And a soft landscape, given me by oneWho has a noble nature, hung in light,Serving me as a ground for poetry.
It was a leisure day, and I had shut
My door upon intrusion, and set down
With a true book to read. My study fire
Made music to my ear; the placid brow
Of my Madonna, and the shadowy tints
Of an old Flemish picture that I keep,
Might pass for company; and for relief
To weary eyes, a sweet geranium stood
In the half shuttered window, breathing out
Its odors with the pleasant smell of books;
And a soft landscape, given me by one
Who has a noble nature, hung in light,
Serving me as a ground for poetry.
I read a tale of Séville. It was whenDarkness was over Spain, and Christian heartsWere standing out for truth, undauntedly.The daily light brought martyrdom, and menOf a pure life went faithfully to die,For the rich hope hereafter. There was setA scaffold on the ‘golden Guadalquivir;’And in the greenest valley of the land,With its bright shore and water tempting themLike an affection, did they meekly die.Nobles as just men perished, where their siresHeld the chivalric tournament; and oneWhose ancestors had been Castilia’s kings,Died calmly. He had loved to come aloneAnd watch that stealing river, and ’tis toldThat when the axe fell frequently, he wentEver at evening there, that he might lookUpon its bloody evidence, and nerveHis spirit to the trial.
I read a tale of Séville. It was when
Darkness was over Spain, and Christian hearts
Were standing out for truth, undauntedly.
The daily light brought martyrdom, and men
Of a pure life went faithfully to die,
For the rich hope hereafter. There was set
A scaffold on the ‘golden Guadalquivir;’
And in the greenest valley of the land,
With its bright shore and water tempting them
Like an affection, did they meekly die.
Nobles as just men perished, where their sires
Held the chivalric tournament; and one
Whose ancestors had been Castilia’s kings,
Died calmly. He had loved to come alone
And watch that stealing river, and ’tis told
That when the axe fell frequently, he went
Ever at evening there, that he might look
Upon its bloody evidence, and nerve
His spirit to the trial.
’Tis a taleOf high and manly fortitude, and oneTo elevate the nobler nature. IHave told it to defend my idle time,And prove that a companionship with booksBetters the spirit, and that gliding backUpon these by-past histories revealsPerfect example, and may teach sometimes,How noble and how beautiful appearsThe finer temper of humanity.
’Tis a tale
Of high and manly fortitude, and one
To elevate the nobler nature. I
Have told it to defend my idle time,
And prove that a companionship with books
Betters the spirit, and that gliding back
Upon these by-past histories reveals
Perfect example, and may teach sometimes,
How noble and how beautiful appears
The finer temper of humanity.