King Stephen

SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO A POEM · CALIDORE · TO KOSCIUSKO · Sonnet on Peace · To a Young Lady who Sent Me a Laurel Crown · On Receiving a Laurel Crown from Leigh Hunt · Hymn to Apollo · King Stephen

Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;
For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye.
Not like the formal crest of latter days:
But bending in a thousand graceful ways;
So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand,
Or e’en the touch of Archimago’s wand,
Could charm them into such an attitude.
We must think rather, that in playful mood,
Some mountain breeze had turned its chief delight,
To show this wonder of its gentle might.
Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;
For while I muse, the lance points slantingly
Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet,
Who cannot feel for cold her tender feet,
From the worn top of some old battlement
Hails it with tears, her stout defender sent:
And from her own pure self no joy dissembling,
Wraps round her ample robe with happy trembling.
Sometimes, when the good Knight his rest would take,
It is reflected, clearly, in a lake,
With the young ashen boughs, ‘gainst which it rests,
And th’ half seen mossiness of linnets’ nests.
Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty,
When the fire flashes from a warrior’s eye,
And his tremendous hand is grasping it,
And his dark brow for very wrath is knit?
Or when his spirit, with more calm intent,
Leaps to the honors of a tournament,
And makes the gazers round about the ring
Stare at the grandeur of the balancing?
No, no! this is far off: — then how shall I
Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy,
Which linger yet about lone gothic arches,
In dark green ivy, and among wild larches?
How sing the splendour of the revelries,
When buts of wine are drunk off to the lees?
And that bright lance, against the fretted wall,
Beneath the shade of stately banneral,
Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield?
Where ye may see a spur in bloody field.
Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces
Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces;
Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens:
Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens.
Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry:
Or wherefore comes that knight so proudly by?
Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight,
Rein in the swelling of his ample might?

Spenser! thy brows are arched, open, kind,
And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind;
And always does my heart with pleasure dance,
When I think on thy noble countenance:
Where never yet was ought more earthly seen
Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green.
Therefore, great bard, I not so fearfully
Call on thy gentle spirit to hover nigh
My daring steps: or if thy tender care,
Thus startled unaware,
Be jealous that the foot of other wight
Should madly follow that bright path of light
Trac’d by thy lov’d Libertas; he will speak,
And tell thee that my prayer is very meek;
That I will follow with due reverence,
And start with awe at mine own strange pretence.
Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope
To see wide plains, fair trees and lawny slope:
The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the flowers:
Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers.

A Fragment.

Young Calidore is paddling o’er the lake;
His healthful spirit eager and awake
To feel the beauty of a silent eve,
Which seem’d full loath this happy world to leave;
The light dwelt o’er the scene so lingeringly.
He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky,
And smiles at the far clearness all around,
Until his heart is well nigh over wound,
And turns for calmness to the pleasant green
Of easy slopes, and shadowy trees that lean
So elegantly o’er the waters’ brim
And show their blossoms trim.
Scarce can his clear and nimble eye-sight follow
The freaks, and dartings of the black-wing’d swallow,
Delighting much, to see it half at rest,
Dip so refreshingly its wings, and breast
‘Gainst the smooth surface, and to mark anon,
The widening circles into nothing gone.

And now the sharp keel of his little boat
Comes up with ripple, and with easy float,
And glides into a bed of water lillies:
Broad leav’d are they and their white canopies
Are upward turn’d to catch the heavens’ dew.
Near to a little island’s point they grew;
Whence Calidore might have the goodliest view
Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore
Went off in gentle windings to the hoar
And light blue mountains: but no breathing man
With a warm heart, and eye prepared to scan
Nature’s clear beauty, could pass lightly by
Objects that look’d out so invitingly
On either side. These, gentle Calidore
Greeted, as he had known them long before.

The sidelong view of swelling leafiness,
Which the glad setting sun, in gold doth dress;
Whence ever, and anon the jay outsprings,
And scales upon the beauty of its wings.

The lonely turret, shatter’d, and outworn,
Stands venerably proud; too proud to mourn
Its long lost grandeur: fir trees grow around,
Aye dropping their hard fruit upon the ground.

The little chapel with the cross above
Upholding wreaths of ivy; the white dove,
That on the windows spreads his feathers light,
And seems from purple clouds to wing its flight.

Green tufted islands casting their soft shades
Across the lake; sequester’d leafy glades,
That through the dimness of their twilight show
Large dock leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow
Of the wild cat’s eyes, or the silvery stems
Of delicate birch trees, or long grass which hems
A little brook. The youth had long been viewing
These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing
The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught
A trumpet’s silver voice. Ah! it was fraught
With many joys for him: the warder’s ken
Had found white coursers prancing in the glen:
Friends very dear to him he soon will see;
So pushes off his boat most eagerly,
And soon upon the lake he skims along,
Deaf to the nightingale’s first under-song;
Nor minds he the white swans that dream so sweetly:
His spirit flies before him so completely.

And now he turns a jutting point of land,
Whence may be seen the castle gloomy, and grand:
Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling peaches,
Before the point of his light shallop reaches
Those marble steps that through the water dip:
Now over them he goes with hasty trip,
And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors:
Anon he leaps along the oaken floors
Of halls and corridors.

Delicious sounds! those little bright-eyed things
That float about the air on azure wings,
Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang
Of clattering hoofs; into the court he sprang,
Just as two noble steeds, and palfreys twain,
Were slanting out their necks with loosened rein;
While from beneath the threat’ning portcullis
They brought their happy burthens. What a kiss,
What gentle squeeze he gave each lady’s hand!
How tremblingly their delicate ancles spann’d!
Into how sweet a trance his soul was gone,
While whisperings of affection
Made him delay to let their tender feet
Come to the earth; with an incline so sweet
From their low palfreys o’er his neck they bent:
And whether there were tears of languishment,
Or that the evening dew had pearl’d their tresses,
He feels a moisture on his cheek, and blesses
With lips that tremble, and with glistening eye
All the soft luxury
That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand,
Fair as some wonder out of fairy land,
Hung from his shoulder like the drooping flowers
Of whitest Cassia, fresh from summer showers:
And this he fondled with his happy cheek
As if for joy he would no further seek;
When the kind voice of good Sir Clerimond
Came to his ear, like something from beyond
His present being: so he gently drew
His warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new,
From their sweet thrall, and forward gently bending,
Thank’d heaven that his joy was never ending;
While ‘gainst his forehead he devoutly press’d
A hand heaven made to succour the distress’d;
A hand that from the world’s bleak promontory
Had lifted Calidore for deeds of glory.

Amid the pages, and the torches’ glare,
There stood a knight, patting the flowing hair
Of his proud horse’s mane: he was withal
A man of elegance, and stature tall:
So that the waving of his plumes would be
High as the berries of a wild ash tree,
Or as the winged cap of Mercury.
His armour was so dexterously wrought
In shape, that sure no living man had thought
It hard, and heavy steel: but that indeed
It was some glorious form, some splendid weed,
In which a spirit new come from the skies
Might live, and show itself to human eyes.
’Tis the far-fam’d, the brave Sir Gondibert,
Said the good man to Calidore alert;
While the young warrior with a step of grace
Came up, — a courtly smile upon his face,
And mailed hand held out, ready to greet
The large-eyed wonder, and ambitious heat
Of the aspiring boy; who as he led
Those smiling ladies, often turned his head
To admire the visor arched so gracefully
Over a knightly brow; while they went by
The lamps that from the high-roof’d hall were pendent,
And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent.

Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated;
The sweet-lipp’d ladies have already greeted
All the green leaves that round the window clamber,
To show their purple stars, and bells of amber.
Sir Gondibert has doff’d his shining steel,
Gladdening in the free, and airy feel
Of a light mantle; and while Clerimond
Is looking round about him with a fond,
And placid eye, young Calidore is burning
To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning
Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of arm
Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm
From lovely woman: while brimful of this,
He gave each damsel’s hand so warm a kiss,
And had such manly ardour in his eye,
That each at other look’d half staringly;
And then their features started into smiles
Sweet as blue heavens o’er enchanted isles.

Softly the breezes from the forest came,
Softly they blew aside the taper’s flame;
Clear was the song from Philomel’s far bower;
Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower;
Mysterious, wild, the far heard trumpet’s tone;
Lovely the moon in ether, all alone:
Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals,
As that of busy spirits when the portals
Are closing in the west; or that soft humming
We hear around when Hesperus is coming.
Sweet be their sleep. * * * * * * * * *

Good Kosciusko, thy great name alone
  Is a full harvest whence to reap high feeling;
  It comes upon us like the glorious pealing
Of the wide spheres — an everlasting tone.
And now it tells me, that in worlds unknown,
  The names of heroes, burst from clouds concealing,
  And changed to harmonies, for ever stealing
Through cloudless blue, and round each silver throne.
It tells me too, that on a happy day,
  When some good spirit walks upon the earth,
  Thy name with Alfred’s, and the great of yore
Gently commingling, gives tremendous birth
To a loud hymn, that sounds far, far away
  To where the great God lives for evermore.

O Peace! and dost thou with thy presence bless
The dwellings of this war-surrounded Isle;
Soothing with placid brow our late distress,
Making the triple kingdom brightly smile?
Joyful I hail thy presence; and I hail
The sweet companions that await on thee;
Complete my joy - let not my first wish fail,
Let the sweet mountain nymph thy favourite be,
With England’s happiness proclaim Europa’s Liberty.
O Europe! let not sceptred tyrants see  10
That thou must shelter in thy former state;
Keep thy chains burst, and boldly say thou art free;
Give thy kings law - leave not uncurbed the great;
So with the horrors past thou’lt win thy happier fate!

Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear
From my glad bosom, - now from gloominess
I mount for ever - not an atom less
Than the proud laurel shall content my bier.
No! by the eternal stars! or why sit here
In the Sun’s eye, and ‘gainst my temples press
Apollo’s very leaves, woven to bless
By thy white fingers and thy spirit clear.
Lo! who dares say, ‘Do this’? Who dares call down
My will from its high purpose? Who say, ‘Stand,’ 10
Or ‘Go’? This mighty moment I would frown
On abject Caesars - not the stoutest band
Of mailed heroes should tear off my crown:
Yet would I kneel and kiss thy gentle hand!

Minutes are flying swiftly, and as yet
Nothing unearthly has enticed my brain
Into a delphic labyrinth - I would fain
Catch an unmortal thought to pay the debt
I owe to the kind Poet who has set
Upon my ambitious head a glorious gain.
Two bending laurel sprigs - ’tis nearly pain
To be conscious of such a Coronet.
Still time is fleeting, and no dream arises
Gorgeous as I would have it - only I see  10
A trampling down of what the world most prizes
Turbans and Crowns, and blank regality;
And then I run into most wild surmises
Of all the many glories that may be.

God of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Charioteer
Of the patient year,
Where - where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,  10
Or was I a worm - too low crawling, for death?
O Delphic Apollo!

The Thunderer grasp’d and grasp’d,
The Thunderer frown’d and frown’d;
The eagle’s feathery mane
For wrath became stiffen’d - the sound
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,

Muttering to be unbound.
O why didst thou pity, and for a worm
20
Why touch thy soft lute
Till the thunder was mute,
Why was not I crush’d - such a pitiful germ?
O Delphic Apollo!
The Pleiades were up,
Watching the silent air;
The seeds and roots in the Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at its old labour,
30
When, who - who did dare
To tie, like a madman, thy plant round his brow.
And grin and look proudly,
And blaspheme so loudly,
And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
O Delphic Apollo!

KING STEPHEN A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT, 1819 CONTENTS SCENE I. SCENE II. SCENE III. SCENE IV.

King Stephen (1092–1154)

SCENE I.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Field of Battle. -
(didascalia)	Alarum. Enter King Stephen, Knights, and Soldiers. -
STEPHEN	If shame can on a soldier’s vein-swoll’n front Spread deeper crimson than the battle’s toil, Blush in your casing helmets! for see, see! Yonder my chivalry, my pride of war, Wrench’d with an iron hand from firm array, Are routed loose about the plashy meads, Of honour forfeit. O that my known voice Could reach your dastard ears, and fright you more! Fly, cowards, fly! Glocester is at your backs! Throw your slack bridles o’er the flurried manes, Ply well the rowel with faint trembling heels, Scampering to death at last!
FIRST KNIGHT	The enemy Bears his flaunt standard close upon their rear.
SECOND KNIGHT	Sure of a bloody prey, seeing the fens Will swamp them girth-deep.
STEPHEN	Over head and ears, No matter! ’Tis a gallant enemy; How like a comet he goes streaming on. But we must plague him in the flank,- hey, friends. We are well breathed,- follow! -
(didascalia)	Enter Earl Baldwin and Soldiers, as defeated. -
STEPHEN	De Redvers! What is the monstrous bugbear that can fright Baldwin?
BALDWIN	No scare-crow, but the fortunate star Of boisterous Chester, whose fell truncheon now Points level to the goal of victory. This way he comes, and if you would maintain Your person unaffronted by vile odds, Take horse, my Lord.
STEPHEN	And which way spur for life? Now I thank Heaven I am in the toils, That soldiers may bear witness how my arm Can burst the meshes. Not the eagle more Loves to beat up against a tyrannous blast, Than I to meet the torrent of my foes. This is a brag,- be’t so,- but if I fall, Carve it upon my ‘scutcheon’d sepulchre. On, fellow soldiers! Earl of Redvers, back! Not twenty Earls of Chester shall brow-beat The diadem. [Exeunt. Alarum.

SCENE II.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Another part of the Field. -
(didascalia)	Trumpets sounding a Victory. Enter Glocester,
(didascalia)	Knights, and Forces. -
GLOCESTER	Now may we lift our bruised vizors up, And take the flattering freshness of the air, While the wide din of battle dies away Into times past, yet to be echoed sure In the silent pages of our chroniclers.
FIRST KNIGHT	Will Stephen’s death be mark’d there, my good Lord, Or that we gave him lodging in yon towers?
GLOCESTER	Fain would I know the great usurper’s fate. -
(didascalia)	Enter two Captains severally. -
FIRST CAPTAIN	My Lord!
SECOND CAPTAIN	Most noble Earl!
FIRST CAPTAIN	The King-
SECOND CAPTAIN	The Empress greets-
GLOCESTER	What of the King?
FIRST CAPTAIN	He sole and lone maintains A hopeless bustle mid our swarming arms, And with a nimble savageness attacks, Escapes, makes fiercer onset, then anew Eludes death, giving death to most that dare Trespass within the circuit of his sword! He must by this have fallen. Baldwin is taken; And for the Duke of Bretagne, like a stag He flies, for the Welsh beagles to hunt down. God save the Empress!
GLOCESTER	Now our dreaded Queen: What message from her Highness?
SECOND CAPTAIN	Royal Maud From the throng’d towers of Lincoln hath look’d down, Like Pallas from the walls of Ilion, And seen her enemies havock’d at her feet. She greets most noble Glocester from her heart, Intreating him, his captains, and brave knights, To grace a banquet. The high city gates Are envious which shall see your triumph pass; The streets are full of music. -
(didascalia)	Enter Second Knight. -
GLOCESTER	Whence come you?
SECOND KNIGHT	From Stephen, my good Prince,- Stephen! Stephen!
GLOCESTER	Why do you make such echoing of his name?
SECOND KNIGHT	Because I think, my lord, he is no man, But a fierce demon, ‘nointed safe from wounds, And misbaptized with a Christian name.
GLOCESTER	A mighty soldier!- Does he still hold out?
SECOND KNIGHT	He shames our victory. His valour still Keeps elbow-room amid our eager swords, And holds our bladed falchions all aloof- His gleaming battle-axe being slaughter-sick, Smote on the morion of a Flemish knight, Broke short in his hand; upon the which he flung The heft away with such a vengeful force, It paunch’d the Earl of Chester’s horse, who then Spleen-hearted came in full career at him.
GLOCESTER	Did no one take him at a vantage then?
SECOND KNIGHT	Three then with tiger leap upon him flew, Whom, with his sword swift-drawn and nimbly held, He stung away again, and stood to breathe,
Smiling	Anon upon him rush’d once more A throng of foes, and in this renew’d strife, My sword met his and snapp’d off at the hilts.
GLOCESTER	Come, lead me to this Mars- and let us move In silence, not insulting his sad doom With clamorous trumpets. To the Empress bear My salutation as befits the time. [Exeunt Glocester and Forces.

SCENE III.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	The Field of Battle. Enter Stephen unarmed. -
STEPHEN	Another sword! And what if I could seize One from Bellona’s gleaming armoury, Or choose the fairest of her sheaved spears! Where are my enemies? Here, close at hand, Here come the testy brood. O for a sword! I’m faint- a biting sword! A noble sword! A hedge-stake- or a ponderous stone to hurl With brawny vengeance, like the labourer Cain. Come on! Farewell my kingdom, and all hail Thou superb, plumb’d, and helmeted renown, All hail- I would not truck this brilliant day To rule in Pylos with a Nestor’s beard- Come on! -
(didascalia)	Enter De Kaims and Knights, &c. -
DE KAIMS	Is’t madness, or a hunger after death, That makes thee thus unarm’d throw taunts at us? Yield, Stephen, or my sword’s point dip in The gloomy current of a traitor’s heart.
STEPHEN	Do it, De Kaims, I will not budge an inch.
DE KAIMS	Yes, of thy madness thou shalt take the meed.
STEPHEN	Darest thou?
DE KAIMS	How dare, against a man disarm’d?
STEPHEN	What weapons has the lion but himself? Come not near me, De Kaims, for by the price Of all the glory I have won this day, Being a king, I will not yield alive To any but the second man of the realm, Robert of Glocester.
DE KAIMS	Thou shalt vail to me.
STEPHEN	Shall I, when I have sworn against it, sir? Thou think’st it brave to take a breathing king, That, on a court-day bow’d to haughty Maud The awed presence-chamber may be bold To whisper, there’s the man who took alive Stephen- me- prisoner. Certes, De Kaims, The ambition is a noble one.
DE KAIMS	’Tis true, And, Stephen, I must compass it.
STEPHEN	No, no, Do not tempt me to throttle you on the gorge, Or with my gauntlet crush your hollow breast, Just when your knighthood is grown ripe and full For lordship. A SOLDIER. Is an honest yeoman’s spear Of no use at a need? Take that.
STEPHEN	Ah, dastard!
DE KAIMS	What, you are vulnerable! my prisoner!
STEPHEN	No not yet. I disclaim it, and demand Death as a sovereign right unto a king Who ‘sdains to yield to any but his peer, If not in title, yet in noble deeds, The Earl of Glocester. Stab to the hilts, De Kaims, For I will never by mean hands be led From this so famous field. Do ye hear! Be quick! -
(didascalia)	Trumpets.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Chester and Knights.