Exultations

Exultations

GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS NIGHT LITANY SANDALPHON SESTINA: ALTAFORTE PIERE VIDAL OLD BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS SESTINA FOR YSOLT PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MRE INCONNUE") FAIR HELENA LAUDANTES DECEM AUX BELLES DE LONDRES FRANCESCA GREEK EPIGRAM COLUMBUS' EPITAPH PLOTINUS ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS HISTRION THE EYES DEFIANCE SONG NEL BIANCHEGGIAR NILS LYKKE A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING ALBA INNOMINATA PLANH Guido invites you thus[1] "Lappo I leave behind and Dante too, Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone! Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, All the blind earth knows not th' emprise Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call. Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire; Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire! Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine." Night Litany O Dieu, purifiez nos curs! purifiez nos curs! Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me in pleasant places, And the beauty of this thy Venice hast thou shown unto me Until is its loveliness become unto me a thing of tears. O God, what great kindness have we done in times past and forgotten it, That thou givest this wonder unto us, O God of waters? O God of the night What great sorrow Cometh unto us, That thou thus repayest us Before the time of its coming? O God of silence, Purifiez nos curs, Purifiez nos curs, For we have seen The glory of the shadow of the likeness of thine handmaid, Yea, the glory of the shadow of thy Beauty hath walked Upon the shadow of the waters In this thy Venice. And before the holiness Of the shadow of thy handmaid Have I hidden mine eyes, O God of waters. O God of silence, Purifiez nos curs, Purifiez nos curs, O God of waters, make clean our hearts within us And our lips to show forth thy praise, For I have seen the Shadow of this thy Venice Floating upon the waters, And thy stars Have seen this thing out of their far courses Have they seen this thing, O God of waters, Even as are thy stars Silent unto us in their far-coursing, Even so is mine heart become silent within me. Purifiez nos curs O God of the silence, Purifiez nos curs O God of waters. Sandalphon The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands. And these about me die, Because the pain of the infinite singing Slayeth them. Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's age-long crusading, Ye know somewhat the strain, the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. And therefore ye know after what fashion This singing hath power destroying. Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage Unto the Mover of Circles, Die for the might of their praising, And the autumn of their marcescent wings Maketh ever new loam for my forest; And these grey ash trees hold within them All the secrets of whatso things They dreamed before their praises, And in this grove my flowers, Fruit of prayerful powers, Have first their thought of life And then their being. Ye marvel that I die not! forsitan! Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, Thinking me part of them that die for praising yea, tho' it be praising, past the power of man's mortality to dream or name its phases, yea, tho' it chant and paean past the might of earth-dwelt soul to think on, yea, tho' it be praising as these the winged ones die of. Ye think me one insensate else die I also Sith these about me die, And if I, watching Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers; Marvel and wonder! Marvel and wonder even as I, Giving to prayer new language And causing the works to speak Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, Yet keep my watch in the ash wood. Sestina: Altaforte LOQUITUR: En Bertrans de Born. Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up of strife. Eccovi! Judge ye! Have I dug him up again? The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur. "The Leopard," the device of Richard (Cur de Lion). I Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace. You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music! I have no life save when the swords clash. But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing. II In hot summer have I great rejoicing When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, And the fierce thunders roar me their music And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, And through all the riven skies God's swords clash. III Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing! Better one hour's stour than a year's peace With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson! IV And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. And I watch his spears through the dark clash And it fills all my heart with rejoicing And pries wide my mouth with fast music When I see him so scorn and defy peace, His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing. V The man who fears war and squats opposing My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson But is fit only to rot in womanish peace Far from where worth's won and the swords clash For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing; Yea, I fill all the air with my music. VI Papiols, Papiols, to the music! There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, No cry like the battle's rejoicing When our elbows and swords drip the crimson And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!" VII And let the music of the swords make them crimson! Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace"! Piere Vidal Old It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at that court. He speaks: When I but think upon the great dead days And turn my mind upon that splendid madness, Lo! I do curse my strength And blame the sun his gladness; For that the one is dead And the red sun mocks my sadness. Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools! Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, And every jongleur knew me in his song, And the hounds fled and the deer fled And none fled over long. Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. God! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips! Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier! Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night, God! but the purple of the sky was deep! Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed Set deep in crystal; and because my sleep Rare visitorcame not,the Saints I guerdon For that restlessnessPiere set to keep One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks. Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, Tom, green and silent in the swollen Rhone, Green was her mantle, close, and wrought Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all, But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought, And conquered! Ah God! conquered! Silent my mate came as the night was still. Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?! Hot is such love and silent, Silent as fate is, and as strong until It faints in taking and in giving all. Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death. God! she was white then, splendid as some tomb High wrought of marble, and the panting breath Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew, Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here. Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade. Ah God, the Loba! and my only mate! Was there such flesh made ever and unmade! God curse the years that turn such women grey! Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed, Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last. And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness, I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale, And every run-way of the wood through that great madness, Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness! No man hath heard the glory of my days: No man hath dared and won his dare as I: One night, one body and one welding flame! What do ye own, ye niggards! that can buy Such glory of the earth? Or who will win Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"? O Age gone lax! O stunted followers, That mask at passions and desire desires, Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks; And yet I mock you by the mighty fires That burnt me to this ash. * * * * * * * Ah! Cabaret! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again! * * * * * * * Take your hands off me!... [Sniffing the air. Ha! this scent is hot! Ballad of the Goodly Fere[1] Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion. Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all For the priests and the gallows tree? Aye lover he was of brawny men, O' ships and the open sea. When they came wi' a host to take Our Man His smile was good to see, "First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere, "Or I'll see ye damned," says he. Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears And the scorn of his laugh rang free, "Why took ye not me when I walked about Alone in the town?" says he. Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine When we last made company, No capon priest was the Goodly Fere But a man o' men was he. I ha' seen him drive a hundred men Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free, That they took the high and holy house For their pawn and treasury. They'll no' get him a' in a book I think Though they write it cunningly; No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere But aye loved the open sea. If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere They are fools to the last degree. "I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere, "Though I go to the gallows tree." "Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind, And wake the dead," says he, "Ye shall see one thing to master all: 'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree." A son of God was the Goodly Fere That bade us his brothers be. I ha' seen him cow a thousand men. I have seen him upon the tree. He cried no cry when they drave the nails And the blood gushed hot and free, The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue But never a cry cried he. I ha' seen him cow a thousand men On the hills o' Galilee, They whined as he walked out calm between, Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea. Like the sea that brooks no voyaging With the winds unleashed and free, Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. A master of men was the Goodly Fere, A mate of the wind and sea, If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere They are fools eternally. I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb Sin' they nailed him to the tree. ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 40200
Author: Pound, Ezra
Release Date: Jul 10, 2012
Format: eBook
Language: English