Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (310 page)

The Revenge of Hamish

Sidney Lanier (1842–1881)

IT was three slim does and a ten-tined buck in the bracken lay;
 
And all of a sudden the sinister smell of a man,
 
Awaft on a wind-shift, wavered and ran
Down the hillside and sifted along through the bracken and passed that way.

Then Nan got a-tremble at nostril; she was the daintiest doe;
  
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In the print of her velvet flank on the velvet fern
 
She reared, and rounded her ears in turn.
Then the buck leapt up, and his head as a king’s to a crown did go

Full high in the breeze, and he stood as if Death had the form of a deer;
 
And the two slim does long lazily stretching arose,
  
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For their day-dream slowlier came to a close,
Till they woke and were still, breath-bound with waiting and wonder and fear.

Then Alan the huntsman sprang over the hillock, the hounds shot by,
 
The does and the ten-tined buck made a marvellous bound,
 
The hounds swept after with never a sound,
  
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But Alan loud winded his horn in sign that the quarry was nigh.

For at dawn of that day proud Maclean of Lochbuy to the hunt had waxed wild,
 
And he cursed at old Alan till Alan fared off with the hounds
 
For to drive him the deer to the lower glen-grounds:
‘I will kill a red deer,’ quoth Maclean, ‘in the sight of the wife and the child.’
  
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So gayly he paced with the wife and the child to his chosen stand;
 
But he hurried tall Hamish the henchman ahead: ‘Go turn,’ —
 
Cried Maclean,— ‘if the deer seek to cross to the burn,
Do thou turn them to me: nor fail, lest thy back be red as thy hand.’

Now hard-fortuned Hamish, half blown of his breath with the height of the hill,
  
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Was white in the face when the ten-tined buck and the does
 
Drew leaping to burn-ward; huskily rose
His shouts, and his nether lip twitched, and his legs were o’er-weak for his will.

So the deer darted lightly by Hamish and bounded away to the burn.
 
But Maclean never bating his watch tarried waiting below;
  
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Still Hamish hung heavy with fear for to go
All the space of an hour, then he went, and his face was greenish and stern,

And his eye sat back in the socket, and shrunken the eyeballs shone,
 
As withdrawn from a vision of deeds it were shame to see.
 
‘Now, now, grim henchman, what is’t with thee?’
  
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Brake Maclean, and his wrath rose red as a beacon the wind hath upblown.

‘Three does and a ten-tined buck made out,’ spoke Hamish, full mild,
 
‘And I ran for to turn, but my breath it was blown, and they passed;
 
I was weak, for ye called ere I broke me my fast.’
Cried Maclean: ‘Now a ten-tined buck in the sight of the wife and the child
  
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‘I had killed if the gluttonous kern had not wrought me a snail’s own wrong!’
 
Then he sounded, and down came kinsmen and clansmen all:
 
‘Ten blows, for ten tine, on his back let fall,
And reckon no stroke if the blood follow not at the bite of thong!’

So Hamish made bare, and took him his strokes; at the last he smiled.
  
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‘Now I’ll to the burn,’ quoth Maclean, ‘for it still may be,
 
If a slimmer-paunched henchman will hurry with me,
I shall kill me the ten-tined buck for a gift to the wife and the child!’

Then the clansmen departed, by this path and that; and over the hill
 
Sped Maclean with an outward wrath for an inward shame;
  
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And that place of the lashing full quiet became;
And the wife and the child stood sad; and bloody-backed Hamish sat still.

But look! red Hamish has risen; quick about and about turns he.
 
‘There is none betwixt me and the crag-top!’ he screams under breath.
 
Then, livid as Lazarus lately from death,
  
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He snatches the child from the mother, and clambers the crag toward the sea.

Now the mother drops breath; she is dumb, and her heart goes dead for a space,
 
Till the motherhood, mistress of death, shrieks, shrieks through the glen,
 
And that place of the lashing is live with men,
And Maclean, and the gillie that told him, dash up in a desperate race.
  
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Not a breath’s time for asking; an eye-glance reveals all the tale untold.
 
They follow mad Hamish afar up the crag toward the sea,
 
And the lady cries: ‘Clansmen, run for a fee!
You castle and lands to the two first hands that shall hook him and hold

‘Fast Hamish back from the brink!’ — and ever she flies up the steep,
  
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And the clansmen pant, and they sweat, and they jostle and strain.
 
But, mother, ’tis vain; but, father, ’tis vain;
Stern Hamish stands bold on the brink, and dangles the child o’er the deep.

Now a faintness falls on the men that run, and they all stand still.
 
And the wife prays Hamish as if he were God, on her knees,
  
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Crying: ‘Hamish! O Hamish! but please, but please
For to spare him!’ and Hamish still dangles the child, with a wavering will.

On a sudden he turns; with a sea-hawk scream, and a gibe, and a song,
 
Cries: ‘So; I will spare ye the child if, in sight of ye all,
 
Ten blows on Maclean’s bare back shall fall,
  
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And ye reckon no stroke if the blood follow not at the bite of the thong!”

Then Maclean he set hardly his tooth to his lip that his tooth was red,
 
Breathed short for a space, said: ‘Nay, but it never shall be!
 
Let me hurl off the damnable hound in the sea!’
But the wife: ‘Can Hamish go fish us the child from the sea, if dead?
  
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‘Say yea! — Let them lash
me,
Hamish?’— ‘Nay!’— ‘Husband, the lashing will heal;
 
But, oh, who will heal me the bonny sweet bairn in his grave?
 
Could ye cure me my heart with the death of a knave?
Quick! Love! I will bare thee — so — kneel!’ Then Maclean ‘gan slowly to kneel

With never a word, till presently downward he jerked to the earth.
  
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Then the henchman — he that smote Hamish — would tremble and lag;
 
‘Strike, hard!’ quoth Hamish, full stern, from the crag;
Then he struck him, and ‘One!’ sang Hamish, and danced with the child in his mirth.

And no man spake beside Hamish; he counted each stroke with a song.
 
When the last stroke fell, then he moved him a pace down the height,
  
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And he held forth the child in the heart-aching sight
Of the mother, and looked all pitiful grave, as repenting a wrong.

And there as the motherly arms stretched out with the thanksgiving prayer —
 
And there as the mother crept up with a fearful swift pace,
 
Till her finger nigh felt of the bairnie’s face —
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In a flash fierce Hamish turned round and lifted the child in the air,

And sprang with the child in his arms from the horrible height in the sea,
 
Shrill screeching, ‘Revenge!’ in the wind-rush; and pallid Maclean,
 
Age-feeble with anger and impotent pain,
Crawled up on the crag, and lay flat, and locked hold of dead roots of a tree,
  
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And gazed hungrily o’er, and the blood from his back drip-dripped in the brine,
 
And a sea-hawk flung down a skeleton fish as he flew,
 
And the mother stared white on the waste of blue,
And the wind drove a cloud to seaward, and the sun began to shine.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

How Love Looked for Hell

Sidney Lanier (1842–1881)

TO heal his heart of long-time pain
One day Prince Love for to travel was fain
 
With Ministers Mind and Sense.
‘Now what to thee most strange may be?’
Quoth Mind and Sense. ‘All things above,
  
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One curious thing I first would see —
 
Hell,’ quoth Love.

Then Mind rode in and Sense rode out:
They searched the ways of man about.
 
First frightfully groaneth Sense.
  
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‘’Tis here, ’tis here,’ and spurreth in fear
To the top of the hill that hangeth above
And plucketh the Prince: ‘Come, come, ’tis here—’
 
‘Where?’ quoth Love —

‘Not far, not far,’ said shivering Sense
  
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As they rode on. ‘A short way hence,
 
— But seventy paces hence:
Look, King, dost see where suddenly
This road doth dip from the height above?
Cold blew a mouldy wind by me’
  
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(‘Cold?’ quoth Love)

‘As I rode down, and the River was black,
And yon-side, lo! an endless wrack
 
And rabble of souls,’ sighed Sense,
‘Their eyes upturned and begged and burned
  
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In brimstone lakes, and a Hand above
Beat back the hands that upward yearned—’
 
‘Nay!’ quoth Love —

‘Yea, yea, sweet Prince; thyself shalt see,
Wilt thou but down this slope with me;
  
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’Tis palpable,’ whispered Sense.
At the foot of the hill a living rill
Shone, and the lilies shone white above;
‘But now ’twas black, ’twas a river, this rill,’
 
(‘Black?’ quoth Love)
  
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‘Ay, black, but lo! the lilies grow,
And yon-side where was woe, was woe, —
 
Where the rabble of souls,’ cried Sense,
‘Did shrivel and turn and beg and burn,
Thrust back in the brimstone from above —
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Is banked of violet, rose, and fern:’
 
‘How?’ quoth Love:

‘For lakes of pain, yon pleasant plain
Of woods and grass and yellow grain
 
Doth ravish the soul and sense:
  
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And never a sigh beneath the sky,
And folk that smile and gaze above—’
‘But saw’st thou here, with thine own eye,
 
Hell?’ quoth Love.

‘I saw true hell with mine own eye,
  
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True hell, or light hath told a lie,
 
True, verily,’ quoth stout Sense.
Then Love rode round and searched the ground,
The caves below, the hills above;
‘But I cannot find where thou hast found
  
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Hell,’ quoth Love.

There, while they stood in a green wood
And marvelled still on Ill and Good,
 
Came suddenly Minister Mind.
‘In the heart of sin doth hell begin:
  
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’Tis not below, ’tis not above,
It lieth within, it lieth within:’
 
(‘Where?’ quoth Love)

‘I saw a man sit by a corse;
Hell’s in the murderer’s breast: remorse!
  
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Thus clamored his mind to his mind:
Not fleshly dole is the sinner’s goal,
Hell’s not below, nor yet above,
’Tis fixed in the ever-damned soul—’
 
‘Fixed?’ quoth Love —
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‘Fixed: follow me, would’st thou but see:
He weepeth under yon willow tree,
 
Fast chained to his corse,’ quoth Mind.
Full soon they passed, for they rode fast,
Where the piteous willow bent above.
  
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‘Now shall I see at last, at last,
 
Hell,’ quoth Love.

There when they came Mind suffered shame:
‘These be the same and not the same,’
 
A-wondering whispered Mind.
  
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Lo, face by face two spirits pace
Where the blissful willow waves above:
One saith: ‘Do me a friendly grace—’
 
(‘Grace!’ quoth Love)

‘Read me two Dreams that linger long,
  
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Dim as returns of old-time song
 
That flicker about the mind.
I dreamed (how deep in mortal sleep!)
I struck thee dead, then stood above,
With tears that none but dreamers weep;’
  
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‘Dreams,’ quoth Love;

‘In dreams, again, I plucked a flower
That clung with pain and stung with power,
 
Yea, nettled me, body and mind.’
‘’Twas the nettle of sin, ’twas medicine;
  
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No need nor seed of it here Above;
In dreams of hate true loves begin.’
 
‘True,’ quoth Love.

‘Now strange,’ quoth Sense, and ‘Strange,’ quoth Mind,
‘We saw it, and yet ’tis hard to find,
  
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— But we saw it,’ quoth Sense and Mind.
Stretched on the ground, beautiful-crowned
Of the piteous willow that wreathed above,
‘But I cannot find where ye have found
 
Hell,’ quoth Love.
  
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List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order