Fringilla: Some Tales in Verse by Richard Doddridge Blackmore (black books to read TXT) 📖
- Author: Richard Doddridge Blackmore
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"But shall my poor life throw shame on
Royal lineage of Amor?
Tis of Egypt's oldest strains;
Kingly blood flows in my veins.
XV
"Thou hast seen; my faith is plighted,
That I will not fly my doom.
Honour is a flower unblighted,
Though the fates cut off its bloom.
"I have sent my last sun sleeping,
And I am ashamed of weeping.
God, my new God, give me grace
To be worthy of my race.
"Though this death our bodies sever,
Thou shalt find me there above;
Where I shall be learning ever,
To be worthy of thy love."
XVI
From his gaze she turned, to borrow
Pride's assistance against sorrow--
God vouchsafes that scanty loan,
When He taketh all our own.
Sudden thought of heaven's inspiring
Flashed through bold Duke Iram's heart;
Angels more than stand admiring,
When a man takes his own part.
'Tis the law the Lord hath taught us,
To undo what Satan wrought us;
To confound the foul fiend's plan,
With the manliness of man.
XVII
"Thou art right," he answered lowly,
As a youth should sneak a maid;
"Like thyself, thy word is holy;
Love is hate, if it degrade.
"But when thou hast well surrendered,
And thy sacrifice is tendered--
God do so, and more to me,
If I slay not, who slay thee!
"Abraham's God hath ne'er forsaken
Them who trust in Him alway.
Thy sweet life shall not be taken.
Rest, and calm thee, while I pray."
XVIII
Like a little child, that kneeleth
To tell God whate'er he feeleth,
Bent the tall young warrior there,
And the palm-trees whispered prayer.
She, outworn with woe and weeping,
Shared that influence from above;
And the fear of death went sleeping
In the maiden faith and love.
Less the stormy water waileth,
E'en the human tumult faileth;
Stars their silent torches light,
To conduct the car of night
PART III
I
Lo, how bright-eyed morn awaketh
Tower and temple, nook and Nile;
How the sun exultant maketh
All the world return his smile!
O'er the dry sand, vapour twinkleth,
Like an eye when old age wrinkleth;
While, along the watered shore
Runs a river of gold ore.
Temple-front and court resemble
Mirrors swung in wavering light;
While the tapering columns tremble
At the view of their own height.
II
Marble shaft, and granite portal,
Statues of the Gods immortal
Quiver, with their figures bent,
In a liquid pediment
Thence the flood-leat followeth swiftly,
Where the peasant, spade in hand,
Guideth many a runnel deftly
Through his fruit and pasture-land;
Oft, the irriguous bank cross-slicing,
Plaited trickles he keeps enticing;
Till their gravelly gush he feels,
Overtaking his brown heels.
III
Life--that long hath born the test of
More than ours could bear, and live,
Springs anew, to make the best of
Every chance the Gods may give,
Doum-tree stiffeneth flagging feather;
Pate-leaves cease to cling together;
Citrons clear their welted rind;
Vines their mildewed sprays unwind.
Gourds, and melons, spread new lustre
On their veiny dull shagreen;
While the starred pomegranates cluster
Golden balls, with pink between.
IV
Yea, but heaven hath ordered duly,
Lest mankind should wax unruly,
Egypt, garner of all lore,
Narrow as a threshing-floor.
East, and West, lies desolation,
Infinite, untracked, untold
Shroud for all of God's creation,
When the wild blast lifts its fold;
There eternal melancholy
Maketh all delight unholy;
As a stricken widow glides
Past a group of laughing brides.
Who is this, that so disdaineth
Dome and desert, fear and fate;
While his jewell'd horse he reineth.
At Amen-Ra's temple-gate?
He, who crushed the kings of Asia,
Like a pod of colocasia;
Whom the sons of Anak fled,
Puling infants at his tread.
Who, with his own shoulders, lifted
Thrones of many a conquered land;
Who the rocks of Scythia rifted--
King Sesostris waves his hand
VI
Blare of trumpet fills the valley;
Slowly, and majestically,
Swingeth wide, in solemn state,
Lord Amen-Ra's temple-gate.
Thence the warrior-host emeigeth,
Casque, and corselet, spear, and shield;
As the tide of red ore suigeth
From the furnace-door revealed.
After them, tumultuous rushing,
Mob, and medley, crowd, and crushing;
And the hungry file of priests,
Loosely zoned for larger feasts.
VII
"Look!" The whispered awe enhances
With a thrill their merry treat;
As one readeth grim romances,
In a sunny window-seat
"Look! It is the maid selected
For the sacrifice expected:
By the Gods, how proud and brave
Steps she to her watery grave!"
Strike up cymbals, gongs, and tabours,
Clarions, double-flutes, and drums;
All that bellows, or belabours,
In a surging discord comes.
VIII
Scarce Duke Iram can keep under
His wild steed's disdain and wonder,
While his large eyes ask alway--
"Dareth man attempt to neigh?"
He hath snuffed the great Sahara,
And the mute parade of stars;
Shall he brook this shrill fanfara,
Ramshorns, pigskins, screechy jars?
What hath he to do with rabble?
Froth is better than their babble;
Let him toss them flakes of froth,
To pronounce his scorn and wrath.
IX
With his nostrils fierce dilating,
With his crest a curling sea,
All his volumed power is waiting
For the will, to set it free.
"Peace, my friend!" The touch he knoweth
Calms his heart, howe'er it gloweth:
Horse can shame a man, to quell
Passion, where he loveth well.
"Nay, endure we," saith the rider,
"Till her plighted word be paid;
Then, though Satan stand beside her,
God shall help me swing this blade."
X
Lo, upon the deep-piled dais,
Wrought in hallowed looms of Sais,
O'er the impetuous torrent's swoop,
Stands the sacrificial group!
Tall High-priest, with zealot fires
Blazing in those eyeballs
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