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قراءة كتاب The Golden Helm and Other Verse

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‏اللغة: English
The Golden Helm and Other Verse

The Golden Helm and Other Verse

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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THE GOLDEN HELM


Cover

THE
GOLDEN HELM
AND OTHER VERSE

BY
WILFRID WILSON GIBSON

LONDON
ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET
1903

TO
HOWARD PEASE

BY THE SAME WRITER

URLYN THE HARPER AND OTHER SONG
THE QUEEN'S VIGIL AND OTHER SONG

Thanks are due to Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co., for permission to reprint "The King's Death," "The Three Kings," and the first part of "Averlaine and Arkeld," from The Cornhill Magazine; to the editor of Macmillan's Magazine for leave to reprint "In the Valley"; to the editor of The Saturday Review for leave to reprint "Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière"; and to the editors of The Pilot, The Outlook, The Pall Mall Gazette, Country Life, The Week's Survey, and The Broadsheet, for like courtesy with regard to a number of "The Songs of Queen Averlaine."

Contents

The Torch
The Unknown Knight
The King's Death
The Knight of the Wood
Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière
In the Valley
The Vision: a Christmas Mystery
The Three Kings
The Songs of Queen Averlaine
The Golden Helm

The Torch

Through skies blown clear by storm, o'er storm-spent seas,
Day kindled pale with promise of full noon
Of blue unclouded; no night-weary wind
Ruffled the slumberous, heaving deeps to white,
Though round the Farne Isles the waves never sink
In foamless sleep--about the pillared crags
For ever circling with unresting spray.
At dawn's first glimmer, from his island-cell--
Rock-hewn, secure from tempest--Oswald came
With slow and weary step, white-faced and worn
With night-long vigil for storm-perilled souls.
His anxious eye with sharp foreboding bright--
He scanned the treacherous flood; the long froth-trail
That marks the lurking reefs; the jag-toothed chasms
Which, foaming, gape at night beneath the keel--
The mouth of hell to storm-bewildered ships:
But no scar-stranded vessel met his glance.
Relieved, he drank the glistering calm of morn,
With nostril keen and warm lips parted wide;
While, gradually, the sun-enkindled air
Quickened his pallid cheek with youthful flame,
Though lonely years had silvered his dark head,
And round his eyes had woven shadow-meshes.
Clearly he caught the ever-clamorous cries
Of guillemot and puffin from afar,
Where, canopied by hovering, white wings,
They crowded naked pinnacles of rock.
He watched, with eyes of glistening tenderness,
The brooding eider--Cuthbert's sacred bird,
That bears among the isles his saintly name--
Breast the calm waves; a black, wet-gleaming fin
Cleft the blue waters with a foaming jag,
Where, close behind the restless herring-herd,
With ravening maw of death, the porpoise sped.
Oswald, light-tranced, dreamed in the sun awhile;
Till, suddenly, as some old sorrow starts,
Though years have glided by with soothing lull,
The gust of ancient longing rent his bliss:
His narrow isle, as by some darkling spell,
More narrow shrank; the gulls' unceasing cries
Grew still more fretful; and his hermit-life
A sea-scourged desolation to him seemed.
The holy tree of peace--which he had dreamt
Would flourish in the wilderness afresh,
Upspringing ever in new ecstasy

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