English Narrative Poems

Narrative poetry, English; Readers -- Poetry

"And English cliffs are not more white
    Than her women are, and scarce so light                          230
    Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright;

    "And in some port that he reached from France
    The Prince has lingered for his pleasaunce."[285]

    But once the King asked: "What distant cry
    Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?"                       235

    And one said: "With suchlike shouts, pardie[286]
    Do the fishers fling their nets at sea."

    And one: "Who knows not the shrieking quest
    When the sea-mew misses its young from its nest?"

    'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread                   240
    Albeit they knew not what they said:

    But who should speak to-day of the thing
    That all knew there except the King?

    Then pondering much they found a way,
    And met round the King's high seat that day.                     245

    And the King sat with a heart sore stirred,
    And seldom he spoke and seldom heard.

    'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware
    Of a little boy with golden hair,

    As bright as the golden poppy is                                 250
    That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss:

    Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in Spring,
    And his garb black like the raven's wing.

    Nothing heard but his foot through the hall,
    For now the lords were silent all.                               255

    And the King wondered, and said, "Alack!
    Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black?

    "Why, sweet heart, do you pace through the hall
    As though my court were a funeral?"

    Then lowly knelt the child at the dais,[287]                     260
    And looked up weeping in the King's face.

    "O wherefore black, O King, ye may say,
    For white is the hue of death to-day.

    "Your son and all his fellowship
    Lie low in the sea with the White Ship."                         265

    King Henry fell as a man struck dead;
    And speechless still he stared from his bed
    When to him next day my rede[288] I read.

    There's many an hour must needs beguile
    A King's high heart that he should smile,--                      270

    Full many a lordly hour, full fain
    Of his realm's rule and pride of his reign:--

    But this King never smiled again.

    By none but me can the tale be told,
    The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.                               275
      (_Lands are swayed by a king on a throne._)
    'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
    Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
      (_The sea hath no king but God alone._)




WILLIAM MORRIS


ATALANTA'S RACE

ARGUMENT

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

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English Narrative Poems

General

English Narrative Poems

Narrative poetry, English; Readers -- Poetry

"And English cliffs are not more white
    Than her women are, and scarce so light                          230
    Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright;

    "And in some port that he reached from France
    The Prince has lingered for his pleasaunce."[285]

    But once the King asked: "What distant cry
    Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?"                       235

    And one said: "With suchlike shouts, pardie[286]
    Do the fishers fling their nets at sea."

    And one: "Who knows not the shrieking quest
    When the sea-mew misses its young from its nest?"

    'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread                   240
    Albeit they knew not what they said:

    But who should speak to-day of the thing
    That all knew there except the King?

    Then pondering much they found a way,
    And met round the King's high seat that day.                     245

    And the King sat with a heart sore stirred,
    And seldom he spoke and seldom heard.

    'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware
    Of a little boy with golden hair,

    As bright as the golden poppy is                                 250
    That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss:

    Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in Spring,
    And his garb black like the raven's wing.

    Nothing heard but his foot through the hall,
    For now the lords were silent all.                               255

    And the King wondered, and said, "Alack!
    Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black?

    "Why, sweet heart, do you pace through the hall
    As though my court were a funeral?"

    Then lowly knelt the child at the dais,[287]                     260
    And looked up weeping in the King's face.

    "O wherefore black, O King, ye may say,
    For white is the hue of death to-day.

    "Your son and all his fellowship
    Lie low in the sea with the White Ship."                         265

    King Henry fell as a man struck dead;
    And speechless still he stared from his bed
    When to him next day my rede[288] I read.

    There's many an hour must needs beguile
    A King's high heart that he should smile,--                      270

    Full many a lordly hour, full fain
    Of his realm's rule and pride of his reign:--

    But this King never smiled again.

    By none but me can the tale be told,
    The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.                               275
      (_Lands are swayed by a king on a throne._)
    'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
    Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
      (_The sea hath no king but God alone._)




WILLIAM MORRIS


ATALANTA'S RACE

ARGUMENT

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

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