English Narrative Poems

Narrative poetry, English; Readers -- Poetry

So to the hunter spake that ancient man,
    And left him for his own home presently:
    But he turned round, and through the moonlight wan
    Reached the thick wood, and there, 'twixt tree and tree          200
    Distraught he passed the long night feverishly,
    'Twixt sleep and waking, and at dawn arose
    To wage hot war against his speechless foes.

      There to the hart's flank seemed his shaft to grow,
    As panting down the broad green glades he flew,                  205
    There by his horn the Dryads[298] well might know
    His thrust against the bear's heart had been true,
    And there Adonis' bane[299] his javelin slew,
    But still in vain through rough and smooth he went,
    For none the more his restlessness was spent.                    210

      So wandering, he to Argive[300] cities came,
    And in the lists with valiant men he stood,
    And by great deeds he won him praise and fame,
    And heaps of wealth for little-valued blood;
    But none of all these things, or life, seemed good               215
    Unto his heart, where still unsatisfied
    A ravenous longing warred with fear and pride.

      Therefore it happed when but a month had gone
    Since he had left King Schoeneus' city old,
    In hunting-gear again, again alone                               220
    The forest-bordered meads did he behold,
    Where still mid thoughts of August's quivering gold
    Folk hoed the wheat, and clipped the vine in trust
    Of faint October's purple-foaming must.[301]

      And once again he passed the peaceful gate,                    225
    While to his beating heart his lips did lie,
    That, owning not victorious love and fate,
    Said, half aloud, "And here too must I try,
    To win of alien men the mastery,
    And gather for my head fresh meed of fame,                       230
    And cast new glory on my father's name."

      In spite of that, how beat his heart, when first
    Folk said to him, "And art thou come to see
    That which still makes our city's name accurst
    Among all mothers for its cruelty?                               235
    Then know indeed that fate is good to thee
    Because to-morrow a new luckless one
    Against the whitefoot maid is pledged to run."

      So on the morrow with no curious eyes
    As once he did, that piteous sight he saw,                       240
    Nor did that wonder in his heart arise
    As toward the goal the conquering maid 'gan draw,
    Nor did he gaze upon her eyes with awe,
    Too full the pain of longing filled his heart
    For fear or wonder there to have a part.                         245

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

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English Narrative Poems

Narrative poetry, English; Readers -- Poetry

So to the hunter spake that ancient man,
    And left him for his own home presently:
    But he turned round, and through the moonlight wan
    Reached the thick wood, and there, 'twixt tree and tree          200
    Distraught he passed the long night feverishly,
    'Twixt sleep and waking, and at dawn arose
    To wage hot war against his speechless foes.

      There to the hart's flank seemed his shaft to grow,
    As panting down the broad green glades he flew,                  205
    There by his horn the Dryads[298] well might know
    His thrust against the bear's heart had been true,
    And there Adonis' bane[299] his javelin slew,
    But still in vain through rough and smooth he went,
    For none the more his restlessness was spent.                    210

      So wandering, he to Argive[300] cities came,
    And in the lists with valiant men he stood,
    And by great deeds he won him praise and fame,
    And heaps of wealth for little-valued blood;
    But none of all these things, or life, seemed good               215
    Unto his heart, where still unsatisfied
    A ravenous longing warred with fear and pride.

      Therefore it happed when but a month had gone
    Since he had left King Schoeneus' city old,
    In hunting-gear again, again alone                               220
    The forest-bordered meads did he behold,
    Where still mid thoughts of August's quivering gold
    Folk hoed the wheat, and clipped the vine in trust
    Of faint October's purple-foaming must.[301]

      And once again he passed the peaceful gate,                    225
    While to his beating heart his lips did lie,
    That, owning not victorious love and fate,
    Said, half aloud, "And here too must I try,
    To win of alien men the mastery,
    And gather for my head fresh meed of fame,                       230
    And cast new glory on my father's name."

      In spite of that, how beat his heart, when first
    Folk said to him, "And art thou come to see
    That which still makes our city's name accurst
    Among all mothers for its cruelty?                               235
    Then know indeed that fate is good to thee
    Because to-morrow a new luckless one
    Against the whitefoot maid is pledged to run."

      So on the morrow with no curious eyes
    As once he did, that piteous sight he saw,                       240
    Nor did that wonder in his heart arise
    As toward the goal the conquering maid 'gan draw,
    Nor did he gaze upon her eyes with awe,
    Too full the pain of longing filled his heart
    For fear or wonder there to have a part.                         245

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

English Narrative Poems

English Narrative Poems

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