Famous Long Obedience Poems

Famous Long Obedience Poems. Long Obedience Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Obedience long poems

See also: Long Member Poems

 AN INDIAN LEGEND.

[This very fine Ballad was also first given in the Horen.]
(MAHADEVA is one of the numerous names of Seeva, the destroyer,--
the great god of the Brahmins.)


MAHADEVA,* Lord of earth

For the sixth time comes below,

As a man of mortal birth,--

Like him, feeling joy and woe.

Hither loves he to repair,

And his power behind to leave;

If to punish or to spare,

Men as man he'd fain perceive.
And when he the town as a trav'ller hath seen,
Observing the mighty, regarding the mean,
He quits it, to go on his journey, at eve.


He was leaving now the place,

When an outcast met his eyes,--

Fair in form, with painted face,--

Where some straggling dwellings rise.

"Maiden, hail!"--"Thanks! welcome here!

Stay!--I'll join thee in the road.'

"Who art thou?"--"A Bayadere,

And this house is love's abode."
The cymbal she hastens to play for the dance,
Well skill'd in its mazes the sight to entrance,
Then by her with grace is the nosegay bestow'd.



Then she draws him, as in play,

O'er the threshold eagerly:

"Beauteous stranger, light as day

Thou shalt soon this cottage see.

I'll refresh thee, if thou'rt tired,

And will bathe thy weary feet;

Take whate'er by thee's desired,

Toying, rest, or rapture sweet."--
She busily seeks his feign'd suff'rings to ease;
Then smiles the Immortal; with pleasure he sees
That with kindness...
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 I CANNOT hold, for though to write were rude, 
Yet to be silent were Ingratitude, 
And Folly too; for if Posterity 
Should never hear of such a one as thee, 
And onely know this Age's brutish fame, 
They would think Vertue nothing but a Name. 
And though far abler Pens must her define, 
Yet her Adoption hath engaged mine: 
And I must own where Merit shines so clear, 
'Tis hard to write, but harder to forbear. 
Sprung from an ancient and an honour'd Stem, 
Who lent her lustre, and she paid it them; 
Who still in great and noble things appeared, 
Whom all their Country lov'd, and yet they feared. 
Match'd to another good and great as they, 
Who did their Country both oblige and sway. 
Behold herself, who had without dispute 
More then both Families could contribute. 
What early Beauty Grief and Age had broke, 
Her lovely Reliques and her Off-spring spoke. 
She was by nature and her Parents care 
A Woman long before most others are. 
But yet that antedated2 season she 
Improv'd to Vertue, not to Liberty. 
For she was still in either state of life 
Meek as a Virgin, Prudent as a Wife 
And she...
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When there are so many we shall have to mourn,when grief has been made so public, and exposedto the critique of a whole epochthe frailty of our conscience and anguish, of whom shall we speak? For every day they dieamong us, those who were doing us some good,who knew it was never enough buthoped to improve a little by living. Such was this doctor: still at eighty he wishedto think of our life from whose unrulinessso many plausible young futureswith threats or flattery ask obedience, but his wish was denied him: he closed his eyesupon that last picture, common to us all,of problems like relatives gatheredpuzzled and jealous about our dying. For about him till the very end were stillthose he had studied, the fauna of the night,and shades that still waited to enterthe bright circle of his recognition turned elsewhere with their disappointment as hewas taken away from his life interestto go back to the earth in London,an important Jew who died in exile. Only Hate was happy, hoping to augmenthis practice now, and his dingy clientelewho think they can be cured by killingand covering the garden with ashes. They are still alive, but in a world he changedsimply...
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 Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build,
Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work,
Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when Solomon willed
Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk,
Man, brute, reptile, fly,--alien of end and of aim,
Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep removed,--
Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable Name,
And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess he loved!

Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine,
This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise!
Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now combine,
Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise!
And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell,
Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things,
Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well,
Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs.

And another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was,
Ay, another and yet another, one crowd but with many a crest,
Raising my rampired walls of gold as transparent as glass,
Eager to do and die, yield each his place...
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 An old man cocked his car upon a bridge;
 He and his friend, their faces to the South,
 Had trod the uneven road. Their hoots were soiled,
 Their Connemara cloth worn out of shape;
 They had kept a steady pace as though their beds,
 Despite a dwindling and late-risen moon,
 Were distant still. An old man cocked his ear.

Aherne. What made that Sound?

Robartes. A rat or water-hen
Splashed, or an otter slid into the stream.
We are on the bridge; that shadow is the tower,
And the light proves that he is reading still.
He has found, after the manner of his kind,
Mere images; chosen this place to live in
Because, it may be, of the candle-light
From the far tower where Milton's Platonist
Sat late, or Shelley's visionary prince:
The lonely light that Samuel Palmer engraved,
An image of mysterious wisdom won by toil;
And now he seeks in book or manuscript
What he shall never find.

Ahernc. Why should not you
Who know it all ring at his door, and speak
Just truth enough to show that his whole life
Will scarcely find for him a broken crust
Of all those truths that are your daily bread;
And when you have spoken take the roads again?

Robartes. He wrote of me in that extravagant style
He...
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 White founts falling in the Courts of the sun, 
And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run; 
There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared, 
It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard; 
It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips; 
For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships. 
They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy, 
They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea, 
And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss, 
And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross. 
The cold queen of England is looking in the glass; 
The shadow of the Valois is yawning at the Mass; 
From evening isles fantastical rings faint the Spanish gun, 
And the Lord upon the Golden Horn is laughing in the sun. 

Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard, 
Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred, 
Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half attainted stall, 
The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall, 
The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird...
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 1

Lo d? che han detto a' dolci amici addio. - Dante
Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci! - Petrarca

Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
Or come not yet, for it is over then,
And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest when:"
For one man is my world of all the men
This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
When life was sweet because you call'd them sweet? 

2 

Era gi? 1'ora che volge il desio. - Dante
Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima. - Petrarca

I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would...
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 Why run the crowd? What means the throng
That rushes fast the streets along?
Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be?
In crowds they gather hastily,
And, on his steed, a noble knight
Amid the rabble, meets my sight;
Behind him--prodigy unknown!--
A monster fierce they're drawing on;
A dragon stems it by its shape,
With wide and crocodile-like jaw,
And on the knight and dragon gape,
In turns, the people, filled with awe.

And thousand voices shout with glee
"The fiery dragon come and see,
Who hind and flock tore limb from limb!--
The hero see, who vanquished him!
Full many a one before him went,
To dare the fearful combat bent,
But none returned home from the fight;
Honor ye, then, the noble knight!"
And toward the convent move they all,
While met in hasty council there
The brave knights of the Hospital,
St. John the Baptist's Order, were.

Up to the noble master sped
The youth, with firm but modest tread;
The people followed with wild shout,
And stood the landing-place about,
While thus outspoke that daring one:
"My knightly duty I have done.
The dragon that laid waste the land
Has fallen beneath my conquering hand.
The way is to the wanderer free,
The shepherd o'er the plains may rove;
Across the mountains joyfully
The pilgrim to the shrine may move."

But sternly looked the prince, and said:
"The hero's part...
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 So all day long the noise of battle roll'd
Among the mountains by the winter sea;
Until King Arthur's table, man by man,
Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord,
King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep,
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on a dark strait of barren land.
On one side lay the ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, and the moon was full. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
"The sequel of to-day unsolders all
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep
They sleep--the men I loved. I think that we
Shall never more, at any future time,
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking about the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as in the days that were.
I perish by this people which I made,--
Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again
To rule once more--but let what will be, be,
I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm
That without help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
Rose up...
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 The vision of Christ that thou dost see 
Is my vision’s greatest enemy. 
Thine has a great hook nose like thine; 
Mine has a snub nose like to mine. 
Thine is the Friend of all Mankind; 
Mine speaks in parables to the blind. 
Thine loves the same world that mine hates; 
Thy heaven doors are my hell gates. 
Socrates taught what Meletus 
Loath’d as a nation’s bitterest curse, 
And Caiaphas was in his own mind 
A benefactor to mankind. 
Both read the Bible day and night, 
But thou read’st black where I read white. 

Was Jesus gentle, or did He 
Give any marks of gentility? 
When twelve years old He ran away, 
And left His parents in dismay. 
When after three days’ sorrow found, 
Loud as Sinai’s trumpet-sound: 
‘No earthly parents I confess— 
My Heavenly Father’s business! 
Ye understand not what I say, 
And, angry, force Me to obey. 
Obedience is a duty then, 
And favour gains with God and men.’ 
John from the wilderness loud cried; 
Satan gloried in his pride. 
‘Come,’ said Satan, ‘come away, 
I’ll soon see if you’ll obey! 
John for disobedience bled, 
But you can turn the stones to bread. 
God’s high king and...
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YE learn¨¨d sisters, which have oftentimes 
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, 
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes, 
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne 
To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes, 5 
But joy¨¨d in theyr praise; 
And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne, 
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse, 
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne, 
And teach the woods and waters to lament 10 
Your dolefull dreriment: 
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside; 
And, having all your heads with girlands crownd, 
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound; 
Ne let the same of any be envide: 15 
So Orpheus did for his owne bride! 
So I unto my selfe alone will sing; 
The woods shall to me answer, and my Eccho ring. 

Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe 
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred, 20 
Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe, 
Doe ye awake; and, with fresh lusty-hed, 
Go to the bowre of my belov¨¨d love, 
My truest turtle dove; 
Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake, 25 
And long since ready forth his maske to move, 
With his bright Tead that...
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Phyllis (Español)

Lo atrevido de un pincel,
Filis, dio a mi pluma alientos:
que tan gloriosa desgracia
más causa corrió que miedo.

   Logros de errar por tu causa
fue de mi ambición el cebo;
donde es el riesgo apreciable
¿qué tanto valdrá el acierto?

   Permite, pues, a mi pluma
segundo arriesgado vuelo,
pues no es el primer delito
que le disculpa el ejemplo

   .....

    de ti, peregrina Filis?,
cuyo divino sujeto
se dio por merced al mundo,
se dio por ventaja al cielo;

    en cuyas divinas aras,
ni sudor arde sabeo,
ni sangre se efunde humana,
ni bruto se corta cuello,

    pues del mismo corazón
los combatientes deseos
son holocausto poluto,
son materiales afectos,

    y solamente del alma
en religiosos incendios
arde sacrificio puro
de adoración y silencio.

   .....

    Yo, pues, mi adorada Filis,
que tu deidad reverencio,
que tu desdén idolatro
y que tu rigor venero:

    bien así, como la simple
amante que, en tornos ciegos,
es despojo de la llama
por tocar el lucimiento

    como el niño que, inocente,
aplica incauto los dedos
a la cuchilla, engañado
del resplandor del acero,

    y herida la tierna mano,
aún sin conocer el yerro,
más que el dolor de la herida
siente apartarse...
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 That story which the bold Sir Bedivere,
First made and latest left of all the knights,
Told, when the man was no more than a voice
In the white winter of his age, to those
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds.
For on their march to westward, Bedivere,
Who slowly paced among the slumbering host,
Heard in his tent the moanings of the King:
"I found Him in the shining of the stars,
I mark'd Him in the flowering of His fields,
But in His ways with men I find Him not.
I waged His wars, and now I pass and die.
O me! for why is all around us here
As if some lesser god had made the world,
But had not force to shape it as he would,
Till the High God behold it from beyond,
And enter it, and make it beautiful?
Or else as if the world were wholly fair,
But that these eyes of men are dense and dim,
And have not power to see it as it is:
Perchance, because we see not to the close;--
For I, being simple, thought to work His will,
And have but stricken with the sword in vain;
And all whereon I lean'd in wife and friend
Is traitor to my peace, and all my realm
Reels back into the...
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 That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, 
First made and latest left of all the knights, 
Told, when the man was no more than a voice 
In the white winter of his age, to those 
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds. 

For on their march to westward, Bedivere, 
Who slowly paced among the slumbering host, 
Heard in his tent the moanings of the King: 

'I found Him in the shining of the stars, 
I marked Him in the flowering of His fields, 
But in His ways with men I find Him not. 
I waged His wars, and now I pass and die. 
O me! for why is all around us here 
As if some lesser god had made the world, 
But had not force to shape it as he would, 
Till the High God behold it from beyond, 
And enter it, and make it beautiful? 
Or else as if the world were wholly fair, 
But that these eyes of men are dense and dim, 
And have not power to see it as it is: 
Perchance, because we see not to the close;-- 
For I, being simple, thought to work His will, 
And have but stricken with the...
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 I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
 Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite
Into the desert, his victorious field
Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence 
By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire,
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,
And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds,
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds
Above heroic, though in secret done,
And unrecorded left through many an age:
Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.
 Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand 
To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked
With awe the regions round, and with them came
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed
To the flood Jordan—came as then obscure,
Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore
As to his worthier, and would have resigned
To him his heavenly office. Nor was long
His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a Dove 
The Spirit descended,...
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