Classic and Contemporary Poetry
GUIDARELLO GUIDARELLI; RAVENNA WARRIOR (1502), by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL Poet's Biography Last Line: Share our grief when mine is dumb. Subject(s): Death; Lombardo, Tullio (1455-1532); Ravenna, Italy; Sculpture & Sculptors; Soldiers; Dead, The | ||||||||
I "GUIDARELLO GUIDARELLI!" Ran a murmur low or loud, As he rode with lifted vizor, Smiling on the anxious crowd. "Guidarello Guidarelli!" Rang the cry from street and tower, As our Guido rode to battle In Ravenna's darkest hour. "Guidarello Guidarelli!" Little thought we of his doom When a love-cast rain of roses Fell on saddle, mail, and plume. Low he bowed, and laughing gaily Set one red rose in his crest, All his mail a scarlet splendor Frem the red sun of the west. "Guidarello Guidarelli!" So, he passed to meet his fate, With the cry of "Guidarelli!" And the clangor of the gate. II Well, at eve we bore him homeward, Lying on our burdened spears. Ah! defeat had been less bitter, And had cost us fewer tears. At her feet we laid her soldier, While men saw her with amaze Fearless, tearless, waiting patient, Some wild challenge in her gaze. Then the hand that rained the roses Fell upon his forehead cold. "Go!" she cried, "ye faltering cravens! One that fled, your shame has told. "Go! How dare ye look upon him Ye who failed him in the fight? Off! ye beaten hounds, and leave me With my lonely dead to-night!" No man answered, and they left us Where our darling Guido lay. I alone, who stood beside him In the fight, made bold to stay. "Shut the gate!" she cried. I closed it. "Lay your hand upon his breast; Were you true to him?" "Ay, surely, As I hope for Jesu's rest!" Then I saw her staring past me, As to watch a bird that flies, All the light of youthful courage Fading from her valiant eyes. And with one hoarse cry of anguish On the courtyard stones she fell, Crying, "Guido Guidarelli!" Like the harsh notes of a bell Breaking with its stress of sweetness, Hence to know a voiceless pain. "Guidarello Guidarelli!" Never did she speak again: Save, 't is said, she wins, when dreaming, Tender memories of delight; "Guidarello Guidarelli!" Crying through the quiet night. III Ah! you like it? Well, I made it Ere death aged upon his face. See, I caught the parted lip-lines And the lashes' living grace: For the gentle soul within him, Freed by death, had lingered here, Kissing his dead face to beauty, As to bless a home grown dear. He, my lord, was pure as woman, Past the thought of man's belief; Truth and honor here are written, And some strangeness of relief Born beneath my eager chisel As a child is borna birth To my parent-skill mysterious, Of, and yet not all of, earth. Still one hears our women singing, For a love-charm, so 't is said, "Guidarello Guidarelli!" Like a love-mass for the dead. In caressing iteration With his name their voices play "Elli, Nelli, Guidarelli," Through some busy market-day. Ah, my lord, I have the fancy That through many a year to come This I wrought shall make the stranger Share our grief when mine is dumb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND A DECANTER OF MADEIRA, AGED 86, TO GEORGE BANCROFT, AGED 86 by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL HOW THE CUMBERLAND WENT DOWN [MARCH 8, 1862] by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL |
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