Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IN BOHEMIA, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) Poet's Biography First Line: This tale I seemed to hear a gipsy tell Last Line: "and one with angry, unrelenting eyes?" Subject(s): Czechoslovakia; Slovakia | ||||||||
THIS tale I seemed to hear a Gipsy tell, A dark-browed woman prisoned in a cell In wild Bohemia: "Ay, 'twas in the gloom Of the dark, twilight pine - woods far away They found me sitting, somewhat dazed, I think, By what sad things had been, and slow to move When all was done; self-chained, as I am now Within this lonely cell, and pondering All the sad Past. I know not what the Law Can do with me, nor care. But there -- just there Where you stand now -- do you see two corpses lie, One, shot through the brain, who bears a stony calm Upon his face; and one with staring eyes And knitted brows, and clenched jaws, breathing rage And balked revenge? Do you see the crimson stain Steal on -- or is it fancy, and there comes Nothing to break the bare and ghastly white Of this unlovely cell, and I but dream That dreadful dream again? What? would you learn How 'tis that I come here a prisoner bound By self-forged chains? Our swift Gitana blood Breeds savage jealousies and hates and loves -- Not the slow current of your Northern veins, But a fierce tigerish impulse, half desire, Half selfish pride. We wanderers keep to-day The unbridled passion, which the tropic sun Burned in our blood; and I am of my race, As you of yours. Two there were sought my love. One a man, strong, with all the vigorous strength Of manhood, tall of stature, black of beard, And swarthy cheeked -- a strenuous mate to bind A woman's wandering wings -- strong arms and loins; A husband more than lover, so that long I doubted if 'twere well to smile on him, Half fearful lest his fierce and tyrannous will Should prove too strong for mine. Therefore it was I hesitated, drawn now here, now there. I think I never loved him; though maybe His splendid manhood drew me as it draws Weak women the world over -- us who toil And wander day by day, and lie by night Tired 'neath the gazing stars, and those who sink, After soft days of silken dalliance, Canopied close, in down and perfumed ease, Within their gilded palaces. They too Are women weak as I, and loving well The strong, supporting arm -- ay, though sometimes 'Twere raised in anger -- and the resonant tones And flashing eye, because their strength confirms Our weakness. But because our souls are weak, Not strength alone allures us, but the charm Of youth, the scarcely shaded lip and cheek, The dark plume on the brow, the lissom grace Of budding age; and one there was, a boy Of fitting years to mine, bold as a god, And lithe as a young panther, and he cast Dark passionate eyes on me, as he had cast them Upon a score before, and at the tones Of his gay accents, all the woman's love Of beauty and things fair rose up and strove For mastery with the woman's shrinking nature That loved the guiding hand, and overthrew it While he was near -- love of the sight alone, Not of the heart or mind. And though I knew not Which love to choose, it was the eyes' desire Prevailed at last. And yet I do not think I loved him; for when all the gossips came To tell me he was faithless, now with this one And now with that, it was not pain I knew, Only contempt for him and wounded pride, And (though that argues unrequited love) A longing for revenge. You cannot know, You Northerns, through whose veins the tepid blood Creeps slowly, with what pulses the hot tide Leaps from our torrid hearts. Therefore I planned A subtle scheme. I wrote a loving letter, Bidding him meet me in the wood when eve Was falling; I had much to say to him, And begged that he would come, for it might prove The last time we should meet, and we should be Together and alone. Then, when 'twas sent, I wrote another to the man I feared, Not loved, and bade him to the trysting-place A little later, when the dying sun Was sinking on the hills, and I would give him The answer he had asked. When all was done, And both I knew would come -- poor fools allured By love, where love was not, only revenge And hatred -- I went forth without a word After my toil was done, and took with me, Half ignorant of what I did or wherefore, Concealed upon my bosom, like the asp Of our Egyptian Queen, with shining tube, A tiny weapon, for what end I know not Nor knew; but with our Gipsy blood 'tis well, When passions rise to fever-heat, to hold Some strength reserved, and I had done that day That which might lead to bloodshed, and 'twere best The way to escape lay open, if my fate At last should leave me lonely to despair. Then when the dying day, declining, cast Its longer shadows through the darkling wood, Hastening, within a little glade I found My youthful lover waiting at the place Where he should die ere sunset. As I saw him, It did repent me of my deed. I fain Had warned him of his doom; but as we sate Upon a fallen tree-trunk, side by side, Some careless boast, some burst of mocking mirth, Some jibe at woman's love, or covert sneer, Fanning my jealous fancies into flame, Filled all my soul with madness. And the sun Sank on the hills and a cold chill of eve Breathed like the breath of Fate, as, looking up, I saw the angry face and lurid eyes Of the avenger burn; and knew that doom Was nigh, fierce fight and blood, and pain and death. Ah, I remember well with what fierce rage, Poor fools! they rushed together. I mocked them both, Dupes of a loveless woman who cared naught Whatever ill befell them, when they closed In mortal combat, the strong stalwart man And the lithe agile youth. Long time the fight Raged doubtfully, 'twixt those slow-moving limbs And that swift panther-tread; they struck, they strained, They twined, until at last the younger fell, O'erborne, upon the earth. Then with a cry Of rage he rose, and soon the keen knives flashed Red in the last rays of the sinking sun; The dark eyes, lighted by an inward fire, Burned with the light of hate. And I sat mute And motionless, watching as those who sit Sporting with blood and pain. I had no wish To stay their hands, nor spoke one soothing word To avert their doom. The keen eyes, the quick limbs, The feints, the thrusts, the parries, moved me not, Who sat with eager eyes, and watched the fight, Like some tempestuous drama, to the close, From act to breathless act. There came no sound But the quick clash of steel, the deep drawn breaths, The crackle of trampled wood, until at last One agonizing cry, and my young lover, With large reproachful eyes, fell at my feet, Stabbed to the heart. Then all my former hate Transformed to love and pity, I rose and fell Upon his breast, and kissed him ere he died; And when I rose I saw the angry eyes Of the other bent on me, as if he knew My secret and despised me. Not a word He spoke, nor I, but straight, the rushing flood Of passionate love transformed itself to hate Of him who did despoil me, and contempt For life and for myself, and a great rage Against the stronger, rising, blotted out All my old thoughts. No more I sought to gain Deliverance dying. As he stood before me With fierce, victorious eyes, I raised my hand, Drew forth the little asp from out my breast, And stung him through the brain. He fell beside The other, and I stirred not till 'twas night; And when they came, they found me pondering still On all that sad day's deeds, as if the play Was done, and I tired out and loath to stir, Though all the lights were out. I did not know I loved him till he died, or I had waived My poor revenge, or when he died had turned My weapon on myself. 'Twas Love, not I, That took another life. A murderess Call they me? Ah! nay, nay; 'twas never murder, When unforeseen misfortune, suddenly Arising like a storm-cloud from the sea, O'erwhelms us. 'Twas not I that slew my love; I knew not that I loved. Had I not loved him, I had not slain his slayer, but had borne An innocent conscience, and had died self-slain, A blameless suicide. But now they come, Those servants of your pallid, prudish law, And measure our quick pulses, our hot tides Of passion by your bloodless ordinances. Not thus they used, in that far ancient East, Ere first we wandered here. I pray you, sir, Think not such ill of me. And yet, oh Heaven, I know not! Why lie those two corpses there, There day and night, one with a stony calm, And one with angry, unrelenting eyes?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CAROL by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A CHRISTMAS CAROL by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A CYNICS DAY-DREAM by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A FRAGMENT by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A GEORGIAN ROMANCE; A.D. 1900 by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A GREAT GULPH by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A HEATHEN HYMN by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A HYMN IN TIME OF IDOLS by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A LAST WILL by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) A MEMORY by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) |
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