Classic and Contemporary Poetry
COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE, by ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Dear son, diego, I am old and deaf Last Line: The date, 1571 Alternate Author Name(s): Q; Quiller-couch, A. T. Subject(s): Columbus, Christopher (1451-1506); Courts & Courtiers; Death; Explorers; Spain; Dead, The; Exploring; Discovery; Discoverers | ||||||||
DEAR son, Diego, I am old and deaf: Here to my room in Seville some one came To-day or yesterday, who knows? The blinds Are closed, and no sun moves upon the floor Here to my room in Seville some one came And muttered that the Queen is dead. I trust She rests in glory, far from all the cares Of this rough world she made less penible For two much-travelled feet that here inert Wait by the ripple of the Blessèd Ford, Yet may not to its running cool unlace Until my Master give the happy word. I have been loyal: flouted for a fool, I have been loyal: lifted above lords, I have been loyal: once again abased, Beggared and led a prisoner in chains, I have been loyal still. But I believe God sets on kings His sigil for a test, And only they who bear it to His bourne By widows' tears uncancelled, without scratch Of fetters wrongfully imposed, undimmed By sighs of just petitioners, may claim To hear their charter yonder reconfirmed. Who failshis province shall another take, One chosen from the spirits of just men Made perfect. And his own debt shall every one Here or hereafter, soon or late, redeem. Who plights his dignity against a debt, As Ferdinand; who thus evades a debt, As Ferdinand, and forfeits faith of man; Shall find that faith confront him by the Throne In angels' blushes, and his honours melt For payment in their slow celestial scorn. But she, my Mistress, diadem of all His dignity, was never Ferdinand's. Born of that royal few who ride abroad And see their humbler, happier sisters throw Free glances from their windows on the street; Or by the bridge or by the bathing-pool Passing with nun-like faces, catch a hint And bear it home and wonder all the night Stretched by their lords, listing the serenades That well by distant balconies passionate; Shethough her priestess' body she abased Coldly to public needlent it to wed Castille with Aragonwas devotee To none but duty. On this earth she knew No passion but a friendship purified, Unspotted of the flesh, prophetical Of that sublimer passion of the saints Her innocence now inherits.Not for me! As not for Ferdinand! But this I hope To meet her walking 'neath the boughs of Life, To touch her hand without servility, And in the salutation of her eyes Read resolution of the musing care That clouded them aforetime, half with doubt And half with pitiful knowledge. Oh, they swept Down from the daïs eloquent, wave on wave! In every wave brooded a starry thought; In every thought brooded a litten tongue, Holy, with comfortable words. And yet I have looked into them as a mother looks, And in the iris of her week-old babe Reads now but natal innocence, and now The absorbèd wisdom of an age-worn past Blinking its own new dawn. They did allow The wonder of man's weakness, even while They pierced unto his greatness and the hope. Natheless at first I did believe her cold Jesu! She cold!cold as the icèd rim 'Engaged my hot heart there by Pinos bridge. Tight-corded as my holster was the bale, The slender bale of hope I carried then, If somewhere I might find the world so wide As to contain one courage bold to mate With me to push it widerwide enough To satisfy the more adventurous clans Yet in the womb waiting the moment's call. For Portugal had cheated, England sent No word, and of Bartholomew no report Came on the wandermost tales of them who drew Forth from the northern fogs in caravel Galley or barque or pinnace. Day by day For two long years, seated among my books, Maps, charts, and cross-staves, in the little shop By Seville bridge, incessant I had watched The Guadalquiver through a dusty pane; Had watched the thin mast creep around the point; Had watched the slow hull warp across the tide, And the long flank fall lazy to the quay Levantine traders bringing Tyrian wine, Malmsey from Crete, fine lawn of Cyprus, silk Of Egypt and of India; Genovese, Whose sheer I conned and knew the shipwright's name Feluccas, with a world of eastern spice Bartered of Caspian merchants on the bar Of Poti, or of Emosaïd clans Down the Red Sea and south to Mozambique: True aloes of Socotra, galbanum, Myrrh, cassia, rhubarb, scented calamus, Sweet storax, cinnamon, attars of the rose And jasmine. And of some the skippers wore Skin purses belted underneath their knives Spoilers of Ormuz or of Serendib, Who sought the jeweller's offices ere they slept Or drank ashore. These from the sunrise all: But others from the dark and narrow seas By England and by Flanders. Tin they brought In blocks and bars, and lead and pewter-ware Shipped at Southampton; Lace and napery Of Ypres and of Malines; Frankish wools In bulk from Calais' warehouses; or spun By English hands, grey kersey, fustian, cloth, From Guildford, Norwich, London. Ay, but none Brought tidings of Bartholomew. One and all, Still to my questioning the shipmen stared And shook their silver earrings: not a word! Oftas the Orcadian watcher from his rock Scans the grey tide-race eddying by his line In tavern corner by an empty cup I have heard the reboant captains boast and swell; Alert, if haply, on vainglorious tale Or outland lie reported, there might drift Some flotsam of the dim West unexplored. Bird of my hope! How long ye beat a wing In yon unfathomable fogs, and still Of green no sign!the waters ever void, No token, no retrieve of Noë's dove! At Salamanca then they tested us; Churchmen and schoolmen and cosmogoners In council. 'Hey!' and 'What?' 'The earth a sphere? And two ways to Cathaia?' 'Tut and tush!' 'Feared the Cathaians then no blood in the head From walking upside-down?' 'Pray did I know Of a ship 'would sail up-hill?' 'Had I not heard Perchance of latitudes where the wheel of the sun Kept the sea boiling? Of the tropic point Where white men turned hop-skip to blackamoors?' 'And hark ye, sir, to what Augustine says, And here is Cosmas' map. "God built the world As a tabernacle: sky for roof and sides, And earth for flooring...Made all men to dwell Upon the face of it"the face, you hear, Not several faces"On foundations laid The earth abides"foundations, if you please, Not mid-air. Soothly, sir, at your conceits We smile, but warn you that they lie not far On this side heresy. "Antipodes," hey? Our Mother Church annuls the Antipodes.' Fools, fools, Diego! Ay, but folly makes More orphans than malevolence. There I stood Rejected, and the good Queen looked on me. She did not smile. Thank God she did not smile! She did not speak. I saw the mute lips move Compassionate, and took defeat, went forth. Nay, no compassion now! With scorn of men I bound my wound, and nursed it while I rode. France now, or England? Still the wound complained, And still I closed the purple lips with scorn; Till there on Pinos bridge my horses hoof Rang, and the vaulted echo halloa'd 'Scorn!' And so- I do remember, on a time, Off Cape St. Vincent in a general fight, How that one master of a sinking hull An Antwerp captaindanced about his deck Like paper in a gale, and cursed and bawled, And cursed again and shook his fist and bawled, Belabouring his gunnersfat and fierce As a fool's bladder, wholly ludicrous; Till running to the bulwarks, all aflush To hurl some late-remembered oath, he leaned, Collapsed in bloody vomit, and so died. So with the bridge's echo welled afresh My wound above its bandages. I lit Down from my horse and o'er the parapet bowed In sickness of surrender; let my hopes Unhusk in tears upon the silly stream That ran ecstatic, with a babbling lip A-flush for the salt tide, and knew not yet The smart of that embrace. 'Run, happy fool! Aspire to make impression on the main, 'Will swallow thee with all thy freshet wave As kings digest the tributary zeal Of private men, and so spit forth their names.' So leaned I, listless to a gallop of hoofs 'Woke distant on the north-east road and swept Down in a smother of dust. I sprang to the bit, And backed to let the posting rider past. But he reined sudden and wheeled. 'Why this will be Steady, thou sprawler!this will be the man, The Genovese himself! Sir, I have ridden The Queen commands you back to Santa Fé. Plague o' this dust!' I looked him up and down: A little dapper gentleman of the camp, Flicking with scented kerchief at his coat Of velvet laced with amber, like a bee's, And condescending with a silly smile. And still he smiled; and still I pondered him, As a father, listening in his closet, hears The first cry of his first-born child, and turns To watch an idle bee upon the pane, And still in the midwife's message hears it buzz. 'The Queen commands' 'SoI believe you, sir': Then slowlier: 'And I will trust the Queen.' With eyebrows lifted, and a brisk salute, He shook his rein, dug spur, and started back A-trot with the answer. Haste, O bobbing bee! Be minister of marriage 'twixt two minds, Two flowers that twine the challenge of their gaze And know no fleshlier union. Soar, O bee! Hence from the moat up, up to the lady-flower Swaying in sunlight high on the palace wall; Creep in her leaning languid bosom, and there Do thy close work, whisper, impregnate her With a secret such as lowlier blossoms breathe At twilight, one to another, nodding anigh With petalled nightcaps, while th' eaves-dropping breeze Steals by the lily-bordered garden beds. Nay; 'tis a chaster deed thou hast in hand To marry mind with mind. Stand but afar And speak: thou hast a word that not alone Will breed conception of a queenly thought, But wake the generations of the world. Dame of the castle! Leman of the road! Leap with the quickening babe and press your side! He hath the resurrection in his heel, Treads underfoot the doom of all his sires, And springs upon the tight cords wherewithal In turn they bound each other to the pit. Dame of the castle! Leman of the road! Enlarge your girdles!for this conquering babe Shall westward launch and draw with silver wake An honourable girdle round the waist Of Mother Earth, beneath her swelling breasts The Old World and the New. O moons of man! A Spirit moves upon the middle deeps, And all their odic tides acclaim the Babe! Back then I rode: but coolly Reason came With sight of Santa Fé, and plucked my rein 'Be temperate: for kings have many cares And thou one vision only. See these walls, These tented lines; and yonder on the cliff, At her last gasp, Granada! Tranquilly, As 'twere on oilèd hinge, the sentinel Paces her terrace. Evening for her wounds Hath golden ointment, were they curable. But at their meat the dusky councillors Mutter "To-morrow!" and upon the wall The whisperers surmise. "To-morrow? Ay There dawns one only morrow for the Moor!" But O, what blood! O man, what hammer-blows Have built that morrow! Christendom redeems The debt, attains the dream. O give her space, A kindly space before she dream again!' Soberly then I cleansed me of the dust Of travel; stood within the royal tent With brow composed. And she with brow composed Questioned my hope as 'twere i' the level round Of a Queen's audience. Cold? I did not know She had sought to pledge her jewels for that hope! Only her tone took up the challenge flung By my obeisance, challenging in turn Her Court, as who should say, 'Behold this man, He offers a new heaven, a new earth; And claims to hold them for us, taking tithe As Governor, and for his share one-eighth Of his adventure's profit, with the style Of Admiral of the Ocean, privilege As high as our High Admiral's of Castile: Well worth it, an his promises bear fruit. I test him at the furthest of his claim Go, sirso much an unbelieving world Concedes its Queen: derisive lets her launch Fresh hopes forlorn upon its unbelief Go, sir, and prove the courage of thy faith.' And Faith, my son, the substance is of things Hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. The substance? ay, I trod it!not the deck, The barren deck whereon my comrades cursed The wind, the smooth sea running like a stream Still westward, westward through an empty world. Nay, while they cursed, my feet already pressed The yellow sands, waded the rivulets And long cool grasses of those isles afar. The evidence? I saw it!not the weed, The crab, the berried branch, the emperor-fish, The tropic birds that sang about the mast As 'twere a sweet-briar bursting into bud In Seville, in the Andalusian spring. Signs and a sursum corda for the faint And faithless. Sudden then a few would crowd Forward, and point, and hail the dull blue smear Far on the sky-line. 'News, Lord Admiral! A land-fall, ho! and luck be with the news!' So watch it fade, and curse more bitterly. Me neither hope nor omen, true or false, Elated or depressed. Always I bore The certainty within me, and the seal Of God upon it, and the face imposed Of her, my Mistress. Always on the poop, A man apart, I stood and steered a course Unerring, by the magnet of my doom. Others might watch, all eager for the prize The thirty annual crowns and velvet coat For veritable sight and news of land. The Pinta might outsail, the Nina balk Their Admiral. But still for him reserved The hour, and for his eyes the blessed light, The light on Guanahani! Musing there, Through the first watch, beside the cabin top, I heard between me and the hornèd moon A frigate-bird go whistling, and a wind Caught in the rigging like a woman's sigh: Whereat I turnedO face! O flash of eyes! O star of my devotion! all dissolved Into a spark that danced and disappeared, And dancing glowed again, as 'twere a torch Moved in a village street from door to door! I called the watch. They had not seen: but ran, Stared, saw'Land! land!' and 'Praise the Admiral! Who found us light in darkness? Who but he?' More proof? Then rede thee of that bitter gale Off the Azores, on the homeward road. The Nina drove alone in seas that drowned Hope and the very heaven. There we cast Lots who should carrybarefoot, in his sark A candle to Our Lady of Guadelupe. Who drew the lot but I? Again we cast. And who but I the pilgrim to Moguer, To Santa Clara? Yea, yet once again A night of anguish off the Tagus mouth; Again the lot; again the Admiral! Me must Our Lady of La Cinta choose: There was none other. Proofs? I tell thee, son, There was none other! These men handled ropes, Starved, hoped, shed tearsmechanical, for me Their master. As I meted them, they moved. But Pinzonwho betrayed me once and twice At Cubathought us foundered in the gale, Nor stayed to search; but made his hope, his shame, Both doubled by desertionwho, with sail Piled high as both, let drive the Pinta home To bear the first report and snatch the prize I swear I pitied him. How like to mine His hope, if mine had lacked the single grace Made his contention impotent! lacking which, He smote upon a consecrated shield That on the stroke rang God's authentic 'No!' Thou knowest how upon a mid-day tide We drew unto that port of our desire; To Palos, little Palos, left so long, After what wonders found! and all the roofs Rocked, and the mist of faces on the quay Heaved, and the anchor dropped, and home was home. Thou knowest how, that moment looking back, We saw a lean hull creeping past the bar The Pinta!never spoken since the Azores! And Pinzontraitor, by an hour too late! Always I pitied him. He had designed To post to Barcelona with the news: Now heard the royal mandate, 'Never come But with the Admiral thou shouldst have served.' Whereat he turned him to his native town, To his own house; there on the threshold pushed By wife and children, mounted to his room, And turned the key, and knew his hour, and died. But my reward, how came it? Proud enough That hour in Barcelona; the April sky Shaken with bells and cannon and flame of flags; The cheers, the craning heads, the blossoms thrown And kerchiefs from the windows fluttering, Flock after flock, like doves let forth to greet The dusty golden pageantJuan first, The Pilot, with the Standard of Castile: The slow brown Indians in their feather cloaks And paint: the seamen bearing fruit and palms, Parrots and gold-fish, conchs and turtle-shells, Lizards on poles, lign-aloes, trays of spice, And gold in calabashes: last of all The Admiral. So, they led me to the throne, Where she and Ferdinand rose, as to a prince, And hardly would permit me kiss their hands: But seated me beside them, bade me tell All our adventuresrarely smiled the Queen 'Yea, all,' she said. In the great circle's hush, Beneath the canopy of cloth-of-gold, I found my voice and spake'Most Catholic King, And thou, Star-regent of our enterprise, Sooner than half were told, this April night Would shake the planets from her dusky wings Down-hovering. Yet an hour shall tell enough To tune all tongues to anthems praising God.' So for an hour I told the tale; and twice Paused: but insistent she commanded 'More!' Leaning with parted lip and kindling cheek, As might the Carthaginian, had no drought Of passion parched her throat, have leaned to drink Of Troy's immortal wanderer. Was it then Came my reward? Not then, nor ever so. But long years after, when that dream was grey, And the heart wise, and fellowship was none (For 'tis the curse of greatness, to outgrow All friends and from the lone height long for friends, And falling, find the friends it left all gone), Years afterward, when black was favour's torch And faith took bribes; when Ferdinand betrayed, And Bobadilla, High Commissioner, Foamed at his lunatic height, raged like a beast, Cast us in chains, shipped us like beeves to Spain Then, from the pit of that most brutal fall A voice commanded 'Break his chains! He shall In person stand before us, plead his cause.' Carefully then I dressed me as became The Admiral of the Ocean. Squire and page And retinueI did abate no jot While the purse bled. A prince, and all a prince, I passed between the sneering chamber crowd, The whispering abjects of the ante-rooms, Into the presence: stood there, cold, erect. 'I am Columbus. I have left my chains Nailed at my bed's head by the crucifix: And come to know what further, O my King?' Then FerdinandI saw him bite his lip Sat with pink face averted. But the Queen Rose from her throne, silentI would have knelt; Too late! She stretched her hands and, silent yet, Gazed, and the world fell from us, and we wept We two, together... Ah, blessed hands! Ah, blessed woman's hands Stretched to undo irreparable wrong! Yea, the more blest being all impotent! A Queen's I had not touched: but hers met mine In humbleness across man's common doom, In sadness and in wisdom beyond pride. They are cold beside her now, and cannot stir. Further than I have travelled she hath fared: But I shall follow. Soon will come the call: And I shall grip the tiller once again. The purple night shall heave upon the floor Mile after mile; the dawn invade the stars, The stars the dawnhow long? And following down The moon's long ripple, I shall hear again The frigate-bird go whistlingsee the flash The light on Guanahani! Salvador! Let thy Cross flame upon me in that star, And from that Cross outstretch her sainted hands! My son, they tell me that the Queen is gone... I trust she rests in glory, free from all The cares of this rough world. She was my friend: And I shall find it harder now to treat With Ferdinand. He fends me off with words. I thought that last petition ill prepared; And have an ampler one; drawn up and signed To-day, or yesterdaywho knows? The blinds Are closed, and no sun moves upon the floor. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ CARL'ANTONIO, Duke of Adria TONINO, his young son LUCIO, Count of Vallescura, brother to the Duchess CESARIO, Captain of the Guard GAMBA, a Fool OTTILIA, Duchess and Regent of Adria LUCETTA, a Lady-in-Waiting FULVIA, a Lady of the Court Courtiers, Priests, Choristers, Soldiers, Mariners, Townsfolk, etc. The Scene is the Ducal Palace of Adria, in the N. Adriatic The Date, 1571 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHACKLETON by MADELINE DEFREES AMERICA IS HARD TO SEE by ROBERT FROST CONCERNING THE RIGHT TO LIFE by JORIE GRAHAM THE HEAD ON THE TABLE by JOHN HAINES PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 1 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 2 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 3 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 4 by SIDNEY LANIER SAGE COUNSEL by ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH |
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