Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SUTTEE, by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: She sat upon the pile by her dead lord Last Line: That burning mother's scream. Subject(s): Mothers; Nature; Soul; War | ||||||||
She sat upon the pile by her dead lord, And in her full, dark eye, and shining hair Youth revell'd. -- The glad murmur of the crowd Applauding her consent to the dread doom, And the hoarse chanting of infuriate priests She heeded not, for her quick ear had caught An infant's wail. -- Feeble and low that moan, Yet it was answer'd in her heaving heart, For the Mimosa in its shrinking fold From the rude pressure, is not half so true, So tremulous, as is a mother's soul Unto her wailing babe. -- There was such wo In her imploring aspect, -- in her tones Such thrilling agony, that even the hearts Of the flame-kindlers soften'd, and they laid The famish'd infant on her yearning breast. There with his tear-wet cheek he lay and drew Plentiful nourishment from that full fount Of infant happiness, -- and long he prest With eager lip the chalice of his joy. -- And then his little hands he stretch'd to grasp His mother's flower-wove tresses, and with smile And gay caress embraced his bloated sire, -- As if kind Nature taught that innocent one With fond delay to cheat the hour which seal'd His hopeless orphanage. -- But those were near Who mock'd such dalliance, as that Spirit malign Who twined his serpent length mid Eden's bowers Frown'd on our parents' bliss. -- The victim mark'd Their harsh intent, and clasp'd the unconscious babe With such convulsive force, that when they tore His writhing form away, the very nerves Whose deep-sown fibres rack the inmost soul Uprooted seem'd. -- With voice of high command Tossing her arms, she bade them bring her son, -- And then in maniac rashness sought to leap Among the astonish'd throng. -- But the rough cord Compress'd her slender limbs, and bound her fast Down to her loathsome partner. -- Quick the fire In showers was hurl'd upon the reeking pile; -- But yet amid the wild, demoniac shout Of priest and people, mid the thundering yell Of the infernal gong, -- was heard to rise Thrice a dire death-shriek. -- And the men who stood Near the red pile and heard that fearful cry, Call'd on their idol-gods, and stopp'd their ears, And oft amid their nightly dream would start As Frighted Fancy echoed in her cell That burning mother's scream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I AM YOUR WAITER TONIGHT AND MY NAME IS DIMITRI by ROBERT HASS MITRAILLIATRICE by ERNEST HEMINGWAY RIPARTO D'ASSALTO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY WAR VOYEURS by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA THE DREAM OF WAKING by RANDALL JARRELL THE SURVIVOR AMONG GRAVES by RANDALL JARRELL SO MANY BLOOD-LAKES by ROBINSON JEFFERS COLUMBUS [JANUARY, 1487] by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY |
|