Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HOSPITALITY, by ROBERT SOUTHEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Lay low yon impious trappings on the ground Last Line: And deems of other bosoms by her own. Subject(s): Hospitality; Native Americans; Nature - Religious Aspects; Pioneers; U.s. - Colonial Period; Indians Of America; American Indians; Indians Of South America | ||||||||
"LAY low yon impious trappings on the ground, Bend, Superstition, bend thy haughty head, Be mine supremacy, and mine alone:" Thus from his firm-establish'd throne, Replete with vengeful fury, Henry said. High Reformation lifts her iron rod, But lo! with stern and threatful mien, Fury and rancour desolate the scene, Beneath their rage the Gothic structures nod. Ah! hold awhile your angry hands; Ah! here delay your king's commands, For Hospitality will feel the wound! In vain the voice of reason cries, Whilst uncontroll'd the regal mandate flies. Thou, Avalon! in whose polluted womb The patriot monarch found his narrow tomb; Where now thy solemn pile, whose antique head With niche-fraught turrets awe-inspiring spread, Stood the memorial of the pious age? Where wont the hospitable fire In cheering volumes to aspire, And with its genial warmth the pilgrim's woes assuage. Low lie thy turrets now, The desart ivy clasps the joyless hearth; The dome which luxury yrear'd, Though Hospitality was there rever'd, Now, from its shatter'd brow, With mouldering ruins loads the unfrequented earth. Ye minstrel throng, In whose bold breasts once glow'd the tuneful fire, No longer struck by you shall breathe the plaintive lyre: The walls, whose trophied sides along Once rung the harp's energic sound, Now damp and moss-ymantled load the ground; No more the bold romantic lore Shall spread from Thule's distant shore; No more intrepid Cambria's hills among, In hospitable hall, shall rest the child of song. Ah, Hospitality! soft Pity's child! Where shall we seek thee now? Genius! no more thy influence mild Shall gild affliction's clouded brow; No more thy cheering smiles impart One ray of joy to sorrow's heart; No more within the lordly pile Wilt thou bestow the bosom-warming smile. Whilst haughty pride his gallery displays, Where hangs the row in sullen show Of heroes and of chiefs of ancient days, The gaudy toil of Turkish loom Shall decorate the stately room; Yet there the traveller, with wistful eye, Beholds the guarded door, and sighs, and passes by. Not so, where o'er the desart waste of sand Speeds the rude Arab wild his wandering way; Leads on to rapine his intrepid band, And claims the wealth of India for his prey; There, when the wilder'd traveller distrest, Holds to the robber forth the friendly hand, The generous Arab gives the tent of rest, Guards him as the fond mother guards her child, Relieves his every want, and guides him o'er the wild. Not so amid those climes where rolls along The Oronoko deep his mighty flood; Where rove amid their woods the savage throng, Nurs'd up in slaughter, and inur'd to blood; Fierce as their torrents, wily as the snake That sharps his venom'd tooth in every brake, Aloft the dreadful tomahawk they rear; Patient of hunger, and of pain, Close in their haunts the chiefs remain, And lift in secret stand the deadly spear. Yet, should the unarm'd traveller draw near, And proffering forth the friendly hand, Claim their protection from the warrior band; The savage Indians bid their anger cease, Lay down the ponderous spear, and give the pipe of peace. Such virtue Nature gives: when man withdraws To fashion's circle, far from nature's laws, How chang'd, how fall'n the human breast! Cold prudence comes, relentless foe! Forbids the pitying tear to flow, And steals the soul of apathy to rest; Mounts in relentless state her stubborn throne, And deems of other bosoms by her own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD INDIAN by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT SCHOLARLY PROCEDURE by JOSEPHINE MILES ONE LAST DRAW OF THE PIPE by PAUL MULDOON THE INDIANS ON ALCATRAZ by PAUL MULDOON PARAGRAPHS: 9 by HAYDEN CARRUTH THEY ACCUSE ME OF NOT TALKING by HAYDEN CARRUTH AMERICAN INDIAN ART: FORM AND TRADITION by DIANE DI PRIMA BISHOP BRUNO by ROBERT SOUTHEY |
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