Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE IMPROVISATORE: RODOLPH THE WILD, by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE IMPROVISATORE: RODOLPH THE WILD, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: There is a massy cloud of dismal hue
Last Line: Up to the hillock found him dead and cold.
Subject(s): Change; Death; Decay; Deception; Despair; Evil; Insanity; Love; Lust; Shepherds & Shepherdesses; Singing & Singers; Dead, The; Rot; Decadence; Madness; Mental Illness; Songs


I.
THERE is a massy cloud of dismal hue
Climbing reluctantly the pathless blue;
It is the pall of the departed day;
And, after it, the self-same silent way,
A heavy troop of mist-clad mourners wend,
And down the lampless, dim, horizon bend;
The grave and cradle of short-lived time,
Ocean, receives them with its gaping billows,
And with the hoarse notes, which its death-song chime,
Lulls on its breast the infant day it pillows.

II.
Then Twilight, the dank ghost of murdered hours,
Creeps with still, clammy, pace around the bowers,
Summoning from its rest the drowsy owl,
And listening cheerlessly to wolfish howl,
Rocking its wan, chill spirit on the cloud,
And weeping dewdrops to the wailings loud
Of the consoling blast; and mournfully
Baring to earth its breathless, fog-veil'd, breast,
Declaring how the nameless moments die
Of the red wound, that blushes in the west.

III.
But on their best-loved flowers, that perished brood,
Cast their last kiss of perfume and of blood,
Tinge with their dying breath some opening bloom,
And breathe one sigh, then hurry to their tomb.
Thence the broad rose in velvet bed of moss,
And pink-fringed daisy with its golden boss,
The chequer-leaved carnation, plump-cheeked pip
Of bristling holly, 'mongst its armed leaves,
Borrow their crimson richness, and the lip
Of innocence in infant sleep that heaves.

IV.
There was a calm of sleep among the hills,
The whispering zephyrs chid the brawling rills.
It was a time for musing; every gale
In murmurs seemed to syllable a tale
To the mute flowers, which bent their buds to hear,
While evening lent their closing eyes a tear.
It was a place for lovers' gentle plaint,
A far from glittering show and boisterous halls,
Where from her bower of blossoms, echo faint
Attuned her voice to bubbling waterfalls.

V.
A silent lake, the mirror of the night,
There lashed in mimic rage and playful spite
Its lily-fringed banks, and, gaily bold,
Crowned its dwarf billows with the moonlight gold,
Casting around its spray in pearly showers,
A soft bequest to all the thirsting flowers.
Upon the couch of moss, a lovelorn wight
Sate, calmly listening to the tittering breeze;
Then tuned his lyre, and roused, with finger light,
The sleeping strings, and sang such words as these;

THE MADRIGAL

How sweet is the voice of the beauty I love,
As the violet's scent at eventide;
As the first, softest sigh of the nestling dove,
As the laughter of fairies when they ride.
As soft as the evening breeze,
As sweet as the blackbird's song,
As gentle as summer bees
That flutter the garden among.

But oh! when she chides with her beautiful lips,
'Tis like the gay butterfly's playful spite,
Which peevishly spurns the fair blossom he sips,
Trampling its sweetness with all his weak might.
As loud as the angry showers,
As harsh as the zephyr of May,
As dark as the noon-day bowers,
As bright as the glow-worm's ray.

She warbles: 'tis the cheerful lark that sings,
Bidding good-day to the new-risen light;
'Tis the sound of the hymning angels' wings,
Rustling 'mid the sunbeams in their flight.
As lovely as bees' sweet tune,
That ever in honey is dipped,
As tender as cowslips in June,
Ere the dew-drops from them dripped,

Aye me! when she timidly hinted her truth,
It fell and it lightened my heart with love,
Like the busy whisper of morn in its youth,
That tells of the beauties and glories above.
As pure as the evening dew,
That sleeps in the folded flowers;
And as clear as the heavenly blue,
Which shines on the noon-day hours.

VI.
He ceased. And was it Echo, that poured round
So sweet, so sad, so musical a sound,
Winding around his sense with fainting note,
Like closing circles in a parted moat?
It cannot be; again are borne along
The whispered burthens of a distant song.
There seemed an hundred voices flying nigh,
Bearing their sweetness to his strained ear;
At length the flowrets, with a scented sigh
Tremblingly echoed, 'Follow, follow, Dear;
Follow, follow, follow,
Over mount and over hollow,
Follow.'

VII.
'Twas like the sounds we dream of. Such a call
Summons the spirit from its earthen hall
When smiling infants die; it sunk and rose
In tuneful wavelets, lulling to repose
Suspicious fear; it rocked upon the wind
A while, then fled and left a scent behind:
Rodolph sprang up; it was not Anna's song,
Who bade him stay; it had attractive force:
Forgetting her, who made him wait so long,
He rushed to trace the music to its source.

VIII.
Then from the lake was heard a sudden sigh;
Straightway the sportive billows arched on high,
And from the flower-strewn bed of the calm stream
Up shot a fiery pillar, like the beam
Of love which lightens through the slender veil
Of maiden, listening to a lover's tale.
A ball of fire rose through the yawning stream,
Spouting its fevered venom with a roar,
Whirling around the lake its lurid gleam.
And snowing its red light upon the sleepy shore.

IX.
The kindled water, with a foaming rush,
Strove its defying foe at once to crush;
The flame spurned the huge billows with a gnash
Of curled flame, and water-spouting dash,
And struggled onward with a piercing wind,
Leaving a deep and steaming scar behind.
It reached the surface: and a red canoe
Of flickering brightness, with a motion fleet,
Seemed the recoiling water to pursue,
And brustled fiercely up to Rodolph's feet.

X.
It stopped upon the bank, a ball of glare,
Ring within ring of tinted flame was there,
And from the midst an eye-like violet spark
Fearfully glimmered through the murky dark.
About the outer ring of livid flame
A swarm of quivering sparklets went and came
Like fiery bees, whilst hollow murmurings,
And the hoarse lispings of the muttering light,
Spate nourishment; they, with their darting wings
Seared the dew-cherished turf and flowers bright.

XI.
From out the dingy smoke, which slowly wound,
Hissing in serpent folds, along the ground,
A fiery hand appeared, and beckoning slow,
With waving fingers urged the youth to go.
Meanwhile his sense was charmed with a song,
That drew him, with the clue of sound, along.
The rippling lake was hushed, as if each nymph,
To catch those notes of chaunted melody,
Were pillowed softly on her couch of lymph;
Or 'twere the saucy wavelet's lullaby.

THE SONG

HITHER haste, and gently strew
His velvet path with odorous dew
Which slept on roses' cheeks a night;
Stud the turf with the golden flower,
In which the glow-worm builds its bower,
And gladdens with its tender light.
Sprinkle here the twinkling shower
On each perfume-stifled flower.

Hither haste, and gently fling
All the opening buds of spring;
And, if a drooping leaf appear,
Tinge it with this coloured roll,
Which I from the rainbow stole,
And hang a spangle on its ear.
Sprinkle here the twinkling shower
On each perfume-stifled flower.

Hither haste with daffodils,
That court the glass of gliding rills,
And violets with their blue veils o'er,
And the king-cup, in whose bell
The thief of honey loves to dwell,
And paints it with his yellow store.
Sprinkle here the twinkling shower
On each perfume-stifled flower.

THE CHANGE

They are waiting for you,
Whose forms you ne'er saw,
Their eyes dimmed with dew,
The warm sigh they draw.
Then follow, follow, follow;
Over bank and over hollow
Still with fearless footstep follow.

XII.
Silence engulphed the words. The waving hand
Still beckoning from the mist flamed its command;
And with clear sparks, that wandered from the mass,
In burning lines traced 'Follow' on the grass.
Rodolph waved onward, and the silent guide
Passed on before with bounding leaps and wide;
And as he stepped, fresh buds bloomed at his feet,
And tiny voices whispered in his ear,
Whilst fragrant gales wept music, him to greet,
And all was sweetness he could see or hear.

XIII.
Still on and on the scorching leader flew,
And, where it leaped, startled the sleeping dew;
Putting on varied forms the time to while,
And passing gaily many a dreary mile;
Now as a dog it scoured along the vale,
With winking eye of blue and smoky tail;
Now like a mazy serpent creeping through
The piercing briars, twisted from the light,
Its twining body all a changeful hue,
Its venomed jaws with sparkling fury white.

XIV.
When on the hillocks they began to roam,
It darted down a cataract of foam,
With dancing spray and bubbles of red blaze
Chasing each other through the bickering maze.
Still on they went o'er plains, o'er vale, o'er knoll;
At length the wheeling splendour ceased to roll,
And pointed onward to a low-browed cave;
Then sprung up from the ground with chirrup gay,
And, like a fire-winged lark, hastened to wave
Its plumes, and bounded on its airy way.

XV.
It was upon a turfy mound, below
A brook was glittering with pallid glow,
And the cave's arch was bowered o'er with stems,
That nodded gently, laden with bright gems;
Whilst from within came notes of melody
Now sad, now gay, and chased each other by:
And, fleeting with the mazes of the tune,
Soared words alight with tenderness and love,
Like the coy beams of the reluctant moon,
Struggling in winged embrace of clouds above.

XVI.
That chaunt was sweet as bubbling notes that spring
From smooth, deep, founts, faint into a ring,
The love-sick sighs of water-nymph unseen,
Toying with broad-leaved weeds so rich with green:
It welcomed him, and seemed his steps to invite
From the unseemly mist of clammy night.
He entered with expectant, glad, amaze,
And soon he found that narrow lane of moss
Led to a hall, built up of crystal blaze,
And softened all around with silken gloss.

XVII.
Against the walls fresh-blooming jasmine twined,
Unscorched by heat, unblasted by the wind;
And through its curling tendrils incense flew,
Kissing in wavy clouds the bosomed dew,
Or streaming faintly in the amorous air,
Like the light, tangled, locks of ladies' hair.
Through silken curtains, gently curved below,
Stilly crept moonlight beams; so glittering weeds,
Peep through the cloudy waters where they grow,
Among the fickle sands and pebble beads.

XVIII.
Deep in the leaves of mossy-bedded posies,
Of sickly lilies, violets, and roses,
Nestled bright balls of amber radiance,
Which cast on all the shrubs a starry glance;
Like the bright silk-worm, which its cradle weaves
Unseen amongst the mulberry's curled leaves:
And on the down-lined leaflet's inside moss,
Drooped lengthened tears of crystal, quivering studs
Of melted light, around they poured their gloss,
And dyed, with mimic rainbows, all the buds.

XIX.
Up at the further end, 'mid spicy wine,
Breathing the odour of its parent vine,
Were toying maids, some joining their fair faces
In rosy garlands, beating measured paces;
Some pelting one another in their mirth,
With glistening leaves, which wavered to the earth.
Some on curved arms and softly drooping head
Mused with closed lips and fringy curtained eyes
Among the upward flowers, as though they read
Some bee-graven song, or heard the blossoms' sighs.

XX.
Upon a velvet couch of mossy rings,
Enamelled o'er with bud-like glitterings,
Sate she who seemed the mistress; round her played
A maiden band, which all her signs obeyed.
The startled youth she beckoned silently,
Who waded through the flood of harmony
Up to her side, she motioned him to sit,
But nothing spoke; the mossy throne he pressed,
While on her looks keen arrows seemed to flit,
And pierce with lovely cruelty his breast.

XXI.
Her eyes were rooted on the shepherd boy,
And in their depth of blue swam love and joy:
Her mouth!—Oh pardon me, thou coral cave,
Prison of fluttering sighs, cradle and grave
Of noiseless kisses, if I fail to tell
The beauty and the grace, that in thee dwell.
'Twas like a pouting, dew-bespangled flower,
Breathing deliciousness; her slender tongue
A babbling bee in it, with all his power,
Murmuring the sweetness forth which round him clung.

XXII.
Then sweetly she began those lips to move,
And whispered in his ear a lay of love;
Her words were drops of music; as they swept,
Clammy with odour, folds of softness crept
Snakily round his soul; he tried to brush
Off from her lips that love-enamelled flush;
She stayed him gently, 'First, loved Rodolph, swear
To be mine only,' smilingly she said;
'I vow!' he cried, 'and let me seal it there'—
At those words, lightning-like, the vision fled.

XXIII.
His ears were stunned by an hoarse, fiendish, roar
Of laughter; he fell leaden on the floor,
And all had vanished.—It was dark and cold;
A putrid steam rose from the clammy mould:
The moon darts through a crevice; at his lips
He sees a skull's mouth yawn, which thickly drips
With nauseous moisture; upward to his thigh
He stood in bones and dust of bodies dead;
And part was newly melting, part was dry,
And part, with recent slaughter, glaring red.

XXIV.
He waded onward, and the winged dust
Flew up and choaked him, the dry, skinny, crust
Cracked at his steps; the bones with feeble crash
Bent under him, and many a steaming splash
Of melting flesh showered on him as he stood;
The track was slippery with spouting blood.
Fitfully through a distant, narrow, chink
The dismal light crawled in: he saw below
A body-jammed vault with yawning brink;
He felt the breath of death against his temples glow.

XXV.
Just at his feet a grinning skeleton
Stretched its worm-twined arms of chalky bone,
And rattled its thin finger in the blast;
Its spiked teeth were dumbly chattering fast,
As if its death-dream were disturbed; by him
Another lay with yawning jawbone grim,
Through which the cold wind whistled; down its cheek
Crept death's chill sweat; Rodolph essayed to pass,
But fear chained down his strength; with struggles weak
He plunged among the death-cemented mass.

XXVI.
At length he heard some yawning, muttered groans,
And feeble shufflings of the brittle bones,
As if the bodies rose to welcome him;
Athwart his eyes dark shadows seemed to swim,
And leave a death-kiss there; a moist hand soon
Pressed into his, and by the shivering moon
He saw his welcomer, the ribs that kept
No prisoned heart within their crumbled bars,
And to his eyeless sockets fat worms crept,
Whose eyes peeped out like lurid meteor stars.

XXVII.
He closed his eyes, but still that shape was there,
Mocking his agony with lifeless glare.
Rodolph held up his fever-parched hands,
And twined his head round in those swollen bands;
He clutched his hair, all clotted with fear's dew,
And crusted with the choaking dust that flew:
He sank down heavily amid the heap,
And felt the worms come, coldly nibbling
His tottering limbs; then down came leaden sleep,
And struck him into slumber with its wing.

XXVIII.
Day passed, and day; no Rodolph tuned at eve
The twilight pipe, that taught the woods to grieve;
Morning and noon the shepherd's hue and cry
Roused the dim echo on the mountains high.
The sabbath came. And with the early morn
The sexton rose the chancel to adorn,
And wake the sleeping bells; he walked along
Close by the charnel-house; there came a sound
Of grating laughter mixed with ribald song,
As though the dead were 'wakened in the ground,

XXIX.
With trembling hand he fitted the old key
In the nail-studded door; his straining knee
Forced back its rust-tuned hinge; with fearful wink
He peeped within through a decaying chink,
And saw the madman playing, like a child,
With the foul carcase-crumbs around him piled;
He tossed the bones about, and whispered low
With bloodless lips; and with the struggling snakes
And jagged splinters fashioned round his brow,
A garland, gemmed o'er with bloody flakes.

XXX.
The dreading pauper flew, and left alone
That sad and thoughtless man to his wild moan,
Who crawled out from his dungeon, and his days
Lurked out amongst the woods and untrod ways.
He sate among the tombs and called the dead
With voice familiar; and by some 'tis said
He ate forbidden food: the leper toad,
The screeching owl, and the rank carrion crow,
Tamely frequented his obscure abode,
And slept together in his bosom low.

XXXI.
He sometimes howled at the bright moon; forgot
The power of speech, and o'er his cheek a blot
Of melancholy black was spread; he knew
Where berried night-shade and hoar hemlock grew,
And made his bower of them; the beldames blind,
The wrinkled crones, heard on the midnight wind
His raving whoops, and shuddered o'er their fire,
Telling the tale: he laughed in madness too
When the loud thunder rolled, and cloud-clad choir
Of sweeping winds in the dank midnight blew.

XXXII.
At last, upon a twilight eve, he stole
Into the village; under a dark knoll
Of elms there was an old moss-cushioned seat,
O'er which he'd scrambled with his infant feet.
He dropped upon it gently. A huge tear
Swept his stern features at that prospect dear.
Still he said nothing. But the children crept
With terror from their sports, and, lisping, told
Of the dread comer; the next one who stepped
Up to the hillock found him dead and cold.





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