Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE SECOND FYTTE, by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The minstrel ceased; the music's wings Last Line: Caught his wild story from the blast. Subject(s): Advice; Minstrels; Music & Musicians; Rites & Ceremonies; Singing & Singers; Songs | ||||||||
THE minstrel ceased; the music's wings Swept lingering through the bounding strings; With parting kiss his fingers brushed The startled Iyre, and all was hushed. Again the feasters sang and laughed, Again the beaded wine was quaffed: The youth retired alone, unseen, To wander o'er the fringy green Of moonlight meadows, and to gaze Upon the water-mirrored rays Of stars, that sable midnight crown, Like radiant blessings peeping down From heaven upon our slumbers. There He found the solitary fair Agnes, in pensive mood reclined, Feasting with dreams her thoughtful mind; Light from her eyelids seemed to soar, Her beauteous cheeks lay clustered o'er, With curling tufts of amber thread That twined around her pillowed head, Like some plump peach, in sweetness ripe, Spangled with many a dewy stripe, Courted and kissed by every breeze, Just severed from the parent trees, That sleeps transparent grapes among, On waving tendrils thickly strung. At his approach she rose awhile, And becked him onward with a smile, In which her soul looked forth. 'Once more,' She cried, 'a tale of fairy lore, Sing, minstrel boy, of them who stray In rainbow livery by day, And nightly sleep in closing breast Of summer flowers, or those, that dressed In robes of flame, 'mongst marshes dance, And dally with our thoughts; thou know'st The frighted clown; or those who creep Under our eyelids whilst we sleep, And dally with our thoughts: thou know'st Full many a tale of shrieking ghost, And wandering fay, and gibing sprite, That laugh away the hours of night.' Her words flew gently from her tongue, Like bees whose wings are honey-clung, Bubbling through sweetness; as she said, The youthful songster waved his head, And summoned music from its sleep Among the chords, with murmur deep, And faultering accent, thus he sung, Whilst his hand roved the strings among; And she with eyelash onward cast, Caught his wild story from the blast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE APOLLO TRIO by CONRAD AIKEN BAD GIRL SINGING by MARK JARMAN CHAMBER MUSIC: 4 by JAMES JOYCE CHAMBER MUSIC: 5 by JAMES JOYCE CHAMBER MUSIC: 28 by JAMES JOYCE THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE IS LIKE THE SCENT OF SYRINGA by MINA LOY BALLAD OF HUMAN LIFE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE FOR WOLFRAM by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SAILORS' [OR MARINERS'] SONG by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |
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