Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE THIRD FYTTE, by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The tale was said. Fair agnes rose Last Line: Upon the marvels of his tongue. Subject(s): Aging; Bribery; Minstrels; Music & Musicians; Singing & Singers; Women; Songs | ||||||||
THE tale was said. Fair Agnes rose, And tripped to court a night's repose; There in her chamber soon she lay, (Her every dream with warblings gay Of fairies serenaded,) hidden 'Midst folds of warmth, while night-clouds, ridden By thought-winged visions, and bright fringed With rosy thoughts, her slumbers tinged; Like bashful fragrance, buried deep In curling leaves, that nightly weep Their melted souls of sweets away. The minstrel turned: a feeble ray Of quivering came slowly nigh, And ancient Margaret caught his eye. She was an old and tottering crone; Her skin was shrivelled round the bone, And seemed a sear-cloth wrapped around A 'wakened mummy. O'er the ground Her feet were wandering doubtfully; And in her stagnant, frozen, eye, The last blue spark was glimmering. The years behind had stayed to fling The silver crown of reverend age, The halo that adorns the sage, Upon her thinly sprinkled curls, That grew, like vegetable pearls Of mistletoe, around her brow, And bounded on her temples low. Her voice came stumbling o'er her teeth, Half frozen by her misty breath, Chaining the ear with broken links Of muttered words. With joyful winks, And shivering hands, that tried to clasp The songster in their feeble grasp; She hailed the youth, and drew his arm Into her own, while to a warm Small room she led him; there she placed All that is sweet to sight or taste. The wine, that rolled in sunny tears In gold-lined cups with massive ears; While from the bright depth quickly spring Bubbles in many a bounding string, Like golden eggs with sweetness swelling, Whence, on the surface gently dwelling, On steamy wing of brightness rushes, The halcyon of those sparkling gushes, Pleasure, hatched beneath the bowl, That warbles rapture to the soul. The while he drank, she praised his power, And bribed his presence for an hour; A lay of wildness loud he sung, While the old dame in silence hung Upon the marvels of his tongue. | 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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