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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A BALLAD OF A COWARD, by JOHN DAVIDSON Poem Explanation Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The trumpets pealed; the echoes sang Last Line: And happy and amazed fell dead. Subject(s): Cowardice; Death; Family Life; Redemption; War; Dead, The; Relatives | |||
THE trumpets pealed; the echoes sang A tossing fugue; before it died, Again the rending trumpets rang, Again the phantom notes replied. In galleries, on straining roofs, At once ten thousand tongues were hushed When down the lists a storm of hoofs From either border thundering rushed. A knight whose arms were chased and set With gold and gems, in fear withdrew Before the fronts of tourney met, Before the spears in splinters flew. He reached the wilds. He cast away His lance and shield and arms of price; He turned his charger loose, and lay Face-downwards in his cowardice. His wife had seen the recreant fly: She followed, found, and called his name. 'Sweetheart, I will not have you die: My love,' she said, 'can heal your shame.' Not long his vanity withstood Her gentleness. He left his soul To her; and her solicitude, He being a coward, made him whole. Yet was he blessed in heart and head; Forgiving; of his riches free; Wise was he too, and deeply read, And ruled his earldom righteously. A war broke out. With fateful speed The foe, eluding watch and ward, Conquered; and none was left to lead The land, save this faint-hearted lord. 'Here is no shallow tournament, No soulless, artificial fight. Courageously, in deep content, I go to combat for the right.' The hosts encountered: trumpets spoke; Drums called aloud; the air was torn With cannon, light by stifling smoke Estopped, and shrieking battle born. But he?—he was not in the van! The vision of his child and wife? Even that deserted him. He ran— The coward ran to save his life. The lowliest men would sooner face A thousand dreadful deaths, than come Before their loved ones in disgrace; Yet this sad coward hurried home: For, as he fled, his cunning heart Declared he might be happy yet In some retreat where Love and Art Should swathe his soul against regret. 'My wife! my son! For their dear sakes,' He thought, 'I save myself by flight.'— He reached his place. 'What comet shakes Its baleful tresses on the night Above my towers?' Alas, the foe Had been before with sword and fire! His loved ones in their blood lay low: Their dwelling was their funeral pyre. Then he betook him to a hill Which in his happy times had been His silent friend, meaning to kill Himself upon its bosom green. But an old mood at every tread Returned; and with assured device The wretched coward's cunning head Distilled it into cowardice. 'A snowy owl on silent wings Sweeps by; and, ah! I know the tune The wayward night-wind sweetly sings And dreaming birds in coverts croon. 'The cocks their muffled catches crow; The river ripples dark and bright; I hear the pastured oxen low, And the whole rumour of the night. 'The moon comes from the wind-swept hearth Of heaven; the stars beside her soar; The seas and harvests of the earth About her shadowy footsteps pour. 'But though remembrances, all wet With happy tears, their tendrils coil Close round my heart; though I be set And rooted in the ruddy soil, 'My pulses with the planets leap; The veil is rent before my face; My aching nerves are mortised deep In furthest cavities of space; 'Through the pervading ether speed My thoughts that now the stars rehearse; And should I take my life, the deed Would disarray the universe.' Gross cowardice! Hope, while we breathe, Can make the meanest prize his breath, And still with starry garlands wreathe The nakedness of life and death. He wandered vaguely for a while; Then thought at last to hide his shame And self-contempt far in an isle Among the outer deeps; but came, Even there, upon a seaboard dim, Where like the slowly ebbing tide That weltered on the ocean's rim With sanguine hues of sunset dyed, The war still lingered. Suddenly, Ere he could run, the bloody foam Of battle burst about him; he, Scarce knowing what he did, struck home, As those he helped began to fly, Bidding him follow. 'Nay,' he said; 'Nay; I die fighting—even I!' And happy and amazed fell dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY AUNT ELLA MAE by MICHAEL S. HARPER THE GOLDEN SHOVEL by TERRANCE HAYES LIZARDS AND SNAKES by ANTHONY HECHT THE BOOK OF A THOUSAND EYES: I LOVE by LYN HEJINIAN CHILD ON THE MARSH by ANDREW HUDGINS MY MOTHER'S HANDS by ANDREW HUDGINS PLAYING DEAD by ANDREW HUDGINS THE GLASS HAMMER by ANDREW HUDGINS INSECT LIFE OF FLORIDA by LYNDA HULL A BALLAD OF HELL by JOHN DAVIDSON |
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