Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HERE IS MUSIC: RICHARD FAITHFULL; IN MEMORIAM (VIRELAI), by AUSTIN PHILIPS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HERE IS MUSIC: RICHARD FAITHFULL; IN MEMORIAM (VIRELAI), by                    
First Line: Brave bells of bruges, you bring
Last Line: Faithfull in deed as name.
Subject(s): Faith; Friendship; Love; Belief; Creed


BRAVE Bells of Bruges, you bring
Bright mem'ries, conjuring
Back that blest, happy hour
When August evening,
'Neath café's covering,
Fronting famed Belfry Tow'r,
Found chance foregathering
Of two men pilgriming
Sow friendship firm, strong, sure.

The greatest things—God's dow'r
And gracious offerture
To man—God bids must be
Born not of will nor pow'r,
Won not by search nor lure,
But, beyond all things, free,
Instant, abiding, pure
In essence, contexture,
Swift and involuntary.

Such was that friendship we
Felt, knew. 'Twixt you and me
Had birth such sudden bond
That each stood swift trustee,
Immediate, glad feoffee
Of understanding 'yond
Expression, grew lessee
Of happy intimacy
Gracious and benison'd.

So came it, thus attun'd
To common pitch, we found
Full fortnight's sojourn laced
With talk alike profound,
Joyous and gay, fecund
In thought and laughter, graced
With anecdote, festoon'd
With fun, well-garnison'd
With wine and dish fair-drest.

Time brought, too soon, arrest
Alike of spiritual feast
And more material fare. ...
We sunder'd—you for East
And England: I made quest
Of land past all compare,
Dear to my soul, and press'd
Back to that wind-kiss'd West
Where Breton bowers are.

But first you proffer'd fair
Promise to make repair
Me-wards, so soon as Spring
Should come to ancient lair
Armorican, and there
Renew sweet friendship, fling
Aside all grief, all care,
Light laden bosom, bare
Your soul of burdening.

True to your pledge, a-wing
You came, agog to wring
Respite at that rare Inn
Where I, first wayfaring,
Found kindness, well-being,
Cellar cool, clandestine,
Whose store went gladdening
My sense and sojourning
With rare and well-kept wine.

We walked, we talked, sought shrine
Hill-high, half-hid in chine
Or bow'r'd by wide champaign,
Found grove incarnadine
With Druid rites ferine,
Where Breton castellain,
Seeking sad soul's essoine,
Had reared fair chapel, fine,
Rare rood-screen, fresco'd fane.

By field, by wold, by lane
We went, twin spirits, fain
For Knowledge, took our good
Where found, in shine or rain,
Each morn set forth again
In search of further food
For mind and spirit, gain
Of outlook ... fortunate twain,
Led home, each night, new load.

Thus, back to blest abode,
Careless and glad we strode
To take, assoil'd, sweet ease,
Find royal fare bestow'd
On us in expert mode,
And vintage wine, to brace
Us, brought by furbelow'd,
Coif'd, smiling girls, endow'd
With gay and Gallic grace.

Such, then, our souls' increase,
Our spirits rare release,
Our one-ness when you drew,
Each year, a slender space,
For holiday, surcease,
France-wards, athirst to renew
Your work-wrung frame, in peace
To breathe lov'd airs, retrace
Steps in oft-trod purlieu.

Nay, in harsh hours when rue
Awhile I wore and knew
Disaster, went to dwell
Aloof, found Fortune's hue
Sinister, sable, grew
Empoverish'd, seeking cell
And shelter, driv'n to eschew,
For lack of revenue,
Our little, lov'd hotel,

Had home and citadel
(Scarce more than bleak Bridewell!)
Some seven miles distant, where
In manor ancestrel
And ruinous, mam'selle
Stenford, year after year,
Gave me hospitable
Shelter, to my tourelle
You still made glad repair.

Sought me, brought hope and cheer
Into my soul—to dear,
Familiar scenes, Saint's shrine,
Nymph's fount, Bandusian, clear,
And Druid's grove austere,
Sinister, belluine,
Would bring me—bid me fare
Back to our Inn, would there
Play host, put up good wine.

When Fate, grown less malign,
Brought me from peregrine
Parts to my native land,
Instant, the task was thine,
Steadfast in rain and shine,
Scarce had I touched Home strand,
To portray past, pristine
Friendship, smile sweet, benign,
Proffer me welcoming hand.

Even now, when Fate's foul wand
And brutal Fortune's brand
Their hideous worst have wrought,
Have turned to ashes, sand,
Projected pleasures—plann'd
Of old—made Hope, dream nought. ...
Even now you stay and stand
True friend, in death command
My gratitude, love, thought.

Even now kind deeds you sought
To do, while still a-foot
And vital, stay, delight
My senses. The last pot
Of honey that you brought
From Storrington, to-night
Stands at my side, full-fraught
With Sussex taste you taught
Me long since. While I write

Your aura hovers light
And gracious, comes to excite
To effort, bids me stay
Firm to my task, unite
All forces ... so requite
Your faith by fresh essay,
Stay strong to fight good fight,
Fear naught save foolish fright,
Hold fast to chosen way.

Bids me (some far-off day
When Peace, which all men pray,
Shews at long last fair shape
Of things to come, new ray,
Fresh sunshine sends, makes gay
This world where now men weep
By millions) wing my way
Back to old Inn, allay
In Châteauneuf du Pape

Dear to our souls, sad rape
Of your lov'd self, so sweep
Away short space my maim. ...
Thus be it! May I keep
Such festival, escape
Grief's gridings, to fair fame
Fashion fresh song, drink deep
To you who stood, now sleep,
Faithfull in deed as name.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net