Classic and Contemporary Poetry
DONICA, by ROBERT SOUTHEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: High on a rock, whose castled shade Last Line: The livid corpse fell dead. Subject(s): Arlinkow, Finland; Russia; Soviet Union; Russians | ||||||||
HIGH on a rock, whose castled shade Darkened the lake below, In ancient strength majestic stood The towers of Arlinkow. The fisher in the lake below Durst never cast his net, Nor ever swallow in its waves Her passing wing would wet. The cattle from its ominous banks In wild alarm would run, Though parcned with thirst, and faint beneath The summer's scorching sun. For sometimes, when no passing breeze The long, lank sedges waved, All white with foam, and heaving high, Its deafening billows raved: -- And, when the tempest from its base The rooted pine would shake, The powerless storm unruffling swept Across the calm dead lake. And ever, then, when death drew near The house of Arlinkow, Its dark, unfathomed waters sent Strange music from below, The Lord of Arlinkow was old; One only child had he: Donica was the maiden's name, As fair as fair might be. A bloom as bright as opening morn Suffused her clear, white cheek; The music of her voice was mild; Her full, dark eyes were meek. Far was her beauty known; for none So fair could Finland boast: Her parents loved the maiden much, -- Young Eberhard loved her most. Together did they hope to tread The pleasant path of life; For now the day drew near to make Donica Eberhard's wife. The eve was fair, and mild the air; Along the lake they stray: The eastern hill reflected bright The tints of fading day; And brightly o'er the water streamed The liquid radiance wide: Donica's little dog ran on, And gambolled at her side. Youth, health, and love bloomed on her cheek: Her full, dark eyes express, In many a glance, to Eberhard Her soul's meek tenderness. Nor sound was heard, nor passing gale Sighed through the long, lank sedge; The air was hushed; no little wave Dimpled the water's edge; -- When suddenly the lake sent forth Its music from beneath, And slowly o'er the waters sailed The solemn sounds of death. As those deep sounds of death arose, Donica's cheek grew pale, And in the arms of Eberhard The lifeless maiden fell. Loudly the youth in terror shrieked, And loud he called for aid, And with a wild and eager look Gazed on the lifeless maid. But soon again did better thoughts In Eberhard arise; And he with trembling hope beheld The maiden raise her eyes. And, on his arm reclined, she moved With feeble pace and slow, And soon, with strength recovered, reached The towers of Arlinkow. Yet never to Donica's cheeks Returned their lively hue: Her cheeks were deathy white and wan; Her lips, a livid blue. Her eyes, so bright and black of yore, Were now more black and bright, And beamed strange lustre in her face, So deadly wan and white. The dog that gambolled by her side, And loved with her to stray, Now at his altered mistress howled, And fled in fear away. Yet did the faithful Eberhard Not love the maid the less: He gazed with sorrow, but he gazed With deeper tenderness. And, when he found her health unharmed, He would not brook delay, But pressed the not unwilling maid To fix the bridal day. And, when at length it came, with joy He hailed the bridal day. And onward to the house of God They went their willing way. But when they at the altar stood, And heard the sacred rite, The hallowed tapers dimly streamed A pale, sulphureous light. And when the youth, with holy warmth, Her hand in his did hold, Sudden he felt Donica's hand Grow deadly damp and cold. But loudly then he shrieked; for, lo! A spirit met his view; And Eberhard in the angel form His own Donica knew. That instant from her earthly frame A demon howling fled, And at the side of Eberhard The livid corpse fell dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OXOTA: A SHORT RUSSIAN NOVEL: CHAPTER 259 by LYN HEJINIAN A FOREIGN COUNTRY by JOSEPHINE MILES THE DIAMOND PERSONA by NORMAN DUBIE IN MEMORIAM: 1933 (7. RUSSIA: ANNO 1905) by CHARLES REZNIKOFF TAKE A LETTER TO DMITRI SHOSTAKOVITCH by CARL SANDBURG READING THE RUSSIANS by RUTH STONE THE SOVIET CIRCUS VISITS HAVANA, 1969 by VIRGIL SUAREZ A PROBLEM IN AESTHETICS by KAREN SWENSON BISHOP BRUNO by ROBERT SOUTHEY |
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