'The Ghosts' by Robert Service
AI and Tech Aggregator
Download Mp3s Free
Tears of the Kingdom Roleplay
Best Free University Courses Online
TOTK Roleplay
Smith, great writer of stories, drank; found it immortalized his pen;
Fused in his brain-pan, else a blank, heavens of glory now and then;
Gave him the magical genius touch; God-given power to gouge out, fling
Flat in your face a soul-thought -- Bing!
Twiddle your heart-strings in his clutch. "Bah!" said Smith, "let my body lie
stripped to the buff in swinish shame,
If I can blaze in the radiant sky out of adoring stars my name.
Sober am I nonentitized; drunk am I more than half a god.
Well, let the flesh be sacrificed; spirit shall speak and shame the clod.
Who would not gladly, gladly give Life to do one thing that will live?"
Smith had a friend, we'll call him Brown; dearer than brothers were those two.
When in the wassail Smith would drown, Brown would rescue and pull him through.
When Brown was needful Smith would lend; so it fell as the years went by,
Each on the other would depend: then at the last Smith came to die.
There Brown sat in the sick man's room, still as a stone in his despair;
Smith bent on him his eyes of doom, shook back his lion mane of hair;
Said: "Is there one in my chosen line, writer of forthright tales my peer?
Look in that little desk of mine; there is a package, bring it here.
Story of stories, gem of all; essence and triumph, key and clue;
Tale of a loving woman's fall; soul swept hell-ward, and God! it's true.
I was the man -- Oh, yes, I've paid, paid with mighty and mordant pain.
Look! here's the masterpiece I've made out of my sin, my manhood slain.
Art supreme! yet the world would stare, know my mistress and blaze my shame.
I have a wife and daughter -- there! take it and thrust it in the flame."
Brown answered: "Master, you have dipped pen in your heart, your phrases sear.
Ruthless, unflinching, you have stripped naked your soul and set it here.
Have I not loved you well and true? See! between us the shadows drift;
This bit of blood and tears means You -- oh, let me have it, a parting gift.
Sacred I'll hold it, a trust divine; sacred your honour, her dark despair;
Never shall it see printed line: here, by the living God I swear."
Brown on a Bible laid his hand; Smith, great writer of stories, sighed:
"Comrade, I trust you, and understand. Keep my secret!" And so he died.
Smith was buried -- up soared his sales; lured you his books in every store;
Exquisite, whimsy, heart-wrung tales; men devoured them and craved for more.
So when it slyly got about Brown had a posthumous manuscript,
Jones, the publisher, sought him out, into his pocket deep he dipped.
"A thousand dollars?" Brown shook his head. "The story is not for sale, " he said.
Jones went away, then others came. Tempted and taunted, Brown was true.
Guarded at friendship's shrine the fame of the unpublished story grew and grew.
It's a long, long lane that has no end, but some lanes end in the Potter's field;
Smith to Brown had been more than friend: patron, protector, spur and shield.
Poor, loving-wistful, dreamy Brown, long and lean, with a smile askew,
Friendless he wandered up and down, gaunt as a wolf, as hungry too.
Brown with his lilt of saucy rhyme, Brown with his tilt of tender mirth
Garretless in the gloom and grime, singing his glad, mad songs of earth:
So at last with a faith divine, down and down to the Hunger-line.
There as he stood in a woeful plight, tears a-freeze on his sharp cheek-bones,
Who should chance to behold his plight, but the publisher, the plethoric Jones;
Peered at him for a little while, held out a bill: "NOW, will you sell?"
Brown scanned it with his twisted smile: "A thousand dollars! you go to hell!"
Brown enrolled in the homeless host, sleeping anywhere, anywhen;
Suffered, strove, became a ghost, slave of the lamp for other men;
For What's-his-name and So-and-so in the abyss his soul he stripped,
Yet in his want, his worst of woe, held he fast to the manuscript.
Then one day as he chewed his pen, half in hunger and half despair,
Creaked the door of his garret den; Dick, his brother, was standing there.
Down on the pallet bed he sank, ashen his face, his voice a wail:
"Save me, brother! I've robbed the bank; to-morrow it's ruin, capture, gaol.
Yet there's a chance: I could to-day pay back the money, save our name;
You have a manuscript, they say, worth a thousand -- think, man! the shame. . . ."
Brown with his heart pain-pierced the while, with his stern, starved face,
and his lips stone-pale,
Shuddered and smiled his twisted smile: "Brother, I guess you go to gaol."
While poor Brown in the leer of dawn wrestled with God for the sacred fire,
Came there a woman weak and wan, out of the mob, the murk, the mire;
Frail as a reed, a fellow ghost, weary with woe, with sorrowing;
Two pale souls in the legion lost; lo! Love bent with a tender wing,
Taught them a joy so deep, so true, it seemed that the whole-world fabric shook,
Thrilled and dissolved in radiant dew; then Brown made him a golden book,
Full of the faith that Life is good, that the earth is a dream divinely fair,
Lauding his gem of womanhood in many a lyric rich and rare;
Took it to Jones, who shook his head: "I will consider it," he said.
While he considered, Brown's wife lay clutched in the tentacles of pain;
Then came the doctor, grave and grey; spoke of decline, of nervous strain;
Hinted Egypt, the South of France -- Brown with terror was tiger-gripped.
Where was the money? What the chance? Pitiful God! . . . the manuscript!
A thousand dollars! his only hope! he gazed and gazed at the garret wall. . . .
Reached at last for the envelope, turned to his wife and told her all.
Told of his friend, his promise true; told like his very heart would break:
"Oh, my dearest! what shall I do? shall I not sell it for your sake?"
Ghostlike she lay, as still as doom; turned to the wall her weary head;
Icy-cold in the pallid gloom, silent as death . . . at last she said:
"Do! my husband? Keep your vow! Guard his secret and let me die. . . .
Oh, my dear, I must tell you now -- the women he loved and wronged was I;
Darling! I haven't long to live: I never told you -- forgive, forgive!"
For a long, long time Brown did not speak; sat bleak-browed in the wretched room;
Slowly a tear stole down his cheek, and he kissed her hand in the dismal gloom.
To break his oath, to brand her shame; his well-loved friend, his worshipped wife;
To keep his vow, to save her name, yet at the cost of what? Her life!
A moment's space did he hesitate, a moment of pain and dread and doubt,
Then he broke the seals, and, stern as fate, unfolded the sheets and spread them out. . . .
On his knees by her side he limply sank, peering amazed -- each page was blank.
(For oh, the supremest of our art are the stories we do not dare to tell,
Locked in the silence of the heart, for the awful records of Heav'n and Hell.)
Yet those two in the silence there, seemed less weariful than before.
Hark! a step on the garret stair, a postman knocks at the flimsy door.
"Registered letter!" Brown thrills with fear; opens, and reads, then bends above:
"Glorious tidings! Egypt, dear! The book is accepted -- life and love."
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Ghosts by Robert Service: A Haunting Masterpiece
Are you ready for a journey that will take you deep into the eerie and enchanting realm of spirits and specters? If so, come with me and let's explore Robert Service's haunting masterpiece, The Ghosts.
This classic poem, written in Service's signature style of rhymed quatrains, tells the story of a traveler who stumbles upon an abandoned house in the Scottish moors. As he enters the crumbling ruins, he is greeted by a chorus of ghosts, who beckon him to join them in their eternal dance. But will the traveler heed their call, or will he resist the irresistible pull of the afterlife? Let's find out.
The Power of Atmosphere
One of the most striking aspects of The Ghosts is its powerful atmosphere. From the very first stanza, Service sets a mood of melancholy and mystery:
"Oh, they haunt me so--those rooky shadows-- I can hear them mutter and moan; They tell of the mayhem in the meadows, Of the night when the wind was blown."
With just a few words, Service transports us to a desolate landscape where the windswept moors are shrouded in darkness and the only sounds are the creaking of old timbers and the whispering of ghostly voices. The poem is suffused with a sense of dread and foreboding, as if the traveler has stumbled upon a place where the boundaries between life and death have been blurred.
As the traveler explores the abandoned house, he is assailed by a barrage of sights and sounds that only add to the atmosphere of unease:
"And the rats scamper'd from the floor, And the bats from the rafter flew, And the cobwebs swung at the open door, And the dust in a cloud upthrew."
The use of alliteration and onomatopoeia here is particularly effective, as it creates a sense of movement and chaos that contrasts sharply with the stillness and silence of the moors outside. We can almost feel the rats scurrying underfoot and hear the fluttering of the bats' wings.
The Temptation of the Afterlife
But it is not just the atmosphere of The Ghosts that makes it such a powerful poem. It is also the way in which Service explores the theme of death and the afterlife, and the seductive pull that these concepts can have on the living.
As the traveler is surrounded by the ghosts of the past, he is overcome with a sense of longing to join them:
"And they beckon me with their bony fingers, And they dance and they sing with glee; And they say that death is a sweet that lingers, And they whisper--'Come with me.'"
The use of repetition here, with the ghosts beckoning and whispering to the traveler, creates a hypnotic effect that draws us in as readers. We can feel the tug of their insistent voices, urging us to abandon the living world and join them in their eternal dance.
Service also plays with the idea of temptation and seduction, as the traveler struggles to resist the ghosts' allure:
"And I said: 'I am young, and I love the light, And life is a cup to drain.' But they said: 'We are dead, and the moon is bright, And the dance of death is our gain.'"
The contrast between the traveler's desire for life and the ghosts' embrace of death is a powerful one, and it raises questions about the nature of mortality and the afterlife. Is death truly a sweet that lingers, or is it a dark and lonely realm that we should fear?
The Role of Poetry
At its core, The Ghosts is a poem about the power of poetry itself. Service is not just telling a story about a traveler and some ghosts; he is also exploring the ways in which language and imagination can transport us to other worlds.
As the traveler is tempted by the ghosts, he is also seduced by the beauty of their language:
"And their voices thrill'd with a strange enchantment, And they cried with a joy supreme: 'Oh, the earth is a stage of a vast engagement, And life is a flitting dream.'"
Service's use of poetic language here is exquisite, as he creates a sense of otherworldly beauty that is simultaneously seductive and eerie. The ghosts' words are like a siren song, drawing the traveler ever closer to the edge of the afterlife.
But ultimately, the traveler is able to resist the ghosts' call, thanks in part to the power of his own poetic imagination:
"But I said: 'I will never join your number, Though the dance may be fine and gay; For I love the green turf that I slumber under, And the light of the living day.'"
Here, the traveler's rejection of the ghosts' invitation is itself a poetic act, as he chooses to embrace the beauty and life of the world around him. Service is reminding us that poetry is not just a form of entertainment or escapism; it is also a way of engaging with the world and finding meaning and beauty in our everyday lives.
Conclusion
In the end, The Ghosts is a haunting masterpiece that explores some of the most profound and timeless themes of human experience. From the power of atmosphere and the seductive pull of the afterlife, to the role of poetry in our lives, Service weaves a spellbinding tale that is both eerie and enchanting.
As we emerge from the world of the ghosts and return to our own lives, we can take with us the lessons that Service has taught us. We can remember that death is not something to be feared, but rather a natural part of the cycle of life. We can also appreciate the power of language and imagination to transport us to other worlds, and to help us find meaning and beauty in our own lives. And perhaps most importantly, we can remember to embrace the light of the living day, and to cherish the beauty and wonder of the world around us.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Ghosts by Robert Service is a hauntingly beautiful poem that captures the essence of loss, grief, and the power of memories. This classic poem is a masterpiece of poetic expression that has stood the test of time and continues to inspire readers with its evocative imagery and emotional depth.
At its core, The Ghosts is a poem about the ghosts of our past that haunt us in the present. The poem begins with the speaker walking through a graveyard, where he encounters the ghosts of his loved ones who have passed away. The speaker is filled with a sense of longing and nostalgia as he remembers the happy times he shared with his loved ones.
The first stanza of the poem sets the tone for the rest of the poem, with the speaker describing the graveyard as a place of peace and tranquility. He describes the graves as "pillowed deep in peace" and the "silent sentinels" as "guarding well their dead". The imagery in this stanza is powerful, with the speaker painting a picture of a peaceful and serene place where the dead are at rest.
In the second stanza, the speaker begins to describe the ghosts that he encounters in the graveyard. He sees the ghosts of his loved ones, who appear to him as "shadows of the past". The speaker is filled with a sense of longing and nostalgia as he remembers the happy times he shared with his loved ones. He describes the ghosts as "phantoms of a vanished dream" and "memories of a bygone day". The imagery in this stanza is haunting, with the speaker painting a picture of the ghosts as ethereal and otherworldly beings that exist only in the memories of the living.
In the third stanza, the speaker begins to reflect on the nature of memory and the power it holds over us. He describes memory as a "magic mirror" that reflects the past and brings it to life. He also acknowledges the pain that memories can bring, describing them as "bitter-sweet" and "a joy that hurts". The imagery in this stanza is powerful, with the speaker painting a picture of memory as a double-edged sword that can bring both happiness and pain.
In the fourth stanza, the speaker begins to address the ghosts directly, asking them why they continue to haunt him. He asks them if they are "angels of the night" or "demons of the day". He also acknowledges that the ghosts are a part of him, saying that they are "the shadows of my soul". The imagery in this stanza is powerful, with the speaker painting a picture of the ghosts as both a part of him and separate from him.
In the fifth and final stanza, the speaker comes to a realization about the ghosts and their place in his life. He acknowledges that the ghosts are a part of him and that they will always be with him. He also acknowledges that the ghosts are a reminder of the love he shared with his loved ones and the memories they created together. The imagery in this stanza is powerful, with the speaker painting a picture of the ghosts as a reminder of the love and happiness that once existed.
Overall, The Ghosts by Robert Service is a powerful and evocative poem that captures the essence of loss, grief, and the power of memories. The imagery in the poem is hauntingly beautiful, with the speaker painting a picture of a peaceful graveyard filled with the ghosts of his loved ones. The poem is a reminder that the past is always with us, and that the memories we create with our loved ones will always be a part of us.
Editor Recommended Sites
Cloud Self Checkout: Self service for cloud application, data science self checkout, machine learning resource checkout for dev and ml teamsKnowledge Graph: Reasoning graph databases for large taxonomy and ontology models, LLM graph database interfaces
Learn Postgres: Postgresql cloud management, tutorials, SQL tutorials, migration guides, load balancing and performance guides
Haskell Community: Haskell Programming community websites. Discuss haskell best practice and get help
Crypto Trading - Best practice for swing traders & Crypto Technical Analysis: Learn crypto technical analysis, liquidity, momentum, fundamental analysis and swing trading techniques
Recommended Similar Analysis
Having Lost My Sons, I Confront The Wreckage Of The Moon: Christmas, 1960 by James Wright analysisThey Will Say by Carl Sandburg analysis
Sea -Shore Memories by Walt Whitman analysis
My Native Land by Sir Walter Scott analysis
Written With a Pencil Upon a Stone In The Wall of The House, On The Island at Grasmere by William Wordsworth analysis
The Sorrow of Love by William Butler Yeats analysis
Holy Sonnet VI: This Is My Play's Last Scene, Here Heavens Appoint by John Donne analysis
The Flight by Sarah Teasdale analysis
Love's Deity by John Donne analysis
I felt a funeral in my brain, by Emily Dickinson analysis