'The Bard' by Thomas Gray
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I.1
"Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Confusion on thy banners wait,
Tho' fanned by Conquest's crimson wing
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria'sÊ curse, from Cambria's tears!"
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,10
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy sideÊ
He wound with toilsome march his long array.
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance:
"To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance.
I.2
On a rock, whose haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the Poet stood;
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air)20
And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
"Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave,
Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath!
O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breath;
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
To high-born Hoßl's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.Ê
I.3
Cold is Cadwallo'sÊ tongue,
That hush'd the stormy main:30
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:
Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whose magic song
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head.
On dreary Arvon'sÊ shore they lie,
Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale:
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail;
The famish'd Eagle screams, and passes by.
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes,40
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
Ye died amidst your country's cries--
No more I weep.They do not sleep.
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band,
I see them sit, they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land:
With me in dreadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands, the tissue of thy line."
II.1
"Weave the warp, and weave the woof,Ê
The winding-sheet of Edward's race.50
Give ample room, and verge enough
The characters of hell to trace.
Mark the year, and mark the night,
When Severn shall re-eccho with affright
The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that ring,
Shrieks of an agonizing King!Ê
She-Wolf of France,Ê with unrelenting fangs,
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled Mate,
From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs
The scourge of Heav'n.ÊWhat Terrors round him wait! 60
Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
II.2
Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,
Low on his funeral couch he lies!
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the sable Warriour fled?Ê
Thy son is gone.He rests among the Dead.
The Swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born?
Gone to salute the rising Morn.70
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,Ê
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes;
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening-prey.
II.3
Fill high the sparkling bowl,
The rich repast prepare,
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:
Close by the regal chair80
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baleful smile upon their baffled Guest.
Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse?
Long Years of havock urge their destined course,
And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,Ê
With many a foul and midnight murther fed,
Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame,
And spare the meek Usurper's holy head.Ê90
Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe,Ê we spread:
The bristled Boar in infant-gore
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.Ê
Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
III.1
Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave the woof. The thread is spun)
Half of thy heart we consecrate.Ê
(The web is wove. The work is done.)"100
"Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlornÊ
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn:
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies,
They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowden's height
Descending slow their glitt'ring skirts unroll?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight,
Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail.
All-hail, ye genuine Kings, Brittania's Issue, hail!Ê 110
III.2
Girt with many a Baron bold
Sublime their starry frontsÊ they rear;
And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen old
In bearded majesty, appear.
In the midst a Form divine!Ê
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line;
Her lyon-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
What strains of vocal transport round her play!120
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,Ê hear;
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings,
Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd wings.
III.3
The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,Ê
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskin'd measures move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With Horrour, Tyrant of the throbbing breast.Ê130
A Voice, as of the Cherub-Choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear;Ê
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious Man, think'st thou, yon sanguine cloud,
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the Orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me:With joy I see
The different doom our Fates assign.140
Be thine Despair, and scept'red Care,
To triumph, and to die, are mine."
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Bard: A Masterpiece of Poetic Artistry
What makes a poem truly exceptional? Is it the mastery of language and form, the ability to capture the essence of human experience, or the power to transport us to another world? Perhaps it is all of these things and more, and no poem embodies them better than "The Bard" by Thomas Gray.
Written in 1757, "The Bard" is a tour-de-force of poetic artistry, blending history, mythology, and imagination into a seamless tapestry of words. It tells the story of a Welsh bard who, in the aftermath of a bloody battle, summons the spirits of his forefathers to curse the English conquerors and prophesy their downfall. The poem is rich with vivid imagery, stirring emotions, and profound insights into the nature of power and fate.
At its heart, "The Bard" is a meditation on the tragic consequences of pride and ambition. The English king, Edward I, is depicted as a ruthless conqueror who seeks to impose his will on the Welsh people, but who ultimately falls victim to his own hubris. The bard, meanwhile, embodies the spirit of resistance and defiance, but his own sense of superiority blinds him to the inevitability of his defeat. In the end, both the conqueror and the conquered are shown to be mere mortals, subject to the whims of fate and the inexorable march of time.
But what truly sets "The Bard" apart from other poems of its era is its masterful use of language and imagery. Gray's verse is rich with allusions to classical mythology and medieval history, yet it never feels pedantic or obscure. Instead, it brings to life a world of epic grandeur and tragic beauty, where noble deeds and terrible crimes are writ large on the stage of history. The poem's vivid descriptions of the Welsh landscape, with its misty mountains and roaring waterfalls, evoke a sense of awe and wonder that is both timeless and universal.
Above all, "The Bard" is a work of profound humanism, a celebration of the power of art to transcend borders and unite people across time and space. In the bard's final speech, as he laments the passing of his people and his own impending death, we are reminded of the fragility and transience of human existence. Yet even in the face of this mortality, the bard's music lives on, echoing through the ages and inspiring future generations to aspire to greatness.
In conclusion, "The Bard" is a masterpiece of poetic artistry that richly deserves its place among the classics of English literature. Its blend of history, mythology, and imagination, its profound insights into the human psyche, and its masterful use of language and imagery are all testaments to Gray's genius as a poet. Whether read as a meditation on the nature of power and fate, a tribute to the resilience of the human spirit, or simply as a work of pure literary beauty, "The Bard" continues to captivate and inspire readers to this day.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Bard: An Ode to the Power of Poetry
Thomas Gray's "The Bard" is a masterpiece of poetry that has stood the test of time. Written in 1757, this ode to the power of poetry tells the story of a Welsh bard who, in his dying moments, prophesies the downfall of his country. The poem is a powerful meditation on the role of the poet in society, the nature of history, and the power of language to shape our understanding of the world.
At its heart, "The Bard" is a celebration of the power of poetry to move us, to inspire us, and to shape our understanding of the world. Gray's bard is a figure of immense power and dignity, a man who has dedicated his life to the art of poetry and who, even in death, commands the respect of all who hear his words. Through his prophetic vision, the bard is able to see beyond the present moment and to glimpse the future of his country, a future that is marked by tragedy and despair.
But even as the bard prophesies the downfall of his country, he also celebrates the power of poetry to transcend time and to shape our understanding of history. For Gray, the bard is not simply a figure of the past, but a symbol of the enduring power of poetry to speak to us across the ages. As he writes:
"Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!"
These lines capture the essence of Gray's vision of the bard as a figure of timeless power and significance. Through his poetry, the bard is able to speak to the stars, to the sea, and to the very heart of nature itself. His words echo through the "sounding aisles" of the woods, a testament to the enduring power of language to shape our understanding of the world.
At the same time, "The Bard" is also a meditation on the nature of history and the role of the poet in shaping our understanding of the past. For Gray, history is not simply a collection of facts and dates, but a living, breathing thing that is shaped by the stories we tell about it. The bard, in his dying moments, is able to see beyond the present moment and to glimpse the future of his country, a future that is marked by tragedy and despair. But even as he prophesies the downfall of his country, he also celebrates the power of poetry to transcend time and to shape our understanding of history.
Through his poetry, the bard is able to give voice to the struggles and triumphs of his people, to capture the essence of their culture and their way of life. His words are a testament to the enduring power of poetry to shape our understanding of the past and to inspire us to create a better future.
In many ways, "The Bard" is a deeply political poem, a meditation on the role of the poet in society and the power of language to shape our understanding of the world. Through his portrayal of the bard, Gray celebrates the power of poetry to give voice to the struggles and triumphs of the oppressed, to challenge the status quo, and to inspire us to create a better world.
In the end, "The Bard" is a testament to the enduring power of poetry to move us, to inspire us, and to shape our understanding of the world. Through his portrayal of the bard, Gray celebrates the power of language to transcend time and to speak to us across the ages. His words are a testament to the enduring power of poetry to shape our understanding of the past and to inspire us to create a better future.
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