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    The Song of the Sword, and Other Verses
    The Song of the Sword, and Other Verses
    The Song of the Sword, and Other Verses
    Ebook81 pages38 minutes

    The Song of the Sword, and Other Verses

    By William Ernest Henley

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 15, 2013
    The Song of the Sword, and Other Verses

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      Book preview

      The Song of the Sword, and Other Verses - William Ernest Henley

      The Song of the Sword, by W. E. Henley

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Song of the Sword, by W. E. Henley

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: The Song of the Sword

      and Other Verses

      Author: W. E. Henley

      Release Date: January 18, 2008 [eBook #24363]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SONG OF THE SWORD***

      Transcribed from the 1892 David Nutt edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

      THE SONG

      OF THE SWORD

      and other verses

      by

      W. E. HENLEY

      LONDON

      Published by DAVID NUTT

      in the Strand

      1892

      To R. T. Hamilton-Bruce

      Edinburgh, Mar. 17, 1892

      With three exceptions, these numbers have appeared in ‘The National Observer,’ by permission of whose proprietors they are here reprinted.

      THE SONG OF THE SWORD

      (To Rudyard Kipling)

      The Sword

      Singing—

      The voice of the Sword from the heart of the Sword

      Clanging imperious

      Forth from Time’s battlements

      His ancient and triumphing Song.

      In the beginning,

      Ere God inspired Himself

      Into the clay thing

      Thumbed to His image,

      The vacant, the naked shell

      Soon to be Man:

      Thoughtful He pondered it,

      Prone there and impotent,

      Fragile, inviting

      Attack and discomfiture:

      Then, with a smile—

      As He heard in the Thunder

      That laughed over Eden

      The voice of the Trumpet,

      The iron Beneficence,

      Calling His dooms

      To the Winds of the world—

      Stooping, He drew

      On the sand with His finger

      A shape for a sign

      Of His way to the eyes

      That in wonder should waken,

      For a proof of His will

      To the breaking intelligence:

      That was the birth of me:

      I am the Sword.

      Hard and bleak, keen and cruel,

      Short-hilted, long-shafted,

      I froze into steel:

      And the blood of my elder,

      His hand on the hafts of me,

      Sprang like a wave

      In the wind, as the sense

      Of his strength grew to ecstasy,

      Glowed like a coal

      At the throat of the furnace,

      As he knew me and named me

      The War-Thing, the Comrade,

      Father of honour

      And giver of kingship,

      The fame-smith, the song-master,

      Bringer of women

      On fire at his hands

      For the pride of fulfilment,

      Priest (saith the Lord)

      Of his marriage with victory.

      Ho! then, the Trumpet,

      Handmaid of heroes,

      Calling the peers

      To the place of espousal!

      Ho! then, the splendour

      And sheen of my ministry,

      Clothing the earth

      With a livery of lightnings!

      Ho! then, the music

      Of battles in onset

      And ruining armours,

      And God’s gift returning

      In fury to God!

      Glittering and keen

      As the song of the winter stars,

      Ho! then, the sound

      Of my voice, the implacable

      Angel of Destiny!—

      I am the Sword.

      Heroes, my children,

      Follow, O follow me,

      Follow, exulting

      In the great light that breaks

      From the sacred companionship:

      Thrust through the fatuous,

      Thrust through the fungous brood

      Spawned in my shadow

      And gross with my gift!

      Thrust through, and hearken,

      O hark, to the Trumpet,

      The Virgin of Battles,

      Calling, still

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