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    The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems
    The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems
    The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems
    Ebook107 pages38 minutes

    The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems

    By Louise Imogen Guiney

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    About this ebook

    The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems is a brilliant collection of the most beloved poems by American poet Louise Imogen Guiney. The titular poem illustrates the martyrdom of Saint Didymus and Saint Theodora at Alexandria in a dramatic manner. Saints Theodora and Didymus were Christian saints, and their legend is based on the word of Saint Ambrose. They were martyred in the reigns of co-ruling Roman Emperors Diocletian and Maximianus. This volume contains several short poems, including Romans in Dorset, the Vigil in Tyrone, Ode for a Master Mariner Ashore, Of Joan's Youth, and many more.

    Guiney was a member of various famous literary and social clubs and was the most prominent and visionary personal influence on Boston's circle of authors and artists.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGood Press
    Release dateMay 20, 2021
    ISBN4064066167769
    The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems

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      Book preview

      The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems - Louise Imogen Guiney

      Louise Imogen Guiney

      The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems

      Published by Good Press, 2022

      goodpress@okpublishing.info

      EAN 4064066167769

      Table of Contents

      THE MARTYRS’ IDYL

      SHORTER POEMS

      THE SQUALL

      MEMORIAL DAY

      ROMANS IN DORSET

      VALSE JEUNE

      THE CHANTRY

      MONOCHROME

      THE VIGIL IN TYRONE

      BECAUSE NO MAN HATH HIRED US

      AN OUTDOOR LITANY

      VIRGO GLORIOSA, MATER AMANTISSIMA

      FOUR COLLOQUIES

      SANCTUARY

      ORISONS

      THE INNER FATE: A CHORUS

      OF JOAN’S YOUTH

      BY THE TRUNDLE-BED

      THE ACKNOWLEDGMENT

      ARBORICIDE

      CHARISTA MUSING

      THE PERFECT HOUR

      DEO OPTIMO MAXIMO

      IN TIME OF TROUBLE

      AN ESTRAY

      BORDERLANDS

      TO THE OUTBOUND REPUBLIC: MDCCCXCVIII

      ODE FOR A MASTER MARINER ASHORE

      THE RECRUIT

      THE MARTYRS’ IDYL

      [1]

      Table of Contents

      [1] The outlines of this story, and much of the dialogue, in Scenes II., IV. and V., are taken from the Acta Sanctorum and S. Ambrose.

      Sunset. A high rocky pasture above Alexandria. In the year of Our Lord 304.

      Didymus, a young soldier, enters and throws himself down.

      Didymus.

      T

      THIS mound is sweet to me. All my blood aches,

      Since driven onward like a dark hill-cloud,

      Dizzy with secret lightnings nowhere spent,

      I chase yon happy sun to his bright death,

      Alas, I know not whither: but I know

      I shall not see the myriad shields uphung

      In camp to-night, nor on our cypresses

      Smoke rise and sink in loath blue fountain spray.

      So far, so far I drift from even them

      Who fill one gourd with me, who cheer my heart,

      Who come in, warm and singing, to the tent,

      And miss me who am gone away, I think,

      Forever, though a day; out of their world,

      Though over a few leagues of upland grass!

      Why hast Thou laid on me magic of pain,

      God unrevealèd? Was I drawn from sleep,

      Man’s duty, body’s health, to be mere wind,

      Wind undirected over fallow wastes?

      What wouldst Thou ask of me, no sword of Thine,

      No ark of service? Yet aware of Thee

      I am and shall be. All my thought, outspread,

      Is open unto Thee: a lonely beach

      Where the wide sobbing surf ebbs everywhere,

      And, hard upon each dawn-encolored wave,

      Flutters the wavy line of drying sand

      Back to the verge: the white line, shadow-quick,

      Thrilling there in the dark: an earthen gleam,

      Vain huntress of the sea. Suffer me now

      To follow and attain Thee, fugitive,

      And be my rest, who hast, my whole life long,

      Been mine unrest: implored, immortal Love!

      A Child enters, with a reed, wearing a wreath of thorns in his hair.

      The Child. Soldier, pipe up for me, a herd-boy, glad

      Because his flocks are folded.

      Didymus. Ah, not I!

      My star is withered; I am man no more.

      Sigh after sigh the builder Grief takes up,

      To heighten over me her gradual arch.

      The Child. An arch of entrance to a generous garden,

      Where spirits and the moonlit waters are.

      Take comfort!

      Didymus. Thou art a strange child, methinks,

      To say that too wise word.

      The Child. Remember, then,

      ’Twas breathed to thee at Alexandria,

      In early-dying April’s golden air.

      Didymus.

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