Rizpah poem. Poem: Rizpah, the Daughter of Ai by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper 2022-10-16
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Poem: Rizpah by Algernon Charles Swinburne
The King should have made him a soldier, he would have been one of his best. But I go to-night to my boy, and I shall not find him in Hell. Yea, thus and thus Fares Rizpah,- said the spy, O King, to me. My heart is broken! For the lawyer is born but to murder—the Saviour lives but to bless. I had bid him my last goodbye; They had fasten'd the door of his cell.
They died--and the mother that gave them birth Is forbid to cover their bones with earth. I have taken them What am I saying? He sinned--but he paid the price of his guilt When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt; When he strove with the heathen host in vain, And fell with the flower of his people slain, And the sceptre his children's hands should sway From his injured lineage passed away. Nay--you can hear it yourself--it is coming--shaking the walls-- Willy--the moon's in a Alfred Lord Tennyson. Kind stars, watch with me; let no evil beast Rend that dear flesh. And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they hanged them in the hill together, and were put to first days, in the And Rizpah, the her upon the rock, from the dropped upon them out of heaven, and air to rest upon them by day, nor the 2 SAMUEL, xxi.
Who let her in? Whose son is he, this youth? And Rizpah hears that her loved must die, But she hears it all with a tearless eye; And clasping her hand with grief and dread She meekly bows her queenly head. She could not hinder seizure of her sons, But stood in death by them as once in life, She would protect their hanging flesh and bone, Shield it from vultures with her club and knife. When I clasped their knees and wept and prayed, And struggled and shrieked to Heaven for aid, And clung to my sons with desperate strength, Till the murderers loosed my hold at length, And bore me breathless and faint aside, In their iron arms, while my children died. I came into court to the Judge and the lawyers. Kendall, whose lot was scarcely more fortunate, is a true singer; his songs remain, and are likely long to remain, attractive to poetry lovers.
Do you think I was scared by the bones? And if he be lost—but to save my soul, that is all your desire: Do you think that I care for my soul if my boy be gone to the fire? Others forsook their loved ones,- let them stay, But Rizpah tended to them lovingly, Chased greedy hungry birds of prey away With a devotedmother's piety. You have chosen to make it the former type; and for that, you are to be commended. I have watched them through the burning day, And driven the vulture and raven away; And the cormorant wheeled in circles round, Yet feared to alight on the guarded ground. Suffering—O long-suffering—yes, as the Lord must know, Year after year in the mist and the wind and the shower and the snow. Seven blackened corpses before me lie, In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky. Suffering—O long-suffering—yes, as the Lord must know, Year after year in the mist and the wind and the shower and the snow. Poor Rizpah's mission now became to watch The hanging bodies of her sons upon The gallows on a rock, so none would touch To desecrate the bodies of her sons.
Rizpah by Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron. Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. 1895. A Victorian Anthology, 1837
The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down, When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak of the chain, And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drenched with the rain. When I clasped their knees and wept and prayed, And struggled and shrieked to Heaven for aid, And clung to my sons with desperate strength, Till the murderers loosed my hold at length, And bore me breathless and faint aside, In their iron arms, while my children died. I came into court to the Judge and the lawyers. For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at the snow. The jackall slunk back with a quickened tread, From his cowardly search of Rizpah's dead; Unsated he turned from the noble prey, Subdued by the glance of the daughter of Ai.
Three long moons Hath Rizpah, daughter of Aiah, dwelt With drouth and cold and rain and wind by turns, And many birds there are that know her face, And many beasts that flee not at her step, And many cunning eyes do look at her From serpent-holes and burrows of the rat. A Victorian Anthology, 1837-1895 Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was left-- I stole them all from the lawyers--and you, will you call it a theft? How do they know it? For the lawyer is born but to murder—the Saviour lives but to bless. A Victorian Anthology, 1837—1895. But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an hour of life. The sons of Michal before her lay, And her own fair children, dearer than they: By a death of shame they all had died, And were stretched on the bare rock, side by side.
It is growing dark. At such a sunset I have been with Saul — But saw it not. He sinned--but he paid the When his When he And fell with the And the From his 'But I A safe And that They And my As they Tall like Of his 'Oh, what an hour for a mother's heart, When the When I And And Till the And bore me In They died--and the Is 'The barley-harvest was When my And the When I came to my task of But now the The sun is dim in the And the Where he I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long But the Will beat on my I The. Moreover, he Shall say how, through her sleepless hours at night, When rain or leaves were dropping, every noise Seemed like an omen; every coming step Fell on her ears like a presentiment And every hand that rested on the door She fancied was a herald bearing grief; While every letter brought a faintness on That made her gasp before she opened it, To read the story written for her eyes, And cry, or brighten, over its contents. Thou wast our warrior once; thy sons long dead Against a foe less foul than this made head, Poland, in years that sound and shine afar; Ere the east beheld in thy bright sword-blade's stead The rotten corpse-light of the Russian star That lights towards hell his bondslaves and their Czar.
My Willy 'ill rise up whole when the trumpet of judgment 'ill sound, But I charge you never to say that I laid him in holy ground. Madam, I beg your pardon! But now the season of rain is nigh, The sun is dim in the thickening sky, And the clouds in sullen darkness rest Where he hides his light at the doors of the west. Moreover, he Shall say how, through her sleepless hours at night, When rain or leaves were dropping, every noise Seemed like an omen; every coming step Fell on her ears like a presentiment And every hand that rested on the door She fancied was a herald bearing grief; While every letter brought a faintness on That made her gasp before she opened it, To read the story written for her eyes, And cry, or brighten, over its contents. Harpur's work, though lacking vitality, shows fitful gleams of poetic fire suggestive of greater achievement had the circumstances of his life been more favourable. When he would take my hand and look on me, And whisper " Rizpah " — ah! They died--and the mother that gave them birth Is forbid to cover their bones with earth.
And if he be Do you think that I care for my soul if my boy be gone to the I have been with God in the dark--go, go, you may leave me You never have borne a child--you are just as hard as a stone. Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. For a massacre of the Gibeonites, Revenge and just deserts their clansmen cried- To expiate the crimes upon their sites Now seven pawns were picked and hanged aright. Seven blackened corpses before me lie, In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky. I whipt him for robbing an orchard once when he was but a child-- 'The farmer dared me to do it,' he said; he was always so wild-- And idle--and couldn't be idle--my Willy--he never could rest. David wrote a song on it, And had it put in Jasher — " Weep for Saul.
Rizpah · Poem by William Cullen Bryant on webapi.bu.edu
The King should have made him a soldier; he would have been one of his best. Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was left— I stole them all from the lawyers—and you, will you call it a theft? Suffering—O long-suffering—yes, as the Lord must know, Year after year in the mist and the wind and the shower and the snow. Seven blackened corpses before me lie, In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky. What am I saying? The jailer forced me away. And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until the water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest upon them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.
