The Poetical Works of Leigh Hunt/Captain Sword and Captain Pen

by James Henry Leigh Hunt

CAPTAIN SWORD AND CAPTAIN PEN.

To the Right Hon. Lord Brougham, with whom the writer humbly differs on some points, but deeply respects for his motives on all; great in office for what he did for the world, greater out of it for calmly awaiting his time to do more; the promoter of education; the expediter of justice; the liberator from slavery; and (what is the rarest virtue in a statesman) always a denouncer of war, this Poem is inscribed by his ever affectionate servant,

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I.

HOW CAPTAIN SWORD MARCHED TO WAR.

Captain Sword got up one day,Over the hills to march away,Over the hills and through the towns;They heard him coming across the downs,Stepping in music and thunder sweet,Which his drums sent before him into the street,And lo! 'twas a beautiful sight in the sun;For first came his foot, all marching like one, And the flag full of honour as though it could feel,And the officers gentle, the sword that hold'Gainst the shoulder heavy with trembling gold,And the massy tread, that in passing is heard,Though the drums and the music say never a word.

And then came his horse, a clustering soundOf shapely potency, forward bound,Glossy black steeds, and riders tall,Rank after rank, each looking like all,Midst moving repose and a threatening charm,With mortal sharpness at each right arm,And hues that painters and ladies love,And ever the small flag blush'd above.

And ever and anon the kettle-drums beatHasty power midst order meet;And ever and anon the drums and fifesCame like motion's voice, and life's;Or into the golden grandeurs fellOf deeper instruments, mingling well,Burdens of beauty for winds to bear;And the cymbals kiss'd in the shining air,And the trumpets their visible voices rear'd,Each looking forth with its tapestried beard,Bidding the heavens and earth make wayFor Captain Sword and his battle-array.

He, nevertheless, rode indifferent-eyed,As if pomp were a toy to his manly pride,Whilst the ladies lov'd him the more for his scorn,And thought him the noblest man ever was born,And tears came into the bravest eyes,And hearts swell'd after him double their size,And all that was weak, and all that was strong,Seem'd to think wrong's self in him could not be wrong; Such love, though with bosom about to be gored,Did sympathy get for brave Captain Sword.

So, half that night, as he stopp'd in the town,'Twas all one dance, going merrily down,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$With lights in windows, and love in eyes,And a constant feeling of sweet surprise;But all the next morning 'twas tears and sighs;For the sound of his drums grew less and less,Walking like carelessness off from distress;And Captain Sword went whistling gay,"Over the hills and far away."

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II.HOW CAPTAIN SWORD WON A GREAT VICTORY.

Through fair and through foul went Captain Sword,Pacer of highway and piercer of ford,Steady of face in rain or sun,He and his merry men, all as one;Till they came to a place, where in battle-arrayStood thousands of faces, firm as they,Waiting to see who could best maintainBloody argument, lords of pain;And down the throats of their fellow-menThrust the draught never drunk again.

It was a spot of rural peace,Ripening with the year's increase,And singing in the sun with birds,Like a maiden with happy words—With happy words which she scarcely hearsIn her own contented ears,Such abundance feeleth sheOf all comfort carelessly, Throwing round her, as she goes,Sweet half-thoughts on lily and rose,Nor guesseth what will soon arouseAll ears—that murder 's in the house;And that, in some strange wrong of brain,Her father hath her mother slain.

Steady! steady! The masses of menWheel, and fall in, and wheel again,Softly as circles drawn with pen.

Then a gaze there was, and valour and fear,And the jest that died in the jester's ear,And preparation, noble to see,Of all-accepting mortality,—Tranquil Necessity gracing Force;And the trumpets danc'd with the stirring horse;And lordly voices, here and there,Call'd to war through the gentle air;$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$When suddenly, with its voice of doom,Spoke the cannon 'twixt glare and gloom,Making wider the dreadful room:On the faces of nations roundFell the shadow of that sound.

Death for death! The storm begins;Rush the drums in a torrent of dins;Crash the muskets, gash the swords;Shoes grow red in a thousand fords;Now for the flint, and the cartridge bite;Darkly gathers the breath of the fight,Salt to the palate and stinging to sight;Muskets are pointed they scarce know where;No matter: Murder is cluttering there.Reel the hollows: close up! close up!Death feeds thick, and his food is his cup.Down go bodies, snap burst eyes;Trod on the ground are tender cries; Brains are dash'd against plashing ears;Ha! no time has battle for tears.

No time to be "breather of thoughtful breath"Has the giver and taker of dreadful death.See where comes the horse-tempest again,Visible earthquake, bloody of mane!Part are upon us, with edges of pain;Part burst, riderless, over the plain,Crashing their spurs, and twice slaying the slain.An odour, as of a slaughter-house,The distant raven's dark eye bows.

Victory! victory! Man flies man;Cannibal patience hath done what it can—Carv'd, and been carv'd, drunk the drinkers down,And now there is one that hath won the crown:One pale visage stands lord of the board—Joy to the trumpets of Captain Sword!

His trumpets blow strength, his trumpets neigh,They and his horse, and waft him away;They and his foot, with a tir'd proud flow,Tatter'd escapers and givers of woe.Open, ye cities! Hats off! hold breath!To see the man who has been with Death;To see the man who determineth rightBy the virtue-perplexing virtue of might.Sudden before him have ceas'd the drums,And lo! in the air of empire he comes!

All things present, in earth and sky,Seem to look at his looking eye.

III.OF THE BALL THAT WAS GIVEN TO CAPTAIN SWORD.

But Captain Sword was a man among men,And he hath become their playmate again:Boot, nor sword, nor stern look hath he,But holdeth the hand of a fair ladye,And floweth the dance a palace within,Half the night, to a golden din,Midst lights in windows and love in eyes,And a constant feeling of sweet surprise;And ever the look of Captain SwordIs the look that's thank'd, and the look that's ador'd.

There was the country-dance, small of taste;And the waltz, that loveth the lady's waist;And the galopade, strange agreeable tramp,Made of a scrape, a hobble and stamp;And the high-stepping minuet, face to face,Mutual worship of conscious grace;And all the shapes in which beauty goesWeaving motion with blithe repose.

And then a table a feast display'd,Like a garden of light without a shade,All of gold, and flowers, and sweets,With wines of old church-lands, and sylvan meats,Food that maketh the blood feel choice;Yet all the face of the feast, and the voice,And heart, still turn'd to the head of the board;For ever the look of Captain SwordIs the look that's thank'd, and the look that's ador'd.

Well content was Captain Sword;At his feet all wealth was pour'd: On his head all glory set;For his ease all comfort met;And around him seem'd entwin'dAll the arms of womankind.

And when he had taken his fillThus, of all that pampereth will,In his down he sunk to rest,Clasp'd in dreams of all its best.

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IV.OF WHAT TOOK PLACE ON THE FIELD OF BATTLETHE NIGHT AFTER THE VICTORY.

'Tis a wild night out of doors;The wind is mad upon the moors,And comes into the rocking town,Stabbing all things up and down,And then there is a weeping rainHuddling 'gainst the window-pane,And good men bless themselves in bed;The mother brings her infant's head$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Closer, with a joy like tears,And thinks of angels in her prayers;Then sleeps, with his small hand in hers.

Two loving women, lingering yetEre the fire is out, are met,Talking sweetly, time-beguil'd,One of her bridegroom, one her child,The bridegroom he. They have receiv'dHappy letters, more believ'dFor public news, and feel the blissThe heavenlier on a night like this.They think him hous'd, they think him blest,Curtain'd in the core of rest,Danger distant, all good near;Why hath their "Good night" a tear?

Behold him! By a ditch he liesClutching the wet earth, his eyesBeginning to be mad. In vainHis tongue still thirsts to lick the rain,That mock'd but now his homeward tears;And ever and anon he rearsHis legs and knees with all their strength,And then as strongly thrusts at length.Rais'd, or stretch'd, he cannot bearThe wound that girds him, weltering there:And "Water!" he cries, with moonward stare.

His nails are in earth, his eyes in air,And "Water!" he crieth—he may not forbear.Brave and good was he, yet now he dreamsThe moon looks cruel; and he blasphemes.

"Water! water!" all over the field:To nothing but Death will that wound-voice yield.Come hither, ye cities! ye ball-rooms, take breath!See what a floor hath the dance of death!

The floor is alive, though the lights are out;What are those dark shapes, flitting about?Flitting about, yet no ravens they,Not foes, yet not friends—mute creatures of prey;Their prey is lucre, their claws a knife,Some say they take the beseeching life.Horrible pity is theirs for despair,And they the love-sacred limbs leave bare.

O goodness in horror! O ill not all ill!In the worst of the worst may be fierce Hope still.To-morrow with dawn will come many a wain,And bear away loads of human pain,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Piles of pale beds for the spitals; but someAgain will awake in home-mornings, and some,Dull herds of the war, again follow the drum. $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$From others, faint blood shall in families flow,With wonder at life, and young oldness in woe,Yet hence may the movers of great earth grow.Now, even now, I hear them at hand,Though again Captain Sword is up in the land,Marching anew for more fields like theseIn the health of his flag in the morning breeze.

Sneereth the trumpet, and stampeth the drum,And again Captain Sword in his pride doth come;He passeth the fields where his friends lie lorn,Feeding the flowers and the feeding corn,Where under the sunshine cold they lie,And he hasteth a tear from his old grey eye.Small thinking is his but of work to be done,And onward he marcheth, using the sun:He killeth, he wasteth, he spouteth his firesOn babes at the bosom, and bed-rid sires;He bursteth the gates of an agoniz'd town,And the doors of shrieking homes go down,And the lover is slain, and the parents are nigh—

Oh God! let me breathe, and look up at thy sky!Good is as hundreds, evil as one;Round about goeth the golden sun.

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V.HOW CAPTAIN SWORD, IN CONSEQUENCE OF HIS GREATVICTORIES, BECAME INFIRM IN HIS WITS.

But to win at the game, whose moves are death,It maketh a man draw too proud a breath:And to see his force taken for reason and right,It tendeth to unsettle his reason quite.Never did chief of the line of SwordKeep his wits whole at that drunken board. He taketh the size, and the roar, and fate,Of the field of his action, for soul as great:He smiteth and stunneth the cheek of mankind,And saith "Lo! I rule both body and mind."

Captain Sword forgot his own soul,Which of aught save itself resented controul;Which, whatever his deeds, ordain'd them still,Bodiless monarch, enthron'd in his will:He forgot the close thought, and the burning heart,And pray'rs, and the mild moon hanging apart,Which lifteth the seas with her gentle looks,And growth, and death, and immortal books,And the Infinite Mildness, the soul of souls,Which layeth earth soft 'twixt her silver poles;Which ruleth the stars, and saith not a word;Whose speed in the hair of no comet is heard;Which sendeth the soft sun, day by day,Mighty, and genial, and just alway,Owning no difference, doing no wrong,Loving the orbs and the least bird's song,The great, sweet, warm angel with golden rod,Bright with the smile of the distance of God.

Captain Sword, like a witless thing,Of all under heaven must needs be king,King of kings, and lord of lords,Swayer of souls as well as of swords,Ruler of speech, and through speech, of thought;And hence to his brain was a madness brought.He madden'd in East, he madden'd in West,Fiercer for sights of men's unrest,Fiercer for talk, amongst awful men,Of their new mighty leader, Captain Pen,A conqueror strange, who sat in his home,Like the wizard that plagued the ships of Rome,Noiseless, showless, dealing no death,But victories, winged, went forth from his breath.

VI.OF CAPTAIN PEN, AND HOW HE FOUGHT WITH CAPTAINSWORD.

Now tidings of Captain Sword and his stateWere brought to the ears of this Pen the Great,Who rose and said, "His time is come."And he sent him, but not by sound of drum,Nor trumpet, nor other hasty breath,Hot with questions of life and death,But only a letter calm and mild;And Captain Sword he read it, and smil'd,And said, half in scorn, and nothing in fear,(Though his wits seem'd restor❜d by a danger near,For brave was he ever)—"Let Captain PenBring at his back a million men,And I'll talk with his wisdom, and not till then."Then replied to his messenger Captain Pen,"I'll bring at my back a world of men."

Out laugh'd the captains of Captain Sword,But their chief look'd vex'd, and said not a word,For thought and trouble had touch'd his earsBeyond the bullet-like sense of theirs;And wherever he went, he was 'ware of a sound,Now heard in the distance, now gathering round,Which irk'd him to know what the issue might be;For the soul of the cause of it well guess'd he.Indestructible souls among menWere the souls of the line of Captain Pen;Sages, patriots, martyrs mild.Going to the stake, as childGoeth with his prayer to bed;Dungeon-beams from quenchless head; Poets, making earth awareOf its wealth in good and fair;And the benders to their intent,Of metal and of element;Of flame the enlightener, beauteous;And steam, that bursteth his iron house;And adamantine giants blind,That, without master, have no mind.Heir to these, and all their store,Was Pen, the power unknown of yore;And as their might still created might,And each work'd for him by day and by night,In wealth and wondrous means he grew,Fit to move the earth anew;Till his fame began to speakPause, as when the thunders wake,Muttering, in the beds of heaven:Then, to set the globe more even,Water he call'd, and Fire, and Haste,Which hath left old Time displac'd—$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$And Iron, mightiest now for Pen,Each of his steps like an army of men—(Sword little knew what was leaving him then)—And out of the witchcraft of their skill,A creature he call'd, to wait on his will—$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Half iron, half vapour, a dread to behold—Which evermore panted and evermore roll'd,And utter'd his words a million fold.Forth sprang they in air, down raining like dew,And men fed upon them, and mighty they grew.

Ears giddy with custom that sound might not hear,But it woke up the rest, like an earthquake near;And that same night of the letter, some strangeCompulsion of soul brought a sense of change;And at midnight the sound grew into a rollAs the sound of all gath'rings from pole to pole, From pole unto pole, and from clime to clime,Like the roll of the wheels of the hasting of time;—A sound as of cities, and sound as of swordsSharpening, and solemn and terrible words,And laughter as solemn, and thunderous drumming,A tread as if all the world were coming.And then was a lull, and soft voices sweetCall'd into music those terrible feet,Which rising on wings, lo! the earth went roundTo the burn of their speed with a golden sound;With a golden sound, and a swift reposeSuch as the blood in the young heart knows;Such as Love knows, when his tumults cease,When all is quick, and yet all is at peace.And when Captain Sword got up next morn,Lo! a new-fac'd world was born;$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$For not an anger nor pride would it shew,Nor aught of the loftiness now found low,Nor would his own men strike a single blow:Not a blow for their old, unconsidering lordWould strike the good soldiers of Captain Sword;But weaponless all, and wise they stood,In the level dawn, and calm brotherly good;Yet bow'd to him they, and kiss'd his hands,For such were their new lord's commands,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Lessons rather, and brotherly plea;Reverence still the past, quoth he;Reverence the struggle and mystery,And faces human in their pain;Nor his the least, that could sustainCares of mighty wars, and guideCalmly where the red deaths ride.

"But how what now?" cried Captain Sword;"Not a blow for your gen'ral? not even a word?What! traitors? deserters?" "Ah no!" cried they;"But the game's at an end; the "wise won't play."

"And where's your old spirit?"

"The same, though another;Man may be strong without maiming his brother."

"But enemies?"

"Enemies! Whence should they come,When all interchange what was known but to some?"

"But famine? but plague? worse evils by far."

"O last mighty rhet'ric to charm us to war!Look round—what has earth, now it equably speeds,To do with these foul and calamitous needs?Now it equably speeds, and thoughtfully glows,And its heart is open, never to close?

"Still I can govern," said Captain Sword;"Fate I respect; and I stick to my word."$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$And in truth so he did; but the word was oneHe had sworn to all tyrannies under the sun,To do, for the people, the least could be done.Besides, what had he with his worn-out storyTo do with the cause he had wrong'd and the glory?

No: Captain Sword a sword was still,He could not unteach his lordly will;He could not attemper his single thought;It might not be bent, nor newly wrought:And so, like the tool of a disus'd art,He stood at his wall, and rusted apart.

'Twas only for many-soul'd Captain PenTo make a world of swordless men.