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    Narrative Verse, The Third Volume
    Narrative Verse, The Third Volume
    Narrative Verse, The Third Volume
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    Narrative Verse, The Third Volume

    By Michael Drayton, Robert Browning and George Eliot

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    About this ebook

    NARRATIVE VERSE – Volume 3. Poetry can capture the imagination in a few short lines but Narrative Verse or Poetry takes the form of telling a story whether it be simple or complex in a longer form. Among the most ancient forms of poetry it has widespread roots through almost every culture. Many of these titles are on our audiobook version which can be purchased from iTunes, Amazon and other digital stores.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateSep 24, 2013
    ISBN9781780005508
    Narrative Verse, The Third Volume

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      Book preview

      Narrative Verse, The Third Volume - Michael Drayton

      Narrative Poems, The Third Volume

      Poetry is a fascinating use of language.  With almost a million words at its command it is not surprising that these Isles have produced some of the most beautiful, moving and descriptive verse through the centuries.  In this series we look at narrative poetry through the eyes and minds of our most gifted poets to bring you a unique guide.  

      Narrative Poems may be short of long but in essence they are usually written in metered verse with characters and dramatic in fashion. They can include epics, ballads, idylls and lays.  In the collections we’ve gathered together for you, you will see at a glance the strength, vision and beauty that are gathered together by some of the outstanding poets of the ages.

      Many of the poems are also available as an audiobook from our sister company Portable Poetry.  Many samples are at our youtube channel   http://www.youtube.com/user/PortablePoetry?feature=mhee   The full volume can be purchased from iTunes, Amazon and other digital stores.  Among our readers are David Shaw-Parker, Sean Barrett and Richard Mitchley

      Index Of Poems

      Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – The Wreck Of The Hesperus

      Edgar Allan Poe – The Raven

      Alfred Lord Tennyson – Morte D’Arthur

      John Keats – The Eve Of St Agnes

      Horatius – Thomas Babington Macaulay

      Michael Drayton – The Ballad Of Agincourt

      Robert Burns – Tam O’Shanter

      Robert Browning – The Pied Piper Of Hamblin

      How Lisa Loved The King by George Eliot

      The Wreck Of the Hesperus by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

      It was the schooner Hesperus,

      That sailed the wintry sea;

      And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr,

      To bear him company.

      Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

      Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

      And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,

      That ope in the month of May.

      The skipper he stood beside the helm,

      His pipe was in his mouth,

      And he watched how the veering flaw did blow

      The smoke now West, now South.

      Then up and spake an old Sailòr,

      Had sailed to the Spanish Main,

      "I pray thee, put into yonder port,

      For I fear a hurricane.

      "Last night, the moon had a golden ring,

      And to-night no moon we see!"

      The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,

      And a scornful laugh laughed he.

      Colder and louder blew the wind,

      A gale from the Northeast,

      The snow fell hissing in the brine,

      And the billows frothed like yeast.

      Down came the storm, and smote amain

      The vessel in its strength;

      She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,

      Then leaped her cable's length.

      "Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr,

      And do not tremble so;

      For I can weather the roughest gale

      That ever wind did blow."

      He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat

      Against the stinging blast;

      He cut a rope from a broken spar,

      And bound her to the mast.

      "O father! I hear the church-bells ring,

      Oh say, what may it be?"

      'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast! —

      And he steered for the open sea.

      "O father! I hear the sound of guns,

      Oh say, what may it be?"

      "Some ship in distress, that cannot live

      In such an angry sea!"

      "O father! I see a gleaming light,

      Oh say, what may it be?"

      But the father answered never a word,

      A frozen corpse was he.

      Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,

      With his face turned to the skies,

      The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow

      On his fixed and glassy eyes.

      Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed

      That savèd she might be;

      And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave

      On the Lake of Galilee.

      And fast through the midnight dark and drear,

      Through the whistling sleet and snow,

      Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept

      Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.

      And ever the fitful gusts between

      A sound came from the land;

      It was the sound of the trampling surf

      On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

      The breakers were right beneath her bows,

      She drifted a dreary wreck,

      And a whooping billow swept the crew

      Like icicles from her deck.

      She struck where the white and fleecy waves

      Looked soft as carded wool,

      But the cruel rocks, they gored her side

      Like the horns of an angry bull.

      Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,

      With the masts went by the board;

      Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,

      Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

      At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,

      A fisherman stood aghast,

      To see the form of a maiden fair,

      Lashed close to a drifting mast.

      The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

      The salt tears in her eyes;

      And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,

      On the billows fall and rise.

      Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,

      In the midnight and the snow!

      Christ save us all from a death like this,

      On the reef of Norman's Woe!

      The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

      Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

      Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

      While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

      As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

      `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -

      Only this, and nothing more.'

      Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

      And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

      Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow

      From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -

      For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

      Nameless here for evermore.

      And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

      Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic

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