Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HENRY THE HERMIT, by ROBERT SOUTHEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: It was a little island where he dwelt Last Line: The lamp that stream'd a long unsteady light. Subject(s): Aging; Bells; Death; Hermits; Islands; Solitude; Dead, The; Loneliness | ||||||||
IT was a little island where he dwelt, A solitary islet, bleak and bare, Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spots Its gray stone surface. Never mariner Approach'd that rude and uninviting coast, Nor ever fisherman his lonely bark Anchored beside its shore. It was a place Befitting well a rigid anchoret, Dead to the hopes, and vanities, and joys, And purposes of life; and he had dwelt Many long years upon that lonely isle; For in ripe manhood he abandoned arms, Honours and friends and country and the world, And had grown old in solitude. That isle Some solitary man in other times Had made his dwelling-place; and Henry found The little chapel which his toil had built Now by the storms unroofed; his bed of leaves Wind-scattered; and his grave o'ergrown with grass, And thistles, whose white seeds, winged in vain, Withered on rocks, or in the waves were lost. So he repaired the chapel's ruined roof, Clear'd the grey lichens from the altar-stone, And underneath a rock that shelter'd him From the sea-blast, he built his hermitage. The peasants from the shore would bring him food, And beg his prayers; but human converse else He knew not in that utter solitude, Nor ever visited the haunts of men, Save when some sinful wretch on a sick bed Implored his blessing and his aid in death. That summons he delayed not to obey, Though the night tempest or autumnal wind Maddened the waves; and though the mariner, Albeit relying on his saintly load, Grew pale to see the peril. Thus he lived A most austere and self-denying man, Till abstinence, and age, and watchfulness Had worn him down, and it was pain at last To rise at midnight from his bed of leaves And bend his knees in prayer. Yet not the less, Though with reluctance of infirmity, Rose he at midnight from his bed of leaves, And bent his knees in prayer; but with more zeal, More self-condemning fervour, raised his voice For pardon for that sin, 'till that the sin Repented was a joy like a good deed. One night upon the shore his chapel bell Was heard; the air was calm, and its far sounds Over the water came, distinct and loud. Alarmed at that unusual hour to hear Its toll irregular, a monk arose. The boatmen bore him willingly across, For well the hermit Henry was beloved. He hastened to the chapel; on a stone Henry was sitting there, cold, stiff, and dead, The bell-rope in his hand, and at his feet The lamp that stream'd a long unsteady light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN ABEYANCE by DENISE LEVERTOV IN A VACANT HOUSE by PHILIP LEVINE SUNDAY ALONE IN A FIFTH FLOOR APARTMENT, CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS by WILLIAM MATTHEWS SILENCE LIKE COOL SAND by PAT MORA THE HONEY BEAR by EILEEN MYLES BISHOP BRUNO by ROBERT SOUTHEY |
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