Treasure Island

Walter Savage Landor

(30 January 1775 – 17 September 1864 / Warwick)

Aletheia To Phraortes


Phraortes! where art thou?
The flames were panting after us, their darts Had pierced to many hearts
Before the Gods, who heard nor prayer nor vow;

Temples had sunk to earth, and other smoke
O'er riven altars broke
Than curled from myrrh and nard,
When like a God among
Arm'd hosts and unarm'd throng
Thee I discern'd, implored, and caught one brief regard.

Thou passest: from thy side
Sudden two bowmen ride
And hurry me away.
Thou and. all hope were gone
They loost me . . and alone
In a closed tent 'mid gory arms I lay.

How did my tears then burn
When, dreading thy return,
Behold thee reappear!
Nor helm nor sword nor spear .

In violet gold-hemm'd vest
Thou camest forth; too soon!
Fallen at thy feet, claspt to thy breast,
I struggle, sob, and swoon.

'O send me to my mother! bid her come,
And take my last farewell!
One blow!. . enough for both. . one tomb. .
'Tis there our happy dwell.'

Thou orderest: call'd and gone
At once they are who breathe for thy command.
Thou stoodest nigh me, soothing every moan,
And pressing in both thine my hand,

Then, and then only, when it tore
My hair to hide my face;
And gently did thy own bend o'er
The abject head war-doomed to dire disgrace.

Ionian was thy tongue,
And when thou badest me to raise
That head, nor fear in aught thy gaze,
I dared look up . . but dared not long.

'Wait, maiden, wait! if none are here
Bearing a charm to charm a tear,
There may (who knows?) be found at last
Some solace for the sorrow past.'

My mother, ere the sounds had ceast,
Burst in, and drew me down:
Her joy o'erpowered us both, her breast
Covered lost friends and ruin'd town.

Sweet thought! but yielding now
To many harsher! By what blow
Art thou dissevered from me? War,
That hath career'd too far,
Closeth his pinions. 'Come, Phraortes, come
To thy fond friends at home!'

Thus beckons Love. Away then, wishes wild!
O may thy mother be as blest
As one whose eyes will sink to rest
Blessing thee for her rescued child!

Ungenerous stil my heart must be:
Throughout the young and festive train
Which thou revisitest again
May none be happier (this I fear) than she!

Submitted: Friday, April 16, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Aletheia To Phraortes by Walter Savage Landor )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou Updates

New Poems

  1. I Wake Up, Katy Rotundo
  2. Kira I Care, Michael McParland
  3. Random, Kasey Jessie
  4. The poet Is Tired, Tony Adah
  5. Making Up!, Denis Martindale
  6. I Will Never Be You, Katy Rotundo
  7. True Love, Michael McParland
  8. The Thief, Tony Adah
  9. She Tore The Page With The Rose On It, mary douglas
  10. Lost Saints Wandered Through Forests Of .., mary douglas

Poem of the Day

poet Helen Hunt Jackson

The month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way,
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;
...... Read complete »

[Hata Bildir]