Click here to Download Young Adventure PDF Book by Stephen Vincent Benét Language English having PDF Size 1 MB and No of Pages 49.
In these days when the old civilisation is crumbling beneath our feet, the thought of poetry crosses the mind like the dear memory of things that have long since passed away. In our passionate desire for the new era, it is difficult to refrain oneself from the commonplace practice of speculating on the effects of warfare and of prophesying all manner of novel rebirths.
Young Adventure PDF Book by Stephen Vincent Benét
|Name of Book||Young Adventure|
|PDF Size||1 MB|
|No of Pages||49|
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About Book – Young Adventure PDF Book
But it may be well for us to remember that the era which has recently closed was itself marked by a mad idealisation of all novelties. In the literary movements of the last decade —when, indeed, any movement at all has been perceptible — we have witnessed a bewildering rise and fall of methods and ideals.
We were captivated for a time by the quest of the golden phrase and the accompanying cultivation of exotic emotions; and then, wearying of the pretty and the temperamental, we plunged into the bloodshot brutalities of naturalism. From the smooth-flowing imitations of Tennyson and Swinburne, we passed into a false freedom that had at its heart a repudiation of all law and standards.
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For a parallel to which one turns instinctively to certain recent developments in the political world. We may hope that the eager search for novelty of form and subject may have its influence in releasing us from our old bondage to the commonplace and in broadening the scope of poetry.
But we cannot blind ourselves to the fact that it has at the same time completed that estrangement between the poet and the general public which has been developing for half a century. The great mass of the reading world, to whom the arts should minister, have now forgotten that poetry is a consolation in times of doubt and peril, a beacon, and “an ever-fixed mark” in a crazed and shifting world.
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Our poetry —and I am speaking in particular of American poetry — has been centrifugal; our poets have broken up into smaller and ever smaller groups. Individualism has triumphed. To the general confusion, critics, if they may be said to have existed at all, have added by their paltry conception of the art.
They have deemed it a sufficient denunciation of a poet to accuse him of imitating his masters; as though the history of an art were rather a series of violent rebellions than a growth and a progressive illumination. Not all generations are privileged to see the working of a great creative impulse, but the want, keen though it be.
Night falls; the great jars glow against the dark, Dark green, dusk red, and, like a coiling snake, Writhing eternally in smoky gyres, Great ropes of gorgeous vapor twist and turn Within them. So the Eastern fisherman Saw the swart genie rise when the lead seal, Scribbled with charms, was lifted from the jar; And — well, how went the tale? Young Adventure PDF Book
Like this, like this?… No herbage broke the barren flats of land, No winds dared loiter within smiling trees, Nor were there any brooks on either hand, Only the dry, bright sand, Naked and golden, lay before the seas. One boat toiled noiselessly along the deep, The thirsty ripples dying silently Upon its track.
Far out the brown nets sweep, And night begins to creep Across the intolerable mirror of the sea. Twice the nets rise, a-trail with sea-plants brown, Distorted shells, and rocks green-mossed with slime, Nought else. The fisher, sick at heart, kneels down; “Prayer may appease God’s frown,” He thinks, then, kneeling, casts for the third time.
And lo! an earthen jar, bound round with brass, Lies tangled in the cordage of his net. About the bright waves gleam like shattered glass, And where the sea’s rim was The sun dips, flat and red, about to set. The prow grates on the beach. The fisherman Stoops, tearing at the cords that bind the seal. Young Adventure PDF Book
Shall pearls roll out, lustrous and white and wan? Lapis? carnelian? Unheard-of stones that make the sick mind reel With wonder of their beauty? Rubies, then? Green emeralds, glittering like the eyes of beasts? Poisonous opals, good to madden men? Gold bezants, ten and ten?
Hard, regal diamonds, like kingly feasts? He tugged; the seal gave way. A little smoke Curled like a feather in the darkening sky. A blinding gush of fire burst, flamed, and broke. A voice like a wind spoke. Armored with light, and turbaned terribly, A genie tramped the round earth underfoot; His head sought out the stars, his cupped right hand Made half the sky one darkness.
He was mute. The sun, a ripened fruit, Drooped lower. Scarlet eddied o’er the sand. The genie spoke: “O miserable one! Thy prize awaits thee; come, and hug it close! A noble crown thy draggled nets have won For this that thou hast done. Blessed are fools! A gift remains for those!” Young Adventure PDF Book
His hand sought out his sword, and lightnings flared Across the sky in one great bloom of fire. Poised like a toppling mountain, it hung bared; Suns that were jewels glared Along its hilt. The air burnt like a pyre. Once more the genie spoke: “Something I owe To thee, thou fool, thou fool.
Come, canst thou sing? Yea? Sing then; if thy song be brave, then go Free and released — or no! Find first some task, some overmastering thing I cannot do, and find it speedily, For if thou dost not thou shalt surely die!” The sword whirled back. The fisherman uprose, And if at first his voice was weak with fear And his limbs trembled.
It was but a doze, And at the high song’s close He stood up straight. His voice rang loud and clear. “You have I served. Now fire has parched the vine, And Death is on the singers and the song. No longer are there lips to cling to mine, And the heart wearies of wine, And I am sick, for my desire is long. Young Adventure PDF Book
“O love, soft-moving, delicate and tender! In her gold house the pipe calls querulously, They cloud with thin green silks her body slender, They talk to her and tend her; Come, piteous, gentle love, and set me free!” He ceased — and, slowly rising o’er the deep, A faint song chimed, grew clearer, till at last A golden horn of light began to creep Where the dumb ripples sweep.
Making the sea one splendor where it passed. A golden boat! The bright oars rested soon, And the prow met the sand. The purple veils Misting the cabin fell. Fair as the moon When the morning comes too soon, And all the air is silver in the dales, A gold-robed princess stepped upon the beach.
The fisher knelt and kissed her garment’s hem, And then her lips, and strove at last for speech. The waters lapped the reach. “Here thy strength breaks, thy might is nought to stem!” He cried at last. Speech shook him like a flame: “Yea, though thou plucked the stars from out the sky, Each lovely one would be a withered shame — Each thou couldst find or name — To this fire-hearted beauty!” Young Adventure PDF Book
Wearily The genie heard. A slow smile came like dawn Over his face. “Thy task is done!” he said. A whirlwind roared, smoke shattered, he was gone; And, like a sudden horn, The moon shone clear, no longer smoked and red. They passed into the boat. The gold oars beat Loudly, then fainter.
Fainter, till at last Only the quiet waters barely moved Along the whispering sand — till all the vast Expanse of sea began to shake with heat, And morning brought soft airs, by sailors loved. And after?… Well… The shop-bell clangs! Who comes? Quinine — I pour the little bitter grains Out upon blue, glazed squares of paper.
So. And all the dusk I shall sit here alone, With many powers in my hands — ah, see How the blurred labels run on the old jars! Opium — and a cruel and sleepy scent, The harsh taste of white poppies; India — The writhing woods a-crawl with monstrous life, Save where the deodars are set like spears, And a calm pool is mirrored ebony. Young Adventure PDF Book Download
Opium — brown and warm and slender-breasted She rises, shaking off the cool black water, And twisting up her hair, that ripples down, A torrent of black water, to her feet; How the drops sparkle in the moonlight! Once I made a rhyme about it, singing softly: Over Damascus every star Keeps his unchanging course and cold.
The dark weighs like an iron bar, The intense and pallid night is old, Dim the moon’s scimitar. Still the lamps blaze within those halls, Where poppies heap the marble vats For girls to tread; the thick air palls; And shadows hang like evil bats About the scented walls. The girls are many, and they sing.
Their white feet fall like flakes of snow, Making a ceaseless murmuring — Whispers of love, dead long ago, And dear, forgotten Spring. One alone sings not. Tiredly She sees the white blooms crushed, and smells The heavy scent. They chatter: “See! White Zira thinks of nothing else But the morn’s jollity. Young Adventure PDF Book Download
“Then Haroun takes her!” But she dreams, Unhearing, of a certain field Of poppies, cut by many streams, Like lines across a round Turk shield, Where now the hot sun gleams. The field whereon they walked that day, And splendor filled her body up, And his; and then the trampled clay, And slow smoke climbing the sky’s cup From where the village lay.
Next, then, the peacock, gilt With all its feathers. Look, what gorgeous dyes Flow in the eyes! And how deep, lustrous greens are splashed and spilt Along the back, that like a sea-wave’s crest Scatters soft beauty o’er th’ emblazoned breast! A strange fowl! But most fit For feasts like this, whereby I honor one Pure as the sun!
Yet glowing with the fiery zeal of it! Some wine? Your goblet’s empty? Let it foam! It is not often that you come to Rome! You like the Venice glass? Rippled with lines that float like women’s curls, Neck like a girl’s, Fierce-glowing as a chalice in the Mass? You start — ’twas artist then, not Pope who spoke! Ave Maria stella! Young Adventure PDF Book Download
Ah, it broke! ‘Tis said they break alone When poison writhes within. A foolish tale! What, you look pale? Caraffa, fetch a silver cup!… You own A Birth of Venus, now — or so I’ve heard, Lovely as the breast-plumage of a bird. Also a Dancing Faun, Hewn with the lithe grace of Praxiteles; Globed pearls to please A sultan; golden veils that drop like lawn.
How happy I could be with but a tithe Of your possessions, fortunate one! Don’t writhe But take these cushions here! Now for the fruit! Great peaches, satin-skinned, Rough tamarind, Pomegranates red as lips — oh they come dear! But men like you we feast at any price — A plum perhaps?
They’re looking rather nice! I’ll cut the thing in half. There’s yours! Now, with a one-side-poisoned knife One might snuff life And leave one’s friend with — “fool” for epitaph! An old trick? Truth! But when one has the itch For pretty things and isn’t very rich…. There, eat it all or I’ll Be angry! Young Adventure PDF Book Download
You feel giddy? Well, it’s hot! This bergamot Take home and smell — it purges blood of bile! And when you kiss Bianca’s dimpled knee, Think of the poor Pope in his misery! Captain Hawk scourged clean the seas (Black is the gap below the plank) From the Great North Bank to the Caribbees (Down by the marsh the hemp grows rank.
He sailed in the broad Atlantic track, And the ships that saw him came not back. And once again, where the wide tides ran, He stooped to harry a merchantman. He bade her stop. Ten guns spake true From her hidden ports, and a hidden crew, Lacking his great ship through and through. Dazed and dumb with the sudden death.
He scarce had time to draw a breath Before the grappling-irons bit deep, And the boarders slew his crew like sheep. Hawk stood up straight, his breast to the steel; His cutlass made a bloody wheel. His cutlass made a wheel of flame. They shrank before him as he came. And the bodies fell in a choking crowd. Young Adventure PDF Book Free
And still he thundered out aloud, “The hemp that shall hang me is not grown!” They fled at last. He was left alone. Before his foe Sir Henry stood. “The hemp is grown, and my word made good!” And the cutlass clanged with a hissing whir On the lashing blade of the rapier. Hawk roared and charged like a maddened buck.
As the cobra strikes, Sir Henry struck, Pouring his life in a single thrust, And the cutlass shivered to sparks and dust. Sir Henry stood on the blood-stained deck, And set his foot on his foe’s neck. Then from the hatch, where the rent decks slope, Where the dead roll and the wounded grope, He dragged the serpent of the rope.
The sky was blue, and the sea was still, The waves lapped softly, hill on hill, And between one wave and another wave The doomed man’s cries were little and shrill. The sea was blue, and the sky was calm; The air dripped with a golden balm. Like a wind-blown fruit between sea and sun, A black thing writhed at a yard-arm. Young Adventure PDF Book Free
Slowly then, and awesomely, The ship sank, and the gallows-tree, And there was nought between sea and sun — Nought but the sun and the sky and the sea.