For Scotland's and for freedom's right
The Bruce his part had played,
In five successive fields of fight
Been conqured and dismayed;
Once more against the English host
His band he led, and once more lost
The meed for which he fought;
And now from battle, faint and worn,
The homeless fugitive forlorn
A hut's lone shelter sought.
And cheerless was that resting-place
For him who claimed a throne:
His canopy devoid of grace,
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed, -
Yet well I ween had slumber fled
From couch of eider-down!
Through darksome night till dawn of day,
Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay
Of Scotland and her crown.
The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,
And tinged with light each shapeless beam
Which roofed the lowly shed;
When, looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try
His filmy thread to fling
From beam to beam of that rude cot;
And well the insect's toilsome lot
Taught Scotland's future king.
Six times his gossamery thread
The wary spider threw;
In vain the filmy line was sped,
For powerless or untrue
Each aim appeared, and back recoiled
The patient insect, six times foiled,
And yet unconquered still;
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.
One effort more, his seventh and last!
The hero hailed the sign!
And on the wished-for beam hung fast
That slender, silken line;
Slight as it was, his spirit caught
The more than omen, for his thought
The lesson well could trace,
Which even 'he who runs may read,'
That Perseverance gains its meed,
And Patience wins the race.
The Bruce his part had played,
In five successive fields of fight
Been conqured and dismayed;
Once more against the English host
His band he led, and once more lost
The meed for which he fought;
And now from battle, faint and worn,
The homeless fugitive forlorn
A hut's lone shelter sought.
And cheerless was that resting-place
For him who claimed a throne:
His canopy devoid of grace,
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed, -
Yet well I ween had slumber fled
 |
| Spider Image curtesy of http://www.pdphoto.org |
Through darksome night till dawn of day,
Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay
Of Scotland and her crown.
The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,
And tinged with light each shapeless beam
Which roofed the lowly shed;
When, looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try
His filmy thread to fling
From beam to beam of that rude cot;
And well the insect's toilsome lot
Taught Scotland's future king.
Six times his gossamery thread
The wary spider threw;
In vain the filmy line was sped,
For powerless or untrue
Each aim appeared, and back recoiled
The patient insect, six times foiled,
And yet unconquered still;
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.
One effort more, his seventh and last!
The hero hailed the sign!
And on the wished-for beam hung fast
That slender, silken line;
Slight as it was, his spirit caught
The more than omen, for his thought
The lesson well could trace,
Which even 'he who runs may read,'
That Perseverance gains its meed,
And Patience wins the race.
Of course this poem refers to Robert the Bruce, well known Scottish leader who, so the tale goes, after suffering a number of setbacks saw a spider attempting to move from one beam to the other - taking heart in the creature's determination and eventual success in carrying out its mission and determining to do the same himself. And hence the tangle of moralisy stuff down near the end.
So, having read a number of poems about spiders now, a theme is starting to emerge. And I have to wonder why spider poems so often see to be moralistic? You would think they would all be decidedly less sweet and maybe - well definitely, a tiny bit more creepy. After all a slight phobia of spiders is almost considered normal, if not healthy, why not a few dark and bloated words about danger spinning in the dark? Because it is too easy - and that makes it too hard? Just a thought.
Or maybe spiders are not so frightening for writers, having studied their muse enough to be inspired they take heart in the features that might otherwise be hidden.
Next week the plan is - if I still don't manage to complete part two of my own spider poem - then I'll do a bit of a spider wrap up;) including a link to "Natural History"by EB White (best known for perhaps the most famous literary spider of all time - Charlotte, of Charlotte's web) and Emily Dickinson's "The Spider as an Artist" and maybe say a few words about that. (The spider wrap up is now here at http://anafflictionofpoetry.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/tuesday-poem-spider-poem-roundup-with.html)
Have a fantastic week people,
cheers,
A.J.
A.J. Ponder's books are available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, Paper Plus and good Wellington bookstores.
cheers,
A.J.
A.J. Ponder's books are available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, Paper Plus and good Wellington bookstores.
,
Am really enjoying your spider poems. The idea of Robert the Bruce learning from a spider has much appeal. It occurs to me that as humans who mostly live in houses spiders have been our constant companions...not so much now perhaps when we live in more sealed environments and /or have repellants which discourage 8 legged creatures. What's not to admire about a spider really...and they do have this way of arriving out of nowhere on the end of a high wire. Imagine the fun of that from the human point of view! They're just not very cuddly...Getting carried away here as so pleased your comment box has arrived back!
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