Welcome to my poetry reading of 'The Shield of War' (from the Induction) by Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset. Do you have a favourite poem or poet?
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'The Shield of War' by Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset
Lastly stood War, in glittering arms yclad,
With visage grim, stern looks, and blackly hu'd;
In his right hand a naked sword he had,
That to the hilts was all with blood imbru'd;
And in his left, that kings and kingdoms ru'd,
Famine and fire he held, and therewithal
He razed towns and threw down towers and all.
Cities he sack'd and realms, that whilom flower'd
In honour, glory, and rule above the best,
He overwhelm'd and all their fame devour'd,
Consum'd, destroy'd, wasted, and never ceas'd,
Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppress'd;
His face forhew'd with wounds, and by his side
There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide.
In midst of which, depainted there, we found
Deadly Debate, all full of snaky hair,
That with a bloody fillet was ybound,
Out-breathing nought but discord everywhere.
And round about were portray'd, here and there,
The hugy hosts, Darius and his power,
His kings, princes, his peers, and all his flower:
Whom great Macedo vanquish'd there in sight
With deep slaughter, despoiling all his pride,
Pierc'd through his realms and daunted all his might.
Duke Hannibal beheld I there beside,
In Canna's field victor how he did ride,
And woeful Romans that in vain withstood,
And consul Paulus cover'd all in blood.
Yet saw I more: the fight at Thrasimene,
And Trebeie field, and eke when Hannibal
And worthy Scipio last in arms were seen
Before Carthago gate, to try for all
The world's empire, to whom it should befall;
There saw I Pompey and Caesar clad in arms,
Their hosts allied and all their civil harms;
With conquerors' hands, forbath'd in their own blood,
And Caesar weeping over Pompey's head.
Yet saw I Sulla and Marius where they stood,
Their great cruelty and the deep bloodshed
Of friends; Cyrus I saw and his host dead,
And how the queen with great despite hath flung
His head in blood of them she overcome.
Xerxes, the Persian king, yet saw I there
With his huge host that drank the rivers dry,
Dismounted hills, and made the vales uprear,
His host and all yet saw I plain, perdy!
Thebes I saw, all raz'd how it did lie
In heaps of stones, and Tyrus put to spoil,
With walls and towers flat even'd with the soil.
But Troy, alas, methought, above them all,
It made mine eyes in very tears consume,
When I beheld the woeful weird befall
That by the wrathful will of gods was come;
And Jove's unmoved sentence and foredoom
On Priam king and on his town so bent,
I could not lin, but I must there lament.
And that the more, sith destiny was so stern
As, force perforce, there might no force avail,
But she must fall; and by her fall we learn
That cities, towers, wealth, world, and all shall quail.
No manhood, might, nor nothing mought prevail;
All were there prest full many a prince and peer,
And many a knight that sold his death full dear.
Not worthy Hector, worthiest of them all,
Her hope, her joy; his force is now for nought.
O Troy, Troy, Troy, there is no boot but bale;
The hugy horse within thy walls is brought;
Thy turrets fall, thy knights, that whilom fought
In arms amid the field, are slain in bed,
Thy gods defil'd, and all thy honour dead.
The flames upspring and cruelly they creep
From wall to roof till all to cinders waste;
Some fire the houses where the wretches sleep,
Some rush in here, some run in there as fast;
In every where or sword or fire they taste;
The walls are torn, the towers whirl'd to the ground;
There is no mischief but may there be found.
Cassandra yet there saw I how they hal'd
From Pallas' house, with spercled tress undone,
Her wrists fast bound, and with Greeks' rout empal'd;
And Priam eke, in vain how he did run
To arms, whom Pyrrhus with despite hath done
To cruel death, and bath'd him in the baign
Of his son's blood, before the altar slain.
But how can I describe the doleful sight
That in the shield so lifelike fair did shine?
Sith in this world I think was never wight
Could have set forth the half, not half so fine.
I can no more but tell how there is seen
Fair Ilium fall in burning red gledes down,
And from the soil great Troy, Neptunus' town.
(Source: https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-induction/)