Harp Song of the Dane Women

Listen to: 

Harp Song of the Dane Women (1:28)

by Rudyard Kipling 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

What is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in—
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you—
Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken—

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters.
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,
The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables—
To pitch her sides and go over her cables.

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,
And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow,
Is all we have left through the months to follow.

Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker ?


Illustration: Waiting by the Window by Carl Holsoe (12 March 1863 – 7 November 1935), a Danish artist who primarily painted interiors.

Ode, Composed On A May Morning

Listen to:

Ode, Composed On A May Morning (3:17)

by William Wordsworth 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

While from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,
Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,
For May is on the lawn.
A quickening hope, a freshening glee,
Foreran the expected Power,
Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree,
Shakes off that pearly shower.

All Nature welcomes Her whose sway
Tempers the year's extremes;
Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day,
Like morning's dewy gleams;
While mellow warble, sprightly trill,
The tremulous heart excite;
And hums the balmy air to still
The balance of delight.

Time was, blest Power! when youth and maids
At peep of dawn would rise,
And wander forth, in forest glades
Thy birth to solemnize.
Though mute the song---to grace the rite
Untouched the hawthorn bough,
Thy Spirit triumphs o'er the slight;
Man changes, but not Thou!

Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings
In love's disport employ;
Warmed by thy influence, creeping things
Awake to silent joy:
Queen art thou still for each gay plant
Where the slim wild deer roves;
And served in depths where fishes haunt
Their own mysterious groves.

Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath,
Instinctive homage pay;
Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath
To honor thee, sweet May!
Where cities fanned by thy brisk airs
Behold a smokeless sky,
Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares
To open a bright eye.

And if, on this thy natal morn,
The pole, from which thy name
Hath not departed, stands forlorn
Of song and dance and game;
Still from the village-green a vow
Aspires to thee addrest,
Wherever peace is on the brow,
Or love within the breast.

Yes! where Love nestles thou canst teach
The soul to love the more;
Hearts also shall thy lessons reach
That never loved before.
Stript is the haughty one of pride,
The bashful freed from fear,
While rising, like the ocean-tide,
In flow the joyous year.

Hush, feeble lyre! weak words refuse
The service to prolong!
To yon exulting thrush the Muse
Entrusts the imperfect song;
His voice shall chant, in accents clear,
Throughout the live-long day,
Till the first silver star appear,
The sovereignty of May.

The Dead

Listen to: 

The Dead (1:17)

Rupert Brooke 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

  These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,

    Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.

  The years had given them kindness.  Dawn was theirs,

    And sunset, and the colours of the earth.

  These had seen movement, and heard music; known

    Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;

  Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;

    Touched flowers and furs, and cheeks.  All this is ended.

  There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter

  And lit by the rich skies, all day.  And after,

    Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance

  And wandering loveliness.  He leaves a white

    Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,

  A width, a shining peace, under the night.

Song

Listen to: 

Song (:30)

Laurence Binyon 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth,
There is no measure upon earth;
Nay, they wither, root and stem,
If an end be set to them.

Overbrim and overflow
If your own heart you would know.
For the spirit, born to bless,
Lives but in its own excess.

A Rhapsode’s Random Rhapsody for May 2020

Listen to:

A Rhapsode’s Random Rhapsody 

for May 2020

Performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

https://archive.org/details/rhapsode-random-rhapsody-may2020

1 In May - William Henry Davies - 01:20

2 A Bird's Anger - William Henry Davies - 00:55

3 Exotic Perfume - Charles Baudelaire - 01:00

4 Fiddler Jones - Edgar Lee Masters - 01:37

5 She Walks in Beauty - George Gordon, Lord Byron - 01:06

6 Fragment II - Alan Seeger - 01:06

7 Mowing - Robert Frost - 01:03

8 The Ambitious Mouse - John Farrar - 00:52

9 Fragment IV - Alan Seeger - 01:55

10 Chanticleer - Katherine Tynan - 01:41

11 The Long Road - A. E. Housman - 00:57

12 The Bindweed - Walter de la Mare - 00:48

13 The Lion and the Mouse - Jeffreys Taylor - 02:05

14 Feuerzauber - Louis Untermeyer - 01:08

15 A Life on the Ocean Wave - Epes Sargent - 01:15

16 The Darkling Thrush - Thomas Hardy - 01:41

17 Ballad - John Clare - 01:19

18 The Minstrel Boy - Thomas Moore - 01:04

19 The Dead - Rupert Brooke - 01:18

20 The Poplar Field - William Cowper - 01:32

21 To His Mistress, Objecting to Him Neither Toying or Talking - Robert Herrick - 01:14

22 A Last Word - Ernest Dowson - 01:07

23 Mother Night - James Weldon Johnson - 01:07

24 The Sun-God - Aubrey Thomas de Vere - 01:11

Eclectic Rhapsody for National Poetry Month 2020

Listen to:

Eclectic Rhapsody for National Poetry Month 2020

Performed by the rhapsodes of Rhapsodize

"The Lizard" by Edwin Markham, performed by Bob Gonzalez

"The Star" by Sara Teasdale, performed by Mary Grace Epps

"The Cultured Constable" by C.J. Dennis, performed by Denis Daly

"Ulalume" by Edgar Allan Poe, performed by John Burlinson

"To a Poet" by Carolyn Wells, performed by Jennifer Fournier

"Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley, performed by John Millsap

"The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus, performed by Elaine Lazar

"Excelsior" by Henry Wadsworth Longfello, performed by Jordan Clanton

"A Boat Beneath the Sunny Sky," by Lewis Carroll, performed by P.J. Morgan

"Hyla Brook" by Robert Frost, performed by Shannon Guinn

"In a Vale" by Robert Frost, performed by Shannon Guinn

"The Doubter's Prayer" by Anne Bronte, performed by Amanda Friday

"The Good Morrow" by John Donne, performed by Alan Weyman

"When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer" by Walt Whitman, performed by Alexander Kulcsar

"A Child Said, What Is the Grass?" by Walt Whitman, performed by Ruth Anne Baumgartner

"Sonnet" by John Masefield, performed by Lee Ann Howlett

"I Felt a Funeral, in my Brain" by Emily Dickinson, performed by Sophia Williar

"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost - performed by Rachel Stidham

"Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll - performed by Mario González

"The Mad Gardener's Song" by Lewis Carroll - performed by Mario González

"The Cat and the Moon" by William Butler Yeats - performed by Alexa Sheppard

Dirge from Cymbeline

Listen to: 

Dirge from Cymbeline (1:20)

William Shakespeare 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great;

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;

Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:

The sceptre, learning, physic, must

All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash,

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:

All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Nothing ill come near thee!

Quiet consummation have;

And renowned be thy grave!            ---  Act 4, scene 2

Sunrise

Listen to: 

Sunrise* (1:21)

Lizette Woodworth Reese  

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The east is yellow as a daffodil.
Three steeples—three stark swarthy arms—are thrust 

Up from the town. The gnarlèd poplars thrill
Down the long street in some keen salty gust— 

Straight from the sea and all the sailing ships—
Turn white, black, white again, with noises sweet 

And swift. Back to the night the last star slips.
High up the air is motionless, a sheet
Of light. The east grows yellower apace,
And trembles: then, once more, and suddenly,
The salt wind blows, and in that moment’s space 

Flame roofs, and poplar-tops, and steeples three; 

From out the mist that wraps the river-ways,
The little boats, like torches, start ablaze. 

* I recorded this poem and posted it on March 11, 2016. Without realizing it, I recorded it again recently and am now posting this version. If you compare the two versions, there are some subtle but interesting differences. In any case, you might have missed the first version and might enjoy this other one. And good poems are worth repeating.

Richard Cory

Listen to:

Richard Cory (1:00)

by Edward Arlington Robinson 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Whenever Richard Cory went down town, 

We people on the pavement looked at him: 

He was a gentleman from sole to crown, 

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said, 

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, — yes, richer than a king, — 

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything 

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; 

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Bacchanalia

Listen to:

Bacchanalia (5:04)

by Matthew Arnold 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I 

The evening comes, the fields are still. 

The tinkle of the thirsty rill, 

Unheard all day, ascends again; 

Deserted is the half-mown plain, 

Silent the swaths! the ringing wain, 

The mower's cry, the dog's alarms, 

All housed within the sleeping farms! 

The business of the day is done, 

The last belated gleaner gone. 

And from the thyme upon the height, 

And from the elder-blossom white 

And pale dog-roses in the hedge, 

And from the mint-plant in the sedge, 

In puffs of balm the night-air blows 

The perfume which the day forgoes. 

And on the pure horizon far, 

See, pulsing with the first-born star, 

The liquid sky above the hill! 

The evening comes, the fields are still. 

       Loitering and leaping, 

       With saunter, with bounds— 

       Flickering and circling 

       In files and in rounds— 

       Gaily their pine-staff green 

       Tossing in air, 

       Loose o'er their shoulders white 

       Showering their hair— 

       See! the wild Maenads 

       Break from the wood, 

       Youth and Iacchus 

       Maddening their blood. 

       See! through the quiet land 

       Rioting they pass— 

       Fling the fresh heaps about, 

       Trample the grass. 

       Tear from the rifled hedge 

       Garlands, their prize; 

       Fill with their sports the field, 

       Fill with their cries. 

       Shepherd, what ails thee, then? 

       Shepherd, why mute? 

       Forth with thy joyous song! 

       Forth with thy flute! 

       Tempts not the revel blithe? 

       Lure not their cries? 

       Glow not their shoulders smooth? 

       Melt not their eyes? 

       Is not, on cheeks like those, 

       Lovely the flush? 

       —Ah, so the quiet was! 

       So was the hush! 

II 

The epoch ends, the world is still. 

The age has talk'd and work'd its fill— 

The famous orators have shone, 

The famous poets sung and gone, 

The famous men of war have fought, 

The famous speculators thought, 

The famous players, sculptors, wrought, 

The famous painters fill'd their wall, 

The famous critics judged it all. 

The combatants are parted now— 

Uphung the spear, unbent the bow, 

The puissant crown'd, the weak laid low. 

And in the after-silence sweet, 

Now strifes are hush'd, our ears doth meet, 

Ascending pure, the bell-like fame 

Of this or that down-trodden name, 

Delicate spirits, push'd away 

In the hot press of the noon-day. 

And o'er the plain, where the dead age 

Did its now silent warfare wage— 

O'er that wide plain, now wrapt in gloom, 

Where many a splendour finds its tomb, 

Many spent fames and fallen mights— 

The one or two immortal lights 

Rise slowly up into the sky 

To shine there everlastingly, 

Like stars over the bounding hill. 

The epoch ends, the world is still. 

       Thundering and bursting 

       In torrents, in waves— 

       Carolling and shouting 

       Over tombs, amid graves— 

       See! on the cumber'd plain 

       Clearing a stage, 

       Scattering the past about, 

       Comes the new age. 

       Bards make new poems, 

       Thinkers new schools, 

       Statesmen new systems, 

       Critics new rules. 

       All things begin again; 

       Life is their prize; 

       Earth with their deeds they fill, 

       Fill with their cries. 

       Poet, what ails thee, then? 

       Say, why so mute? 

       Forth with thy praising voice! 

       Forth with thy flute! 

       Loiterer! why sittest thou 

       Sunk in thy dream? 

       Tempts not the bright new age? 

       Shines not its stream? 

       Look, ah, what genius, 

       Art, science, wit! 

       Soldiers like Caesar, 

       Statesmen like Pitt! 

       Sculptors like Phidias, 

       Raphaels in shoals, 

       Poets like Shakespeare— 

       Beautiful souls! 

       See, on their glowing cheeks 

       Heavenly the flush! 

       —Ah, so the silence was! 

       So was the hush! 

The world but feels the present's spell, 

The poet feels the past as well; 

Whatever men have done, might do, 

Whatever thought, might think it too.