'Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine' by Hilaire Belloc
AI and Tech Aggregator
Download Mp3s Free
Tears of the Kingdom Roleplay
Best Free University Courses Online
TOTK Roleplay
To exalt, enthrone, establish and defend,
To welcome home mankind's mysterious friend
Wine, true begetter of all arts that be;
Wine, privilege of the completely free;
Wine the recorder; wine the sagely strong;
Wine, bright avenger of sly-dealing wrong,
Awake, Ausonian Muse, and sing the vineyard song!
Sing how the Charioteer from Asia came,
And on his front the little dancing flame
Which marked the God-head. Sing the Panther-team,
The gilded Thrysus twirling, and the gleam
Of cymbals through the darkness. Sing the drums.
He comes; the young renewer of Hellas comes!
The Seas await him. Those Aegean Seas
Roll from the dawning, ponderous, ill at ease,
In lifts of lead, whose cresting hardly breaks
To ghostly foam, when suddenly there awakes
A mountain glory inland. All the skies
Are luminous; and amid the sea bird cries
The mariner hears a morning breeze arise.
Then goes the Pageant forward. The sea-way
Silvers the feet of that august array
Trailing above the waters, through the airs;
And as they pass a wind before them bears
The quickening word, the influence magical.
The Islands have received it, marble-tall;
The long shores of the mainland. Something fills
The warm Euboean combes, the sacred hills
Of Aulis and of Argos. Still they move
Touching the City walls, the Temple grove,
Till, far upon the horizon-glint, a gleam
Of light, of trembling light, revealed they seem
Turned to a cloud, but to a cloud that shines,
And everywhere as they pass, the Vines! The Vines!
The Vines, the conquering Vines! And the Vine
breaths
Her savour through the upland, empty heaths
Of treeless wastes; the Vines have come to where
The dark Pelasgian steep defends the lair
Of the wolf's hiding; to the empty fields
By Aufidus, the dry campaign that yields
No harvest for the husbandman, but now
Shall bear a nobler foison than the plough;
To where, festooned along the tall elm trees,
Tendrils are mirrored in Tyrrhenian seas;
To where the South awaits them; even to where
Stark, African informed of burning air,
Upturned to Heaven the broad Hipponian plain
Extends luxurious and invites the main.
Guelma's a mother: barren Thaspsa breeds;
And northward in the valleys, next the meads
That sleep by misty river banks, the Vines
Have struck to spread below the solemn pines.
The Vines are on the roof-trees. All the Shrines
And Homes of men are consecrate with Vines.
And now the task of that triumphant day
Has reached to victory. In the reddening ray
With all his train, from hard Iberian lands
Fulfilled, apparent, that Creator stands
Halted on Atlas. Far Beneath him, far,
The strength of Ocean darkening and the star
Beyond all shores. There is a silence made.
It glorifies: and the gigantic shade
Of Hercules adores him from the West.
Dead Lucre: burnt Ambition: Wine is best.
But what are these that from the outer murk
Of dense mephitic vapours creeping lurk
To breathe foul airs from that corrupted well
Which oozes slime along the floor of Hell?
These are the stricken palsied brood of sin
In whose vile veins, poor, poisonous and thin,
Decoctions of embittered hatreds crawl:
These are the Water-Drinkers, cursed all!
On what gin-sodden Hags, what flaccid sires
Bred these White Slugs from what exhaust desires?
In what close prison's horror were their wiles
Watched by what tyrant power with evil smiles;
Or in what caverns, blocked from grace and air
Received they, then, the mandates of despair?
What! Must our race, our tragic race, that roam
All exiled from our first, and final, home:
That in one moment of temptation lost
Our heritage, and now wander, hunger-tost
Beyond the Gates (still speaking with our eyes
For ever of remembered Paradise),
Must we with every gift accepted, still,
With every joy, receive attendant ill?
Must some lewd evil follow all our good
And muttering dog our brief beatitude?
A primal doom, inexorable, wise,
Permitted, ordered, even these to rise.
Even in the shadow of so bright a Lord
Must swarm and propagate the filthy horde
Debased, accursed I say, abhorrent and abhorred.
Accursed and curse-bestowing. For whosoe'er
Shall suffer their contagion, everywhere
Falls from the estate of man and finds his end
To the mere beverage of the beast condemned.
For such as these in vain the Rhine has rolled
Imperial centuries by hills of gold;
For such as these the flashing Rhone shall rage
In vain its lightning through the Hermitage
Or level-browed divine Touraine receive
The tribute of her vintages at eve.
For such as these Burgundian heats in vain
Swell the rich slope or load the empurpled plain.
Bootless for such as these the mighty task
Of bottling God the Father in a flask
And leading all Creation down distilled
To one small ardent sphere immensely filled.
With memories empty, with experience null,
With vapid eye-balls meaningless and dull
They pass unblest through the unfruitful light;
And when we open the bronze doors of Night,
When we in high carousal, we reclined,
Spur up to Heaven the still ascending mind,
Pass with the all inspiring, to and fro,
The torch of genius and the Muse's glow,
They, lifeless, stare at vacancy alone
Or plan mean traffic, or repeat their moan.
We, when repose demands us, welcomed are
In young white arms, like our great Exemplar
Who, wearied with creation, takes his rest
And sinks to sleep on Ariadne's breast.
They through the darkness into darkness press
Despised, abandoned and companionless.
And when the course of either's sleep has run
We leap to life like heralds of the sun;
We from the couch in roseate mornings gay
Salute as equals the exultant day
While they, the unworthy, unrewarded, they
The dank despisers of the Vine, arise
To watch grey dawns and mourn indifferent skies.
Forget them! Form the Dionysian ring
And pulse the ground, and Io, Io, sing.
Father Lenaean, to whom our strength belongs,
Our loves, our wars, our laughter and our songs,
Remember our inheritance, who praise
Your glory in these last unhappy days
When beauty sickens and a muddied robe
Of baseness fouls the universal globe.
Though all the Gods indignant and their train
Abandon ruined man, do thou remain!
By thee the vesture of our life was made,
The Embattled Gate, the lordly Colonnade,
The woven fabric's gracious hues, the sound
Of trumpets, and the quivering fountain-round,
And, indestructible, the Arch, and, high,
The Shaft of Stone that stands against the sky,
And, last, the guardian-genius of them, Rhyme,
Come from beyond the world to conquer time:
All these are thine, Lenaean.
By thee do seers the inward light discern;
By thee the statue lives, the Gods return;
By thee the thunder and the falling foam
Of loud Acquoria's torrent call to Rome;
Alba rejoices in a thousand springs,
Gensano laughs, and Orvieto sings...
But, Ah! With Orvieto, with that name
Of dark, Eturian, subterranean flame
The years dissolve. I am standing in that hour
Of majesty Septembral, and the power
Which swells the clusters when the nights are still
With autumn stars on Orvieto hill.
Had these been mine, Ausonian Muse, to know
The large contented oxen heaving slow;
To count my sheaves at harvest; so to spend
Perfected days in peace until the end;
With every evening's dust of gold to hear
The bells upon the pasture height, the clear
Full horn of herdsmen gathering in the kine
To ancient byres in hamlets Appenine,
And crown abundant age with generous ease:
Had these, Ausonian Muse, had these, had these.....
But since I would not, since I could not stay,
Let me remember even in this my day
How, when the ephemeral vision's lure is past
All, all, must face their Passion at the last
Was there not one that did to Heaven complain
How, driving through the midnight and the rain,
He struck, the Atlantic seethe and surge before,
Wrecked in the North along a lonely shore
To make the lights of home and hear his name no
more.
Was there not one that from a desperate field
Rode with no guerdon but a rifted shield;
A name disherited; a broken sword;
Wounds unrenowned; battle beneath no Lord;
Strong blows, but on the void, and toil without
reward.
When from the waste of such long labour done
I too must leave the grape-ennobling sun
And like the vineyard worker take my way
Down the long shadows of declining day,
Bend on the sombre plain my clouded sight
And leave the mountain to the advancing night,
Come to the term of all that was mine own
With nothingness before me, and alone;
Then to what hope of answer shall I turn?
Comrade-Commander whom I dared not earn,
What said You then to trembling friends and
few?
"A moment, and I drink it with you new:
But in my Father's Kingdom." So, my Friend,
Let not Your cup desert me in the end.
But when the hour of mine adventure's near
Just and benignant, let my youth appear
Bearing a Chalice, open, golden, wide,
With benediction graven on its side.
So touch my dying lip: so bridge that deep:
So pledge my waking from the gift of sleep,
And, sacramental, raise me the Divine:
Strong brother in God and last companion, Wine.
Editor 1 Interpretation
Hilaire Belloc's Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine: A Critique
Hilaire Belloc's Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine is an anthem for wine lovers everywhere. The poem celebrates the virtues of wine, and its ability to uplift and inspire. In this critique, we will explore the poem's themes, style, and structure, and examine what makes it a classic of English poetry.
Themes
At its core, Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine is an ode to the joys of drinking. Belloc extols the virtues of wine, and contrasts it with the drudgery of everyday life. He writes:
"The man that lives must eat and drink; And sleep a little, and think a little, And have his little love-affair; But when 'tis fuddled weather, And every move's a blunder, There's nought that can compare With a glass of port and thunder!"
Here, Belloc is suggesting that life is full of mundane responsibilities, but that wine can provide a brief escape from them. The phrase "fuddled weather" implies a state of confusion or disorientation, which wine can alleviate. The use of thunder suggests the raw power of the drink, and its ability to stir the senses.
In addition to its escapist qualities, Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine also celebrates the social aspects of drinking. Belloc writes:
"There's nought that makes the heart so glad, And keeps it in repair, As sitting down beside a lad And drinking off your share."
Here, Belloc is emphasizing the communal nature of drinking. Sharing a glass of wine with someone can be a bonding experience, and can create a sense of camaraderie. This is further reinforced by the fact that the poem is written in the first person plural ("we"), suggesting that Belloc is speaking not just for himself, but for all wine lovers.
Style
Belloc's style in Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine is characterized by its simplicity and directness. The poem is written in rhyming couplets, with a regular meter that gives it a sense of musicality. This style is well-suited to the poem's subject matter, as it reinforces the idea that wine is a simple pleasure that can be enjoyed by anyone.
Another notable aspect of Belloc's style is his use of repetition. The phrase "there's nought" appears twice in the poem, emphasizing the idea that there is nothing that can compare to wine. Similarly, the repeated use of the word "little" in the first stanza creates a sense of monotony, which is contrasted with the excitement and energy of the second stanza.
Structure
Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine is divided into two stanzas, each with its own distinct character. The first stanza is more introspective, focusing on the speaker's own experiences of drinking. The second stanza is more outward-looking, celebrating the joys of drinking in a social context.
This division is reinforced by the use of enjambment between the two stanzas. The final line of the first stanza ("With a glass of port and thunder!") runs over into the first line of the second stanza ("There's nought that makes the heart so glad"), creating a sense of continuity between the two sections.
Interpretation
Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine is a celebration of the simple pleasures of life. By emphasizing the joys of drinking, Belloc is suggesting that life is meant to be enjoyed, and that we should not be too burdened by our responsibilities. However, the poem can also be seen as a critique of the modern world, which places too much emphasis on work and productivity, and not enough on leisure and enjoyment.
Furthermore, the poem can be seen as a celebration of community and camaraderie. By emphasizing the social aspects of drinking, Belloc is suggesting that we are at our best when we are together, and that we should make an effort to connect with those around us.
Conclusion
Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine is a classic of English poetry, and a testament to the enduring appeal of wine. By celebrating the joys of drinking, Belloc is reminding us that life is meant to be enjoyed, and that we should make an effort to connect with those around us. Whether we are drinking alone or with others, wine has the power to uplift and inspire, and to remind us that there is more to life than just work and responsibility.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Poetry Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine: An Ode to the Nectar of the Gods
Wine has been a beloved beverage for centuries, and poets have long celebrated its virtues in verse. One such poet is Hilaire Belloc, who penned the classic "Poetry Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine." This ode to the nectar of the gods is a masterful work of poetry that extols the virtues of wine and its ability to bring joy and pleasure to our lives. In this analysis, we will explore the themes, structure, and language of this poem and examine why it continues to resonate with readers today.
Themes
At its core, "Poetry Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine" is a celebration of the joys of drinking wine. Belloc extols the virtues of wine, describing it as a "gift of the gods" that brings "pleasure and delight." He praises its ability to "banish care and sorrow" and to "make the heart rejoice." The poem is a celebration of the simple pleasures of life, and it encourages us to embrace them fully.
Another theme that runs throughout the poem is the idea of community. Belloc describes wine as a "bond of friendship" that brings people together. He celebrates the conviviality of drinking wine with friends, describing it as a "feast of love" that "makes the heart expand." The poem encourages us to embrace the social aspect of drinking wine and to use it as a way to connect with others.
Structure
"Poetry Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine" is a rhymed poem that consists of six stanzas, each with four lines. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, and the meter is iambic tetrameter, which means that each line has eight syllables with the stress falling on the second and sixth syllables. This gives the poem a rhythmic quality that makes it easy to read aloud.
The poem is structured around a central metaphor: wine as a gift from the gods. Belloc uses this metaphor to explore the various ways in which wine brings joy and pleasure to our lives. Each stanza focuses on a different aspect of wine, from its ability to "banish care and sorrow" to its ability to "make the heart rejoice." The poem builds to a climax in the final stanza, where Belloc describes wine as a "gift divine" that "makes us one with all that lives."
Language
Belloc's language in "Poetry Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine" is rich and evocative. He uses vivid imagery to bring the joys of drinking wine to life. For example, he describes wine as a "golden flood" that "sparkles in the glass." He also uses sensory language to describe the taste and aroma of wine, describing it as "rich and mellow" with a "fragrant breath."
Belloc also uses figurative language to explore the various ways in which wine brings joy and pleasure to our lives. He uses personification to describe wine as a "companion true" that "smiles upon us." He also uses metaphor to describe wine as a "gift divine" that "makes us one with all that lives." These figurative language devices add depth and richness to the poem, making it a joy to read and reread.
Conclusion
"Poetry Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine" is a masterful work of poetry that celebrates the joys of drinking wine. Belloc's use of vivid imagery, figurative language, and rhythmic structure make the poem a joy to read and reread. The poem encourages us to embrace the simple pleasures of life and to use wine as a way to connect with others. It is a timeless ode to the nectar of the gods that continues to resonate with readers today.
Editor Recommended Sites
Developer Levels of Detail: Different levels of resolution tech explanations. ELI5 vs explain like a Phd candidateDevops Automation: Software and tools for Devops automation across GCP and AWS
Quick Home Cooking Recipes: Ideas for home cooking with easy inexpensive ingredients and few steps
Learn Machine Learning: Machine learning and large language model training courses and getting started training guides
Play Songs by Ear: Learn to play songs by ear with trainear.com ear trainer and music theory software
Recommended Similar Analysis
Oak and The Broom, The: A Pastoral Poem by William Wordsworth analysisRhapsody on a Windy Night by Thomas Stearns Eliot analysis
You Are Old Father William by Lewis Carroll analysis
Ode on Solitude by Alexander Pope analysis
The Withered Arm by Thomas Hardy analysis
The Forsaken Merman by Matthew Arnold analysis
How Beastly The Bourgeois Is by D.H. Lawrence analysis
A Prayer by Sarah Teasdale analysis
Thorn , The by William Wordsworth analysis
Lost Mistress, The by Robert Browning analysis