Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Wednesday, 16 August 2017

The Reeds at Runnymede

This poem was written by Rudyard Kipling, and published in 1911. It's about a meadow called Runnymede, in Surrey, between Staines and Windsor.

There's very little in this poem that suggests Kipling knew the place. He may well have done, but he doesn't describe it here in any more detail than what somebody might guess or know without having visited.

Instead, it's about a famous event that has been captured here; and that makes sense as the poem was commissioned to accompany a children's history of England. That sort of explains its dryness to me.

That said, it has a nice meter, although I think that's partly down to the name Runnymede having a nice rhythm about itself. All in all, it doesn't do a great deal for me, but it's pleasant.

The Reeds at Runnymede by Rudyard Kipling

AT Runnymede, at Runnymede,
What say the reeds at Runnymede?
The lissom reeds that give and take,
That bend so far, but never break.
They keep the sleepy Thames awake
With tales of John at Runnymede.

At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Oh hear the reeds at Runnymede:—
“You must n’t sell, delay, deny,
A freeman’s right or liberty,
It wakes the stubborn Englishry,
We saw ’em roused at Runnymede!

“When through our ranks the Barons came,
With little thought of praise or blame,
But resolute to play the game,
They lumbered up to Runnymede;
And there they launched in solid line,
The first attack on Right Divine—
The curt, uncompromising ‘Sign!’
That settled John at Runnymede.

“At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Your rights were won at Runnymede!
No freeman shall be fined or bound,
Or dispossessed of freehold ground,
Except by lawful judgment found
And passed upon him by his peers!
Forget not, after all these years,
The Charter signed at Runnymede.”

And still when Mob or Monarch lays
Too rude a hand on English ways,
The whisper wakes, the shudder plays,
Across the reeds at Runnymede.
And Thames, that knows the moods of kings,
And crowds and priests and suchlike things,
Rolls deep and dreadful as he brings
Their warning down from Runnymede!