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diff --git a/4253.txt b/4253.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd8e45a --- /dev/null +++ b/4253.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6418 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dramatic Romances, by Robert Browning + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dramatic Romances + +Author: Robert Browning + +Commentator: Charlotte Porter and Helen A. Clarke + +Release Date: July, 2003 [EBook #4253] +Posting Date: December 10, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRAMATIC ROMANCES *** + + + + +Produced by Richard Adicks + + + + + +DRAMATIC ROMANCES + +FROM THE POETIC WORKS OF ROBERT BROWNING + +By Robert Browning + + +Introduction and Notes: Charlotte Porter and Helen A. Clarke + +From the edition of Browning's poems published by Thomas Y. Crowell and +Company, New York, in 1898. + + +Editing conventions: + +Stanza and section numbers have been moved to the left margin, and +periods that follow them have been removed. + +Periods have been omitted after Roman numerals in the titles of popes +and nobles. + +Quotation marks have been left only at the beginning and end of a +multi-line quotation, and at the beginning of each stanza within the +quotation, instead of at the beginning of every line, as in the printed +text. + + + +CONTENTS + + Introduction + Incident of the French Camp + The Patriot + My Last Duchess + Count Gismond + The Boy and the Angel + Instans Tyrannus + Mesmerism + The Glove + Time's Revenges + The Italian in England + The Englishman in Italy + In a Gondola + Waring + The Twins + A Light Woman + The Last Ride Together + The Pied Piper of Hamelin: A Child's Story + The Flight of the Duchess + A Grammarian's Funeral + The Heretic's Tragedy + Holy-Cross Day + Protus + The Statue and the Bust + Porphyria's Lover + "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came" + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +[The Dramatic Romances,...] enriched by some of the poems originally +printed in Men and Women, and a few from Dramatic Lyrics as first +printed, include some of Browning's finest and most characteristic work. +In several of them the poet displays his familiarity with the life and +spirit of the Renaissance--a period portrayed by him with a fidelity +more real than history--for he enters into the feelings that give rise +to action, while the historian is busied only with the results growing +out of the moving force of feeling. + +The egotism of the Ferrara husband outraged at the gentle wife because +she is as gracious toward those who rendered her small courtesies, +and seemed as thankful to them as she was to him for his gift of a +nine-hundred-years-old name, opens up for inspection the heart of a +husband at a time when men exercised complete control over their wives, +and could satisfy their jealous, selfish instincts by any cruel methods +they chose to adopt, with no one to say them "nay." The highly developed +artistic sense shown by this husband is not incompatible with his +consummate selfishness and cruelty, as many tales of that time might be +brought forward to illustrate. The husband in "The Statue and the Bust" +belongs to the same type, and the situation there is the inevitable +outcome of a civilization in which women were not consulted as to whom +they would marry, and naturally often fell a prey to love if it should +come to them afterwards. Weakness of will in the case of the lovers in +this poem wrecked their lives; for they were not strong enough to follow +either duty or love. Another glimpse is caught of this period when +husbands and brothers and fathers meted out what they considered justice +to the women in "In a Gondola." "The Grammarian's Funeral" gives also +an aspect of Renaissance life--the fervor for learning characteristic +of the earlier days of the Renaissance when devoted pedants, as Arthur +Symons says in referring to this poem, broke ground in the restoration +to the modern world of the civilization and learning of ancient Greece +and Rome. Again, "The Heretic's Tragedy" and "Holy-Cross Day" picture +most vividly the methods resorted to by the dying church in its attempts +to keep control of the souls of a humanity seething toward religious +tolerance. + +With only a small space at command, it is difficult to decide on the +poems to be touched upon, especially where there is not one but would +repay prolonged attention, due no less to the romantic interest of the +stories, the marvellous penetration into human motives, the grasp of +historical atmospheres, than to the originality and perfection of their +artistry. + +A word must be said of "The Flight of the Duchess" and "Childe Roland +to the Dark Tower Came," both poems which have been productive of many +commentaries, and both holding their own amid the bray [sic] of critics +as unique and beautiful specimens of poetic art. Certainly no two poems +could be chosen to show wider diversity in the poet's genius than these. + +The story told by the huntsman in "The Flight of the Duchess" is +interesting enough simply as a story, but the telling of it is +inimitable. One can see before him the devoted, kindly man, +somewhat clumsy of speech, as indicated by the rough rhymes, and +characteristically drawing his illustrations from the calling he +follows. Keen in his critical observation of the Duke and other members +of the household, he, nevertheless, has a tender appreciation of +the difficulties of the young Duchess in this unloving artificial +environment. + +When the Gypsy Queen sings her song through his memory of it, the rhymes +and rhythm take on a befitting harmoniousness and smoothness contrasting +finely with the remainder of the poem. + +By means of this song, moreover, the horizon is enlarged beyond the +immediate ken of the huntsman. The race-instinct, which has so strong +a hold upon the Gypsies, is exalted into a wondrous sort of love which +carries everything before it. This loving reality is also set over +against the unloving artificiality of the first part of the poem. The +temptation is too strong for the love-starved little Duchess, and even +the huntsman and Jacinth come under her hypnotic spell. + +Very different in effect is "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came." The +one, rich in this lay of human emotion, couched in the simple language +of reality; the other, a symbolic picture of the struggle and aspiration +of the soul. Interpreters have tried to pin this latter poem down to the +limits of an allegory, and find a specific meaning for every phrase +and picture, but it has too much the quality of the modern symbolistic +writing to admit of any treatment so prosaic. In this respect it +resembles music. Each mind will draw from it an interpretation suited to +its own attitude and experiences. Reduced to the simplest possible lines +of interpretation, it symbolizes the inevitable fate which drives a +truth-seeking soul to see the falsity of ideals once thought absolute, +yet in the face of the ruin of those ideals courage toward the +continuance of aspiration is never for a moment lost. + +As a bit of art, it is strikingly imaginative, and suggests the +picture-quality of the tapestried horse, which Browning himself says was +the chief inspiration of the poem. It is a fine example of the way in +which the "strange and winged" fancy of the poet may take its flight +from so simple an object as this tapestried horse, evidently a sorry +beast too, in its needled presentment, or the poetic impulse would not +have expressed itself in the vindictive, "I never saw a horse [sic] I +hated so." + + + + +INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP + + I + + You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: + A mile or so away, + On a little mound, Napoleon + Stood on our storming-day; + With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, + Legs wide, arms locked behind, + As if to balance the prone brow + Oppressive with its mind. + + II + + Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans + That soar, to earth may fall, 10 + Let once my army-leader Lannes + Waver at yonder wall." + Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew + A rider, bound on bound + Full-galloping; nor bridle drew + Until he reached the mound. + + III + + Then off there flung in smiling joy, + And held himself erect + By just his horse's mane, a boy: + You hardly could suspect 20 + (So tight he kept his lips compressed + Scarce any blood came through) + You looked twice ere you saw his breast + Was all but shot in two. + + IV + + "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace + "We've got you Ratisbon! + "The Marshal's in the market-place, + And you'll be there anon + To see your flag-bird flap his vans + Where I, to heart's desire, 30 + Perched him--" The chief's eye flashed; his plans + Soared up again like fire. + + V + + The chief's eye flashed, but presently + Softened itself, as sheathes + A film the mother-eagle's-eye + When her bruised eaglet breathes, + "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride + Touched to the quick, he said: + "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, + Smiling the boy fell dead. 40 + + NOTES: + "Incident of the French Camp." A story of modest heroism. + The incident related is said by Mrs. Orr to be a true one + of the siege of Ratisbon by Napoleon in 1809--except + that the real hero was a man. + + I. Ratisbon: (German Regensburg), an ancient city + of Bavaria on the right bank of the Danube, has endured + seventeen sieges since the tenth century, the last one being + that of Napoleon, 1809. + + II. Lannes: Duke of Montebello, one of Napoleon's generals. + + + + +THE PATRIOT + + AN OLD STORY + + I + + It was roses, roses, all the way, + With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: + The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, + The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, + A year ago on this very day. + + II + + The air broke into a mist with bells, + The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. + Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels-- + But give me your sun from yonder skies!" + They had answered, "And afterward, what else?" 10 + + III + + Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun + To give it my loving friends to keep! + Nought man could do, have I left undone: + And you see my harvest, what I reap + This very day, now a year is run. + + IV + + There's nobody on the house-tops now-- + Just a palsied few at the windows set; + For the best of the sight is, all allow, + At the Shambles' Gate--or, better yet, + By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. 20 + + V + + I go in the rain, and, more than needs, + A rope cuts both my wrists behind; + And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, + For they fling, whoever has a mind, + Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. + + VI + + Thus I entered, and thus I go! + In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. + "Paid by the world, what dost thou owe + Me?"--God might question; now instead, + 'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so. 30 + + NOTES: + "The Patriot" is a hero's story of the reward and punishment + dealt him for his services within one year. To act + regardless of praise or blame, save God's, seems safer. + + + + +MY LAST DUCHESS + + Ferrara + + That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, + Looking as if she were alive. I call + That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands + Worked busily a day, and there she stands. + Will't please you sit and look at her? I said + "Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read + Strangers like you that pictured countenance, + The depth and passion of its earnest glance, + But to myself they turned (since none puts by + the curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 10 + And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, + How such a glance came there; so, not the first + Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not + Her husband's presence only, called that spot + Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps + Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps + Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint + Must never hope to reproduce the faint + Half-flush that dies along her throat"; such stuff + Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 20 + For calling up that spot of joy. She had + A heart--how shall I say--too soon made glad, + Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er + She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. + Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, + The dropping of the daylight in the West, + The bough of cherries some officious fool + Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule + She rode with round the terrace--all and each + Would draw from her alike the approving speech, 30 + Or blush, at least. She thanked men--good! but thanked + Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked + My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name + With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame + This sort of trifling? Even had you skill + In speech (which I have not) to make your will + Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this + Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, + Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let + Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 40 + Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, + E'en that would be some stooping; and I choose + Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt, + Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without + Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; + Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands + As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet + The company below, then. I repeat, + The Count your master's known munificence + Is ample warrant that no just pretence 50 + Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; + Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed + At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go + Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, + Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, + Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! + + NOTES: + "My Last Duchess" puts in the mouth of a Duke of Ferrara, + a typical husband and art patron of the Renaissance, a + description of his last wife, whose happy nature and universal + kindliness were a perpetual affront to his exacting + self-predominance, and whose suppression, by his command, + has made the vacancy he is now, in his interview + with the envoy for a new match, taking precaution to fill + more acceptably. + + 3. Fra Pandolf, and 56. Claus of Innsbruck, are imaginary. + + + + +COUNT GISMOND + + AIX EN PROVENCE + + I + + Christ God who savest man, save most + Of men Count Gismond who saved me! + Count Gauthier, when he chose his post, + Chose time and place and company + To suit it; when he struck at length + My honour, 'twas with all his strength. + + II + + And doubtlessly ere he could draw + All points to one, he must have schemed! + That miserable morning saw + Few half so happy as I seemed, 10 + While being dressed in queen's array + To give our tourney prize away. + + III + + I thought they loved me, did me grace + To please themselves; 'twas all their deed; + God makes, or fair or foul, our face; + If showing mine so caused to bleed + My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped + A word, and straight the play had stopped. + + IV + + They, too, so beauteous! Each a queen + By virtue of her brow and breast; 20 + Not needing to be crowned, I mean, + As I do. E'en when I was dressed, + Had either of them spoke, instead + Of glancing sideways with still head! + + V + + But no: they let me laugh, and sing + My birthday song quite through, adjust + The last rose in my garland, fling + A last look on the mirror, trust + My arms to each an arm of theirs, + And so descend the castle-stairs-- 30 + + VI + + And come out on the morning-troop + Of merry friends who kissed my cheek, + And called me queen, and made me stoop + Under the canopy--a streak + That pierced it, of the outside sun, + Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun-- + + VII + + And they could let me take my state + And foolish throne amid applause + Of all come there to celebrate + My queen's-day--Oh I think the cause 40 + Of much was, they forgot no crowd + Makes up for parents in their shroud! + + VIII + + However that be, all eyes were bent + Upon me, when my cousins cast + Theirs down; 'twas time I should present + The victor's crown, but... there, 'twill last + No long time... the old mist again + Blinds me as then it did. How vain! + + IX + + See! Gismond's at the gate, in talk + With his two boys: I can proceed. 50 + Well, at that moment, who should stalk + Forth boldly--to my face, indeed-- + But Gauthier, and he thundered "Stay!" + And all stayed. "Bring no crowns, I say!" + + X + + "Bring torches! Wind the penance-sheet + About her! Let her shun the chaste, + Or lay herself before their feet! + Shall she whose body I embraced + A night long, queen it in the day? + For honour's sake no crowns, I say!" 60 + + XI + + I? What I answered? As I live, + I never fancied such a thing + As answer possible to give. + What says the body when they spring + Some monstrous torture-engine's whole + Strength on it? No more says the soul. + + XII + + Till out strode Gismond; then I knew + That I was saved. I never met + His face before, but, at first view, + I felt quite sure that God had set 70 + Himself to Satan; who would spend + A minute's mistrust on the end? + + XIII + + He strode to Gauthier, in his throat + Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth + With one back-handed blow that wrote + In blood men's verdict there. North, South, + East, West, I looked. The lie was dead, + And damned, and truth stood up instead. + + XIV + + This glads me most, that I enjoyed + The heart of the joy, with my content 80 + In watching Gismond unalloyed + By any doubt of the event: + God took that on him--I was bid + Watch Gismond for my part: I did. + + XV + + Did I not watch him while he let + His armourer just brace his greaves, + Rivet his hauberk, on the fret + The while! His foot... my memory leaves + No least stamp out, nor how anon + He pulled his ringing gauntlets on. 90 + + XVI + + And e'en before the trumpet's sound + Was finished, prone lay the false knight, + Prone as his lie, upon the ground: + Gismond flew at him, used no sleight + O' the sword, but open-breasted drove, + Cleaving till out the truth he clove. + + XVII + + Which done, he dragged him to my feet + And said "Here die, but end thy breath + In full confession, lest thou fleet + From my first, to God's second death! 100 + Say, hast thou lied?" And, "I have lied + To God and her," he said, and died. + + XVIII + + Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked + What safe my heart holds, though no word + Could I repeat now, if I tasked + My powers for ever, to a third + Dear even as you are. Pass the rest + Until I sank upon his breast. + + XIX + + Over my head his arm he flung + Against the world; and scarce I felt 110 + His sword (that dripped by me and swung) + A little shifted in its belt: + For he began to say the while + How South our home lay many a mile. + + XX + + So 'mid the shouting multitude + We two walked forth to never more + Return. My cousins have pursued + Their life, untroubled as before + I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place + God lighten! May his soul find grace! 120 + + XXI + + Our elder boy has got the clear + Great brow; tho' when his brother's black + Full eye shows scorn, it... Gismond here? + And have you brought my tercel back? + I just was telling Adela + How many birds it struck since May. + + + NOTES: + "Count Gismond: Aix in Provence" illustrates, in the person + of the woman who relates to a friend an episode of her + own life, the power of innate purity to raise up for + her a defender when caught in the toils woven by + the unsuspected envy and hypocrisy of her cousins + and Count Gauthier, who attempt to bring dishonor + upon her, on her birthday, with the seeming intention + of honoring her. Her faith that the trial by combat + between Gauthier and Gismond must end in Gismond's + victory and her vindication reflects most truly, as Arthur + Symons has pointed out, the medieval atmosphere of + chivalrous France. + + 124. Tercel: a male falcon. + + + + +THE BOY AND THE ANGEL + + Morning, evening, noon and night, + "Praise God!" sang Theocrite. + + Then to his poor trade he turned, + Whereby the daily meal was earned. + + Hard he laboured, long and well; + O'er his work the boy's curls fell. + + But ever, at each period, + He stopped and sang, "Praise God!" + + Then back again his curls he threw, + And cheerful turned to work anew. 10 + + Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done; + I doubt not thou art heard, my son: + + As well as if thy voice to-day + Were praising God, the Pope's great way. + + This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome + Praises God from Peter's dome." + + Said Theocrite, "Would God that I + Might praise him, that great way, and die!" + + Night passed, day shone, + And Theocrite was gone. 20 + + With God a day endures alway, + A thousand years are but a day. + + God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night + Now brings the voice of my delight." + + Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth + Spread his wings and sank to earth; + . + Entered, in flesh, the empty cell, + Lived there, and played the craftsman well; + + And morning, evening, noon and night, + Praised God in place of Theocrite. 30 + + And from a boy, to youth he grew: + The man put off the stripling's hue: + + The man matured and fell away + Into the season of decay: + + And ever o'er the trade he bent, + And ever lived on earth content. + + (He did God's will; to him, all one + If on the earth or in the sun.) + + God said, "A praise is in mine ear; + There is no doubt in it, no fear: 40 + + So sing old worlds, and so + New worlds that from my footstool go. + + Clearer loves sound other ways: + I miss my little human praise." + + Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell + The flesh disguise, remained the cell. + + 'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome, + And paused above Saint Peter's dome. + + In the tiring-room close by + The great outer gallery, 50 + + With his holy vestments dight, + Stood the new Pope, Theocrite: + + And all his past career + Came back upon him clear, + + Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, + Till on his life the sickness weighed; + + And in his cell, when death drew near, + An angel in a dream brought cheer: + + And rising from the sickness drear + He grew a priest, and now stood here. 60 + + To the East with praise he turned, + And on his sight the angel burned. + + "I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell + And set thee here; I did not well. + + "Vainly I left my angel-sphere, + Vain was thy dream of many a year. + + "Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped-- + Creation's chorus stopped! + + "Go back and praise again + The early way, while I remain. 70 + + "With that weak voice of our disdain, + Take up creation's pausing strain. + + "Back to the cell and poor employ: + Resume the craftsman and the boy!" + + Theocrite grew old at home; + A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome. + + One vanished as the other died: + They sought God side by side. + + NOTES: + "The Boy and the Angel." An imaginary legend illustrating + the worth of humble, human love to God, who missed in + the praise of the Pope, Theocrite, and of the Angel + Gabriel, the precious human quality in the song of the + poor boy, Theocrite. + + + + +INSTANS TYRANNUS + + I + + Of the million or two, more or less + I rule and possess, + One man, for some cause undefined, + Was least to my mind. + + II + + I struck him, he grovelled of course-- + For, what was his force? + I pinned him to earth with my weight + And persistence of hate: + And he lay, would not moan, would not curse, + As his lot might be worse. 10 + + III + + "Were the object less mean, would he stand + At the swing of my hand! + For obscurity helps him and blots + The hole where he squats." + So, I set my five wits on the stretch + To inveigle the wretch. + All in vain! Gold and jewels I threw, + Still he couched there perdue; + I tempted his blood and his flesh, + Hid in roses my mesh, 20 + Choicest cates and the flagon's best spilth: + Still he kept to his filth. + + IV + + Had he kith now or kin, were access + To his heart, did I press: + Just a son or a mother to seize! + No such booty as these. + Were it simply a friend to pursue + 'Mid my million or two, + Who could pay me in person or pelf + What he owes me himself! 30 + No: I could not but smile through my chafe: + For the fellow lay safe + As his mates do, the midge and the nit, + --Through minuteness, to wit. + + V + + Then a humour more great took its place + At the thought of his face, + The droop, the low cares of the mouth, + The trouble uncouth + 'Twixt the brows, all that air one is fain + To put out of its pain. 40 + And, "no!" I admonished myself, + "Is one mocked by an elf, + Is one baffled by toad or by rat? + The gravamen's in that! + How the lion, who crouches to suit + His back to my foot, + Would admire that I stand in debate! + But the small turns the great + If it vexes you, that is the thing! + Toad or rat vex the king? 50 + Though I waste half my realm to unearth + Toad or rat, 'tis well worth!" + + VI + + So, I soberly laid my last plan + To extinguish the man. + Round his creep-hole, with never a break + Ran my fires for his sake; + Over-head, did my thunder combine + With my underground mine: + Till I looked from my labour content + To enjoy the event. 60 + + VII + + When sudden... how think ye, the end? + Did I say "without friend"? + Say rather, from marge to blue marge + The whole sky grew his targe + With the sun's self for visible boss, + While an Arm ran across + Which the earth heaved beneath like a breast + Where the wretch was safe prest! + Do you see? Just my vengeance complete, + The man sprang to his feet, 70 + Stood erect, caught at God's skirts, and prayed! + --So, _I_ was afraid! + + NOTES: + "Instans Tyrannus" is a despot's confession of one of his + own experiences which showed him the inviolability of the + weakest man who is in the right and who can call the + spiritual force of good to his aid against the utmost violence + or cunning.--"Instans Tyrannus," or the threatening tyrant, + suggested by Horace, third Ode in Book III: + + "Justum et tenacem proposti vlrum, + Non civium ardor prava jubentium, + Non vultus instantis tyranni," etc. + + [The just man tenacious of purpose is not to be turned + aside by the heat of the populace nor the brow of the + threatening tyrant.] + + + + +MESMERISM + + I + + All I believed is true! + I am able yet + All I want, to get + By a method as strange as new: + Dare I trust the same to you? + + II + + If at night, when doors are shut, + And the wood-worm picks, + And the death-watch ticks, + And the bar has a flag of smut, + And a cat's in the water-butt-- 10 + + III + + And the socket floats and flares, + And the house-beams groan, + And a foot unknown + Is surmised on the garret-stairs, + And the locks slip unawares-- + + IV + + And the spider, to serve his ends, + By a sudden thread, + Arms and legs outspread, + On the table's midst descends, + Comes to find, God knows what friends!-- 20 + + V + + If since eve drew in, I say, + I have sat and brought + (So to speak) my thought + To bear on the woman away, + Till I felt my hair turn grey-- + + VI + + Till I seemed to have and hold, + In the vacancy + 'Twixt the wall and me, + From the hair-plait's chestnut gold + To the foot in its muslin fold-- 30 + + VII + + Have and hold, then and there, + Her, from head to foot + Breathing and mute, + Passive and yet aware, + In the grasp of my steady stare-- + + VIII + + Hold and have, there and then, + All her body and soul + That completes my whole, + All that women add to men, + In the clutch of my steady ken-- 40 + + IX + + Having and holding, till + I imprint her fast + On the void at last + As the sun does whom he will + By the calotypist's skill-- + + X + + Then,--if my heart's strength serve, + And through all and each + Of the veils I reach + To her soul and never swerve, + Knitting an iron nerve-- 50 + + XI + + Command her soul to advance + And inform the shape + Which has made escape + And before my countenance + Answers me glance for glance-- + + XII + + I, still with a gesture fit + Of my hands that best + Do my soul's behest, + Pointing the power from it, + While myself do steadfast sit-- 60 + + XIII + + Steadfast and still the same + On my object bent, + While the hands give vent + To my ardour and my aim + And break into very flame-- + + XIV + + Then I reach, I must believe, + Not her soul in vain, + For to me again + It reaches, and past retrieve + Is wound in the toils I weave; 70 + + XV + + And must follow as I require, + As befits a thrall, + Bringing flesh and all, + Essence and earth-attire + To the source of the tractile fire: + + XVI + + Till the house called hers, not mine, + With a growing weight + Seems to suffocate + If she break not its leaden line + And escape from its close confine. 80 + + XVII + + Out of doors into the night! + On to the maze + Of the wild wood-ways, + Not turning to left nor right + From the pathway, blind with sight-- + + XVIII + + Making thro' rain and wind + O'er the broken shrubs, + 'Twixt the stems and stubs, + With a still, composed, strong mind, + Nor a care for the world behind-- 90 + + XIX + + Swifter and still more swift, + As the crowding peace + Doth to joy increase + In the wide blind eyes uplift + Thro' the darkness and the drift! + + XX + + While I--to the shape, I too + Feel my soul dilate + Nor a whit abate, + And relax not a gesture due, + As I see my belief come true. 100 + + XXI + + For, there! have I drawn or no + Life to that lip? + Do my fingers dip + In a flame which again they throw + On the cheek that breaks a-glow? + + XXII + + Ha! was the hair so first? + What, unfilleted, + Made alive, and spread + Through the void with a rich outburst, + Chestnut gold-interspersed? 110 + + XXIII + + Like the doors of a casket-shrine, + See, on either side, + Her two arms divide + Till the heart betwixt makes sign, + Take me, for I am thine! + + XXIV + + "Now--now"--the door is heard! + Hark, the stairs! and near-- + Nearer--and here-- + "Now!" and at call the third + She enters without a word. 120 + + XXV + + On doth she march and on + To the fancied shape; + It is, past escape, + Herself, now: the dream is done + And the shadow and she are one. + + XXVI + + First I will pray. Do Thou + That ownest the soul, + Yet wilt grant control + To another, nor disallow + For a time, restrain me now! 130 + + XXVII + + I admonish me while I may, + Not to squander guilt, + Since require Thou wilt + At my hand its price one day! + What the price is, who can say? + + NOTES: + "Mesmerism." With a continuous tension of will, whose + unbroken concentration impregnates the very structure of + the poem, a mesmerist describes the processes of the act + by which he summons shape and soul of the woman he + desires; and then reverent perception of the sacredness + of the soul awes him from trespassing upon another's + individuality. + + + + +THE GLOVE + + (Peter Ronsard, loquitur) + + "Heigho!" yawned one day King Francis, + "Distance all value enhances. + When a man's busy, why, leisure + Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: + Faith, and at leisure once is he? + Straightway he wants to be busy. + Here we've got peace; and aghast I'm + Caught thinking war the true pastime. + Is there a reason in metre? + Give us your speech, master Peter!" 10 + I who, if mortal dare say so, + Ne'er am at loss with my Naso + "Sire," I replied, "joys prove cloudlets: + "Men are the merest Ixions"-- + Here the King whistled aloud, "Let's + --Heigho--go look at our lions." + Such are the sorrowful chances + If you talk fine to King Francis. + + And so, to the courtyard proceeding, + Our company, Francis was leading, 20 + Increased by new followers tenfold + Before he arrived at the penfold; + Lords, ladies, like clouds which bedizen + At sunset the western horizon. + And Sir De Lorge pressed 'mid the foremost + With the dame he professed to adore most. + Oh, what a face! One by fits eyed + Her, and the horrible pitside; + For the penfold surrounded a hollow + Which led where the eye scarce dared follow 30 + And shelved to the chamber secluded + Where Bluebeard, the great lion, brooded. + + The King hailed his keeper, an Arab + As glossy and black as a scarab, + And bade him make sport and at once stir + Up and out of his den the old monster. + They opened a hole in the wire-work + Across it, and dropped there a firework, + And fled: one's heart's beating redoubled; + A pause, while the pit's mouth was troubled, 40 + The blackness and silence so utter, + By the firework's slow sparkling and sputter; + Then earth in a sudden contortion + Gave out to our gaze her abortion. + Such a brute! Were I friend Clement Marot + (Whose experience of nature's but narrow + And whose faculties move in no small mist + When he versifies David the Psalmist) + I should study that brute to describe you + Illum Juda Leonem de Tribu. 50 + One's whole blood grew curdling and creepy + To see the black mane, vast and heapy, + The tail in the air stiff and straining + The wide eyes, nor waxing nor waning, + As over the barrier which bounded + His platform, and us who surrounded + The barrier, they reached and they rested + On space that might stand him in best stead: + For who knew, he thought, what the amazement, + The eruption of clatter and blaze meant, 60 + And if, in this minute of wonder, + No outlet, 'mid lightning and thunder, + Lay broad, and, his shackles all shivered, + The lion at last was delivered? + Ay, that was the open sky o'erhead! + And you saw by the flash on his forehead, + By the hope in those eyes wide and steady, + He was leagues in the desert already + Driving the flocks up the mountain + Or catlike couched hard by the fountain 70 + To waylay the date-gathering negress: + So guarded he entrance or egress. + "How he stands!" quoth the King: "we may well swear, + (No novice, we've won our spurs elsewhere + And so can afford the confession) + We exercise wholesome discretion + In keeping aloof from his threshold; + Once hold you, those jaws want no fresh hold, + Their first would too pleasantly purloin + The visitor's brisket or surloin: 80 + But who's he would prove so fool-hardy? + Not the best man of Marignan, pardie!" + + The sentence no sooner was uttered, + Than over the rails a glove fluttered, + Fell close to the lion, and rested: + The dame 'twas, who flung it and jested + With life so, De Lorge had been wooing + For months past; he sat there pursuing + His suit, weighing out with nonchalance + Fine speeches like gold from a balance. 90 + + Sound the trumpet, no true knight's a tarrier! + De Lorge made one leap at the barrier, + Walked straight to the glove--while the lion + Ne'er moved, kept his far-reaching eye on + The palm-tree-edged desert-spring's sapphire, + And the musky oiled skin of the Kaffir-- + Picked it up, and as calmly retreated, + Leaped back where the lady was seated, + And full in the face of its owner + Flung the glove. + + "Your heart's queen, you dethrone her? 100 + So should I!"--cried the King--"'twas mere vanity + Not love set that task to humanity!" + Lords and ladies alike turned with loathing + From such a proved wolf in sheep's clothing. + + Not so, I; for I caught an expression + In her brow's undisturbed self-possession + Amid the Court's scoffing and merriment, + As if from no pleasing experiment + She rose, yet of pain not much heedful + So long as the process was needful,-- 110 + As if she had tried in a crucible, + To what "speeches like gold" were reducible, + And, finding the finest prove copper, + Felt the smoke in her face was but proper; + To know what she had not to trust to, + Was worth all the ashes and dust too. + She went out 'mid hooting and laughter; + Clement Marot stayed; I followed after, + And asked, as a grace, what it all meant? + If she wished not the rash deed's recalment? 120 + For I"--so I spoke--"am a poet: + Human nature,--behoves that I know it!" + + She told me, "Too long had I heard + Of the deed proved alone by the word: + For my love--what De Lorge would not dare! + With my scorn--what De Lorge could compare! + And the endless descriptions of death + He would brave when my lip formed a breath, + I must reckon as braved, or, of course, + Doubt his word--and moreover, perforce, 130 + For such gifts as no lady could spurn, + Must offer my love in return. + When I looked on your lion, it brought + All the dangers at once to my thought, + Encountered by all sorts of men, + Before he was lodged in his den-- + From the poor slave whose club or bare hands + Dug the trap, set the snare on the sands, + With no King and no Court to applaud, + By no shame, should he shrink, overawed, 140 + Yet to capture the creature made shift, + That his rude boys might laugh at the gift + --To the page who last leaped o'er the fence + Of the pit, on no greater pretence + Than to get back the bonnet he dropped, + Lest his pay for a week should be stopped. + So, wiser I judged it to make + One trial what 'death for my sake' + Really meant, while the power was yet mine, + + Than to wait until time should define 150 + Such a phrase not so simply as I, + Who took it to mean just 'to die.' + The blow a glove gives is but weak: + Does the mark yet discolour my cheek? + But when the heart suffers a blow, + Will the pain pass so soon, do you know?" + + I looked, as away she was sweeping. + And saw a youth eagerly keeping + As close as he dared to the doorway. + No doubt that a noble should more weigh 160 + His life than befits a plebeian; + And yet, had our brute been Nemean-- + (I judge by a certain calm fervour + The youth stepped with, forward to serve her) + --He'd have scarce thought you did him the worst turn + If you whispered "Friend, what you'd get, first earn!" + And when, shortly after, she carried + Her shame from the Court, and they married, + To that marriage some happiness, maugre + The voice of the Court, I dared augur. 170 + + For De Lorge, he made women with men vie, + Those in wonder and praise, these in envy; + And in short stood so plain a head taller. + That he wooed and won... how do you call her? + The beauty, that rose in the sequel + To the King's love, who loved her a week well. + And 'twas noticed he never would honour + De Lorge (who looked daggers upon her) + With the easy commission of stretching + His legs in the service, and fetching 180 + His wife, from her chamber, those straying + Sad gloves she was always mislaying, + While the King took the closet to chat in,-- + But of course this adventure came pat in. + And never the King told the story, + How bringing a glove brought such glory, + But the wife smiled--"His nerves are grown firmer: + Mine he brings now and utters no murmur." + + Venienti occurrite morbo! + With which moral I drop my theorbo. 190 + + NOTES: + "The Glove" gives a transcript from Court life, in Paris, + under Francis I. In making Ronsard the mouthpiece for + a deeper observation of the meaning of the incident he is + supposed to witness and describe than Marot and the rest + saw, characteristic differences between these two poets of + the time are brought out, the genuineness of courtly love + and chivalry is tested, and to the original story of the glove + is added a new view of the lady's character; a sketch of + her humbler and truer lover, and their happiness; and a + pendent scene showing the courtier De Lorges, having + won a beauty for his wife, in the ignominious position of + assisting the king to enjoy her favors and of submitting to + pleasantries upon his discomfiture. The original story as + told by Poullain de St. Croix in his Essais Historiques sur + Paris ran thus: "One day whilst Francis I amused himself + with looking at a combat between his lions, a lady, + having let her glove drop, said to De Lorges, 'If you + would have me believe that you love me as much as you + swear you do, go and bring back my glove.' De Lorges + went down, picked up the glove from amidst the ferocious + beasts, returned, and threw it in the lady's face; and in + spite of all her advances and cajoleries would never look + at her again.'' Schiller running across this anecdote of + St. Croix, in 1797, as he writes Goethe, wrote a poem + on it which adds nothing to the story. Leigh Hunt's + 'The Glove and the Lions' adds some traits. It characterizes + the lady as shallow and vain, with smiles and + eyes which always seem'd the same.'' She calculates + since "king, ladies, lovers, all look on," that "the occasion + is divine" to drop her glove and "prove his love, + then look at him and smile"; and after De Lorges has + returned and thrown the glove, "but not with love, right + in the lady's face,'' Hunt makes the king rise and swear + "rightly done! No love, quoth he, but vanity, sets love + a task like that!'' This is the material Browning worked + on; he makes use of this speech of the king's, but remodels + the lady's character wholly, and gives her an appreciative + lover, and also a keen-eyed young poet to tell her + story afresh and to reveal through his criticism the narrowness + of the Court and the Court poets. + + 12. Naso: Ovid. Love of the classics and curiosity as + to human nature were both characteristic of Peter Ronsard + (1524-1585), at one time page to Francis I, the + most erudite and original of French medieval poets. + + 45. Clement Marot: (1496-1544), Court poet to Francis I. + His nature and verse were simpler than Ronsard's, + and he belonged more peculiarly to his own day. + + 48. Versifies David: Marot was suspected of Protestant + leanings which occasioned his imprisonment twice, and put + him in need of the protection Francis and his sister gave + him. Among his works were sixty-five epistles addressed + to grandees, attesting his courtiership, and the paraphrase + of forty-nine of the Psalms to which Ronsard alludes. + + 50. Illum Juda, etc.: that lion of the tribe of Judah. + + 89. Venienti, etc.: Meet the coming disease; that is, + if evil be anticipated, don't wait till it seizes you, but + dare to assure yourself and then forestall it as the lady did. + + 190. Theorbo: an old Italian stringed instrument such as + pages used. + + + + +TIME'S REVENGES + + I've a Friend, over the sea; + I like him, but he loves me. + It all grew out of the books I write; + They find such favour in his sight + That he slaughters you with savage looks + Because you don't admire my books. + He does himself though,--and if some vein + Were to snap tonight in this heavy brain, + To-morrow month, if I lived to try, + Round should I just turn quietly, 10 + Or out of the bedclothes stretch my hand + Till I found him, come from his foreign land + To be my nurse in this poor place, + And make my broth and wash my face + And light my fire and, all the while, + Bear with his old good-humoured smile + That I told him "Better have kept away + Than come and kill me, night and day, + With, worse than fever throbs and shoots, + The creaking of his clumsy boots." 20 + I am as sure that this he would do, + As that Saint Paul's is striking two. + And I think I rather... woe is me! + --Yes, rather would see him than not see, + If lifting a hand could seat him there + Before me in the empty chair + To-night, when my head aches indeed, + And I can neither think nor read + Nor make these purple fingers hold + The pen; this garret's freezing cold! 30 + + And I've a Lady--there he wakes, + The laughing fiend and prince of snakes + Within me, at her name, to pray + Fate send some creature in the way + Of my love for her, to be down-torn, + Upthrust and outward-borne, + So I might prove myself that sea + Of passion which I needs must be! + Call my thoughts false and my fancies quaint + And my style infirm and its figures faint, 40 + All the critics say, and more blame yet, + And not one angry word you get. + But, please you, wonder I would put + My cheek beneath that lady's foot + Rather than trample under mine + That laurels of the Florentine, + And you shall see how the devil spends + A fire God gave for other ends! + I tell you, I stride up and down + This garret, crowned with love's best crown, 50 + And feasted with love's perfect feast, + To think I kill for her, at least, + Body and soul and peace and fame, + Alike youth's end and manhood's aim, + --So is my spirit, as flesh with sin, + Filled full, eaten out and in + With the face of her, the eyes of her, + The lips, the little chin, the stir + Of shadow round her mouth; and she + --I'll tell you,--calmly would decree 60 + That I should roast at a slow fire, + + If that would compass her desire + And make her one whom they invite + To the famous ball to-morrow night. + + There may be heaven; there must be hell; + Meantime, there is our earth here--well! + + NOTES: + "Time's Revenges." An author soliloquizes in his garret + over the fact that he possesses a friend who loves him and + would do anything in his power to serve him, but for + whom he cares almost nothing. At the same time he + himself loves a woman to such distraction that he counts + himself crowned with love's best crown while sacrificing + his soul, his body, his peace, and his fame in brooding on + his love, while she could calmly decree that he should + roast at a slow fire if it would compass her frivolously + ambitious designs. Thus his indifference to his friend is + avenged by the indifference the lady shows toward him. + + 46. The Florentine: Dante. Used here, seemingly, as + a symbol of the highest attainments in poesy, his (the + speaker's) reverence for which is so great that he would + rather put his cheek under his lady's foot than that poetry + should suffer any indignity at his hands; yet in spite of + all the possibilities open to him through his enthusiasm for + poetry, he prefers wasting his entire energies upon one + unworthy of him. + + + +THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND + + That second time they hunted me + From hill to plain, from shore to sea, + And Austria, hounding far and wide + Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side, + Breathed hot and instant on my trace,-- + I made six days a hiding-place + Of that dry green old aqueduct + Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked + The fire-flies from the roof above, + Bright creeping thro' the moss they love: 10 + --How long it seems since Charles was lost! + Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed + The country in my very sight; + And when that peril ceased at night, + The sky broke out in red dismay + With signal fires; well, there I lay + Close covered o'er in my recess, + Up to the neck in ferns and cress, + Thinking on Metternich our friend, + And Charles's miserable end, 20 + And much beside, two days; the third, + Hunger overcame me when I heard + The peasants from the village go + To work among the maize; you know, + With us in Lombardy, they bring + Provisions packed on mules, a string + With little bells that cheer their task, + And casks, and boughs on every cask + To keep the sun's heat from the wine; + These I let pass in jingling line, 30 + And, close on them, dear noisy crew, + The peasants from the village, too; + For at the very rear would troop + Their wives and sisters in a group + To help, I knew. When these had passed, + I threw my glove to strike the last, + Taking the chance: she did not start, + Much less cry out, but stooped apart, + One instant rapidly glanced round, + And saw me beckon from the ground. 40 + A wild bush grows and hides my crypt; + She picked my glove up while she stripped + A branch off, then rejoined the rest + With that; my glove lay in her breast. + Then I drew breath; they disappeared: + It was for Italy I feared. + + An hour, and she returned alone + Exactly where my glove was thrown. + Meanwhile came many thoughts: on me + Rested the hopes of Italy. 50 + I had devised a certain tale + Which, when 'twas told her, could not fail + Persuade a peasant of its truth; + I meant to call a freak of youth + This hiding, and give hopes of pay, + And no temptation to betray. + But when I saw that woman's face, + Its calm simplicity of grace, + Our Italy's own attitude + In which she walked thus far, and stood, 60 + Planting each naked foot so firm, + To crush the snake and spare the worm-- + At first sight of her eyes, I said, + "I am that man upon whose head + They fix the price, because I hate + The Austrians over us: the State + Will give you gold--oh, gold so much! + If you betray me to their clutch, + And be your death, for aught I know, + If once they find you saved their foe. 70 + Now, you must bring me food and drink, + And also paper, pen and ink, + And carry safe what I shall write + To Padua, which you'll reach at night + Before the duomo shuts; go in, + And wait till Tenebrae begin; + Walk to the third confessional, + Between the pillar and the wall, + And kneeling whisper, Whence comes peace? + Say it a second time, then cease; 80 + And if the voice inside returns, + From Christ and Freedom; what concerns + The cause of Peace?--for answer, slip + My letter where you placed your lip; + Then come back happy we have done + Our mother service--I, the son, + As you the daughter of our land!" + + Three mornings more, she took her stand + In the same place, with the same eyes: + I was no surer of sun-rise 90 + Than of her coming. We conferred + Of her own prospects, and I heard + She had a lover--stout and tall, + She said--then let her eyelids fall, + "He could do much"--as if some doubt + Entered her heart,--then, passing out + + "She could not speak for others, who + Had other thoughts; herself she knew," + And so she brought me drink and food. + After four days, the scouts pursued 100 + Another path; at last arrived + The help my Paduan friends contrived + To furnish me: she brought the news. + For the first time I could not choose + But kiss her hand, and lay my own + Upon her head--"This faith was shown + To Italy, our mother; she + Uses my hand and blesses thee." + She followed down to the sea-shore; + I left and never saw her more. 110 + + How very long since I have thought + Concerning--much less wished for--aught + Beside the good of Italy, + For which I live and mean to die! + I never was in love; and since + Charles proved false, what shall now convince + My inmost heart I have a friend? + However, if I pleased to spend + Real wishes on myself--say, three-- + I know at least what one should be. 120 + I would grasp Metternich until + I felt his red wet throat distil + In blood thro' these two hands. And next, + --Nor much for that am I perplexed-- + Charles, perjured traitor, for his part, + Should die slow of a broken heart + Under his new employers. Last + --Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast + Do I grow old and out of strength. + If I resolved to seek at length 130 + My father's house again, how scared + They all would look, and unprepared! + My brothers live in Austria's pay + --Disowned me long ago, men say; + And all my early mates who used + To praise me so-perhaps induced + More than one early step of mine-- + Are turning wise: while some opine + "Freedom grows license," some suspect + "Haste breeds delay," and recollect 140 + They always said, such premature + Beginnings never could endure! + So, with a sullen "All's for best," + The land seems settling to its rest. + I think then, I should wish to stand + This evening in that dear, lost land, + Over the sea the thousand miles, + And know if yet that woman smiles + With the calm smile; some little farm + She lives in there, no doubt: what harm 150 + If I sat on the door-side bench, + And, while her spindle made a trench + Fantastically in the dust, + Inquired of all her fortunes--just + Her children's ages and their names, + And what may be the husband's aims + For each of them. I'd talk this out, + And sit there, for an hour about, + Then kiss her hand once more, and lay + Mine on her head, and go my way. 160 + + So much for idle wishing--how + It steals the time! To business now. + + NOTES: + "The Italian in England." An Italian patriot who has taken + part in an unsuccessful revolt against Austrian dominance, + reflects upon the incidents of his escape and flight from + Italy to the end that if he ever should have a thought + beyond the welfare of Italy, he would wish first for the + discomfiture of his enemies and then to go and see once + more the noble woman who at the risk of her own life + helped him to escape. Though there is no exact historical + incident upon which this poem is founded, it has a + historical background. The Charles referred to (lines 8, + 11, 20, 116, 125) is Charles Albert, Prince of Carignano, of + the younger branch of the house of Savoy. His having + played with the patriot in his youth, as the poem says, is + quite possible, for Charles was brought up as a simple + citizen in a public school, and one of his chief friends was + Alberta Nota, a writer of liberal principles, whom he + made his secretary. As indicated in the poem, Charles + at first declared himself in sympathy, though in a somewhat + lukewarm manner, with the rising led by Santa Rosa against + Austrian domination in 1823, and upon the abdication of + Victor Emanuel he became regent of Turin. But when + the king Charles Felix issued a denunciation against the + new government, Charles Albert succumbed to the king's + threats and left his friends in the lurch. Later the Austrians + marched into the country, Santa Rosa was forced + to retreat from Turin, and, with his friends, he who might + well have been the very patriot of the poem was obliged + to fly from Italy. + + 19. Metternich: the distinguished Austrian diplomatist + and determined enemy of Italian independence. + + 76. Tenebrae: darkness. "The office of matins and + lauds, for the three last days in Holy Week. Fifteen + lighted candles are placed on a triangular stand, and at the + conclusion of each psalm one is put out till a single candle + is left at the top of the triangle. The extinction of the + other candles is said to figure the growing darkness of the + world at the time of the Crucifixion. The last candle + (which is not extinguished, but hidden behind the altar + for a few moments) represents Christ, over whom Death + could not prevail.'' (Dr. Berdoe) + + + + +THE ENGLISHMAN IN ITALY + + Piano di Sorrento + + Fortu, Fortu, my beloved one, + Sit here by my side, + On my knees put up both little feet! + I was sure, if I tried, + I could make you laugh spite of Scirocco. + Now, open your eyes, + Let me keep you amused till he vanish + In black from the skies, + With telling my memories over + As you tell your beads; 10 + All the Plain saw me gather, I garland + --The flowers or the weeds. + + Time for rain! for your long hot dry Autumn + Had net-worked with brown + The white skin of each grape on the bunches, + Marked like a quail's crown, + Those creatures you make such account of, + Whose heads--speckled white + Over brown like a great spider's back, + As I told you last night-- 20 + Your mother bites off for her supper. + Red-ripe as could be, + Pomegranates were chapping and splitting + In halves on the tree: + And betwixt the loose walls of great flintstone, + Or in the thick dust + On the path, or straight out of the rockside, + Wherever could thrust + Some burnt sprig of bold hardy rock-flower + Its yellow face up, 30 + For the prize were great butterflies fighting, + Some five for one cup. + So, I guessed, ere I got up this morning, + What change was in store, + By the quick rustle-down of the quail-nets + Which woke me before + I could open my shutter, made fast + With a bough and a stone, + And look thro' the twisted dead vine-twigs, + Sole lattice that's known. 40 + Quick and sharp rang the rings down the net-poles, + While, busy beneath, + Your priest and his brother tugged at them, + The rain in their teeth. + And out upon all the flat house-roofs + Where split figs lay drying, + The girls took the frails under cover: + Nor use seemed in trying + To get out the boats and go fishing, + For, under the cliff, 50 + Fierce the black water frothed o'er the blind-rock. + No seeing our skiff + Arrive about noon from Amalfi, + --Our fisher arrive, + And pitch down his basket before us, + All trembling alive + With pink and grey jellies, your sea-fruit; + You touch the strange lumps, + And mouths gape there, eyes open, all manner + Of horns and of humps, 60 + Which only the fisher looks grave at, + While round him like imps + Cling screaming the children as naked + And brown as his shrimps; + Himself too as bare to the middle + --You see round his neck + The string and its brass coin suspended, + That saves him from wreck. + But to-day not a boat reached Salerno, + So back, to a man, 70 + Came our friends, with whose help in the vineyards + Grape-harvest began. + In the vat, halfway up in our houseside, + Like blood the juice spins, + While your brother all bare-legged is dancing + Till breathless he grins + Dead-beaten in effort on effort + To keep the grapes under, + Since still when he seems all but master, + In pours the fresh plunder 80 + From girls who keep coming and going + With basket on shoulder, + And eyes shut against the rain's driving; + Your girls that are older,-- + For under the hedges of aloe, + And where, on its bed + Of the orchard's black mould, the love-apple + Lies pulpy and red, + All the young ones are kneeling and filling + Their laps with the snails 90 + Tempted out by this first rainy weather,-- + Your best of regales, + As to-night will be proved to my sorrow, + When, supping in state, + We shall feast our grape-gleaners (two dozen, + Three over one plate) + With lasagne so tempting to swallow, + In slippery ropes, + And gourds fried in great purple slices, + That colour of popes. 100 + Meantime, see the grape bunch they've brought you: + The rain-water slips + O'er the heavy blue bloom on each globe + Which the wasp to your lips + Still follows with fretful persistence: + Nay, taste, while awake, + This half of a curd-white smooth cheese-ball + That peels, flake by flake, + Like an onion, each smoother and whiter; + Next, sip this weak wine 110 + From the thin green glass flask, with its stopper, + A leaf of the vine; + And end with the prickly-pear's red flesh + That leaves thro' its juice + The stony black seeds on your pearl-teeth. + Scirocco is loose! + Hark, the quick, whistling pelt of the olives + Which, thick in one's track, + Tempt the stranger to pick up and bite them, + Tho' not yet half black! 120 + How the old twisted olive trunks shudder, + The medlars let fall + Their hard fruit, and the brittle great fig-trees + Snap off, figs and all, + For here comes the whole of the tempest! + No refuge, but creep + Back again to my side and my shoulder, + And listen or sleep. + O how will your country show next week, + When all the vine-boughs 130 + Have been stripped of their foliage to pasture + The mules and the cows? + Last eve, I rode over the mountains, + Your brother, my guide, + Soon left me, to feast on the myrtles + That offered, each side, + Their fruit-balls, black, glossy and luscious,-- + Or strip from the sorbs + A treasure, or, rosy and wondrous, + Those hairy gold orbs! 140 + But my mule picked his sure sober path out, + Just stopping to neigh + When he recognized down in the valley + His mates on their way + With the faggots and barrels of water; + And soon we emerged + From the plain, where the woods could scarce follow; + And still as we urged + Our way, the woods wondered, and left us, + As up still we trudged 150 + Though the wild path grew wilder each instant, + And place was e'en grudged + 'Mid the rock-chasms and piles of loose stones + Like the loose broken teeth + Of some monster which climbed there to die + From the ocean beneath-- + Place was grudged to the silver-grey fume-weed + That clung to the path, + And dark rosemary ever a-dying + That, 'spite the wind's wrath, 160 + So loves the salt rock's face to seaward, + And lentisks as staunch + To the stone where they root and bear berries, + And... what shows a branch + Coral-coloured, transparent, with circlets + Of pale seagreen leaves; + Over all trod my mule with the caution + Of gleaners o'er sheaves, + Still, foot after foot like a lad + Till, round after round, 170 + He climbed to the top of Calvano, + And God's own profound + Was above me, and round me the mountains, + And under, the sea, + And within me my heart to bear witness + What was and shall be. + + Oh, heaven and the terrible crystal! + No rampart excludes + Your eye from the life to be lived + In the blue solitudes. 180 + Oh, those mountains, their infinite movement! + Still moving with you; + For, ever some new head and breast of them + Thrusts into view + To observe the intruder; you see it + If quickly you turn + And, before they escape you surprise them. + They grudge you should learn + How the soft plains they look on, lean over + And love (they pretend) 190 + --Cower beneath them, the flat sea-pine crouches, + The wild fruit-trees bend, + E'en the myrtle-leaves curl, shrink and shut: + All is silent and grave: + 'Tis a sensual and timorous beauty, + How fair! but a slave. + So, I turned to the sea; and there slumbered + As greenly as ever + Those isles of the siren, your Galli; + No ages can sever 200 + The Three, nor enable their sister + To join them,--halfway + On the voyage, she looked at Ulysses-- + No farther to-day, + Tho' the small one, just launched in the wave, + Watches breast-high and steady + From under the rock, her bold sister + Swum halfway already. + Fortu, shall we sail there together + And see from the sides 210 + Quite new rocks show their faces, new haunts + Where the siren abides? + Shall we sail round and round them, close over + The rocks, tho' unseen, + That ruffle the grey glassy water + To glorious green? + Then scramble from splinter to splinter, + Reach land and explore, + On the largest, the strange square black turret + With never a door, 220 + Just a loop to admit the quick lizards; + Then, stand there and hear + The birds' quiet singing, that tells us + What life is, so clear? + --The secret they sang to Ulysses + When, ages ago, + He heard and he knew this life's secret + I hear and I know. + + Ah, see! The sun breaks o'er Calvano; + He strikes the great gloom 230 + And flutters it o'er the mount's summit + In airy gold fume. + All is over. Look out, see the gipsy, + Our tinker and smith, + Has arrived, set up bellows and forge, + And down-squatted forthwith + To his hammering, under the wall there; + One eye keeps aloof + The urchins that itch to be putting + His jews'-harps to proof, 240 + While the other, thro' locks of curled wire, + Is watching how sleek + Shines the hog, come to share in the windfall + --Chew, abbot's own cheek! + All is over. Wake up and come out now, + And down let us go, + And see the fine things got in order + At church for the show + Of the Sacrament, set forth this evening. + To-morrow's the Feast 250 + Of the Rosary's Virgin, by no means + Of Virgins the least, + As you'll hear in the off-hand discourse + Which (all nature, no art) + The Dominican brother, these three weeks, + Was getting by heart. + Not a pillar nor post but is dizened + With red and blue papers; + All the roof waves with ribbons, each altar + A-blaze with long tapers; 260 + But the great masterpiece is the scaffold + Rigged glorious to hold + All the fiddlers and fifers and drummers + And trumpeters bold, + Not afraid of Bellini nor Auber, + Who, when the priest's hoarse, + Will strike us up something that's brisk + For the feast's second course. + And then will the flaxen-wigged Image + Be carried in pomp 270 + Thro' the plain, while in gallant procession + The priests mean to stomp. + All round the glad church lie old bottles + With gunpowder stopped, + Which will be, when the Image re-enters, + Religiously popped; + And at night from the crest of Calvano + Great bonfires will hang, + On the plain will the trumpets join chorus, + And more poppers bang. 280 + At all events, come-to the garden + As far as the wall; + See me tap with a hoe on the plaster + Till out there shall fall + A scorpion with wide angry nippers! + + --"Such trifles!" you say? + Fortu, in my England at home, + Men meet gravely to-day + And debate, if abolishing Corn-laws + Be righteous and wise 290 + --If 'twere proper, Scirocco should vanish + In black from the skies! + + NOTES: + "The Italian in England." An Italian patriot who has taken + part in an unsuccessful revolt against Austrian dominance, + reflects upon the incidents of his escape and flight from + Italy to the end that if he ever should have a thought + beyond the welfare of Italy, he would wish first for the + discomfiture of his enemies and then to go and see once + more the noble woman who at the risk of her own life + helped him to escape. Though there is no exact historical + incident upon which this poem is founded, it has a + historical background. The Charles referred to (lines 8, + 11, 20, 116, 125) is Charles Albert, Prince of Carignano, of + the younger branch of the house of Savoy. His having + played with the patriot in his youth, as the poem says, is + quite possible, for Charles was brought up as a simple + citizen in a public school, and one of his chief friends was + Alberta Nota, a writer of liberal principles, whom he + made his secretary. As indicated in the poem, Charles + at first declared himself in sympathy, though in a somewhat + lukewarm manner, with the rising led by Santa Rosa against + Austrian domination in 1823, and upon the abdication of + Victor Emanuel he became regent of Turin. But when + the king Charles Felix issued a denunciation against the + new government, Charles Albert succumbed to the king's + threats and left his friends in the lurch. Later the Austrians + marched into the country, Santa Rosa was forced + to retreat from Turin, and, with his friends, he who might + well have been the very patriot of the poem was obliged + to fly from Italy. + + 19. Metternich: the distinguished Austrian diplomatist + and determined enemy of Italian independence. + + 76. Tenebrae: darkness. "The office of matins and + lauds, for the three last days in Holy Week. Fifteen + lighted candles are placed on a triangular stand, and at the + conclusion of each psalm one is put out till a single candle + is left at the top of the triangle. The extinction of the + other candles is said to figure the growing darkness of the + world at the time of the Crucifixion. The last candle + (which is not extinguished, but hidden behind the altar + for a few moments) represents Christ, over whom Death + could not prevail.'' (Dr. Berdoe) + + + + +IN A GONDOLA + + He sings. + + I send my heart up to thee, all my heart + In this my singing. + For the stars help me, and the sea bears part; + The very night is clinging + Closer to Venice' streets to leave one space + Above me, whence thy face + May light my joyous heart to thee its dwelling-place. + + She speaks. + + Say after me, and try to say + My very words, as if each word + Came from you of your own accord, 10 + In your own voice, in your own way: + "This woman's heart and soul and brain + Are mine as much as this gold chain + She bids me wear, which (say again) + I choose to make by cherishing + A precious thing, or choose to fling + Over the boat-side, ring by ring." + And yet once more say... no word more! + Since words are only words. Give o'er! + + Unless you call me, all the same, 20 + Familiarly by my pet name, + Which if the Three should hear you call, + And me reply to, would proclaim + At once our secret to them all. + Ask of me, too, command me, blame-- + Do, break down the partition-wall + 'Twixt us, the daylight world beholds + Curtained in dusk and splendid folds! + What's left but--all of me to take? + I am the Three's: prevent them, slake 30 + Your thirst! 'Tis said, the Arab sage, + In practising with gems, can loose + Their subtle spirit in his cruce + And leave but ashes: so, sweet mage, + Leave them my ashes when thy use + Sucks out my soul, thy heritage! + + + He sings. + + I + + Past we glide, and past, and past! + What's that poor Agnese doing + Where they make the shutters fast? + Grey Zanobi's just a-wooing 40 + To his couch the purchased bride: + Past we glide! + + II + + Past we glide, and past, and past! + Why's the Pucci Palace flaring + Like a beacon to the blast? + Guests by hundreds, not one caring + If the dear host's neck were wried: + Past we glide! + + She sings. + + I + + The moth's kiss, first! + Kiss me as if you made believe 50 + You were not sure, this eve, + How my face, your flower, had pursed + Its petals up; so, here and there + You brush it, till I grow aware + Who wants me, and wide ope I burst.. + + II + + The bee's kiss, now! + Kiss me as if you entered gay + My heart at some noonday, + A bud that dares not disallow + The claim, so all is rendered up, 60 + And passively its shattered cup + Over your head to sleep I bow. + + He sings. + + I + + What are we two? + I am a Jew, + And carry thee, farther than friends can pursue, + To a feast of our tribe; + Where they need thee to bribe + The devil that blasts them unless he imbibe. + Thy... Scatter the vision for ever! And now + As of old, I am I, thou art thou! 70 + + II + + Say again, what we are? + The sprite of a star, + I lure thee above where the destinies bar + My plumes their full play + Till a ruddier ray + Than my pale one announce there is withering away + Some... Scatter the vision forever! And now, + As of old, I am I, thou art thou! + + He muses. + + Oh, which were best, to roam or rest? + The land's lap or the water's breast? 80 + To sleep on yellow millet-sheaves, + Or swim in lucid shallows just + Eluding water-lily leaves, + An inch from Death's black fingers, thrust + To lock you, whom release he must; + Which life were best on Summer eves? + + He speaks, musing. + + Lie back; could thought of mine improve you? + From this shoulder let there spring + A wing; from this, another wing; + Wings, not legs and feet, shall move you! 90 + Snow-white must they spring, to blend + With your flesh, but I intend + They shall deepen to the end, + Broader, into burning gold, + Till both wings crescent-wise enfold + Your perfect self, from 'neath your feet + To o'er your head, where, lo, they meet + As if a million sword-blades hurled + Defiance from you to the world! + + Rescue me thou, the only real! 100 + And scare away this mad ideal + That came, nor motions to depart! + Thanks! Now, stay ever as thou art! + + Still he muses. + + I + + What if the Three should catch at last + Thy serenader? While there's cast + Paul's cloak about my head, and fast + Gian pinions me, Himself has past + His stylet thro' my back; I reel; + And... is it thou I feel? + + II + + They trail me, these three godless knaves, 110 + Past every church that saints and saves, + Nor stop till, where the cold sea raves + By Lido's wet accursed graves, + They scoop mine, roll me to its brink, + And... on thy breast I sink! + + She replies, musing. + + Dip your arm o'er the boat-side, elbow-deep, + As I do: thus: were death so unlike sleep, + Caught this way? Death's to fear from flame or steel, + Or poison doubtless; but from water--feel! + Go find the bottom! Would you stay me? There! 120 + Now pluck a great blade of that ribbon-grass + To plait in where the foolish jewel was, + I flung away: since you have praised my hair, + 'Tis proper to be choice in what I wear. + + He speaks. + + Row home? must we row home? Too surely + Know I where its front's demurely + Over the Giudecca piled; + Window just with window mating, + Door on door exactly waiting, + All's the set face of a child: 130 + But behind it, where's a trace + Of the staidness and reserve, + And formal lines without a curve, + In the same child's playing-face? + No two windows look one way + O'er the small sea-water thread + Below them. Ah, the autumn day + I, passing, saw you overhead! + First, out a cloud of curtain blew, + Then a sweet cry, and last came you-- 140 + To catch your lory that must needs + Escape just then, of all times then, + To peck a tall plant's fleecy seeds, + And make me happiest of men. + I scarce could breathe to see you reach + So far back o'er the balcony + To catch him ere he climbed too high + Above you in the Smyrna peach + That quick the round smooth cord of gold, + This coiled hair on your head, unrolled, 150 + Fell down you like a gorgeous snake + The Roman girls were wont, of old, + When Rome there was, for coolness' sake + To let lie curling o'er their bosoms. + Dear lory, may his beak retain + Ever its delicate rose stain + As if the wounded lotus-blossoms + Had marked their thief to know again! + + Stay longer yet, for others' sake + Than mine! What should your chamber do? 160 + --With all its rarities that ache + In silence while day lasts, but wake + At night-time and their life renew, + Suspended just to pleasure you + Who brought against their will together + These objects, and, while day lasts, weave + Around them such a magic tether + That dumb they look: your harp, believe, + With all the sensitive tight strings + Which dare not speak, now to itself 170 + Breathes slumberously, as if some elf + Went in and out the chords, his wings + Make murmur wheresoe'er they graze, + As an angel may, between the maze + Of midnight palace-pillars, on + And on, to sow God's plagues, have gone + Through guilty glorious Babylon. + And while such murmurs flow, the nymph + Bends o'er the harp-top from her shell + As the dry limpet for the nymph 180 + Come with a tune he knows so well. + And how your statues' hearts must swell! + And how your pictures must descend + To see each other, friend with friend! + Oh, could you take them by surprise, + You'd find Schidone's eager Duke + Doing the quaintest courtesies + To that prim saint by Haste-thee-Luke! + And, deeper into her rock den, + Bold Castelfranco's Magdalen 190 + You'd find retreated from the ken + Of that robed counsel-keeping Ser-- + As if the Tizian thinks of her, + And is not, rather, gravely bent + On seeing for himself what toys + Are these, his progeny invent, + What litter now the board employs + Whereon he signed a document + That got him murdered! Each enjoys + Its night so well, you cannot break 200 + The sport up, so, indeed must make + More stay with me, for others' sake. + + She speaks. + + I + + To-morrow, if a harp-string, say, + Is used to tie the jasmine back + That overfloods my room with sweets, + Contrive your Zorzi somehow meets + My Zanze! If the ribbon's black, + The Three are watching: keep away! + + II + + Your gondola--let Zorzi wreathe + A mesh of water weeds about 210 + Its prow, as if he unaware + Had struck some quay or bridge-foot stair! + That I may throw a paper out + As you and he go underneath. + There's Zanze's vigilant taper; safe are we. + Only one minute more to-night with me? + Resume your past self of a month ago! + Be you the bashful gallant, I will be + The lady with the colder breast than snow. + Now bow you, as becomes, nor touch my hand 220 + More than I touch yours when I step to land, + And say, "All thanks, Siora!"-- + Heart to heart + And lips to lips! Yet once more, ere we part, + Clasp me and make me thine, as mine thou art! + + [He is surprised, and stabbed. + + It was ordained to be so, sweet!--and best + Comes now, beneath thine eyes, upon thy breast. + Still kiss me! Care not for the cowards! Care + Only to put aside thy beauteous hair + My blood will hurt! The Three, I do not scorn + To death, because they never lived: but I 230 + Have lived indeed, and so--(yet one more kiss)--can die! + + NOTES: + "In a Gondola" is a lyric dialogue between two Venetian + lovers who have stolen away in a gondola spite of "the + three"--"Himself'," perhaps a husband, and "Paul" + and "Gian," her brothers--whose vengeance discovers + them at the end, but not before their love and danger + have moved them to weave a series of lyrical fancies, and + led them to a climax of emotion which makes Life so + deep a joy that Death is of no account. + + "The first stanza was written,'' writes Browning, + "to illustrate Maclise's picture, for which he was anxious + to get some line or two. I had not seen it, but from + Forster's description, gave it to him in his room + impromptu.... When I did see it I thought the serenade + too jolly, somewhat, for the notion I got from Forster, + and I took up the subject in my own way.'' + + 113. Lido's... graves: Jewish tombs were there. + + 127. Giudecca: a canal of Venice. + + 155. Lory: a kind of parrot. + + 186. Schidone's eager Duke: an imaginary painting by + Bartolommeo Schidone of Modena (1560-1616). + + 188. Haste-thee-Luke: the English form of the nickname, + Luca-fa-presto, given Luca Giordano (1632-1705), + a Neapolitan painter, on account of his constantly being + goaded on in his work by his penurious and avaricious + father. + + 190. Castelfranco: the Venetian painter, Giorgione, + called Castelfranco, because born there, 1478, died 1511. + + 193. Tizian: (1477-1516). The pictures are all imaginary, + but suggestive of the style of each of these artists. + + + + +WARING + + [Mr. Alfred Domett, C.M.G., author of + "Ranolf and Amohia," full of descriptions of + New Zealand scenery.] + + I + + What's become of Waring + Since he gave us all the slip, + Chose land-travel or seafaring, + Boots and chest or staff and scrip, + Rather than pace up and down + Any longer London town? + + II + + Who'd have guessed it from his lip + Or his brow's accustomed bearing, + On the night he thus took ship + Or started landward?--little caring 10 + For us, it seems, who supped together + (Friends of his too, I remember) + And walked home thro' the merry weather, + The snowiest in all December. + I left his arm that night myself + For what's-his-name's, the new prose-poet + Who wrote the book there, on the shelf-- + How, forsooth, was I to know it + If Waring meant to glide away + Like a ghost at break of day? 20 + Never looked he half so gay! + + III + + He was prouder than the devil: + How he must have cursed our revel! + Ay and many other meetings, + Indoor visits, outdoor greetings, + As up and down he paced this London, + With no work done, but great works undone, + Where scarce twenty knew his name. + Why not, then, have earlier spoken, + Written, bustled? Who's to blame 30 + If your silence kept unbroken? + "True, but there were sundry jottings, + Stray-leaves, fragments, blurs and blottings, + Certain first steps were achieved + Already which (is that your meaning?) + Had well borne out whoe'er believed + In more to come!" But who goes gleaning + Hedgeside chance-glades, while full-sheaved + Stand cornfields by him? Pride, o'erweening + Pride alone, puts forth such claims 40 + O'er the day's distinguished names. + + IV + + Meantime, how much I loved him, + I find out now I've lost him. + I who cared not if I moved him, + Who could so carelessly accost him, + Henceforth never shall get free + Of his ghostly company, + His eyes that just a little wink + As deep I go into the merit + Of this and that distinguished spirit-- 50 + His cheeks' raised colour, soon to sink, + As long I dwell on some stupendous + And tremendous (Heaven defend us!) + Monstr'-inform'-ingens-horrend-ous + Demoniaco-seraphic + Penman's latest piece of graphic. + Nay, my very wrist grows warm + With his dragging weight of arm. + E'en so, swimmingly appears, + Through one's after-supper musings, 60 + Some lost lady of old years + With her beauteous vain endeavour + And goodness unrepaid as ever; + The face, accustomed to refusings, + We, puppies that we were... Oh never + Surely, nice of conscience, scrupled + Being aught like false, forsooth, to? + Telling aught but honest truth to? + What a sin, had we centupled + Its possessor's grace and sweetness! 70 + No! she heard in its completeness + Truth, for truth's a weighty matter, + And truth, at issue, we can't flatter! + Well, 'tis done with; she's exempt + From damning us thro' such a sally; + And so she glides, as down a valley, + Taking up with her contempt, + Past our reach; and in, the flowers + Shut her unregarded hours. + + V + + Oh, could I have him back once more, 80 + This Waring, but one half-day more! + Back, with the quiet face of yore, + So hungry for acknowledgment + Like mine! I'd fool him to his bent. + Feed, should not he, to heart's content? + I'd say, "to only have conceived, + Planned your great works, apart from progress, + Surpasses little works achieved!" + I'd lie so, I should be believed. + I'd make such havoc of the claims 90 + Of the day's distinguished names + To feast him with, as feasts an ogress + Her feverish sharp-toothed gold-crowned child! + Or as one feasts a creature rarely + Captured here, unreconciled + To capture; and completely gives + Its pettish humours license, barely + Requiring that it lives. + + VI + + Ichabod, Ichabod, + The glory is departed! 100 + Travels Waring East away? + Who, of knowledge, by hearsay, + Reports a man upstarted + Somewhere as a god, + Hordes grown European-hearted, + Millions of the wild made tame + On a sudden at his fame? + In Vishnu-land what Avatar? + Or who in Moscow, toward the Czar, + With the demurest of footfalls 110 + Over the Kremlin's pavement bright + With serpentine and syenite, + Steps, with five other Generals + That simultaneously take snuff, + For each to have pretext enough + And kerchiefwise unfold his sash + Which, softness' self, is yet the stuff + To hold fast where a steel chain snaps, + And leave the grand white neck no gash? + Waring in Moscow, to those rough 120 + Cold northern natures born perhaps, + Like the lamb-white maiden dear + From the circle of mute kings + Unable to repress the tear, + Each as his sceptre down he flings, + To Dian's fane at Taurica, + Where now a captive priestess, she alway + Mingles her tender grave Hellenic speech + With theirs, tuned to the hailstone-beaten beach + As pours some pigeon, from the myrrhy lands 130 + Rapt by the whirlblast to fierce Scythian strands + Where breed the swallows, her melodious cry + Amid their barbarous twitter! + In Russia? Never! Spain were fitter! + Ay, most likely 'tis in Spain + That we and Waring meet again + Now, while he turns down that cool narrow lane + Into the blackness, out of grave Madrid + All fire and shine, abrupt as when there's slid + Its stiff gold blazing pall 140 + From some black coffin-lid. + Or, best of all, + I love to think + The leaving us was just a feint; + Back here to London did he slink, + And now works on without a wink + Of sleep, and we are on the brink + Of something great in fresco-paint: + Some garret's ceiling, walls and floor, + Up and down and o'er and o'er 150 + He splashes, as none splashed before + Since great Caldara Polidore. + Or Music means this land of ours + Some favour yet, to pity won + By Purcell from his Rosy Bowers-- + "Give me my so-long promised son, + Let Waring end what I begun!" + Then down he creeps and out he steals + Only when the night conceals + His face; in Kent 'tis cherry-time, 160 + Or hops are picking: or at prime + Of March he wanders as, too happy, + Years ago when he was young, + Some mild eve when woods grew sappy + And the early moths had sprung + To life from many a trembling sheath + Woven the warm boughs beneath; + While small birds said to themselves + What should soon be actual song, + And young gnats, by tens and twelves, 170 + Made as if they were the throng + That crowd around and carry aloft + The sound they have nursed, so sweet and pure, + Out of a myriad noises soft, + Into a tone that can endure + Amid the noise of a July noon + When all God's creatures crave their boon, + All at once and all in tune, + And get it, happy as Waring then, + Having first within his ken 180 + What a man might do with men: + And far too glad, in the even-glow, + To mix with the world he meant to take + Into his hand, he told you, so-- + And out of it his world to make, + To contract and to expand + As he shut or oped his hand. + Oh Waring, what's to really be? + A clear stage and a crowd to see! + Some Garrick, say, out shall not he 190 + The heart of Hamlet's mystery pluck? + Or, where most unclean beasts are rife, + Some Junius--am I right?--shall tuck + His sleeve, and forth with flaying-knife! + Some Chatterton shall have the luck + Of calling Rowley into life! + Some one shall somehow run a muck + With this old world for want of strife + Sound asleep. Contrive, contrive + To rouse us, Waring! Who's alive? 200 + Our men scarce seem in earnest now. + Distinguished names!--but 'tis, somehow, + As if they played at being names + Still more distinguished, like the games + Of children. Turn our sport to earnest + With a visage of the sternest! + Bring the real times back, confessed + Still better than our very best! + + II + + I + + "When I last saw Waring..." + (How all turned to him who spoke! 210 + You saw Waring? Truth or joke? + In land-travel or sea-faring?) + + II + + "We were sailing by Triest + Where a day or two we harboured: + A sunset was in the West, + When, looking over the vessel's side, + One of our company espied + A sudden speck to larboard. + And as a sea-duck flies and swims + At once, so came the light craft up, 220 + With its sole lateen sail that trims + And turns (the water round its rims + Dancing, as round a sinking cup) + And by us like a fish it curled, + And drew itself up close beside, + Its great sail on the instant furled, + And o'er its thwarts a shrill voice cried, + (A neck as bronzed as a Lascar's) + 'Buy wine of us, you English Brig? + Or fruit, tobacco and cigars? 230 + A pilot for you to Triest? + Without one, look you ne'er so big, + They'll never let you up the bay! + We natives should know best.' + I turned, and 'just those fellows' way,' + Our captain said, 'The 'long-shore thieves + Are laughing at us in their sleeves.' + + III + + "In truth, the boy leaned laughing back; + And one, half-hidden by his side + Under the furled sail, soon I spied, 240 + With great grass hat and kerchief black, + Who looked up with his kingly throat, + Said somewhat, while the other shook + His hair back from his eyes to look + Their longest at us; then the boat, + I know not how, turned sharply round, + Laying her whole side on the sea + As a leaping fish does; from the lee + Into the weather, cut somehow + Her sparkling path beneath our bow 250 + And so went off, as with a bound, + Into the rosy and golden half + O' the sky, to overtake the sun + And reach the shore, like the sea-calf + Its singing cave; yet I caught one + Glance ere away the boat quite passed, + And neither time nor toil could mar + Those features: so I saw the last + Of Waring!"--You? Oh, never star + Was lost here but it rose afar! 260 + Look East, where whole new thousands are! + In Vishnu-land what Avatar? + + NOTES: + "Waring." In recounting the sudden disappearance from + among his friends of a man proud and sensitive, who with + fine powers of intellect yet incurred somewhat of disdain + because of his failure to accomplish anything permanent, + expression is given to the deep regret experienced by his + friends now that he has left them, his absence having + brought them to a truer realization of his worth. If only + Waring would come back, the speaker, at least, would + give him the sympathy and encouragement he craved + instead of playing with his sensibilities as he had done. + Conjectures are indulged in as to Waring's whereabouts. + The speaker prefers to think of him as back in London + preparing to astonish the world with some great masterpiece + in art, music, or literature. Another speaker surprises all + by telling how he had seen the "last of Waring" in a + momentary meeting at Trieste, but the first speaker is + certain that the star of Waring is destined to rise again + above their horizon. + + 1. Waring: Alfred Domett (born at Camberwell + Grove, Surrey, May 20, 1811), a friend of Browning's, + distinguished as a poet and as a Colonial statesman and + ruler. His first volume of poems was published in 1832. + Some verses of his in Blackwood's, 1837, attracted much + attention to him as a rising young poet. In 1841 he + was called to the bar, and in 1841 went out to New + Zealand among the earliest settlers. There he lived for + thirty years, filling several important official positions. + His unceremonious departure for New Zealand with no + leave-takings was the occasion of Browning's poem, which + is said by Mrs. Orr to give a lifelike sketch of Domett's + character. His "star" did, however, rise again for his + English friends, for he returned to London in 1871. The + year following saw the publication of his "Ranolf and + Amohia," a New Zealand poem, in the course of which + he characterizes Browning as "Subtlest Asserter of the + Soul in Song." He met Browning again in London, and + was one of the vice-presidents of the London Browning + Society. Died Nov.12, 1877. + + 15. I left his arm that night myself: George W. Cooke + points out that in his Living Authors of England + Thomas Powell describes this incident, the "young author" + mentioned being himself: "We have a vivid + recollection of the last time we saw him. It was at + an evening party, a few days before he sailed from + England; his intimate friend, Mr. Browning, was also + present. It happened that the latter was introduced that + evening for the first time to a young author who had just + then appeared in the literary world. This, consequently, + prevented the two friends from conversation, and they + parted from each other without the slightest idea on Mr. + Browning's part that he was seeing his old friend Domett + for the last time. Some days after, when he found that + Domett had sailed, he expressed in strong terms to the + writer of this sketch the self-reproach he felt at having + preferred the conversation of a stranger to that of his + old associate." + + 54. Monstr'-inform'-ingens-horrend-ous: a slight transposition + of part of a line in Virgil describing Polyphemus, + "Monstrum horrendum informe ingens," a monster horrid, + misshapen, huge. + + 55. Demoniaco-seraphic: these two lines form a compound + of adjectives humorously used by Browning to express + the inferiority of the writers he praised to Waring. + + 99. Ichabod: "Ichabod, the glory is departed." I Samuel + IV. 21. + + 112. syenite: Egyptian granite + + 122. Lamb-white maiden: Iphigenia, who was borne + away to Taurus by Diana, when her father, Agamemnon, + was about to sacrifice her to obtain favorable winds for + his expedition to Troy. + + 152. Caldara Polidore: Surnamed da Caravaggio. He was + born in Milan in 1492, went to Rome and was employed by + Raphael to paint the friezes in the Vatican. He was murdered + by a servant in Messina, 1543. + + 155. Purcell: an eminent English musician, composer + of church music, operas, songs, and instrumental music. + (1658-1695).--Rosy Bowers: One of Purcell's most + celebrated songs. "'From Rosie Bowers' is said to + have been set in his last sickness, at which time he seems + to have realized the poetical fable of the Swan and to have + sung more sweetly as he approached nearer his dissolution, + for it seems to us as if no one of his productions was + so elevated, so pleasing, so expressive, and throughout so + perfect as this" (Rees's Cyclopaedia, 1819). + + 190. Garrick: David, an English actor, celebrated + especially for his Shakespearian parts (1716-1779). + + 193. Junius: the assumed name of a political writer + who in 1769 began to issue in London a series of famous + letters which opposed the ministry in power, and denounced + several eminent persons with severe invective and pungent + sarcasm. + + 195. Some Chatterton shall have the luck of calling + Rowley into life: the chief claim to celebrity of Thomas + Chatterton (1752-1770) is the real or pretended discovery + of poems said to have been written in the fifteenth century + by Thomas Rowley, a priest of Bristol, and found + in Radcliffe church, of which Chatterton's ancestors had + been sextons for many years. They are now generally + considered Chatterton's own. + + + + +THE TWINS + + "Give" and "It-shall-be-given-unto-you" + + I + + Grand rough old Martin Luther + Bloomed fables-flowers on furze, + The better the uncouther: + Do roses stick like burrs? + + II + + A beggar asked an alms + One day at an abbey-door, + Said Luther; but, seized with qualms, + The abbot replied, "We're poor!" + + III + + "Poor, who had plenty once, + When gifts fell thick as rain: 10 + But they give us nought, for the nonce, + And now should we give again?" + + IV + + Then the beggar, "See your sins! + Of old, unless I err, + Ye had brothers for inmates, twins, + Date and Dabitur. + + V + + "While Date was in good case + Dabitur flourished too: + For Dabitur's lenten face + No wonder if Date rue. 20 + + VI + + "Would ye retrieve the one? + Try and make plump the other! + When Date's penance is done, + Dabitur helps his brother. + + VII + + "Only, beware relapse!" + The Abbot hung his head. + This beggar might be perhaps + An angel, Luther said. + + NOTES: + "The Twins" versifies a story told by Martin Luther in + his "Table Talk," in which the saying, "Give and it + shall be given unto you," is quaintly personified by the + Latin words equivalent in meaning: Date, "Give," and + Dabitur, "It-shall-be-given-unto-you." + + I. Martin Luther: (1483-1546), the leader of the Reformation. + + + + +A LIGHT WOMAN + + I + + So far as our story approaches the end, + Which do you pity the most of us three? + My friend, or the mistress of my friend + With her wanton eyes, or me? + + II + + My friend was already too good to lose, + And seemed in the way of improvement yet, + When she crossed his path with her hunting noose + And over him drew her net. + + III + + When I saw him tangled in her toils, + A shame, said I, if she adds just him 10 + To her nine-and-ninety other spoils, + The hundredth for a whim! + + IV + + And before my friend be wholly hers, + How easy to prove to him, I said, + An eagle's the game her pride prefers, + Though she snaps at a wren instead! + + V + + So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take, + My hand sought hers as in earnest need, + And round she turned for my noble sake, + And gave me herself indeed. 20 + + VI + + The eagle am I, with my fame in the world, + The wren is he, with his maiden face. + You look away and your lip is curled? + Patience, a moment's space! + + VII + + For see, my friend goes shaking and white; + He eyes me as the basilisk: + I have turned, it appears, his day to night, + Eclipsing his sun's disk. + + VIII + + And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief: + "Though I love her--that, he comprehends-- 30 + One should master one's passions (love, in chief) + And be loyal to one's friends!" + + IX + + And she,--she lies in my hand as tame + As a pear late basking over a wall; + Just a touch to try and off it came; + 'Tis mine,--can I let it fall? + + X + + With no mind to eat it, that's the worst! + Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist? + 'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst + When I gave its stalk a twist. 40 + + XI + + And I,--what I seem to my friend, you see: + What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess: + What I seem to myself, do you ask of me? + No hero, I confess. + + XII + + 'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, + And matter enough to save one's own: + Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals + He played with for bits of stone! + + XIII + + One likes to show the truth for the truth; + That the woman was light is very true: 50 + But suppose she says,--Never mind that youth! + What wrong have I done to you? + + XIV + + Well, any how, here the story stays, + So far at least as I understand; + And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays, + Here's a subject made to your hand! + + NOTES: + "A Light Woman" is the story of a dramatic situation brought + about by the speaker's intermeddling to save his less + sophisticated friend from a light woman's toils. He + deflects her interest and wins her heart, and this is the + ironical outcome: his friendly, dispassionate act makes him + seem to his friend a disloyal passion's slave; his scorn of + the light woman teaches him her genuineness, and proves + himself lighter than she; his futile assumption of the god + manoeuvring souls makes the whole story dramatically imply, + in a way dear to Browning's heart, the sacredness and worth + of each individuality. + + [I cannot agree with Porter and Clarke's estimate of the + speaker's act as "friendly, dispassionate." They fail to + take into account his supercilious attitude toward the man + he calls his friend, and he proves to be more self-serving-- + and more self-deceiving--than they are willing to admit. + That is why it is a subject made to Browning's hand.-- + [Transcriber of the PG text] + + + + +THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER + + I + + I said--Then, dearest, since 'tis so, + Since now at length my fate I know, + Since nothing all my love avails, + Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails, + Since this was written and needs must be-- + My whole heart rises up to bless + Your name in pride and thankfulness! + Take back the hope you gave--I claim + Only a memory of the same, + --And this beside, if you will not blame, 10 + Your leave for one more last ride with me. + + II + + My mistress bent that brow of hers; + Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs + When pity would be softening through, + Fixed me a breathing-while or two + With life or death in the balance: right! + The blood replenished me again; + My last thought was at least not vain: + I and my mistress, side by side + Shall be together, breathe and ride, 20 + So, one day more am I deified. + Who knows but the world may end tonight? + + III + + Hush! if you saw some western cloud + All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed + By many benedictions--sun's + And moon's and evening-star's at once-- + And so, you, looking and loving best, + Conscious grew, your passion drew + Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too, + Down on you, near and yet more near, 30 + Till flesh must fade for heaven was here!-- + Thus leant she and lingered--joy and fear! + Thus lay she a moment on my breast. + + IV + + Then we began to ride. My soul + Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll + Freshening and fluttering in the wind. + Past hopes already lay behind. + What need to strive with a life awry? + Had I said that, had I done this, + So might I gain, so might I miss. 40 + Might she have loved me? just as well + She might have hated, who can tell! + Where had I been now if the worst befell? + And here we are riding, she and I. + + V + + Fail I alone, in words and deeds? + Why, all men strive and who succeeds? + We rode; it seemed my spirit flew, + Saw other regions, cities new + As the world rushed by on either side. + I thought,--All labour, yet no less 50 + Bear up beneath their unsuccess + Look at the end of work, contrast + The petty done, the undone vast, + This present of theirs with the hopeful past! + I hoped she would love me; here we ride. + + VI + + What hand and brain went ever paired? + What heart alike conceived and dared? + What act proved all its thought had been? + What will but felt the fleshly screen? 60 + We ride and I see her bosom heave. + There's many a crown for who can reach. + Ten lines, a statesman's life in each! + The flag stuck on a heap of bones, + A soldier's doing! what atones? + They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones. + My riding is better, by their leave. + + VII + + What does it all mean, poet? Well, + Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell + What we felt only; you expressed 70 + You hold things beautiful the best, + And pace them in rhyme so, side by side. + 'Tis something, nay 'tis much: but then, + Have you yourself what's best for men? + Are you--poor, sick, old ere your time-- + Nearer one whit your own sublime + Than we who never have turned a rhyme? + Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride. + + VIII + + And you, great sculptor--so, you gave + A score of years to Art, her slave, 80 + And that's your Venus, whence we turn + To yonder girl that fords the burn! + You acquiesce, and shall I repine? + What, man of music, you grown grey + With notes and nothing else to say, + Is this your sole praise from a friend, + "Greatly his opera's strains intend, + Put in music we know how fashions end!" + I gave my youth; but we ride, in fine. + + IX + + Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate 90 + Proposed bliss here should sublimate + My being--had I signed the bond-- + Still one must lead some life beyond, + Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. + This foot once planted on the goal, + This glory-garland round my soul, + Could I descry such? Try and test! + I sink back shuddering from the quest. + Earth being so good, would heaven seem best? + Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride. + + X + + And yet--she has not spoke so long! 100 + What if heaven be that, fair and strong + At life's best, with our eyes upturned + Whither life's flower is first discerned, + We, fixed so, ever should so abide? + What if we still ride on, we two + With life for ever old yet new, + Changed not in kind but in degree, + The instant made eternity-- + And heaven just prove that I and she + Ride, ride together, forever ride? 110 + + NOTES: + "The Last Ride Together." The rapture of a rejected lover + in the one more last ride which he asks for and obtains, + discovers for him the all-sufficing glory of love in itself. + Soldiership, statesmanship, art are disproportionate in their + results; love can be its own reward, yes, heaven itself. + + + + +THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN: + + A CHILD'S STORY. + + (Written for, and inscribed to, W. M. the Younger.) + + I + + Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, + By famous Hanover city; + The river Weser, deep and wide, + Washes its wall on the southern side; + A pleasanter spot you never spied; + But, when begins my ditty, + Almost five hundred years ago, + To see the townsfolk suffer so + From vermin, was a pity. + + II + + Rats! 10 + They fought the dogs and killed the cats, + And bit the babies in the cradles, + And ate the cheeses out of the vats, + And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, + Split open the kegs of salted sprats, + Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, + And even spoiled the women's chats + By drowning their speaking + With shrieking and squeaking + In fifty different sharps and flats. 20 + + III + + At last the people in a body + To the Town Hall came flocking + "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy, + And as for our Corporation--shocking + To think we buy gowns lined with ermine + For dolts that can't or won't determine + What's best to rid us of our vermin! + You hope, because you're old and obese, + To find in the furry civic robe ease? + Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking 30 + To find the remedy we're lacking, + Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" + At this the Mayor and Corporation + Quaked with a mighty consternation. + + IV + + An hour they sat in council, + At length the Mayor broke silence: + "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell, + I wish I were a mile hence! + It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-- + I'm sure my poor head aches again, 40 + I've scratched it so, and all in vain. + Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" + Just as he said this, what should hap + At the chamber door but a gentle tap? + "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" + (With the Corporation as he sat, + Looking little though wondrous fat; + Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister + Than a too-long-opened oyster, + Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous 50 + For a plate of turtle green and glutinous) + "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? + Anything like the sound of a rat + Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!" + + V + + "Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger: + And in did come the strangest figure! + His queer long coat from heel to head + Was half of yellow and half of red, + And he himself was tall and thin, + With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, 60 + And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, + No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, + But lips where smiles went out and in; + There was no guessing his kith and kin: + And nobody could enough admire + The tall man and his quaint attire. + Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, + Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, + Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!" + + VI + + He advanced to the council-table 70 + And, "Please your honours," said he, "I'm able, + By means of a secret charm, to draw + All creatures living beneath the sun, + That creep or swim or fly or run, + After me so as you never saw! + And I chiefly use my charm + On creatures that do people harm, + The mole and toad and newt and viper; + And people call me the Pied Piper." + (And here they noticed round his neck 80 + A scarf of red and yellow stripe, + To match with his coat of the self-same cheque + And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; + And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying + As if impatient to be playing + Upon this pipe, as low it dangled + Over his vesture so old-fangled.) + "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, + In Tartary I freed the Cham, + Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; 90 + I eased in Asia the Nizam + Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats: + And as for what your brain bewilders, + If I can rid your town of rats + Will you give me a thousand guilders?" + "One? fifty thousand!"-was the exclamation + Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. + + VII + + Into the street the Piper stept, + Smiling first a little smile, + As if he knew what magic slept 100 + In his quiet pipe the while; + Then, like a musical adept + To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, + And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled + Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; + And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, + You heard as if an army muttered; + And the muttering grew to a grumbling; + And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; + And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. 110 + Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, + Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, + Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, + Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, + Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, + Families by tens and dozens, + Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- + Followed the Piper for their lives. + From street to street he piped advancing, + And step for step they followed dancing, 120 + Until they came to the river Weser + Wherein all plunged and perished! + --Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, + Swam across and lived to carry + (As he, the manuscript he cherished) + To Rat-land home his commentary: + Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, + I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, + And putting apples, wondrous ripe, + Into a cider-press's gripe: 130 + And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, + And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, + And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, + And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: + And it seemed as if a voice + (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery + Is breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice! + The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! + So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, + Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' 140 + And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, + All ready staved, like a great sun shone + Glorious scarce an inch before me + Just as methought it said 'Come, bore me!' + --I found the Weser roiling o'er me." + + VIII + + You should have heard the Hamelin people + Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. + "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles, + Poke out the nests and block up the holes! + Consult with carpenters and builders, 150 + And leave in our town not even a trace + Of the rats!"-when suddenly, up the face + Of the Piper perked in the market-place, + With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!" + + IX + + A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; + So did the Corporation too. + For council dinners made rare havoc + With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; + And half the money would replenish + Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. 160 + This sum to a wandering fellow + With a gipsy coat of red and yellow! + "Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, + Our business was done at the river's brink; + We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, + And what's dead can't come to life, I think. + So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink + From the duty of giving you something for drink, + And a matter of money to put in your poke; + But as for the guilders, what we spoke 170 + Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. + Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. + A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!" + + X + + The Piper's face fell, and he cried: + "No trifling! I can't wait, beside! + I've promised to visit by dinner time + Bagdat, and accept the prime + Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, + For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, + Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: 180 + With him I proved no bargain-driver, + With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! + And folks who put me in a passion + May find me pipe after another fashion." + + XI + + "How? cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook + Being worse treated than a Cook? + Insulted by a lazy ribald + With idle pipe and vesture piebald? + You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, + Blow your pipe there till you burst!" 190 + + XII + + Once more he stept into the street + And to his lips again + Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; + And ere he blew three notes (such sweet + Soft notes as yet musician's cunning + Never gave the enraptured air) + There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling + Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, + Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, + Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, 200 + And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, + Out came the children running. + All the little boys and girls, + With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, + And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, + Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after + The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. + + XIII + + The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood + As if they were changed into blocks of wood, + Unable to move a step, or cry 210 + To the children merrily skipping by, + --Could only follow with the eye + That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. + But how the Mayor was on the rack, + And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, + As the Piper turned from the High Street + To where the Weser rolled its waters + Right in the way of their sons and daughters! + However he turned from South to West, + And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 220 + And after him the children pressed; + Great was the joy in every breast. + "He never can cross that mighty top! + He's forced to let the piping drop, + And we shall see our children stop!" + When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, + A wondrous portal opened wide, + As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; + And the Piper advanced and the children followed, + And when all were in to the very last, 230 + The door in the mountain-side shut fast. + Did I say, all? No! One was lame, + And could not dance the whole of the way; + And in after years, if you would blame + His sadness, he was used to say,-- + "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! + I can't forget that I'm bereft + Of all the pleasant sights they see, + Which the Piper also promised me. + For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, 240 + Joining the town and just at hand, + Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew + And flowers put forth a fairer hue, + And everything was strange and new; + The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, + And their dogs outran our fallow deer, + And honeybees had lost their stings, + And horses were born with eagles' wings: + And just as I became assured + My lame foot would be speedily cured, 250 + The music stopped and I stood still, + And found myself outside the hill, + Left alone against my will, + To go now limping as before, + And never hear of that country more!" + + XIV + + Alas, alas for Hamelin! + There came into many a burgher's pate + A text which says that heaven's gate + Opes to the rich at as easy rate + As the needle's eye takes a camel in! 260 + The mayor sent East, West, North and South + To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, + Wherever it was men's lot to find him + Silver and gold to his heart's content, + If he'd only return the way he went, + And bring the children behind him. + But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, + And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, + They made a decree that lawyers never + Should think their records dated duly 270 + If, after the day of the month and year, + These words did not as well appear, + "And so long after what happened here + On the Twenty-second of July + Thirteen-hundred and seventy-six:" + And the better in memory to fix + The place of the children's last retreat, + They called it, the Pied Piper's Street-- + Where any one playing on pipe or tabor + Was sure for the future to lose his labour. 280 + Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern + To shock with mirth a street so solemn; + But opposite the place of the cavern + They wrote the story on a column, + And on the great church-window painted + The same, to make the world acquainted + How their children were stolen away, + And there it stands to this very day. + And I must not omit to say + That in Transylvania there's a tribe 290 + Of alien people who ascribe + The outlandish ways and dress + On which their neighbours lay such stress, + To their fathers and mothers having risen + Out of some subterraneous prison + Into which they were trepanned + Long time ago in a mighty band + Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, + But how or why, they don't understand. + + XV + + So, Willy, let me and you be wipers 300 + Of scores out with all men--especially pipers! + And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, + If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise! + + NOTES: + "The Pied Piper of Hamelin." This clever versification of + a well-known tale was written for the little son of the + actor William Macready. According to Dr. Furnivall, + the version used directly by Browning is from "The + Wonders of the Little World: or A General History of + Man," by Nathaniel Wanley, published in 1578. There + are, however, more incidents in common between the + poem and the version given by Verstigan in his "Restitution + of Decayed Intelligence" (1605). There are many + other sources for the story, and it is not improbable that + Browning knew more than one version. Tales similar to + it occur also in Persia and China. For its kinship to + myths of the wind as a musician, and as a psychopomp or + leader of souls, see Baring-Gould, "Curious Myths of the + Middle Ages"; John Fiske, "Myths and Myth-makers"; + Cox, "Myths of the Aryan Races." + --Hamlin, or Hamelin, is a town in the province of Hanover, Prussia. + + + + +THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS + + I + + You're my friend: + I was the man the Duke spoke to; + I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too; + So here's the tale from beginning to end, + My friend! + + II + + Ours is a great wild country: + If you climb to our castle's top, + I don't see where your eye can stop; + For when you've passed the cornfield country, + Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed, 10 + And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract, + And cattle-tract to open-chase, + And open-chase to the very base + Of the mountain where, at a funeral pace, + Round about, solemn and slow, + One by one, row after row, + Up and up the pine-trees go, + So, like black priests up, and so + Down the other side again + To another greater, wilder country, 20 + That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain, + Branched through and through with many a vein + Whence iron's dug, and copper's dealt; + Look right, look left, look straight before-- + Beneath they mine, above they smelt, + Copper-ore and iron-ore, + And forge and furnace mould and melt, + And so on, more and ever more, + Till at the last, for a bounding belt, + Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea shore 30 + --And the whole is our Duke's country. + + III + + I was born the day this present Duke was-- + (And O, says the song, ere I was old!) + In the castle where the other Duke was-- + (When I was happy and young, not old!) + I in the kennel, he in the bower: + We are of like age to an hour. + My father was huntsman in that day; + Who has not heard my father say + That, when a boar was brought to bay, 40 + Three times, four times out of five, + With his huntspear he'd contrive + To get the killing-place transfixed, + And pin him true, both eyes betwixt? + And that's why the old Duke would rather + He lost a salt-pit than my father, + And loved to have him ever in call; + That's why my father stood in the hall + When the old Duke brought his infant out + To show the people, and while they passed 50 + The wondrous bantling round about, + Was first to start at the outside blast + As the Kaiser's courier blew his horn + Just a month after the babe was born. + "And," quoth the Kaiser's courier," since + The Duke has got an heir, our Prince + Needs the Duke's self at his side:" + The Duke looked down and seemed to wince, + But he thought of wars o'er the world wide, + Castles a-fire, men on their march, 60 + The toppling tower, the crashing arch; + And up he looked, and awhile he eyed + The row of crests and shields and banners + Of all achievements after all manners, + And "ay," said the Duke with a surly pride. + The more was his comfort when he died + At next year's end, in a velvet suit, + With a gilt glove on his hand, his foot + In a silken shoe for a leather boot, + Petticoated like a herald, 70 + In a chamber next to an ante-room, + Where he breathed the breath of page and groom, + What he called stink, and they, perfume: + --They should have set him on red Berold + Mad with pride, like fire to manage! + They should have got his cheek fresh tannage + Such a day as to-day in the merry sunshine! + Had they stuck on his fist a rough-foot merlin! + (Hark, the wind's on the heath at its game! + Oh for a noble falcon-lanner 80 + To flap each broad wing like a banner, + And turn in the wind, and dance like flame!) + Had they broached a white-beer cask from Berlin + --Or if you incline to prescribe mere wine + Put to his lips, when they saw him pine, + A cup of our own Moldavia fine, + Cotnar for instance, green as May sorrel + And ropy with sweet--we shall not quarrel. + + IV + + So, at home, the sick tall yellow Duchess + Was left with the infant in her clutches, 90 + She being the daughter of God knows who: + And now was the time to revisit her tribe. + Abroad and afar they went, the two, + And let our people rail and gibe + At the empty hall and extinguished fire, + As loud as we liked, but ever in vain, + Till after long years we had our desire, + And back came the Duke and his mother again. + + V + + And he came back the pertest little ape + That ever affronted human shape; 100 + Full of his travel, struck at himself. + You'd say, he despised our bluff old ways? + --Not he! For in Paris they told the elf + Our rough North land was the Land of Lays, + The one good thing left in evil days; + Since the Mid-Age was the Heroic Time, + And only in wild nooks like ours + Could you taste of it yet as in its prime, + And see true castles, with proper towers, + Young-hearted women, old-minded men, 110 + And manners now as manners were then. + So, all that the old Dukes had been, without knowing it, + This Duke would fain know he was, without being it; + 'Twas not for the joy's self, but the joy of his showing it, + Nor for the pride's self, but the pride of our seeing it, + He revived all usages thoroughly worn-out, + The souls of them fumed-forth, the hearts of them torn-out: + And chief in the chase his neck he perilled + On a lathy horse, all legs and length, + With blood for bone, all speed, no strength; 120 + --They should have set him on red Berold + With the red eye slow consuming in fire, + And the thin stiff ear like an abbey-spire! + + VI + + Well, such as he was, he must marry, we heard: + And out of a convent, at the word, + Came the lady, in time of spring. + --Oh, old thoughts they cling, they cling! + That day, I know, with a dozen oaths + I clad myself in thick hunting-clothes + Fit for the chase of urochs or buffle 130 + In winter-time when you need to muffle. + But the Duke had a mind we should cut a figure, + And so we saw the lady arrive: + My friend, I have seen a white crane bigger! + She was the smallest lady alive, + Made in a piece of nature's madness, + Too small, almost, for the life and gladness + That over-filled her, as some hive + Out of the bears' reach on the high trees + Is crowded with its safe merry bees: 140 + In truth, she was not hard to please! + Up she looked, down she looked, round at the mead, + Straight at the castle, that's best indeed + To look at from outside the walls: + As for us, styled the "serfs and thralls," + She as much thanked me as if she had said it, + (With her eyes, do you understand?) + Because I patted her horse while I led it; + And Max, who rode on her other hand, + Said, no bird flew past but she inquired 150 + What its true name was, nor ever seemed tired-- + If that was an eagle she saw hover, + And the green and grey bird on the field was the plover. + When suddenly appeared the Duke: + And as down she sprung, the small foot pointed + On to my hand,--as with a rebuke, + And as if his backbone were not jointed, + The Duke stepped rather aside than forward + And welcomed her with his grandest smile; + And, mind you, his mother all the while 160 + Chilled in the rear, like a wind to Nor'ward; + And up, like a weary yawn, with its pullies + Went, in a shriek, the rusty portcullis; + And, like a glad sky the north-wind sullies, + The lady's face stopped its play, + As if her first hair had grown grey; + For such things must begin some one day. + + VII + + In a day or two she was well again; + As who should say, "You labour in vain! + This is all a jest against God, who meant 170 + I should ever be, as I am, content + And glad in his sight; therefore, glad I will be." + So, smiling as at first went she. + + VIII + + She was active, stirring, all fire-- + Could not rest, could not tire-- + To a stone she might have given life! + (I myself loved once, in my day) + --For a shepherd's, miner's, huntsman's wife, + (I had a wife, I know what I say) + Never in all the world such an one! 180 + And here was plenty to be done, + And she that could do it, great or small, + She was to do nothing at all. + There was already this man in his post, + This in his station, and that in his office, + And the Duke's plan admitted a wife, at most, + To meet his eye, with the other trophies, + Now outside the hall, now in it, + To sit thus, stand thus, see and be seen, + At the proper place in the proper minute, 190 + And die away the life between. + And it was amusing enough, each infraction + Of rule--(but for after-sadness that came) + To hear the consummate self-satisfaction + With which the young Duke and the old dame + Would let her advise, and criticise, + And, being a fool, instruct the wise, + And, child-like, parcel out praise or blame: + They bore it all in complacent guise, + As though an artificer, after contriving 200 + A wheel-work image as if it were living, + Should find with delight it could motion to strike him! + So found the Duke, and his mother like him: + The lady hardly got a rebuff-- + That had not been contemptuous enough, + With his cursed smirk, as he nodded applause, + And kept off the old mother-cat's claws. + + IX + + So, the little lady grew silent and thin, + Paling and ever paling, + As the way is with a hid chagrin; 210 + And the Duke perceived that she was ailing, + And said in his heart, "'Tis done to spite me, + But I shall find in my power to right me!" + Don't swear, friend! The old one, many a year, + Is in hell, and the Duke's self... you shall hear. + + X + + Well, early in autumn, at first winter-warning, + When the stag had to break with his foot, of a morning, + A drinking-hole out of the fresh tender ice + That covered the pond till the sun, in a trice, + Loosening it, let out a ripple of gold, 220 + And another and another, and faster and faster + Till, dimpling to blindness, the wide water rolled: + Then it so chanced that the Duke our master + Asked himself what were the pleasures in season, + And found, since the calendar bade him be hearty, + He should do the Middle Age no treason + In resolving on a hunting-party. + Always provided, old books showed the way of it! + What meant old poets by their strictures? + And when old poets had said their say of it, 230 + How taught old painters in their pictures? + We must revert to the proper channels, + Workings in tapestry, paintings on panels, + And gather up woodcraft's authentic traditions: + Here was food for our various ambitions, + As on each case, exactly stated-- + To encourage your dog, now, the properest chirrup + Or best prayer to Saint Hubert on mounting your stirrup-- + We of the household took thought and debated. + Blessed was he whose back ached with the jerkin 240 + His sire was wont to do forest-work in; + Blesseder he who nobly sunk "ohs" + And "ahs" while he tugged on his grandsire's trunk-hose; + What signified hats if they had no rims on, + Each slouching before and behind like the scallop, + And able to serve at sea for a shallop, + Loaded with lacquer and looped with crimson? + So that the deer now, to make a short rhyme on't, + What with our Venerers, Prickers and Verderers, 250 + Might hope for real hunters at length and not murderers, + And oh the Duke's tailor, he had a hot time on't! + + XI + + Now you must know that when the first dizziness + Of flap-hats and buff-coats and jack-boots subsided, + The Duke put this question, "The Duke's part provided, + Had not the Duchess some share in the business?" + For out of the mouth of two or three witnesses + Did he establish all fit-or-unfitnesses: + And, after much laying of heads together, + Somebody's cap got a notable feather + By the announcement with proper unction 260 + That he had discovered the lady's function; + Since ancient authors gave this tenet, + "When horns wind a mort and the deer is at siege, + Let the dame of the castle prick forth on her jennet, + And with water to wash the hands of her liege + In a clean ewer with a fair toweling, + Let her preside at the disemboweling." + Now, my friend, if you had so little religion + As to catch a hawk, some falcon-lanner, + And thrust her broad wings like a banner 270 + Into a coop for a vulgar pigeon; + And if day by day and week by week + You cut her claws, and sealed her eyes, + And clipped her wings, and tied her beak, + Would it cause you any great surprise + If, when you decided to give her an airing, + You found she needed a little preparing? + --I say, should you be such a curmudgeon, + If she clung to the perch, as to take it in dudgeon? + Yet when the Duke to his lady signified, 280 + Just a day before, as he judged most dignified, + In what a pleasure she was to participate,-- + And, instead of leaping wide in flashes, + Her eyes just lifted their long lashes, + As if pressed by fatigue even he could not dissipate, + And duly acknowledged the Duke's fore-thought, + But spoke of her health, if her health were worth aught, + Of the weight by day and the watch by night, + And much wrong now that used to be right, + So, thanking him, declined the hunting-- 290 + Was conduct ever more affronting? + With all the ceremony settled-- + With the towel ready, and the sewer + Polishing up his oldest ewer, + And the jennet pitched upon, a piebald, + Black-barred, cream-coated and pink eye-balled-- + No wonder if the Duke was nettled! + And when she persisted nevertheless,-- + Well, I suppose here's the time to confess + That there ran half round our lady's chamber 300 + A balcony none of the hardest to clamber; + And that Jacynth the tire-woman, ready in waiting, + + Stayed in call outside, what need of relating? + And since Jacynth was like a June rose, why, a fervent + Adorer of Jacynth of course was your servant; + And if she had the habit to peep through the casement, + How could I keep at any vast distance? + And so, as I say, on the lady's persistence, + The Duke, dumb-stricken with amazement, + Stood for a while in a sultry smother, 310 + And then, with a smile that partook of the awful, + Turned her over to his yellow mother + To learn what was held decorous and lawful; + And the mother smelt blood with a cat-like instinct, + As her cheek quick whitened thro' all its quince-tinct. + Oh, but the lady heard the whole truth at once! + What meant she?--Who was she?--Her duty and station, + The wisdom of age and the folly of youth, at once, + Its decent regard and its fitting relation-- + In brief, my friend, set all the devils in hell free 320 + And turn them out to carouse in a belfry + And treat the priests to a fifty-part canon, + And then you may guess how that tongue of hers ran on! + Well, somehow or other it ended at last + And, licking her whiskers, out she passed; + And after her,--making (he hoped) a face + Like Emperor Nero or Sultan Saladin, + Stalked the Duke's self with the austere grace + Of ancient hero or modern paladin, + From door to staircase--oh such a solemn 330 + Unbending of the vertebral column! + + XII + + However, at sunrise our company mustered; + And here was the huntsman bidding unkennel, + And there 'neath his bonnet the pricker blustered, + With feather dank as a bough of wet fennel; + For the court-yard walls were filled with fog + You might have cut as an axe chops a log-- + Like so much wool for colour and bulkiness; + And out rode the Duke in a perfect sulkiness, + Since, before breakfast, a man feels but queasily 340 + And a sinking at the lower abdomen + Begins the day with indifferent omen. + And lo, as he looked around uneasily, + The sun ploughed the fog up and drove it asunder + This way and that from the valley under; + And, looking through the court-yard arch, + Down in the valley, what should meet him + But a troop of Gipsies on their march? + No doubt with the annual gifts to greet him. + + XIII + + Now, in your land, Gipsies reach you, only 350 + After reaching all lands beside; + North they go, South they go, trooping or lonely + And still, as they travel far and wide, + Catch they and keep now a trace here, a trace there, + That puts you in mind of a place here, a place there. + But with us, I believe they rise out of the ground, + And nowhere else, I take it, are found + With the earth-tint yet so freshly embrowned: + Born, no doubt, like insects which breed on + The very fruit they are meant to feed on. 360 + For the earth-not a use to which they don't turn it, + The ore that grows in the mountain's womb, + Or the sand in the pits like a honeycomb, + They sift and soften it, bake it and burn it-- + Whether they weld you, for instance, a snaffle + With side-bars never a brute can baffle; + Or a lock that's a puzzle of wards within wards; + Or, if your colt's fore-foot inclines to curve inwards, + Horseshoes they hammer which turn on a swivel + And won't allow the hoof to shrivel. 370 + Then they cast bells like the shell of the winkle + That keep a stout heart in the ram with their tinkle; + But the sand-they pinch and pound it like otters; + Commend me to Gipsy glass-makers and potters! + Glasses they'll blow you, crystal-clear, + Where just a faint cloud of rose shall appear, + As if in pure water you dropped and let die + A bruised black-blooded mulberry; + And that other sort, their crowning pride, + With long white threads distinct inside, 380 + Like the lake-flower's fibrous roots which dangle + Loose such a length and never tangle, + Where the bold sword-lily cuts the clear waters, + And the cup-lily couches with all the white daughters: + Such are the works they put their hand to, + The uses they turn and twist iron and sand to. + And these made the troop, which our Duke saw sally + Toward his castle from out of the valley, + Men and women, like new-hatched spiders, + Come out with the morning to greet our riders. 390 + And up they wound till they reached the ditch, + Whereat all stopped save one, a witch + That I knew, as she hobbled from the group, + By her gait directly and her stoop, + I, whom Jacynth was used to importune + To let that same witch tell us our fortune. + The oldest Gipsy then above ground; + And, sure as the autumn season came round, + She paid us a visit for profit or pastime, + And every time, as she swore, for the last time. 400 + + And presently she was seen to sidle + Up to the Duke till she touched his bridle, + So that the horse of a sudden reared up + As under its nose the old witch peered up + With her worn-out eyes, or rather eye-holes + Of no use now but to gather brine, + And began a kind of level whine + Such as they used to sing to their viols + When their ditties they go grinding + Up and down with nobody minding 410 + And then, as of old, at the end of the humming + Her usual presents were forthcoming + --A dog-whistle blowing the fiercest of trebles, + (Just a sea-shore stone holding a dozen fine pebbles) + Or a porcelain mouth-piece to screw on a pipe-end-- + And so she awaited her annual stipend. + But this time, the Duke would scarcely vouchsafe + A word in reply; and in vain she felt + With twitching fingers at her belt + For the purse of sleek pine-martin pelt, 420 + Ready to put what he gave in her pouch safe-- + Till, either to quicken his apprehension, + Or possibly with an after-intention, + She was come, she said, to pay her duty + To the new Duchess, the youthful beauty. + No sooner had she named his lady, + Than a shine lit up the face so shady, + And its smirk returned with a novel meaning-- + For it struck him, the babe just wanted weaning; + If one gave her a taste of what life was and sorrow, 430 + She, foolish today, would be wiser tomorrow; + And who so fit a teacher of trouble + As this sordid crone bent well-nigh double? + So, glancing at her wolf-skin vesture, + (If such it was, for they grow so hirsute + That their own fleece serves for natural fur-suit) + He was contrasting, 'twas plain from his gesture, + The life of the lady so flower-like and delicate + With the loathsome squalor of this helicat. + I, in brief, was the man the Duke beckoned 440 + From out of the throng, and while I drew near + He told the crone-as I since have reckoned + By the way he bent and spoke into her ear + With circumspection and mystery-- + The main of the lady's history, + Her frowardness and ingratitude: + And for all the crone's submissive attitude + I could see round her mouth the loose plaits tightening, + And her brow with assenting intelligence brightening + As though she engaged with hearty goodwill 450 + Whatever he now might enjoin to fulfil, + And promised the lady a thorough frightening. + + And so, just giving her a glimpse + Of a purse, with the air of a man who imps + The wing of the hawk that shall fetch the hernshaw, + He bade me take the Gipsy mother + And set her telling some story or other + Of hill or dale, oak-wood or fernshaw, + To wile away a weary hour + For the lady left alone in her bower, 460 + Whose mind and body craved exertion + And yet shrank from all better diversion. + + XIV + + Then clapping heel to his horse, the mere curveter, + Out rode the Duke, and after his hollo + Horses and hounds swept, huntsman and servitor, + And back I turned and bade the crone follow. + And what makes me confident what's to be told you + Had all along been of this crone's devising, + Is, that, on looking round sharply, behold you, + There was a novelty quick as surprising: 470 + For first, she had shot up a full head in stature, + And her step kept pace with mine nor faltered, + As if age had foregone its usurpature, + And the ignoble mien was wholly altered, + And the face looked quite of another nature, + And the change reached too, whatever the change meant, + Her shaggy wolf-skin cloak's arrangement: + For where its tatters hung loose like sedges, + Gold coins were glittering on the edges, + Like the band-roll strung with tomans 480 + Which proves the veil a Persian woman's: + And under her brow, like a snail's horns newly + Come out as after the rain he paces, + Two unmistakeable eye-points duly + Live and aware looked out of their places. + So, we went and found Jacynth at the entry + Of the lady's chamber standing sentry; + I told the command and produced my companion, + And Jacynth rejoiced to admit any one, + For since last night, by the same token, 490 + Not a single word had the lady spoken: + They went in both to the presence together, + While I in the balcony watched the weather. + + XV + + And now, what took place at the very first of all, + I cannot tell, as I never could learn it: + Jacynth constantly wished a curse to fall + On that little head of hers and burn it + If she knew how she came to drop so soundly + Asleep of a sudden and there continue + The whole time sleeping as profoundly 500 + As one of the boars my father would pin you + 'Twixt the eyes where life holds garrison, + --Jacynth forgive me the comparison! + But where I begin my own narration + Is a little after I took my station + To breathe the fresh air from the balcony, + And, having in those days a falcon eye, + To follow the hunt thro' the open country, + From where the bushes thinlier crested + The hillocks, to a plain where's not one tree. 510 + When, in a moment, my ear was arrested + By--was it singing, or was it saying, + Or a strange musical instrument playing + In the chamber?--and to be certain + I pushed the lattice, pulled the curtain, + And there lay Jacynth asleep, + Yet as if a watch she tried to keep, + In a rosy sleep along the floor + With her head against the door; + While in the midst, on the seat of state, 520 + Was a queen-the Gipsy woman late, + With head and face downbent + On the lady's head and face intent: + For, coiled at her feet like a child at ease, + The lady sat between her knees + And o'er them the lady's clasped hands met, + And on those hands her chin was set, + And her upturned face met the face of the crone + Wherein the eyes had grown and grown + As if she could double and quadruple 530 + At pleasure the play of either pupil + --Very like, by her hands' slow fanning, + As up and down like a gor-crow's flappers + They moved to measure, or bell-clappers. + I said, "Is it blessing, is it banning, + Do they applaud you or burlesque you-- + Those hands and fingers with no flesh on?" + But, just as I thought to spring in to the rescue, + At once I was stopped by the lady's expression: + For it was life her eyes were drinking 540 + From the crone's wide pair above unwinking, + --Life's pure fire received without shrinking, + Into the heart and breast whose heaving + Told you no single drop they were leaving, + --Life, that filling her, passed redundant + Into her very hair, back swerving + Over each shoulder, loose and abundant, + As her head thrown back showed the white throat curving; + And the very tresses shared in the pleasure, + Moving to the mystic measure, 550 + Bounding as the bosom bounded. + I stopped short, more and more confounded, + As still her cheeks burned and eyes glistened, + As she listened and she listened: + When all at once a hand detained me, + The selfsame contagion gained me, + And I kept time to the wondrous chime, + Making out words and prose and rhyme, + Till it seemed that the music furled + Its wings like a task fulfilled, and dropped 560 + From under the words it first had propped, + And left them midway in the world: + Word took word as hand takes hand + I could hear at last, and understand, + And when I held the unbroken thread, + The Gipsy said: + "And so at last we find my tribe. + And so I set thee in the midst, + And to one and all of them describe + What thou saidst and what thou didst, 570 + Our long and terrible journey through, + And all thou art ready to say and do + In the trials that remain: + I trace them the vein and the other vein + That meet on thy brow and part again, + Making our rapid mystic mark; + And I bid my people prove and probe + Each eye's profound and glorious globe + Till they detect the kindred spark + In those depths so dear and dark, 580 + Like the spots that snap and burst and flee, + Circling over the midnight sea. + And on that round young cheek of thine + I make them recognize the tinge, + As when of the costly scarlet wine + They drip so much as will impinge + And spread in a thinnest scale afloat + One thick gold drop from the olive's coat + Over a silver plate whose sheen + Still thro' the mixture shall be seen. 590 + For so I prove thee, to one and all, + Fit, when my people ope their breast, + To see the sign, and hear the call, + And take the vow, and stand the test + Which adds one more child to the rest-- + When the breast is bare and the arms are wide, + And the world is left outside. + + For there is probation to decree, + And many and long must the trials be + Thou shalt victoriously endure, 600 + If that brow is true and those eyes are sure; + Like a jewel-finder's fierce assay + Of the prize he dug from its mountain tomb-- + Let once the vindicating ray + Leap out amid the anxious gloom, + And steel and fire have done their part + And the prize falls on its finder's heart; + So, trial after trial past, + Wilt thou fall at the very last + Breathless, half in trance 610 + With the thrill of the great deliverance, + Into our arms for evermore; + And thou shalt know, those arms once curled + About thee, what we knew before, + How love is the only good in the world. + Henceforth be loved as heart can love, + Or brain devise, or hand approve! + Stand up, look below, + It is our life at thy feet we throw + To step with into light and joy; 620 + Not a power of life but we employ + To satisfy thy nature's want; + Art thou the tree that props the plant, + Or the climbing plant that seeks the tree-- + Canst thou help us, must we help thee? + If any two creatures grew into one, + They would do more than the world has done: + Though each apart were never so weak, + Ye vainly through the world should seek + For the knowledge and the might 630 + Which in such union grew their right: + So, to approach at least that end, + And blend,--as much as may be, blend + Thee with us or us with thee-- + As climbing plant or propping tree, + Shall some one deck thee, over and down, + Up and about, with blossoms and leaves? + Fix his heart's fruit for thy garland-crown, + Cling with his soul as the gourd-vine cleaves, + Die on thy boughs and disappear 640 + While not a leaf of thine is sere? + Or is the other fate in store, + And art thou fitted to adore, + To give thy wondrous self away, + And take a stronger nature's sway? + I foresee and could foretell + Thy future portion, sure and well: + But those passionate eyes speak true, speak true, + Let them say what thou shalt do! + Only be sure thy daily life, 650 + In its peace or in its strife, + Never shall be unobserved; + We pursue thy whole career, + And hope for it, or doubt, or fear-- + Lo, hast thou kept thy path or swerved, + We are beside thee in all thy ways, + With our blame, with our praise, + Our shame to feel, our pride to show, + Glad, angry--but indifferent, no! + Whether it be thy lot to go, 660 + For the good of us all, where the haters meet + In the crowded city's horrible street; + Or thou step alone through the morass + Where never sound yet was + Save the dry quick clap of the stork's bill, + For the air is still, and the water still, + When the blue breast of the dipping coot + Dives under, and all is mute. + So, at the last shall come old age, + Decrepit as befits that stage; 670 + How else wouldst thou retire apart + With the hoarded memories of thy heart, + And gather all to the very least + Of the fragments of life's earlier feast, + Let fall through eagerness to find + The crowning dainties yet behind? + Ponder on the entire past + Laid together thus at last, + When the twilight helps to fuse + The first fresh with the faded hues, 680 + And the outline of the whole, + As round eve's shades their framework roll, + Grandly fronts for once thy soul. + And then as, 'mid the dark, a gleam + Of yet another morning breaks, + And like the hand which ends a dream, + Death, with the might of his sunbeam, + Touches the flesh and the soul awakes, + Then--" + Ay, then indeed something would happen! + But what? For here her voice changed like a bird's; 690 + There grew more of the music and less of the words; + Had Jacynth only been by me to clap pen + To paper and put you down every syllable + With those clever clerkly fingers, + All I've forgotten as well as what lingers + In this old brain of mine that's but ill able + To give you even this poor version + Of the speech I spoil, as it were, with stammering + --More fault of those who had the hammering + Of prosody into me and syntax 700 + And did it, not with hobnails but tintacks! + + But to return from this excursion-- + Just, do you mark, when the song was sweetest, + The peace most deep and the charm completest, + There came, shall I say, a snap-- + And the charm vanished! + And my sense returned, so strangely banished, + And, starting as from a nap, + I knew the crone was bewitching my lady, + With Jacynth asleep; and but one spring made I 710 + Down from the casement, round to the portal, + Another minute and I had entered-- + When the door opened, and more than mortal + Stood, with a face where to my mind centred + All beauties I ever saw or shall see, + The Duchess: I stopped as if struck by palsy. + She was so different, happy and beautiful, + I felt at once that all was best, + And that I had nothing to do, for the rest + But wait her commands, obey and be dutiful. 720 + Not that, in fact, there was any commanding; + I saw the glory of her eye, + And the brow's height and the breast's expanding, + And I was hers to live or to die. + As for finding what she wanted, + You know God Almighty granted + Such little signs should serve wild creatures + To tell one another all their desires, + So that each knows what his friend requires, + And does its bidding without teachers. 730 + I preceded her; the crone + Followed silent and alone; + I spoke to her, but she merely jabbered + In the old style; both her eyes had slunk + Back to their pits; her stature shrunk; + In short, the soul in its body sunk + Like a blade sent home to its scabbard. + We descended, I preceding; + Crossed the court with nobody heeding; + All the world was at the chase, 740 + The courtyard like a desert-place, + The stable emptied of its small fry; + I saddled myself the very palfrey + I remember patting while it carried her, + The day she arrived and the Duke married her. + And, do you know, though it's easy deceiving + Oneself in such matters, I can't help believing + The lady had not forgotten it either, + And knew the poor devil so much beneath her + Would have been only too glad for her service 750 + To dance on hot ploughshares like a Turk dervise, + But, unable to pay proper duty where owing + Was reduced to that pitiful method of showing it: + For though the moment I began setting + His saddle on my own nag of Berold's begetting, + (Not that I meant to be obtrusive) + She stopped me, while his rug was shifting, + By a single rapid finger's lifting, + And, with a gesture kind but conclusive, + And a little shake of the head, refused me-- 760 + I say, although she never used me, + Yet when she was mounted, the Gipsy behind her, + And I ventured to remind her + I suppose with a voice of less steadiness + Than usual, for my feeling exceeded me, + --Something to the effect that I was in readiness + Whenever God should please she needed me-- + Then, do you know, her face looked down on me + With a look that placed a crown on me, + And she felt in her bosom--mark, her bosom-- 770 + And, as a flower-tree drops its blossom, + Dropped me... ah, had it been a purse + Of silver, my friend, or gold that's worse, + Why, you see, as soon as I found myself + So understood,--that a true heart so may gain + Such a reward,--I should have gone home again, + Kissed Jacynth, and soberly drowned myself! + It was a little plait of hair + Such as friends in a convent make + To wear, each for the other's sake-- 780 + This, see, which at my breast I wear, + Ever did (rather to Jacynth's grudgment), + And ever shall, till the Day of Judgment. + And then-and then--to cut short--this is idle, + These are feelings it is not good to foster-- + I pushed the gate wide, she shook the bridle, + And the palfrey bounded--and so we lost her. + + XVI + + When the liquor's out why clink the cannikin? + I did think to describe you the panic in + The redoubtable breast of our master the mannikin, 790 + And what was the pitch of his mother's yellowness, + How she turned as a shark to snap the spare-rib + Clean off, sailors say, from a pearl-diving Carib, + When she heard, what she called the flight of the feloness + --But it seems such child's play, + What they said and did with the lady away! + And to dance on, when we've lost the music, + Always made me--and no doubt makes you--sick. + Nay, to my mind, the world's face looked so stern + As that sweet form disappeared through the postern, 800 + She that kept it in constant good humour, + It ought to have stopped; there seemed nothing to do more. + But the world thought otherwise and went on, + And my head's one that its spite was spent on: + Thirty years are fled since that morning, + And with them all my head's adorning. + Nor did the old Duchess die outright, + As you expect, of suppressed spite, + The natural end of every adder + Not suffered to empty its poison-bladder: 810 + But she and her son agreed, I take it, + That no one should touch on the story to wake it, + For the wound in the Duke's pride rankled fiery, + So, they made no search and small inquiry-- + And when fresh Gipsies have paid us a visit, I've + Notice the couple were never inquisitive, + But told them they're folks the Duke don't want here, + And bade them make haste and cross the frontier. + Brief, the Duchess was gone and the Duke was glad of it, + And the old one was in the young one's stead, 820 + And took, in her place, the household's head, + And a blessed time the household had of it! + And were I not, as a man may say, cautious + How I trench, more than needs, on the nauseous, + I could favour you with sundry touches + Of the paint-smutches with which the Duchess + Heightened the mellowness of her cheek's yellowness + (To get on faster) until at last her + Cheek grew to be one master-plaster + Of mucus and fucus from mere use of ceruse: 830 + In short, she grew from scalp to udder + Just the object to make you shudder. + + XVII + + You're my friend-- + What a thing friendship is, world without end! + How it gives the heart and soul a stir-up + As if somebody broached you a glorious runlet, + And poured out, all lovelily, sparklingly, sunlit, + Our green Moldavia, the streaky syrup, + Cotnar as old as the time of the Druids-- + Friendship may match with that monarch of fluids; 840 + Each supples a dry brain, fills you its ins-and-outs, + Gives your life's hour-glass a shake when the thin sand doubts + Whether to run on or stop short, and guarantees + Age is not all made of stark sloth and arrant ease. + I have seen my little lady once more, + Jacynth, the Gipsy, Berold, and the rest of it, + For to me spoke the Duke, as I told you before; + I always wanted to make a clean breast of it: + And now it is made-why, my heart's blood, that went trickle, + Trickle, but anon, in such muddy driblets, 850 + Is pumped up brisk now, through the main ventricle, + And genially floats me about the giblets. + + I'll tell you what I intend to do: + I must see this fellow his sad life through-- + He is our Duke, after all, + And I, as he says, but a serf and thrall. + My father was born here, and I inherit + His fame, a chain he bound his son with; + Could I pay in a lump I should prefer it, + But there's no mine to blow up and get done with: 860 + So, I must stay till the end of the chapter. + For, as to our middle-age-manners-adapter, + Be it a thing to be glad on or sorry on, + Some day or other, his head in a morion + And breast in a hauberk, his heels he'll kick up, + Slain by an onslaught fierce of hiccup. + And then, when red doth the sword of our Duke rust, + And its leathern sheath lie o'ergrown with a blue crust, + Then I shall scrape together my earnings; + For, you see, in the churchyard Jacynth reposes, 870 + And our children all went the way of the roses: + It's a long lane that knows no turnings. + One needs but little tackle to travel in; + So, just one stout cloak shall I indue: + And for a staff, what beats the javelin + With which his boars my father pinned you? + And then, for a purpose you shall hear presently, + Taking some Cotnar, a tight plump skinful, + I shall go journeying, who but I, pleasantly! + Sorrow is vain and despondency sinful. 880 + What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; + Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold: + When we mind labour, then only, we're too old-- + What age had Methusalem when he begat Saul? + And at last, as its haven some buffeted ship sees, + (Come all the way from the north-parts with sperm oil) + I hope to get safely out of the turmoil + And arrive one day at the land of the Gipsies, + And find my lady, or hear the last news of her + From some old thief and son of Lucifer, 890 + His forehead chapleted green with wreathy hop, + Sunburned all over like an AEthiop. + And when my Cotnar begins to operate + And the tongue of the rogue to run at a proper rate, + And our wine-skin, tight once, shows each flaccid dent, + I shall drop in with--as if by accident-- + "You never knew, then, how it all ended, + What fortune good or bad attended + The little lady your Queen befriended?" + --And when that's told me, what's remaining? 900 + This world's too hard for my explaining. + The same wise judge of matters equine + Who still preferred some slim four-year-old + To the big-boned stock of mighty Berold + And, for strong Cotnar, drank French weak wine, + He also must be such a lady's scorner! + Smooth Jacob still robs homely Esau: + Now up, now down, the world's one see-saw. + --So, I shall find out some snug corner + Under a hedge, like Orson the wood-knight, 910 + Turn myself round and bid the world good night; + And sleep a sound sleep till the trumpet blowing + Wakes me (unless priests cheat us laymen) + To a world where will be no further throwing + Pearls before swine that can't value them. Amen! + + NOTES: + "The Flight of the Duchess." A story of the triumph of a + free and loving life over a cold and conventional one. + The duke's huntsman frees his mind to his friend as to his + part in the escape of the gladsome, ardent young duchess + from the blighting yoke of a husband whose life consisted + in imitating defunct mediaeval customs. An old gipsy is + the agency that awakens her to the joy and freedom of + love. Her mystic chant and charm claim the duchess as + the true heir of gipsy blood, thrill her with life, half-hypnotize + the huntsman, too, and seem to transform the gipsy + crone herself into an Eastern queen. He helps them off, + and looks for no better future, when the duke's death releases + him, than to travel to the land of the gipsies and hear the last + news of his lady. + + The poem grew from the fancies aroused in the poet's + heart by the snatch of a woman's song he overheard when + a boy--"Following the Queen of the Gipsies, O!" + + + + +A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL, + + SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE + + Let us begin and carry up this corpse, + Singing together. + Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes + Each in its tether + Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, + Cared-for till cock-crow: + Look out if yonder be not day again + Rimming the rock-row! + That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, + Rarer, intenser, 10 + Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, + Chafes in the censer. + Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; + Seek we sepulture + On a tall mountain, citied to the top, + Crowded with culture! + All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels; + Clouds overcome it; + No! Yonder sparkle is the citadel's + Circling its summit. 20 + Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights: + Wait ye the warning? + Our low life was the level's and the night's; + He's for the morning. + Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, + 'Ware the beholders! + This is our master, famous calm and dead, + Borne on our shoulders. + + Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft, + Safe from the weather! 30 + He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft, + Singing together, + He was a man born with thy face and throat, + Lyric Apollo! + + Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note + Winter would follow? + Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone! + Cramped and diminished, + Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon! + My dance is finished?" 40 + No, that's the world's way: (keep the mountain-side, + Make for the city!) + He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride + Over men's pity; + Left play for work, and grappled with the world + Bent on escaping: + "What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepest furled? + Show me their shaping + Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage, + Give!"--So, he gowned him, 50 + Straight got by heart that book to its last page: + Learned, we found him. + Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead, + Accents uncertain: + "Time to taste life," another would have said, + "Up with the curtain!" + This man said rather, "Actual life comes next? + Patience a moment! + Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text, + Still there's the comment. 60 + Let me know all! Prate not of most or least, + Painful or easy! + Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast, + Ay, nor feel queasy." + Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, + When he had learned it, + When he had gathered all books had to give! + Sooner, he spurned it. + Image the whole, then execute the parts-- + Fancy the fabric 70 + Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz, + Ere mortar dab brick! + + (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place + Gaping before us.) + Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace + (Hearten our chorus!) + That before living he'd learn how to live-- + No end to learning: + Earn the means first-God surely will contrive + Use for our earning. 80 + Others mistrust and say, "But time escapes: + Live now or never!" + He said, "What's time? Leave Now for dogs and apes! + Man has Forever." + Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: + Calculus racked him: + + Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead: + Tussis attacked him. + "Now, master, take a little rest!"--not he! + (Caution redoubled, 90 + Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!) + Not a whit troubled + Back to his studies, fresher than at first, + Fierce as a dragon + He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) + Sucked at the flagon. + Oh, if we draw a circle premature, + Heedless of far gain, + Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure + Bad is our bargain! 100 + Was it not great? did not he throw on God, + (He loves the burthen) + God's task to make the heavenly period + Perfect the earthen? + Did not he magnify the mind, show clear + Just what it all meant? + He would not discount life, as fools do here, + Paid by instalment. + He ventured neck or nothing-heaven's success + Found, or earth's failure: 110 + "Wilt thou trust death or not?" He answered "Yes: + Hence with life's pale lure!" + That low man seeks a little thing to do, + Sees it and does it: + This high man, with a great thing to pursue, + Dies ere he knows it. + That low man goes on adding one to one, + His hundred's soon hit: + This high man, aiming at a million, + Misses an unit. 120 + That, has the world here-should he need the next, + Let the world mind him! + This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed + Seeking shall find him. + So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, + Ground he at grammar; + Still, thro' the rattle, parts of speech were rife: + While he could stammer + He settled Hoti's business--let it be!-- + Properly based Oun-- 130 + Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, + Dead from the waist down. + Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place: + Hail to your purlieus, + All ye highfliers of the feathered race, + Swallows and curlews! + Here's the top-peak; the multitude below + Live, for they can, there: + + This man decided not to Live but Know-- + Bury this man there? 140 + Here--here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, + Lightnings are loosened, + Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm, + Peace let the dew send! + Lofty designs must close in like effects: + Loftily Iying, + Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects, + Living and dying. + + NOTES: + "A Grammarian's Funeral" is an elegy of a typical pioneer + scholar of the Renaissance period, sung by the leader of + the chorus of disciples, and interspersed with parenthetical + directions to them, while they all bear the body of + their master to its appropriate burial-place on the highest + mountain-peak. A humorous sense of disproportion in + the labors of devoted scholarship to its results heightens + their exaltation of the dead humanist's indomitable trust + in the supremacy of the immaterial. + + 86. Calculus: the stone. + + 88. Tussis: a cough. + + 95. Hydroptic: dropsical. + + 129. Hoti: Greek particle, conjunction, that. + + 130. Oun: Greek particle, then, now then. + + 131. Enclitic De: Greek, concerning which Browning + wrote to the Editor of The News, London, Nov. 21, + 1874: "In a clever article you speak of 'the doctrine of + the enclitic De--which, with all deference to Mr. + Browning, in point of fact, does not exist.' No, not to + Mr. Browning, but pray defer to Herr Buttmann, whose + fifth list of 'enclitics' ends with the inseparable De,'-- + or to Curtius, whose fifth list ends also with De (meaning + 'towards' and as a demonstrative appendage). + That this is not to be confounded with the accentuated + 'De, meaning but,' was the 'Doctrine' which the Grammarian + bequeathed to those capable of receiving it." + + + + +THE HERETIC'S TRAGEDY + + A MIDDLE-AGE INTERLUDE + + ROSA MUNDI; SEU, FULCITE ME FLORIBUS. + A CONCEIT OF MASTER GYSBRECHT, + CANON-REGULAR OF SAINT JODOCUS-BY- + THE-BAR, YPRES CITY. CANTUQUE, + Virgilius. AND HATH OFTEN BEEN SUNG + AT HOCK-TIDE AND FESTIVALS. GAVISUS + ERAM, Jessides. + + (It would seem to be a glimpse from the burning + of Jacques du Bourg-Molay, at Paris, A.D. 1314, + as distorted by the refraction from Flemish brain to brain, + during the course of a couple of centuries.) + + [Molay was Grand Master of the Templars + when that order was suppressed in 1312.] + + I + + PREADMONISHETH THE ABBOT DEODAET. + + The Lord, we look to once for all, + Is the Lord we should look at, all at once: + He knows not to vary, saith Saint Paul, + Nor the shadow of turning, for the nonce. + See him no other than as he is! + Give both the infinitudes their due-- + Infinite mercy, but, I wis, + As infinite a justice too. + + [Organ: plagal-cadence.] + + As infinite a justice too. + + II + + [ONE SINGETH] + John, Master of the Temple of God, 10 + Falling to sin the Unknown Sin, + What he bought of Emperor Aldabrod, + He sold it to Sultan Saladin: + Till, caught by Pope Clement, a-buzzing there, + Hornet-prince of the mad wasps' hive, + And clipt of his wings in Paris square, + They bring him now to be burned alive. + [And wanteth there grace of lute or + clavicithern, ye shall say to + confirm him who singeth-- + We bring John now to be burned alive. + + III + + In the midst is a goodly gallows built; + 'Twixt fork and fork, a stake is stuck; 20 + But first they set divers tumbrils a-tilt, + Make a trench all round with the city muck; + Inside they pile log upon log, good store; + Faggots no few, blocks great and small, + Reach a man's mid-thigh, no less, no more,-- + For they mean he should roast in the sight of all. + + CHORUS. + + We mean he should roast in the sight of all. + + IV + + Good sappy bavins that kindle forthwith; + Billets that blaze substantial and slow; + Pine-stump split deftly, dry as pith; 30 + Larch-heart that chars to a chalk-white glow: + They up they hoist me John in a chafe, + Sling him fast like a hog to scorch, + Spit in his face, then leap back safe, + Sing "Laudes" and bid clap-to the torch. + + CHORUS. + + Laus deo--who bids clap-to the torch. + + V + + John of the Temple, whose fame so bragged, + Is burning alive in Paris square! + How can he curse, if his mouth is gagged? + Or wriggle his neck, with a collar there? 40 + Or heave his chest, which a band goes round? + Or threat with his fist, since his arms are spliced? + Or kick with his feet, now his legs are bound? + --Thinks John, I will call upon Jesus Christ. + [Here one crosseth himself.] + + VI + + Jesus Christ--John had bought and sold, + Jesus Christ--John had eaten and drunk; + To him, the Flesh meant silver and gold. + (Salva reverentia.) + Now it was, "Saviour, bountiful lamb, + "I have roasted thee Turks, though men roast me! 50 + "See thy servant, the plight wherein I am! + "Art thou a saviour? Save thou me!" + + CHORUS. + + 'Tis John the mocker cries, "Save thou me!" + + VII + + Who maketh God's menace an idle word? + --Saith, it no more means what it proclaims, + Than a damsel's threat to her wanton bird? + For she too prattles of ugly names. + --Saith, he knoweth but one thing--what he knows? + That God is good and the rest is breath; + Why else is the same styled Sharon's rose? 60 + Once a rose, ever a rose, he saith. + + CHORUS. + + O, John shall yet find a rose, he saith! + + VIII + + Alack, there be roses and roses, John! + Some, honied of taste like your leman's tongue: + Some, bitter; for why? (roast gaily on!) + Their tree struck root in devil's-dung. + When Paul once reasoned of righteousness + And of temperance and of judgment to come, + Good Felix trembled, he could no less: + John, snickering, crook'd his wicked thumb. 70 + + CHORUS. + + What cometh to John of the wicked thumb? + + IX + + Ha ha, John plucketh now at his rose + To rid himself of a sorrow at heart! + Lo,--petal on petal, fierce rays unclose; + Anther on anther, sharp spikes outstart; + And with blood for dew, the bosom boils; + And a gust of sulphur is all its smell; + And lo, he is horribly in the toils + Of a coal-black giant flower of hell! + + CHORUS. + + What maketh heaven, That maketh hell. 80 + + X + + So, as John called now, through the fire amain, + On the Name, he had cursed with, all his life-- + To the Person, he bought and sold again-- + For the Face, with his daily buffets rife-- + Feature by feature It took its place: + And his voice, like a mad dog's choking bark, + At the steady whole of the Judge's face-- + Died. Forth John's soul flared into the dark. + + SUBJOINETH THE ABBOT DEODAET. + + God help all poor souls lost in the dark! + + NOTES: + "The Heretic's Tragedy" is an Interlude imagined in the + manner of the Middle Ages, and typically representing + this period of human development in its quaint piety and + prejudice, its childish delight in cruelty, and its cumulative + legend-making during the course of two centuries as reflected + through the Flemish nature. It is supposed to be + sung by an abbot, a choir-singer, and a chorus, in celebration + of the burning of Jacques du Bourg-Molay, last + Grand Master of the wealthy and powerful secular order + of Knights Templar, which came into rivalry with the + Church after the Crusades and was finally suppressed by + Philip IV of France and Pope Clement V, Molay's + burning at Paris in 1314 being a final scene in their + discomfiture and the Church's triumph. + + 8. Plagal-cadence: a closing progression of chords in + which the sub-dominant or chord on the fourth degree of + the scale precedes the tonic or chord on the first degree + of the scale. The name arises from the modes used in + early church music called Plagal Modes, which were a + transposition of the authentic modes beginning on the + fourth degree of the authentic modes. + + 12. Bought of... Aldabrod, etc.: Clement's arraignment + of Jacques or John being that the riches won piously + by the order during the Crusades, he had not scrupled to + sell again to Saladin, the Sultan, who is portrayed by + Scott in "The Talisman.'' + + 14. Pope Clement: the fifth Clement (1305-1314). + + 18. Clavicithern: a cithern with keys like a harpsichord. + + 25. Sing "Laudes": Sing the seven Psalms of praise + making up the service of the Church called Lauds. + + 48. Salva, etc. the bidding to greet here with a reverence, + according to custom, the Host, or Christ's flesh, + which had been mentioned. + + 60. Sharon's rose: Solomon's Song 2.1. + + + + +HOLY-CROSS DAY + + ON WHICH THE JEWS WERE FORCED TO ATTEND AN ANNUAL CHRISTIAN SERMON IN ROME + + [" Now was come about Holy-Cross Day, and now must my lord + preach his first sermon to the Jews: as it was of old cared for in the + merciful bowels of the Church, that, so to speak, a crumb at least + from her conspicuous table here in Rome should be, though but once + yearly, cast to the famishing dogs, under-trampled and bespitten-upon + beneath the feet of the guests. And a moving sight in truth, this, of + so many of the besotted blind restif and ready-to-perish Hebrews! now + maternally brought-nay (for He saith, 'Compel them to come in') haled, + as it were, by the head and hair, and against their obstinate hearts, + to partake of the heavenly grace. What awakening, what striving with + tears, what working of a yeasty conscience! Nor was my lord wanting + to himself on so apt an occasion; witness the abundance of conversions + which did incontinently reward him: though not to my lord be + altogether the glory."-Diary by the Bishop's Secretary, 1600.] + + What the Jews really said, on thus being driven to church, was rather + to this effect:-- + + I + + Fee, faw, fum! bubble and squeak! + Blessedest Thursday's the fat of the week. + Rumble and tumble, sleek and rough, + Stinking and savoury, smug and gruff, + Take the church-road, for the bell's due chime + Gives us the summons--'tis sermon-time! + + II + + Boh, here's Barnabas! Job, that's you? + Up stumps Solomon--bustling too? + Shame, man! greedy beyond your years + To handsel the bishop's shaving-shears? + Fair play's a jewel! Leave friends in the lurch? 10 + Stand on a line ere you start for the church! + + III + + Higgledy piggledy, packed we lie, + Rats in a hamper, swine in a stye, + Wasps in a bottle, frogs in a sieve, + Worms in a carcase, fleas in a sleeve. + Hist! square shoulders, settle your thumbs + And buzz for the bishop--here he comes. + + IV + + Bow, wow, wow--a bone for the dog! + I liken his Grace to an acorned hog. 20 + What, a boy at his side, with the bloom of a lass, + To help and handle my lord's hour-glass! + Didst ever behold so lithe a chine? + His cheek hath laps like a fresh-singed swine. + + + V + + Aaron's asleep--shove hip to haunch, + Or somebody deal him a dig in the paunch! + Look at the purse with the tassel and knob + And the gown with the angel and thingumbob! + What's he at, quotha? reading his text! + Now you've his curtsey--and what comes next? 30 + + VI + + See to our converts--you doomed black dozen-- + No stealing away--nor cog nor cozen! + You five, that were thieves, deserve it fairly; + You seven, that were beggars, will live less sparely; + You took your turn and dipped in the hat, + Got fortune--and fortune gets you; mind that! + + VII + + Give your first groan--compunction's at work + And soft! from a Jew you mount to a Turk. + Lo, Micah,--the selfsame beard on chin + He was four times already converted in! 40 + Here's a knife, clip quick--it's a sign of grace-- + Or he ruins us all with his hanging-face. + + VIII + + Whom now is the bishop a-leering at? + I know a point where his text falls pat. + I'll tell him to-morrow, a word just now + Went to my heart and made me vow + I meddle no more with the worst of trades-- + Let somebody else pay his serenades. + + IX + + Groan all together now, whee-hee-hee! + It's a-work, it's a-work, ah, woe is me! 50 + It began, when a herd of us, picked and placed, + Were spurred through the Corso, stripped to the waist; + Jew brutes, with sweat and blood well spent + To usher in worthily Christian Lent. + + X + + It grew, when the hangman entered our bounds, + Yelled, pricked us out to his church like hounds: + It got to a pitch, when the hand indeed + Which gutted my purse would throttle my creed: + And it overflows when, to even the odd, + Men I helped to their sins help me to their God. 60 + + XI + + But now, while the scapegoats leave our flock, + And the rest sit silent and count the clock, + Since forced to muse the appointed time + On these precious facts and truths sublime, + Let us fitly employ it, under our breath, + In saying Ben Ezra's Song of Death. + + XII + + For Rabbi Ben Ezra, the night he died, + Called sons and sons' sons to his side, + And spoke, "This world has been harsh and strange; + Something is wrong: there needeth change. 70 + But what, or where? at the last or first? + In one point only we sinned, at worst. + + XIII + + "The Lord will have mercy on Jacob yet, + And again in his border see Israel set. + When Judah beholds Jerusalem, + The stranger-seed shall be joined to them: + To Jacob's House shall the Gentiles cleave. + So the Prophet saith and his sons believe. + + XIV + + "Ay, the children of the chosen race + Shall carry and bring them to their place: 80 + In the land of the Lord shall lead the same + Bondsmen and handmaids. Who shall blame, + When the slaves enslave, the oppressed ones o'er + The oppressor triumph for evermore? + + XV + + "God spoke, and gave us the word to keep, + Bade never fold the hands nor sleep + 'Mid a faithless world, at watch and ward, + Till Christ at the end relieve our guard. + By His servant Moses the watch was set: + Though near upon cock-crow, we keep it yet. 90 + + XVI + + "Thou! if thou wast He, who at mid-watch came, + By the starlight, naming a dubious name! + And if, too heavy with sleep--too rash + With fear--O Thou, if that martyr-gash + Fell on Thee coming to take thine own, + And we gave the Cross, when we owed the Throne-- + + XVII + + "Thou art the Judge. We are bruised thus. + But, the Judgment over, join sides with us! + Thine too is the cause! and not more thine + Than ours, is the work of these dogs and swine, 100 + Whose life laughs through and spits at their creed! + Who maintain Thee in word, and defy Thee in deed! + + XVIII + + "We withstood Christ then? Be mindful how + At least we withstand Barabbas now! + Was our outrage sore? But the worst we spared, + To have called these--Christians, had we dared! + Let defiance to them pay mistrust of Thee, + And Rome make amends for Calvary! + + XIX + + "By the torture, prolonged from age to age, + By the infamy, Israel's heritage, 110 + By the Ghetto's plague, by the garb's disgrace, + By the badge of shame, by the felon's place, + By the branding-tool, the bloody whip, + And the summons to Christian fellowship,-- + + + XX + + "We boast our proof that at least the Jew + Would wrest Christ's name from the Devil's crew. + Thy face took never so deep a shade + But we fought them in it, God our aid! + A trophy to bear, as we march, thy band, + South, East, and on to the Pleasant Land!" 120 + + [Pope Gregory XVI abolished this bad business of the Sermon. + --R. B.] + + + NOTES: + "Holy-Cross Day" reflects the attitude of the corrupt mediaeval + Christians and Jews toward each other. The prose + preceding the poem gives the point of view of an imaginary + Bishop's Secretary, who congratulates himself upon + the good work the Church is doing in forcing its doctrine + on the Jews in the Holy-Cross Day sermon, and effecting + many conversions. The poem shows that the Jews regard + this solicitude on the part of the Christians with hatred + and scorn, and that their conversions are in derision of + their would-be converters. The sarcasm of the speaker + reaches a pinnacle of bitterness when he accuses the + Christian bishops of being men he had helped to their sins + and who now help him to their God. From scorn toward + such followers of Christ, he passes, in the contemplation + of Rabbi Ben Ezra's death song, to a defence of Christ + against these followers who profess but do not act his + precepts, and a hope that if the Jews were mistaken in + not accepting Christ, the tortures they now suffer will be + received as expiation for their sin. + + Holy-Cross Day is September 14. The discovery of the + true cross by Saint Helen inaugurated the festival, celebrated + both by Latins and Greeks as early as the fifth or + sixth century, under the title of the Exaltation of the + Cross and later in commemoration of the alleged miraculous + appearance of the Cross to Constantine in the sky + at midday. Though the particular incidents of the poem + are not historical, it is a fact (see Milman's "History of the + Jews'') that, by a Papal Bull issued by Gregory XIII in + 1584, all Jews above the age of twelve years were compelled + to listen every week to a sermon from a Christian + priest. + + 52. Corso: a street in Rome + + 67. Rabbi Ben Ezra: or Ibn Ezra, a mediaeval Jewish + writer and thinker, born in Toledo, near the end of the + eleventh century. + + III. Ghetto: the Jew's quarter. Pope Paul IV first + shut the Jews up in the Ghetto, and prohibited them from + leaving it after sunset. + + + + +PROTUS + + Among these latter busts we count by scores, + Half-emperors and quarter-emperors, + Each with his bay-leaf fillet, loose-thonged vest, + Loric and low-browed Gorgon on the breast, + One loves a baby face, with violets there, + Violets instead of laurel in the hair, + As those were all the little locks could bear. + + Now, read here. "Protus ends a period + Of empery beginning with a god; + Born in the porphyry chamber at Byzant, 10 + Queens by his cradle, proud and ministrant: + And if he quickened breath there, 'twould like fire + Pantingly through the dim vast realm transpire. + A fame that he was missing spread afar: + The world from its four corners, rose in war, + Till he was borne out on a balcony + To pacify the world when it should see. + The captains ranged before him, one, his hand + Made baby points at, gained the chief command. + And day by day more beautiful he grew 20 + In shape, all said, in feature and in hue, + While young Greek sculptors, gazing on the child, + Became with old Greek sculpture reconciled. + Already sages laboured to condense + In easy tomes a life's experience: + And artists took grave counsel to impart + In one breath and one hand-sweep, all their art, + To make his graces prompt as blossoming + Of plentifully-watered palms in spring: + Since well beseems it, whoso mounts the throne, 30 + For beauty, knowledge, strength, should stand alone, + And mortals love the letters of his name." + + --Stop! Have you turned two pages? Still the same. + New reign, same date. The scribe goes on to say + How that same year, on such a month and day, + "John the Pannonian, groundedly believed + A blacksmith's bastard, whose hard hand reprieved + The Empire from its fate the year before, + Came, had a mind to take the crown, and wore + The same for six years (during which the Huns 40 + Kept off their fingers from us), till his sons + Put something in his liquor"--and so forth. + Then a new reign. Stay--"Take at its just worth" + (Subjoins an annotator) "what I give + As hearsay. Some think, John let Protus live + And slip away. 'Tis said, he reached man's age + At some blind northern court; made, first a page, + Then tutor to the children; last, of use + About the hunting-stables. I deduce + He wrote the little tract 'On worming dogs,' 50 + Whereof the name in sundry catalogues + Is extant yet. A Protus of the race + Is rumoured to have died a monk in Thrace, + And if the same, he reached senility." + + Here's John the Smith's rough-hammered head. Great eye, + Gross jaw and griped lips do what granite can + To give you the crown-grasper. What a man! + + NOTES: + "Protus" sets in contrast the representations by artist and + annalist of the two busts and the two lives of Protus, the + baby emperor of Byzantium, born in the purple, gently + nurtured and cherished, yet fated to obscurity, and of John, + the blacksmith's bastard, predestined to usurp his throne + and save the empire with his harder hand. + + + + +THE STATUE AND THE BUST + + There's a palace in Florence, the world knows well, + And a statue watches it from the square, + And this story of both do our townsmen tell. + + Ages ago, a lady there, + At the farthest window facing the East + Asked, "Who rides by with the royal air?" + + The bridesmaids' prattle around her ceased; + She leaned forth, one on either hand; + They saw how the blush of the bride increased-- + + They felt by its beats her heart expand-- 10 + As one at each ear and both in a breath + Whispered, "The Great-Duke Ferdinand." + + That self-same instant, underneath, + The Duke rode past in his idle way, + Empty and fine like a swordless sheath. + + Gay he rode, with a friend as gay, + Till he threw his head back--"Who is she?" + "A bride the Riccardi brings home to-day." + + Hair in heaps lay heavily + Over a pale brow spirit-pure-- 20 + Carved like the heart of a coal-black tree, + + Crisped like a war-steed's encolure-- + And vainly sought to dissemble her eyes + Of the blackest black our eyes endure. + + And lo, a blade for a knight's emprise + Filled the fine empty sheath of a man-- + The Duke grew straightway brave and wise. + + He looked at her, as a lover can; + She looked at him, as one who awakes: + The past was a sleep, and her life began. 30 + + Now, love so ordered for both their sakes, + A feast was held that selfsame night + In the pile which the mighty shadow makes. + + (For Via Larga is three-parts light, + But the palace overshadows one, + Because of a crime which may God requite! + + To Florence and God the wrong was done, + Through the first republic's murder there + By Cosimo and his cursed son.) + + The Duke (with the statue's face in the square) 40 + Turned in the midst of his multitude + At the bright approach of the bridal pair. + + Face to face the lovers stood + A single minute and no more, + While the bridegroom bent as a man subdued-- + + Bowed till his bonnet brushed the floor-- + For the Duke on the lady a kiss conferred, + As the courtly custom was of yore. + + In a minute can lovers exchange a word? + If a word did pass, which I do not think, 50 + Only one out of the thousand heard. + + That was the bridegroom. At day's brink + He and his bride were alone at last + In a bedchamber by a taper's blink. + + Calmly he said that her lot was cast, + That the door she had passed was shut on her + Till the final catafalk repassed. + + The world meanwhile, its noise and stir, + Through a certain window facing the East, + She could watch like a convent's chronicler. 60 + + Since passing the door might lead to a feast + And a feast might lead to so much beside, + He, of many evils, chose the least. + + "Freely I choose too," said the bride-- + "Your window and its world suffice," + Replied the tongue, while the heart replied-- + + "If I spend the night with that devil twice, + May his window serve as my loop of hell + Whence a damned soul looks on paradise! + + "I fly to the Duke who loves me well, 70 + Sit by his side and laugh at sorrow! + Ere I count another ave-bell, + + "'Tis only the coat of a page to borrow, + And tie my hair in a horse-boy's trim, + And I save my soul--but not to-morrow"-- + + (She checked herself and her eye grew dim) + "My father tarries to bless my state: + I must keep it one day more for him. + + "Is one day more so long to wait? + Moreover the Duke rides past, I know; 80 + We shall see each other, sure as fate." + + She turned on her side and slept. Just so! + So we resolve on a thing and sleep: + So did the lady, ages ago. + + That night the Duke said, "Dear or cheap + As the cost of this cup of bliss may prove + To body or soul, I will drain it deep." + + And on the morrow, bold with love, + He beckoned the bridegroom (close on call, + As his duty bade, by the Duke's alcove) 90 + + And smiled, "'Twas a very funeral, + Your lady will think, this feast of ours, + A shame to efface, whate'er befall! + + "What if we break from the Arno bowers, + And try if Petraja, cool and green, + Cure last night's fault with this morning's flowers?" + + The bridegroom, not a thought to be seen + On his steady brow and quiet mouth, + Said, "Too much favour for me so mean! + + "But, alas! my lady leaves the South; 100 + Each wind that comes from the Apennine + Is a menace to her tender youth: + + "Nor a way exists, the wise opine, + If she quits her palace twice this year, + To avert the flower of life's decline." + + Quoth the Duke, "A sage and a kindly fear. + Moreover Petraja is cold this spring: + Be our feast to-night as usual here!" + + And then to himself--"Which night shall bring + Thy bride to her lover's embraces, fool-- 110 + Or I am the fool, and thou art the king! + + "Yet my passion must wait a night, nor cool-- + For to-night the Envoy arrives from France + Whose heart I unlock with thyself my tool. + + "I need thee still and might miss perchance. + To-day is not wholly lost, beside, + With its hope of my lady's countenance: + + "For I ride--what should I do but ride? + And passing her palace, if I list, + May glance at its window-well betide!" 120 + + So said, so done: nor the lady missed + One ray that broke from the ardent brow, + Nor a curl of the lips where the spirit kissed. + + Be sure that each renewed the vow, + No morrow's sun should arise and set + And leave them then as it left them now. + + But next day passed, and next day yet, + With still fresh cause to wait one day more + Ere each leaped over the parapet. + + And still, as love's brief morning wore, 130 + With a gentle start, half smile, half sigh, + They found love not as it seemed before. + + They thought it would work infallibly, + But not in despite of heaven and earth: + The rose would blow when the storm passed by. + + Meantime they could profit in winter's dearth + By store of fruits that supplant the rose: + The world and its ways have a certain worth: + + And to press a point while these oppose + Were simple policy; better wait: 140 + We lose no friends and we gain no foes. + + Meantime, worse fates than a lover's fate + Who daily may ride and pass and look + Where his lady watches behind the grate! + + And she--she watched the square like a book + Holding one picture and only one, + Which daily to find she undertook: + + When the picture was reached the book was done, + And she turned from the picture at night to scheme + Of tearing it out for herself next sun. 150 + + So weeks grew months, years; gleam by gleam + The glory dropped from their youth and love, + And both perceived they had dreamed a dream; + + Which hovered as dreams do, still above: + But who can take a dream for a truth? + Oh, hide our eyes from the next remove! + + One day as the lady saw her youth + Depart, and the silver thread that streaked + Her hair, and, worn by the serpent's tooth, + + The brow so puckered, the chin so peaked, 160 + And wondered who the woman was, + Hollow-eyed and haggard-cheeked, + + Fronting her silent in the glass-- + "Summon here," she suddenly said, + "Before the rest of my old self pass, + + "Him, the Carver, a hand to aid, + Who fashions the clay no love will change + And fixes a beauty never to fade. + + "Let Robbia's craft so apt and strange + Arrest the remains of young and fair, 170 + And rivet them while the seasons range. + + "Make me a face on the window there, + Waiting as ever, mute the while, + My love to pass below in the square! + + "And let me think that it may beguile + Dreary days which the dead must spend + Down in their darkness under the aisle, + + "To say, 'What matters it at the end? + 'I did no more while my heart was warm + Than does that image, my pale-faced friend.' 180 + + "Where is the use of the lip's red charm, + The heaven of hair, the pride of the brow, + And the blood that blues the inside arm-- + + "Unless we turn, as the soul knows how, + The earthly gift to an end divine? + A lady of clay is as good, I trow." + + But long ere Robbia's cornice, fine, + With flowers and fruits which leaves enlace, + Was set where now is the empty shrine-- + + (And, leaning out of a bright blue space, 190 + As a ghost might lean from a chink of sky, + The passionate pale lady's face-- + + Eyeing ever, with earnest eye + And quick-turned neck at its breathless stretch, + Some one who ever is passing by) + + The Duke had sighed like the simplest wretch + In Florence, "Youth--my dream escapes! + Will its record stay?" And he bade them fetch + + Some subtle moulder of brazen shapes-- + "Can the soul, the will, die out of a man 200 + Ere his body find the grave that gapes? + + "John of Douay shall effect my plan, + Set me on horseback here aloft, + Alive, as the crafty sculptor can, + + "In the very square I have crossed so oft: + That men may admire, when future suns + Shall touch the eyes to a purpose soft, + + "While the mouth and the brow stay brave in bronze-- + Admire and say, 'When he was alive + How he would take his pleasure once!' 210 + + "And it shall go hard but I contrive + To listen the while, and laugh in my tomb + At idleness which aspires to strive." + + -------------------------------- + + So! While these wait the trump of doom, + How do their spirits pass, I wonder, + Nights and days in the narrow room? + + Still, I suppose, they sit and ponder + What a gift life was, ages ago, + Six steps out of the chapel yonder. + + Only they see not God, I know, 220 + Nor all that chivalry of his, + The soldier-saints who, row on row, + + Burn upward each to his point of bliss-- + Since, the end of life being manifest, + He had burned his way thro' the world to this. + + I hear you reproach, "But delay was best, + For their end was a crime." Oh, a crime will do + As well, I reply, to serve for a test, + + As a virtue golden through and through, + Sufficient to vindicate itself 230 + And prove its worth at a moment's view! + + Must a game be played for the sake of pelf + Where a button goes, 'twere an epigram + To offer the stamp of the very Guelph. + + The true has no value beyond the sham: + As well the counter as coin, I submit, + When your table's a hat, and your prize a dram. + + Stake your counter as boldly every whit, + Venture as warily, use the same skill, + Do your best, whether winning or losing it, 240 + + If you choose to play!--is my principle. + Let a man contend to the uttermost + For his life's set prize, be it what it will! + + The counter our lovers staked was lost + As surely as if it were lawful coin: + And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost + + Is--the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, + Though the end in sight was a vice, I say. + You of the virtue (we issue join) + How strive you? De te, fabula! 250 + + NOTES: + "The Statue and the Bust" creates the characters and the + situation, and dramatically represents a story which is based + on a Florentine tradition that Duke Ferdinand I placed + his equestrian statue in the Piazza dell' Annunziata so that + he might gaze forever towards the old Riccardi Palace, + where a lady he loved was imprisoned by her jealous husband. + The bride and her ducal lover are seen exchanging + their first looks, through which they perceive the genuineness + of their love; and the temporizing of each is presented, + through which, for the sake of petty conveniences, + they submit to be thwarted by the wary husband, and to + have the end they count supreme delayed until love and + youth have gone, and the best left them is the artificial + gaze interchanged by a bronze statue in the square and a + clay face at the window. The closing stanzas point the + moral against the palsy of the will, whose strenuous exercise + is life's main gift. + + I. There's a palace in Florence: refers to the old + Riccardi Palace, now the Palazzo Antinori, in the square + of the Annunziata, where the statue still stands. + + 22. encolure: neck and shoulder of a horse + + 33. The pile which the mighty shadow makes: refers to + another palace in the Via Larga where the duke (not the + lady) lived, and which is to-day known as the Riccardi + Palace. Cooke's "Browning Guide Book" and Berdoe's + "Browning Cyclopaedia" both confuse the two, attributing + error to Browning in spite of his letter about it. This + confusion was cleared up by Harriet Ford (Poet-lore, Dec. + 1891, vol. iii. p. 648, "Browning right about the Riccardi Palace''). + + 36. Because of a crime, etc.: refers to the destroying of + the liberties of the Florentine republic by Cosimo dei + Medici and his grandson, Lorenzo, who lived in the then + Medici (now Riccardi) Palace, whose darkening of the + street with its bulk symbolizes the crime which took the + light from Florence. + + 57. catafalk: the stage or scaffolding for a coffin whilst in the church + + 94. Arno bowers: the palace by the Arno, the river + flowing through Florence. + + 95. Petraja: a Florentine suburb. + + 169. Robbia's craft: the Robbia family were skilled in + shaping the bisque known as Della Robbia ware which + was long one of the Florentine manufactures, and traces + of which, when Browning wrote, still adorned the outer + cornice of the palace. + + 202. John of Douay [Giovanni of Bologna], sculptor (1524-1608). + The statue is one of his finest works. + + 250. De te, fabula! Concerning thee, this fable! + + + + +PORPHYRIA'S LOVER + + The rain set early in to-night, + The sullen wind was soon awake, + It tore the elm-tops down for spite, + And did its worst to vex the lake: + I listened with heart fit to break. + When glided in Porphyria; straight + She shut the cold out and the storm, + And kneeled and made the cheerless grate + Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; + Which done, she rose, and from her form 10 + Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, + And laid her soiled gloves by, untied + Her hat and let the damp hair fall, + And, last, she sat down by my side + And called me. When no voice replied, + She put my arm about her waist, + And made her smooth white shoulder bare, + And all her yellow hair displaced, + And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, + And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, 20 + Murmuring how she loved me--she + Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour, + To set its struggling passion free + From pride, and vainer ties dissever, + And give herself to me for ever. + But passion sometimes would prevail, + Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain + A sudden thought of one so pale + For love of her, and all in vain: + So, she was come through wind and rain. 30 + + Be sure I looked up at her eyes + Happy and proud; at last I knew + Porphyria worshipped me; surprise + Made my heart swell, and still it grew + While I debated what to do. + That moment she was mine, mine, fair, + Perfectly pure and good: I found + A thing to do, and all her hair + In one long yellow string I wound + Three times her little throat around, 40 + And strangled her. No pain felt she; + I am quite sure she felt no pain. + As a shut bud that holds a bee, + I warily oped her lids: again + Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. + And I untightened next the tress + About her neck; her cheek once more + Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: + I propped her head up as before, + Only, this time my shoulder bore 50 + Her head, which droops upon it still: + The smiling rosy little head, + So glad it has its utmost will, + That all it scorned at once is fled, + And I, its love, am gained instead! + Porphyria's love: she guessed not how + Her darling one wish would be heard. + And thus we sit together now, + And all night long we have not stirred, + And yet God has not said a word! 60 + + NOTES: + "Porphyria's Lover" relates how, by strangling Porphyria + with her own yellow hair, the lover seized and preserved + the moment of perfect love when, pure and good, Porphyria + left the world she could not forego for his sake, + and came to him, for once conquered by her love. A + latent misgiving as to his action is intimated in the closing + line of the poem. + Remarking upon the fact that Browning removed the + original title, "Madhouse Cells," which headed this poem, + and "Johannes Agricola in Meditation," Mrs. Orr says: + "Such a crime might be committed in a momentary + aberration, or even intense excitement of feeling. It is + characterized here by a matter-of-fact simplicity, which is + its sign of madness. The distinction, however, is subtle; + and we can easily guess why this and its companion poem + did not retain their title. A madness which is fit for + dramatic treatment is not sufficiently removed from + sanity." + + + + +"CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME." + + (See Edgar's song in "LEAR.") + + I + + My first thought was, he lied in every word, + That hoary cripple, with malicious eye + Askance to watch the working of his lie + On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford + Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored + Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby. + + II + + What else should he be set for, with his staff? + What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare + All travellers who might find him posted there, 10 + And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh + Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph + For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare, + + III + + If at his counsel I should turn aside + Into that ominous tract which, all agree + Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly + I did turn as he pointed: neither pride + Nor hope rekindling at the end descried + So much as gladness that some end might be. + + IV + + For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, + What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope 20 + Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope + With that obstreperous joy success would bring, + I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring + My heart made, finding failure in its scope. + + V + + As when a sick man very near to death + Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end + The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, + And hears one bid the other go, draw breath + Freelier outside ("since all is o'er," he saith, + "And the blow fallen no grieving can amend"); 30 + + VI + + While some discuss if near the other graves + Be room enough for this, and when a day + Suits best for carrying the corpse away, + With care about the banners, scarves and staves: + And still the man hears all, and only craves + He may not shame such tender love and stay. + + VII + + Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest, + Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ + So many times among "The Band"--to wit, + The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed 40 + Their steps--that just to fail as they, seemed best, + And all the doubt was now--should I be fit? + + VIII + + So, quiet as despair, I turned from him, + That hateful cripple, out of his highway + Into the path he pointed. All the day + Had been a dreary one at best, and dim + Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim + Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. + + IX + + For mark! no sooner was I fairly found + Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, 50 + Than, pausing to throw backward a last view + O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round: + Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. + I might go on; nought else remained to do. + + X + + So, on I went. I think I never saw + Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve: + For flowers-as well expect a cedar grove! + But cockle, spurge, according to their law + Might propagate their kind, with none to awe, + You'd think; a burr had been a treasure trove. 60 + + XI + + No! penury, inertness and grimace, + In some strange sort, were the land's portion. "See + Or shut your eyes," said Nature peevishly, + "It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: + 'Tis the Last Judgment's fire must cure this place, + Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free." + + XII + + If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk + Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents + Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents + In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk 70 + All hope of greenness? 'tis a brute must walk + Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents. + + XIII + + As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair + In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud + Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. + One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare, + Stood stupefied, however he came there: + Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! + + XIV + + Alive? he might be dead for aught I know, + With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain, 80 + And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane; + Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; + I never saw a brute I hated so; + He must be wicked to deserve such pain. + + XV + + I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. + As a man calls for wine before he fights, + I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, + Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. + Think first, fight afterwards--the soldier's art: + One taste of the old time sets all to rights. 90 + + XVI + + Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face + Beneath its garniture of curly gold, + Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold + An arm in mine to fix me to the place + That way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace! + Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. + + XVII + + Giles then, the soul of honour--there he stands + Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. + What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. + Good-=but the scene shifts--faugh! what hangman hands 100 + Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands + Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst! + + XVIII + + Better this present than a past like that; + Back therefore to my darkening path again! + No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain. + Will the night send a howlet or a bat? + I asked: when something on the dismal flat + Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train. + + XIX + + A sudden little river crossed my path + As unexpected as a serpent comes. 110 + No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms; + This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath + For the fiend's glowing hoof--to see the wrath + Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. + + XX + + So petty yet so spiteful! All along, + Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it + Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit + Of mute despair, a suicidal throng: + The river which had done them all the wrong, + Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit. 120 + + XXI + + Which, while I forded,--good saints, how I feared + To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek, + Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek + For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard! + --It may have been a water-rat I speared, + But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. + + XXII + + Glad was I when I reached the other bank. + Now for a better country. Vain presage! + Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage, + Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank 130 + Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank, + Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage-- + + XXIII + + The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. + What penned them there, with all the plain to choose? + No foot-print leading to that horrid mews, + None out of it. Mad brewage set to work + Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk + Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews. + + XXIV + + And more than that--a furlong on--why, there! + What bad use was that engine for, that wheel, 140 + Or brake, not wheel--that harrow fit to reel + Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air + Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware + Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. + + XXV + + Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood, + Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth + Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth, + Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood + Changes and off he goes!) within a rood-- + Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth. 150 + + XXVI + + Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim, + Now patches where some leanness of the soil's + Broke into moss or substances like boils; + Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him + Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim + Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils. + + XXVII + + And just as far as ever from the end! + Nought in the distance but the evening, nought + To point my footstep further! At the thought + A great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend, 160 + Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned + That brushed my cap--perchance the guide I sought. + + XXVIII + + For, looking up, aware I somehow grew, + 'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place + All round to mountains--with such name to grace + Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. + How thus they had surprised me,--solve it, you! + How to get from them was no clearer case. + + XXIX + + Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick + Of mischief happened to me, God knows when-- 170 + In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then, + Progress this way. When, in the very nick + Of giving up, one time more, came a click + As when a trap shuts--you're inside the den! + + XXX + + Burningly it came on me all at once, + This was the place! those two hills on the right + Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight; + While to the left, a tall scalped mountain... Dunce, + Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce, + After a life spent training for the sight! 180 + + XXXI + + What in the midst lay but the Tower itself? + The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart, + Built of brown stone, without a counterpart + In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf + Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf + He strikes on, only when the timbers start. + + XXXII + + Not see? because of night perhaps?--why, day + Came back again for that! before it left, + The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: + The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay, 190 + Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,-- + "Now stab and end the creature--to the heft!" + + XXXIII + + Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled + Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears + Of all the lost adventurers my peers,-- + How such a one was strong, and such was bold, + And such was fortunate, yet each of old + Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. + + XXXIV + + There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides, met + To view the last of me, a living frame 200 + For one more picture! in a sheet of flame + I saw them and I knew them all. And yet + Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, + And blew. "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came." + + NOTES: + "Childe Roland" symbolizes the conquest of despair by fealty + to the ideal. Browning emphatically disclaimed any precise + allegorical intention in this poem. He acknowledged + only an ideal purport in which the significance of the + whole, as suggesting a vision of life and the saving power + of constancy, had its due place. Certain picturesque + materials which had made their impressions on the poet's + mind contributed towards the building up of this realistic + fantasy: a tower he saw in the Carrara Mountains; a + painting which caught his eye later in Paris; the figure of + a horse in the tapestry in his own drawing-room--welded + together with the remembrance of the line cited from + King Lear, iii. 4, 187, which last, it should be remembered, + has a background of ballads and legend cycles + of which a man like Browning was not unaware. For + allegorical schemes of the Poem see Nettleship's "Essays + and Thoughts," and The Critic, Apr. 24, 1886; for an + antidote to these, The Critic, May 8, 1886; an orthodox + view, Poet-lore, Nov. 1890: for interpretations touching + on the ballad sources, London Browning Society Papers, + part iii. p. 21, and Poet-lore, Aug.-Sept. 1892. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dramatic Romances, by Robert Browning + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRAMATIC ROMANCES *** + +***** This file should be named 4253.txt or 4253.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/5/4253/ + +Produced by Richard Adicks + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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