xf & l^( 1 BROWNING AT 77 (1889). ROBERT BROWN- ING'S SELECTED NEW YORK, THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS jfc Jt- Jt> POEMS CF ROBERT BROWNING jFrom tije ^utijor's &ebtsc& HZext at 1839 HIS OWN SELECTIONS WITH ADDITIONS FROM HIS LATEST WORKS EDITED WITH BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL NOTES AND INTRODUCTIONS BY CHARLOTTE PORTER AND HELEN A. CLARKE EDITORS OF " POET LORE " NEW YORK THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY T Y CROWELL & CC Xorfaooti 53rtss i. S. Cashing i Co. - Berwick & Smith Norwood Mass. U.S.A DEDICATED TO IN POETRY ILLUSTRIOUS AND CONSUMMATE IK FRIENDSHIP NOBLE AND SINCERE 2234598 In the present selection from my poetry, thkre is an attempt to tscape from the embarrassment of appearing Jo pronounce upon what myself may consider the best of it. I adopt another principle ; and by simply stringing together certain pieces on the thread of an imaginary personality, I present them in succession, rather as the natural development of a particular experience than because I account them the most noteworthy portion of my work. -Such an attempt was made in the volume of selections from the poetry of Elizabeth Barrett Browning : to which in outward uniformity, at least my own would venture to become a companion. A few years ago, had such an opportunity presented itself, I might have been tempted to say a word in reply to the objections my poetry was used to encounter. Time has kindly co-operated with my disinclination to write the poetry and the criticism besides. The readers I am at last privileged to expect, meet me fully half-way ; and if, from the fitting stand-point, they must still "censure me in their wisdom," they have previously "awakened their senses that they may the better judge." Nor do I apprehend any more charges of being wilfully obscure, unconscientiously care- less, or perversely harsh. Having hitherto done my utmost in the art to which my life is a devotion, I cannot engage to increase the effort ; but I conceive that there may be helpful light, as well as re-assuring warmth, in the attention and sympathy I gratefully acknowledge. R. B. London, May 14, 1872. ; CONTENTS. PAGE EDITOR'S PREFACE ix BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION . . xi CRITICAL INTRODUCTION .... xxv /^My Star i A 'Face i Last Duchess 2 g from " Pippa Passes" ... 3 Cristma ....... 4 Count Gismond S Eurydice to Orpheus .... 9 The Glove 9 Song A Serenade at the Villa . . . .14 Youth and Art 16 ___The Flight of the Duchess . . 19 "T^Song from " Pippa Passes " . . - 39 ^ " How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix " .... 39 Song from " Paracelsus " . . . -41 --"Through the Metidja to Abd-el-Kadr . 42 ^f Incident of the French Camp . . -43 The Lost Leader 44 AIn a Gondola 45 A Lovers' Quarrel . . . . .51 Etrth's Immortalities . . . -56 ^fl'he Last Ride together . . . -56 Mesmerism ...... 59 By the Fireside 64 ^tuy Wife to Any Husband . . . 72 ^^TI a Year ....... 76 Song from " James Lee ". . . .79 ^A Woman's Last Word . . . -79 .^-Meeting at Night 81 . Parting at Morning 81 -^Vomen and Roses . . . . .81 Misconceptions. . . . . .83 83 Be retty Woman A Light Woman Love in a Life .... Life in a Love .... The Laboratory Gold Hair: A Story of Pornic The Statue and the Bust . ILove among the Ruins Time's Revenges Waring ..... Home Thoughts from Abroad . The Italian in England The Englishman in Italy . PAGB Up at a Villa Down in the City . . 120 Pictor Ignotus ... . . 123 Fra Lippo Lippi ..... 124- Andrea del Sarto i33_ The Bishop orders his Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church 138 A Toccata of Galuppi's .... 141 How it strikes a Contemporary . . 143 Protus ....... 146 Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha . . 147 Abt Vogler 152 . Two in the Campagna .... 155 " De Gustibus " 157 The Guardian-Angel .... 158 Evelyn Hope ...... 160 Memorabilia 162 Apparent Failure 162 Pr 164 ~~ Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came "....... 165 A Grammarian's Funeral .... 171 Cleon 174 Instans Tyrannus . . . . . 182 An Epistle containing the Strange Medi- cal Experience of Karshish, the Arab Physician ...... 184- Caliban upon Setebos ; or, Natural The- ology in the Island .... 191 Saul 198* Rabbi Ben Ezra 207 Epilogue 213 A Wall 217 Apparitions 218 . 218 . 219 . 219 . 223 . 224 . 225- . 225 . 226 . 230 230 234 237 . 238 . 240 241 251 Natural Magic Magical Nature . Garden Fancies . In Three Days . The Lost Mistress One Way of Love Rudel to the Lady of Tripoli Numpholeptos . Appearances The Worst of it Too Late .... Bifurcation A Likeness May and Death A Forgiveness . Cenciaja .... Vlll CONTENTS. Porphyria's Lover Filippo Burial Soliloquy The Here Holy-Cross Day Amphibian .. St. Martin's Summer James Lee's Wife Respectability . Dis Aliter Jours . Confessions The Householder Tray . Cavalier Tunes Before After Herv^ Riel In a Balcony - Old Pictures Bishop Bloug Mr. Sludge, The Boy and A Death in t Fears and Scruples Artemis Prologizes . Pheidippides ' The Patriot . p AGE 257 259 272 275 ->-r P ucci on the Privilege of 2 Spanish Cloister . ^ragedy .... Pisgah Sights. 2 Pisgah Sights. 3 . . . * 282 mmer . . . ife .... 285 288 3 00 3 OI 306 307 308 310 3 I2 3'4 3*4 3i8 A Tale . . . . . Additional Selections from Browning's Latest Works, 1880-1889 Echetlos Touch him ne'er so Lightly . . . Wanting is What? . Never the Time and the Place . Round us the Wild Creatures . Ask not One Least Word of Praise . Epilogue to " Ferishtah's Fancies " . The Names Why I am a Liberal ..... Prologue to " Asolando ". m ; or, Le Byron de Nos er m's Apology . . The Medium " . e Angel .... Desert .... ales . 347 369 403 406 421 Summum Bonum Muckle-Mouth Meg .... Epilogue to " Asolando " Notes 422 425 428 Bibliography Index to Poems Index to First Lines . PAGE 429 432 433 434 435 439 - 448 . 448 449 449 450 45 45' 45 1 452 452 453 454 455 ' 455 459 54 59 5" EDITORS' PREFACE. "OROWNING'S own selections from his works supply the general -D reader, or the student who intends further complete study, with the most coherent representative short survey or initial presentation of his whole complex and voluminous genius. The poet has made his selections cover the entire range of his work from 1833 to 1879; the present editors, not presuming to go back over any part of the field from which he has garnered, have added from his later publications a choice handful of short poems, mainly lyrical, be- ginning with the second series of 'Dramatic Idyls,' 1880, and closing with the final volume, 'Asolando,' 1889, which was published in Lon- don on the day of Browning's death in Venice. Care has been taken to give with accuracy Browning's own latest revised text of 1888, 1889; also, to make the Introduction and Notes rich in small space. In making the aesthetic part of the Notes, the aim has been neither to paraphrase, nor to give comment about the poems, but to epitomize the gist of each one, or, at most, where the poem demanded such treatment, to summarize its leading traits and show its outcome. Such a procedure seemed especially appro- priate to this volume which Browning intended should offer the public a representative view of his poetic domain, and the editors hope this part of their work will especially commend itself. They believe the Notes will also be found to shed light on many allusions not before explained. Finally, they desire to acknowledge with cordial gratitude their in- debtedness to the work of their predecessors, especially to Mrs. Orr, Professor Hiram Corson, Mr. George Willis Cooke, Dr. Edward Berdoe, Dr. W. J. Rolfe, and Miss Hersey for help in allusions ; and to Mrs. Orr, Mr. William Sharpe, Mr. Edmund Gosse, and Mr. W. G. Kingsland, from whom the materials for the biographical sketch were drawn ; also to the Boston Browning Society, whose collection of first editions was consulted in compiling the bibliography. BOSTON, May 20, 1896. BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. "A peep through my window, if folk prefer; But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine." ' HOUSE.' WHEN some depredator of the familiar declared that " Only in Italy is there any romance left," Browning replied, "Ah! well, I should like to include poor old Camberwell," and " poor old Camber- well," where Robert Browning was born, May 7, 1812, offered no meagre nurture for the fancy of a child gifted \vith the ardor that greatens and glorifies the real. Nature still garlanded this suburban part of London with bowery spaces breathing peace. The view of the region from Herne Hill over softly wreathing distances of domestic wood " was. before railroads came, entirely lovely," Ruskin says. He writes of " the tops of twenty square miles of politely inhabited groves," of bloom of lilac and laburnum and of almond-blossoms, intermingling suggestions of the wealth of fruit-trees in enclosed gardens, and companioning all this with the furze, birch, oak, and bramble of the Norwood hills, and the open fields of Dulwich " ani- mate with cow and buttercup." Nature was ready to beckon the young poet to dreams and solitude, and, too close to need to vie with her, the great city was at hand to make her power intimately felt. From a height crowned by three large elms. Browning, as a lad, used to enjoy the picturesqueness of his "poor old Camberwell." Its heart of romance was centred for him in the sight of the vast city lying to the westward. His memory singled out one such visit as peculiarly significant, the first one on which he beheld teeming London by night, and heard the vague confusion of her collec- tive voice beneath the silence of the stars. Within the home into which he was born, equally well-poised condi- tions befriended him, fostering the development of his emotional and intellectual nature. His mother was once described by Carlyle as "the true type of a Scottish gentlewoman." Browning himself used to say of xii BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. her "with tremulous emotion," according to his friend, Mrs. Orr, "sk was a divine woman." Her gentle, deeply religious nature evidently derived its evangelical tendency from her mother, also Scotch ; while from her father, William Wiedemann, ship-owner, a Hamburg German, settled in Dundee, who was an accomplished draughtsman and musician, she seems to have derived the liking and facility for music which was one of the characteristic bents of the poet. To this Scotch-German descent on his mother's side the metaphysical quality of his mind is accountable, concerning which Harriet Martineau is recorded as having said to him, " You have no need to study German thought, your mind is German enough already." The peculiarly tender affection his mother called out in him seems to have been at once proof and enhancement of the mystical, emotional, and impressible side of his disposition; and these traits were founded on an organic inheritance from her of " what he called a nervousness of nature," which his father could not have bequeathed to him. Exuberant vitality, insatiable intellectual curiosity and capacity, the characteristics of Robert Browning the elder, were the heritage of his son, but raised in him to a more effective power, through their transmu- tation, perhaps, as Mrs. Orr suggests, in the more sensitive physique and temperament inherited from his mother. Of his father, Browning wrote that his " Powers, natural and acquired, would easily have made him a notable man, had he known what vanity or ambition or the love of money or social influence meant." He had refused to stay on his mother's sugar plantation at St. Kitt's in the West Indies, losing the fortune to be achieved there, because of his detestation of slavery, and the office he filled in the Bank of England was never close enough to his liking to induce him to rise in it so far as his father had risen ; but it enabled him to indulge his tastes for many books and a few pictures and to secure for his son, as that son said shortly before his death, " all the ease and comfort that a literary man needs to do good work." One of the poet's own early recollections gives a picture that epito- mizes the joint influence of his happy parentage. It depicts the child " sitting on his father's knees in the library, listening with enthralled attention to the tale of Troy, with marvellous illustrations among the glowing coals in the fireplace ; with, below all, the vaguely heard accompaniment from the neighboring room where Mrs. Browning sat ' in her chief happiness, her hour of darkness and solitude and music ' of a wild Gaelic lament." His father's brain was itself a library, stored with literary antiquities which, his son used to say, made him seem to have known Paracelsus, Faustus, and even Talmudic personages personally, and his heart was BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION*. xiti so young and buoyant that his lore, instead of isolating him from his boy and girl, made him their most entertaining companion. It is not surprising that under such circumstances the ordinary school- ing was too puerile for young Robert's wide-awake wits. He was so energetic in mind and body that he was sent to a day-school near by for peace 1 sake at an early age, and sent back again, for peace 1 sake, too, because his proficiency made the mammas complain that Mrs. was neglecting her other pupils for the sake of bringing on Master Browning. Home teaching followed. Also home amusement, which included the keeping of a variety of pets, owls, monkeys, magpies, hedgehogs, an eagle, a toad, and two snakes. If any further proof is needed of the hospitable warmth of his youthful heart, an entry in his diary at the age of seven or eight may serve " married two wives this morning. 11 This referred, of course, to an imaginary appropriation of two girls he bad just seen in charch. Later he entered the school of the Misses Ready and passed thence to their brother's school, staying there till he was fourteen, but his con- tempt for the petty and formal learning which is the best accorded many children, was marked, and perfectly natural to a boy who delighted to plunge in the deeper knowledge his father's book-crammed house opened generously to him. In the list, given by Mrs. Orr, of books early attractive to him, were a seventeenth edition of Quarles's ' Emblems ' ; first editions of ' Robinson Crusoe,' and Milton ; the original pamphlet. ' Killing no Murder' (1559) which Carlyle borrowed for his ' Cromwell ' ; an early edition of the ' Bees ' by the Bernard Mandeville, with whom he was destined later to hold a ' Parleying ' of his own ; rare old Bibles ; Voltaire ; a wide range of English poetry; the Greek and Elizabethan dramatists. His father's profound love of poetry was essentially classic, and his marked aptitude in rhyming followed the models of Pope, but Brown- ing's early poet was Byron, and all his sympathies were warmly roman- tic. His verse-making, which began before he could write, resulted at twelve in a volume of short poems, presumably Byronic, which he gracefully entitled ' Incondita.' He wanted, in vain, to find a publisher for this, and soon afterwards destroyed it, but not before his mother had shown it to Miss Flower, and she, to her sister, Sarah Flower, and to Mr. Fox, and the budding poet had thus gained the attention of three genuine friends. Shortly after this, the Byronic star which had shed its somewhat lurid influence over the first ebullitions of his genius, was forever ban- ished by the appearance of a new star within his field of vision. In- credible as it may seem to the present generation, he had never heard x iv BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. of Shelley, and if it had not been for a happy chance, an important in- fluence in the early shaping of his poetic faculties might have been postponed until too late to furnish its quickening impulse. One day in passing a book-stall, he happened to see advertised in a box of second-hand wares a little book, -Mr. Shelley's Atheistical Poems:' very scarce. Though the little second-hand volume was only a miserable pirated edition, by its means such entrancing glimpses Df an unsuspected wcrid were revealed to the boy that he longed to possess more of Shelley. His mother, accordingly, sallied forth in search of Shelley's poems, which, after many tribulations, she at length found at C. and J. Ollier's of Vere Street. She brought away not only nearly all of Shelley in first editions (the ' Cenci ' excepted), but three volumes of Keats, whom she was assured would interest anybody who liked Shelley. Browning, himself, used to recall how, at the end of this eventful day, two nightingales, one in the laburnum at the end of his father's garden, and one in a copper beech in the next garden, sang ir emulation of the poets whose music had laid its subtile spell upon him While Keats was duly appreciated, it was Shelley who appealed most to Browning, and although it was some years before any poetic mani- festation of Shelley's influence was to work itself out, he, with youthful ardor, at once adopted the crude attitude taken by Shelley in his immature work 'Queen Mab,' became a professing atheist, and even went so far as to practise vegetarianism, of which, however, he was soon cured because of its unpleasant effect on his eyesight. Of his atheism Mrs. Orr says, " His mind was not so constituted that such doubt fast- ened itself upon it ; nor did he ever in after life speak of this period of negation except as an access of boyish folly, with which his mature self could have no concern. The return to religious belief did not shake his faith in his new prophet. It only made him willing to admit that he had misread him. This period of Browning's life remained, never- theless, one of rebellion and unrest, to which many circumstances may ?ave contributed besides the influence of one mind." With the exception of the poetic awakening just recorded, Brown- .ng's youthful life is uneventful. By his father's decision his education was continued at home with instruction in dancing, riding, boxing, fencing ; in French with a tutor for two years ; and in music with John Relfe for theory, and a Mr. Abel, pupil of Me ^eles, for execution, doubtless supplemented with contin- uous browsing among the rare books in his father's library. At eighteen he attended a Greek class at the London University for a term or two and with this his formal education ceased. It was while at the uni- versity that his final choice of poetry as his future profession was made. BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION: xv That he had a bent in other artistic directions as well as that of poetry is witnessed by his own confession written on the fly-leaf of a first edition of Pauline ' now treasured in the South Kensington Museum. " ' Pauline ' written in pursuance of a foolish plan I forget, or have no wish to remember; involving the assumption of several distinct characters : the world was never to guess that such an opera, such a comedy, such a speech proceeded from the same notable person." Some idea had been entertained of the possibility of Robert's quali- fying himself for the bar, but Mr. Browning was entirely too much in sympathy with his son's interests to put any obstacles in the way of his choice, and did everything in his power to help him in establishing himself in his poetical career. When the decision was made, Brown- ing's first step was to read and digest the whole of Johnson's Dictionary. During these years of preparation his consciousness of his own latent powers, together with youthful immaturity, made him, from all accounts, a somewhat obstreperous personage. Mrs. Orr says that his mother was much distressed at his impatience and aggressiveness. " He set the judgments of those about him at defiance, and gratuitously pro- claimed himself everything that he was and some things that he was not." It is probable, as his sister suggests, that the life of Camberwell, in spite of the dear home to which he was much attached, and a small coterie of congenial friends, including his cousins, the Silverthornes, and Alfred Domett, did not afford sufficient scope for the expansion of his eager intelligence. In 1833 appeared the first flowering of his genius in l Pauline,' for the publication of which his aunt, Mrs. Silverthorne, furnished the money. It was printed with no name affixed, by Saunders and Otley. The influence of Shelley breathes through this poem ; not only is it immanent in the music of the verse, but in its general atmosphere, while one of its finest climaxes is the apostrophe to Shelley beginning, " Sun-treader, life and light be thine forever ! " These influences, however, are commingled with elements of striking originality indi- cating, in spite of some crudities of construction, that here was a new force in the poetic world. Not many recognized it at the time. Among those who did was his former friend, Mr. Fox, then editor of the Monthly Repository, who gave ( Pauline ' a sympathetic review in his magazine. Later, another article praising it was printed in the same magazine. This and one or two other inadequate notices ended its early literary history, and thus was unassumingly planted the first seed of one of the most splendid poetical growths the world has seen. How completely Pauline ' was forgotten is shown by the anecdote told of Rossetti's coming across it in the British Museum twenty years later, and guess- xvi BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. ing from internal evidence that it was by the author of ' Paracelsus.' Delighted with it, he transcribed it. If he had not, it might have remained buried there to this day, for Browning was very loath to acknowledge this early child of his genius. A journey to Russia at the invitation of the Russian consul-general, Mr. Benckhausen, with whom he went as nominal secretary, and the contribution to the Monthly Repository of five short poems fills up the time until the appearance of 'Paracelsus. 1 Most remarkable among these short poems were ' Porphyria's Lover ' and ' Johannes Agricola in Meditation,' of which Mr. Gosse says, " It is a curious matter for reflec- tion that two poems so unique in their construction and conception, so modern, so interesting, so new could be printed without attracting atten- tion so far as it would appear from any living creature." Paracelsus was suggested as a subject to Browning by Count de Ripert Monclar, a young French Royalist, who, while spending his summers in England, formed a friendship with the poet. The absence of love in the story seemed to him aftenvards a drawback, but Browning, having read up the literature of Paracelsus at the British Museum, decided to follow his friend's suggestion and according to promise dedicated the poem to Count Monclar. In the days when he was writing ' Paracelsus ' Browning was fond of drawing inspiration from midnight rambles in the Dulwich woods, and he used often to compose in the open air. Here we may perhaps find an explanation of the fact that in these earlier poems there is a constant interfusion of nature imagery which, later, when the poet "fared up and down amid men," gave place to the human emotions upon which his thoughts became concentred, or appeared only at rare intervals. Mr. Fox, always ready to praise the young poet whom he had been the first to recognize, was upon the publication of ' Paracelsus ' seconded by John Forster, who wrote an appreciative article about it in the Examiner. If ' Paracelsus ' did not win popularity, it gained the poet many friends among the literary men of the day. From this period dates the acquaintanceship of notabilities like Serjeant Talfourd, Home, Leigh Hunt, Barry Cornwall, Harriet Martineau, Miss Mitford, Monckton Milnes, Dickens, Wordsworth, Landor, and others. The most impor- tant in its consequences of his new friendships was that begun with the celebrated actor William Macready, to whom he was introduced by Mr. Fox. Macready, delighted with Browning, shortly after asked him to a New Year's party at his house at Elstree. Every one who met the poet seemed attracted by his personality. Macready said he looked more like a youthful poet than any man he BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xv ii had ever seen. Mr. Sharpe's description of him from hearsay is more definite. As a young man he appears to have had a certain ivory deli- cacy of coloring. He appeared, taller than he was, partly because of his rare grace of movement and partly from a characteristic high poise of the head when listening intently to music or conversation. Even then he had the expressive wave of the hand which in later years was as full of various meanings as the Ecco of an Italian. A swift alertness pervaded him noticeably as much in the rapid change of expression, in the deepening and illuming colors of his singularly expressive eyes, and in his sensitive mouth as in his grey- hound-like apprehension, which so often grasped the subject in its entirety before its propounder himself realized its significance. His hair then of a brown so dark as to appear black was so beautiful in its heavy, sculpturesque waves as frequently to attract attention. His voice then had a rare flute-like tone, clear, sweet, and resonant. The influence of Macready turned the poet's thoughts toward writing for the stage. A drama, 'Narses, 1 was discussed, but for some reason abandoned, and the subject of Strafford was decided upon in its place. The occasion upon which the decision was made gives an attractive glimpse of the young Browning receiving his first social honor. It was at a dinner at Talfourd's after the performance of ' Ion,' in which Mac- ready acted. Mr. Sharpe says : " To his surprise and gratification, Browning found himself placed next but one to his host and immediately opposite Macready, who sat be- tween two gentlemen, one calm as a summer evening, the other with a tempestuous youth dominating his sixty years, whom the young poet at once recognized as Wordsworth and Walter Savage Landor. When Talfourd rose to propose the toast of ' The Poets of England,' every one probably expected that Wordsworth would be named to respond ; but with a kindly grace, the host, after flattering remarks upon the two great men then honoring him by sitting at his table, coupled his toast with the name of the youngest of the poets of England, Mr. Robert Browning, the author of ' Paracelsus.' According to Miss Mitford, he responded with grace and modesty, looking even younger than he was." The conversation turning upon the drama, Macready said, " Write a play, Browning, and keep me from going to America." The reply came, " Shall it be historical and English ? What do you say to a drama on Strafford?" ' Sordello ' had already been begun, but ' Strafford ' and a journey to Italy were to intervene before it was finished. 'Strafford' was per- formed at Covent Garden, May I, 1837, with Macready as Strafford and Helen Faucit as Lady Carlisle, was well received, and would probably xviii BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. have had a long run had it not been for difficulties which arose in the theatre management. If Shelley was the paramount influence of his youthful years, from the time of his Italian journey in 1838, Italy became an influence which was henceforth to exert its magic over his work. He liked to call Italy his university. In ' Sordello ' he had already chosen an Italian subject, and his journey was undertaken partly with the idea of gaining personal experience of the scenes wherein the tragedy of Sordello's soul was enacted. It was published in 1840, and except for a notice in the Eclectic Re- view, and the appreciation of a few friends, was ignored. A world not over sensitive to the beauties of his previous work, could hardly be expected to welcome enthusiastically a poem so complex in its his- torical setting and so full of philosophy. Even the keenest intellects approach this poem with the feeling that they are about to attack a problem : for in spite of undoubted power and many beauties, it must be confessed that the luxuriance of the poet's mental force often unduly overbalances his sense of artistic proportion. Evidently the world was frightened. The little breeze, with which Browning's career began, instead of developing as it normally should into a strong wind of uni- versal recognition, died out, and for twenty years nothing he could do seemed to win for him his just deserts, though his very next poem, ' Pippa Passes,' showed him already a consummate master of his forces both on the artistic side and in the special realm which he chose, the development of the soul. ' Pippa Passes,' ' King Victor and King Charles,' and ' The Return of the Druses ' lay in his desk for some time without a publisher. He finally arranged with Edward Moxon to bring them out in pamphlet form, using cheap type, each issue to consist of a sixteen-page form, printed in double columns. This was the beginning of the now cele- brated series, ' Bells and Pomegranates.' They were issued from 1841 to 1846, and included all the dramas and a number of short poems. The only one of these poems with a story other than literary, is ' The Blot in the 'Scutcheon,' written for Macready, and performed at Drury Lane, on February 11, 1843. A favorite weapon in the hands of the Philistines has been the often reiterated statement that the performance was a failure. A letter from Browning to Mr. Hill, editor of the Daily News, at the time of the revival of ' The Blot ' by Lawrence Barrett in 1 884, drawn out by the same old falsehood, gives the truth in regard to the matter, and should silence once for all the ubiquitous Philis- tines. BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. X J X '< Macreacfy received and accepted the play, while he was engaged at the Haymarket, and retained it for Drury Lane, of which I was ignorant that he was about to become the manager : he accepted it at the instiga- tion of nobody. . . . When the Drury Lane season began, Macready informed me that he would act the play when he had brought out two others, 'The Patrician's Daughter' and 'Plighted Troth.' Having done 'so, he wrote to me that the former had been unsuccessful in money- drawing, and the latter had ' smashed his arrangements altogether' : but he would still produce my play. In my ignorance of certain symptoms better understood by Macready's professional acquaintances I had no notion that it was a proper thing, in such a case, to release him from his promise ; on the contrary, I should have fancied that such a pro- posal was offensive. Soon after, Macready begged that I would call on him : he said the play had been read to the actors the day before, 'and laughed at from beginning to end ' ; on my speaking my mind about this, he explained that the reading had been done by the prompter, a grotesque person with a red nose and wooden leg, ill at ease in the love scenes, and that he would himself make amends by reading the play next morning, which he did, and very adequately, but apprised me that in consequence of the state of his mind, harassed by business and various troubles, the principal character must be taken by Mr. Phelps ; and again I failed to understand, . . . that to allow at Macready's the- atre any other than Macready to play the principal part in a new piece was suicidal, and really believed I was meeting his exigencies by accept- ing the substitute. At the rehearsal. Macready announced that Mr. Phelps was ill, and that he himself would read the part : on the third rehearsal, Mr. Phelps appeared for the first time . . . while Macready more than read, rehearsed the part. The next morning Mr. Phelps waylaid me to say . . . that Macready would play Tresham on the ground that himself, Phelps, was unable to do so. . . . He added that he could not expect me to waive such an advantage, but that if I were prepared to waive it. ' he would take ether, sit up all night, and have the words in his memory by next day.' I bade him follow me to the green- room, and hear what I decided upon which was that as Macready had given him the part, he should keep it : this was on a Thursday ; he re- hearsed on Friday and Saturday, the play being acted the same even- ing, of the fifth day after the ' reading' 1 by Macready. Macready at once wished to reduce the importance of the play . . . tried to leave out so much of the text, that I baffled him by getting it printed in four and twenty hours, by Moxon's assistance. He wanted me to call it ' The Sister!' and I have before me ... the stage-acting copy, with two lines of his own insertion to avoid the tragical ending Tresham was to announce his intention of going into a monastery! all this, to keep up the belief that Macready, and Macready alone, could produce a veri- table ' tragedy ' unproduced before. Not a shilling was spent on scen- ery or dresses. If your critic considers this treatment of the play an instance of ' the failure of powerful and experienced actors ' to insure its success, I can only say that my own opinion was shown by at once xx BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. breaking off a friendship . . . which had a right to be plainly and simply told that the play I had contributed as a proof of it would, through a change of circumstances, no longer be to my friend's advantage. . . . Only recently, . . . when the extent of his pecuniary embarrassments at that time was made known, could I in a measure understand his mo- tives less than ever understand why he so strangely disguised them. If ' applause,' means success, the play thus maimed and maltreated was successful enough ; it ' made way ' for Macready's own Benefit and the theatre closed a fortnight after." Browning's second visit to Italy took place in the autumn of 1844, from which he returned to meet with the supreme spiritual influence of his life. ' Lady Geraldine's Courtship ' had just been published, and Brown- ing expressing his enthusiasm for it to Mr. Kenyon, a dear friend of his and a cousin of Miss Barrett's, the latter immediately suggested that Browning should write and tell her of his delight in it. The corre- spondence soon developed into a meeting which was at first refused by Miss Barrett in a few self-depreciative words, " There is nothing to see in me, nothing to hear in me, I am a weed fit for the ground and dark- ness." Mr. Browning's fate was sealed at the first meeting, we are told, but Miss Barrett, conscious of the obstacle offered by her ill-health, was not easily won, and only consented, at last, with the proviso that their marriage should depend upon improvement in her health. Though the new joy in her life seemed to give her fresh strength, her doctor told her, in the summer of 1846, that her only hope of recovery depended upon her spending the coming winter in Italy. Her father having absolutely refused to hear of such a course, she was persuaded to consent to a private marriage with Mr. Browning, which took place on September 12, 1846, at St. Pancras Church. A week later they started for Italy. Mrs. Orr writes : "In the late afternoon or evening of September 19, Mrs. Browning, attended by her maid and her dog, stole away from her father's house. The family were at dinner, at which meal she was not in the habit of joining them ; her sisters, Henrietta and Arabel, had been throughout in the secret of her attachment and in full sympathy with it ; in the case of the servants she was also sure of friendly connivance. There was no difficulty in her escape, but that created by the dog, which might be expected to bark its consciousness of the unusual situation. She took him into her confidence. She said, ' O Flush, if you make a sound, I am lost.' And Flush understood, as what good dog would not, and crept after his mistress in silence." Mr. Barrett never forgave her and never saw her again. The sur- prise and consternation of Mr. Browning's family was soon transformed BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. XXI ,nto love for Mrs. Browning, while Mr. Kenyon, who had not been told because, as Mrs. Browning said, she did not wish to implicate any one in the deception she was obliged to practise against her father, was overjoyed at the result of his kindly offices in bringing the two poets together. After a journey full of suffering for Mrs. Browning and the tenderest devotion on the part of Mr. Browning, they halted at Pisa, memorable as the spot where Mrs. Browning presented her husband with the matchless ' Sonnets from the Portuguese.' Mrs. Browning's health im- proved greatly in the genial climate. The whole of their married life, with the exception of occasional summers in England and two winters in Paris, was spent in Italy, and what that married life was in its harmonious blending of two unusually congenial souls we have abundant evidence in the glimpses obtained from Mrs. Browning's let- ters, and the recollections of it in the minds of their many friends. In the summer of 1847 they established themselves in Florence in the Casa Guidi. It became practically their Italian home, varied by sojourns in Ancona, at the baths of Lucca, Venice, and winters in Rome in 1854 and 1859. In Florence, March 9, 1849, tne "" son was born, and to Mrs. Brown- ing's life, especially, was added one more element of intense happiness. Mrs. Orr thinks that in Pompilia in l The Ring and the Book,' is reflected the maternal joy as Browning saw it revealed in Mrs. Browning's rela- tion to her son. A shadow was at the same time cast over Browning's life by the death of his mother, who died just as the news was received of the birth of her grandchild. Mrs. Browning, writing to a friend, said, "My husband has been in the greatest anguish. . . . He has loved his mother as such passionate natures only can love, and I never saw a man so bowed down in an extremity of sorrow, never." The first effect of Browning's marriage seems to have been to put his muse to sleep. Up to 1850 the only events in his literary career were the performance of ' The Blot ' at Sadler's Wells in 1848, and the issue of a collected edition of his works in 1849. In 1850, in Florence, he wrote ' Christmas Eve ' and * Easter Day,' and in Paris, 1857, the ' Essay on Shelley ' to be prefixed to twenty-five letters of Shelley's, that after- wards turned out to be spurious. The fifty poems in ; Men and Women ' complete the record of Brown- ing's work during his wife's life. They appeared in 1855, and reflect very directly new sources of inspiration which had come into his life with his marriage. Though Mr. and Mrs. Browning led a comparatively quiet life, they gathered around them, wherever they were, a distinguished circle of xxii BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. friends. In the early days at Florence, they much enjoyed the society of .Margaret Fuller Ossoli. Joseph Milsand and George Sand the first a cherished friend, the last simply an acquaintance connect themselves with their life in Paris, while in London and Rome all the bright particular stars of the time circled about them, some of whom were the Storys, the Hawthornes, the Carlyles, the Kemble sisters, Car- dinal Manning, Sir Frederick Leighton, Rossetti, V T al Princeps, and Landor. Mrs. Browning's death at dawn, on the 2gth of June, 1861, cut short the golden period of these Italian days. Even in his bereavement he had cause to be poignantly happy- For he had watched beside his wife on that last night, and she, weak, though suffering little and with- out presentiment of the end which even to him seemed not so immi- nent, had given him, as he wrote, " what my heart will keep till I see her again and longer, the most perfect expression of her love to me within my whole knowledge of her." He added, " I shall grow still. I hope, but my root is taken and remains." He left Florence never to return. His settling in London that winter was a result of his wife's death, destined to bring him into closer touch with an English public which was to like him yet. The change was dictated by his care for his son's education, whose well-being he considered a trust from his wife. In 1862, he wrote from Biarritz of ' Pen's' enjoyment of his holidays, adding, " for me I have got on by having a great read at Euripides besides attending to my own matters, my new poem that is about to be and of which the whole is pretty well in my head the Roman murder story." But the Roman murder story was long in taking shape as < The Ring and the Book.' It had been conceived in one of his last June evenings at Casa Guidi, but the rude break in his life made by Mrs. Browning's death remains marked in the record of this work's incubation. During the next years spent in London, with holidays in Brittany, work went steadily on, first for the three-volume collected edition of 1863 of his works, and then for 'Dramatis Personae,' pub- lished in the year following, before The Ring and the Book ' came out at last, in 1868. With the appearance of this, and the six-volume edition of his works, the poet began to reap the abundant fruits of a slow but solidly-founded fame. 7t was not until 1871, however, that the "great read at Euripides" showed its significance in ' Balaustion's Adventure ' and four years later again, in ' Aristophanes 1 Apology.' rounding out thus his original criticism of Greek life and literature and especially affecting ' Euripides the human,' whom his wife had been earliest to deliver from blunder- ing censure. BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxiii While in the midst of this prosperous scheme of work he wrote : ' I feel such comfort and delight in doing the best I can with my own object of life, poetry, which, I think, I never could have seen the good of before, that it shows me I have taken the root I did take well. I hope to do much more and that the flower of it will be put into Her hand somehow." His father had died in Paris in 1866, at the age of eighty-five. Brother and sister, now each left alone, Uved together thenceforth a life of tranquil uneventfulness, alternating between London and the Continent a life rich in pleasant acquaintances and warm friendships and increasingly full of invitations and honors of all sorts for the poet. Supreme among the friendships was that with Miss Anne Egerton Smith. Music was the special bond of sympathy between her and Browning, and while they were both in London no important concert lacked their appreciation. Miss Browning, her brother, and Miss Smith spent also four successive summers together, the fourth at Saleve, near Geneva, where Miss Smith's sudden death was the occasion of Browning's poem on immortality, ' La Saisiaz.' Among the honors the poet received were the organization of the London Browning Society in 1881, degrees from Oxford and from Cambridge, and nomina- tions for the Rectorship of Glasgow University and for that of St. Andrews. The latter was a unanimous nomination from the students, and as an evidence of the younger generation's esteem of his poetic influence was more than commonly gratifying to Browning, although he declined this and all other such overtures. His activities during the remainder of his days, his social and friendly life in London and later in Venice, were habitually cheerful and genial. He sedulously cultivated happiness. This was indeed the consistent result of the fact to which those who knew him best bear witness, that he held the great lyric love of his life as sacred, and cherished it as a religion. Those who know the whole body of his work most inti- mately will be readiest to corroborate this on subtiler evidence ; for only on the hypothesis of a unique revelation of the significance of a supreme human love from whose large sureness smaller dramatic exemplifications of love in life derive their vitality can the varied overplay of his art and the deep sufficiency of his religious reconcilia- tion of Power and Love be adequately understood. As he himself once said, the romance of his life was in his own soul. To this perhaps the bibliography of his works will ever provide the most accurate outline map. After the issue of his Greek pieces, the most noticeable new features of his remaining work may be summed up as idyllic and lyric. A new xxiv BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION'. picturesqueness interpenetrated his dramatic pieces, as if he were dowered with a fresh pleasure in eyesight. This was shown in the 'Dramatic Idyls.' A new purity intensified his lyrical faculty. This is shown in the lyrics in ' Ferishtah's Fancies ' and in ' Asolando.' To his whole achieved work add the brief final record of his content- ment in his son's marriage in 1887, his removal to the house he bought in De Vere Gardens, the gradual weakening of his robust health in his last years, his painless death in Venice in his son's Palazzo Rezzonico on the very day, December 12, 1889, of the issue of 'Asolando' in London, his burial in Westminster Abbey in Poets' Corner, December 31, and the story of Robert Browning's earthly life is told. CHARLOTTE PORTER. HELEN A. CLARKE. May 20, 1896- CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. " What were life Did soul stand still therein, forego her strife Through the ambiguous Present to the goal Of some all-reconciling Future?" 'PARLEYINGS: WlTH GERARD DE LAIRESSE.' WHAT principle guided Browning in making the present Selections from his poetry ? On this interesting question there is no other light than the hint he gives in his preface, that he had strung together certain pieces " on the thread of an imaginary personality," and the internal evidence which the poems themselves offer of their suscep tibility to an inter- relationship of this sort. ' My Star, 1 striking a preluding note of love, seems to usher in poems broadly capable of being grouped together on the score of their express- ing, in a fresh way, indicative of a youthful attitude toward life, various phases of love, either as sensation or as observed or recorded experi- ence. Poems follow of a more active sort, adventurous and partisan in spirit, the ' Good News, 1 the l Lost Leader, 1 and others, which be- long to the outlook of manhood ; and these pass again, in subject, into the groove of love, but from the standpoint, now, of the stress and trial belonging to maturer life and thought. Larger themes succeed, related to national characteristics and history, to art, to music, to religion, and, finally, the summing up of life^ meanings natural to ripe vision. The second series of Selections, made by Browning eight years later, follows, in general, a similar line of evolving thought and experience. If it be granted that some such natural development of a typical experience, not personal to Browning, underlies these Selections, the clue it supplies for a brief critical consideration of the poefs distinctive traits, as shown throughout his work and representatively in this vol- ume, is peculiarly trustworthy and appropriate because it is the poefs own clue. He disclaimed a selection based on an assumption of judg- ment as to what was best ; he made a selection based upon motive CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. The poetic motive informing Browning's work is, in one word, aspiration, which moulds and develops the varied and complex per- sonalities of the humanity he depicts, as the persistent energy of the scientist, holding its never-wearying way, gives to the world of phe- nomena its infinite array of shows and shapes. Aspiration a reach- ing on and upwards is the primal energy underneath that law which we call progress. Through aspiration, ideals social, religious, artis- tic are formed ; and through it ideals perish, as it breaks away from them to seek more complete realizations of truth. Aspiration, there- fore, has its negative as well as its positive side. While it ever urges the human soul to love and achievement, through its very persistence the soul learns that the perfect flowering of its rare imaginings is not possible of attainment in this life. Assurance of the ultimate fulfilment of the ideal is one of the forms in which Browning unfolds the workings of this life principle, well illustrated in * Abt Vogler,' who has implicit faith in his own intuitions of a final harmony ; or in those poems where the crowning of aspiration in a supreme earthly love flashes upon the understanding a clear vision of infinite love. But by far the larger number of poems discloses the underlying force at work in ways more subtle and obscure, through the conflict of good and evil, of lower with higher ideals, either as empha- sized in great social movements, in the struggle between individuals, or in struggles fought out on the battle-ground within every human soul. With a motive so all-inclusive, the whole panorama of human life, with its loves and hates, its strivings and failures, its half-reasonings and beguiling sophistries, is material ready at hand for illustration. Browning, inspired with a democratic inclusiveness, allowed his choice in subject-matter to range through fields both new and old, unploughed by any poet before him. Progress, to be imaged forth in its entirety, must be interpreted, not only through the individual soul, but through the collective soul of the human race ; wherefore many phases of civili- zation and many attitudes of mind must be detailed for service. There is no choosing a subject, as a Tennyson might, on the ground that it will best point the moral of a preconceived theory of life ; on the con- trary, every such theory is bound to be of interest as one of the phe- nomena exhibited by the transcending principle. From first to last Browning portrayed life either developing or at some crucial moment, the outcome of past development, or the deter- minative influence for future growth or decay. His interest in the phenomena of life as a whole, freed him from the trammels of any literary cult. He steps out from under the yoke of the classicist, where only gods and heroes have leave to breathe ; and CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. xxvii equally, from that of the romanticist, where kings and persons of quality alone flourish. Wherever he found latent possibilities of char- acter, which might be made to expand under the glare of his brilliant imagination, whether in hero, king, or knave, that being he chose to set before his readers as a living individuality to show whereof he was made, either through his own ruminations or through the force of circumstances. Upon examination it will be found that the sources, many and vari- ous, of Browning's subject-matter are broadly divisible into subjects derived from history, from personal experience or biography, from true in- cidents, popular legend, the classics, and from his own fertile imagination. Of these, history proper furnishes the smallest proportion. ' Strafford ' and ' King Victor and King Charles ' are his only historical dramas, and with ' Sordello,' and a few stray short poems, based on historical inci- dents, exhaust his drafts upon history. Several more have a historical setting with fictitious plot and characters, such as the ' Return of the Druses ' and ' Luria ' ; and still more have a historical atmosphere in which think and move creatures of his own fancy, such as ' My Last Duchess,' ' Count Gismond,' ' In A Gondola.' His most important work, ' The Ring and the Book,' is founded on the true story of a Roman murder case. Others of his longer poems, developed from real occurrences, are 4 The Inn Album,' ' Red Cotton Night-Cap Country,' ' Ivan Ivknovitch,' and some shorter poems. The individual living to develop the mind stuff of the world rather than the individual playing a part in action, attracted Browning, and we find a large percentage of his subjects between twenty and thirty poems to be dramatic presentations of characters not distinguished for their part in the his- tory of action, but who have played a part more or less prominent in the history of thought or art. Such are ' Paracelsus,' ' Saul,' ' Abt Vogler,' ' Fra Lippo Lippi.' Sometimes they appear in the disguise of a name not their own, as in ' Bishop Blougram,' for whom Cardinal Wise- man sat, ' Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau ' Napoleon, Mr. Sludge Home, the < Spiritualist.' < The Pied Piper,' and ' The Story of Pornic,' are familiar examples of legendary subjects. Greece is drawn upon in the translation from the Greek of ' Agamemnon,' to which must be added ' Balaustion's Adventure ' and ' Aristophanes' Apology,' both of which contain transcripts from Euripides ; also ' Echetlos,' ' Pheidip- pides,' ' Artemis Prologizes, 1 and ' Ixion.' There should furthermore be mentioned a few poems which grew out of suggestions furnished by poetry, music, and art, as ' Cenciaja,' * A Toccata of Galuppi's,' ' The Guardian Angel.' And last, out of the pure stuff of imagination, have been fashioned some of his most lifelike characters. Sometimes, as xxviii CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. already stated, they move in an actual historical environment, some- times merely in an atmosphere of history, and sometimes, detached from time and place, is pictured a human soul struggling with a passion universal to mankind. This vast range of material is not by any means chosen at random by the poet. There are several centres of human thought, around which the genius of Browning plays with exceptional power. Such, for example, are the ideas symbolized in human love and service, in art, and in the Incarnation. Clustering about the instinct of human love, gathers thickest a maze of poems bearing witness to the force, sweetness, and versatility of Browning's treatment of the purely personal emotions. The scope sweeps from primitive to consummate types, as if none conceivable were to be tabooed ; and if not all are represented, the intention towards all is evidently hospitable. Yet the unifying current is clear through all differentiations, because it is based on the vital fact of the psychical origin of the emotion of love as desire, and capable, therefore, of a never-ending tendency to impel and energize the powers and re- veal the highest potency of each individual soul. The conditions under which it acts may be favorable or not, the outgoing love may be satis- fled or not, by eliciting and enjoying love in return ; in any case, the test is equally good to make a soul declare itself i; to wit, by its fruit, the thing it does," and thus, through living out its own life, to recruit both the general plan of the race and its own individual possi- bilities. This psychical value, of which the commonest instinct towards love, in any and every human creature, is capable, relates all men to each other, and, pointing out the implicit use of each to each, permits none to be scorned as having nc part in the scheme, nor any to be denied the vision of some dim descried glory " ever on before." It consti- tutes a revelation to every man of the Infinite, incarnate within his own grasp and proof, a miracle, only to be felt, differing in this from any attempt to achieve the Absolute through act or deed or any product of effort outside oneself, one instant of human consciousness enabling the laying hold on eternity. In these Selections are poems that represent the instinct of love astir in modes that foster the transmutation of desire into force, no matter what obstacles beset it : or that chill and obstruct its saving rule although its way be smooth. The merely selfish expression of the common in- stinct is depicted in 'The Laboratory' and 'My Last Duchess'; the unselfish, in 'One Way of Love.' Its seeing faculty appears in 'Cris- tina,' and ' The Last Ride Together ' ; but its eyes are sealed until too CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. xxix late in ' The Confessional ' and in Constance in ' In a Balcony.' It finds itself expressed in a conventionalized way in ' Numpholeptos ' ; in a realistic way in ' Poetics.' It is revealed in ' Count Gismond ' as rudi- mentary; as ripe in 'By the Fireside.' It is stifled in 'Bifurcation,' < The Statue and the Bust,' ' Youth and Art,' ' Dis Aliter Visum ' ; it is self-baffled in ' A Forgiveness,' and ' In a Balcony ' ; but has sway de- spite Death in 'Prospice,' and 'Never the Time and the Place.' All these separate ways of love are glimpses at parts of human experience, which, since they can be correlated, illumine the course of growth latent for any soul in a crisis of emotion. Other poems still, exemplify this by correlating various stages of development occurring in the experience of one person, the original manifestation of love adding to itself a new psychical value, as in 'James Lee's Wife.' Taken as a whole, Browning's broad and vital representations of love reveal the related values of different phases of personal experience and of each personal experience to every other; and, also, the -bearing of each and all such experiences on human progress and on an ecstatic consciousness of the Infinite. In the manifestations of human energy commonly called social, cor- responding orbits of relative values are brought to light by Browning through his reconstruction from life itself of numerous varying types of work and consequent service to humanity at large. The range exempli- fied includes the exercise of his art by a Fra Lippo Lippi, an Abt Vogler, or a Cleon, the devotion to his study of a Grammarian or the public achievement of a Pheidippides, a Herve Kiel, a Pym, a Strafford, or a Luria. Browning shows a consciousness of the special influence of certain historic periods of civic enthusiasm on the development of social ideals. The grim righteousness of Pym's London, the glories of Athens and of Florence, are fitly celebrated. And in the whole pioneer period which sowed the seed and set the shape of much that is not yet ripe for fulfilment in modern civilization in the period of the Italian Re- naissance, Browning's imaginative conception found frame and flesh. In ' Sordello ' he descried the incipient democratic tendencies of that period, anticipating the conclusions of its special historians : of Burck- hardt, who characterized it as " the awakening of the individual in love with his own possibilities " ; of Vernon Lee, who describes it as " the movement for mediaeval democratic progress " ; of Symonds, who speaks of it as " the persistent effort after liberty of the unconquerable soul of man." Browning embodies it, in the period that prepared the way for the Renaissance, in the consciousness of his hero, the warrior-poet Sordello, as the dawn and struggle for supremacy of the democratic ideal. xxx CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. About the Renaissance crystallized an important group of Browning's art poems, nearly all of which appear in this volume. ' Pictor Ignotus ' shows us the personality of the typical, often unknown monastic painter of the Renaissance period, the nature of his beautiful but cold art, and the conditions of servitude to ecclesiastical beliefs and ideals which shaped both personality and art. Fra Lippo exhibits the irresistible tendency of the art impulse to expand beyond bounds either of the church or of set laws of art and finding beauty wheresoever in life it chooses to turn the light of its gaze. The Bishop who ordered his tomb at St. Praxed's, stands for somewhat more than the typical art-patronizing priest, whose connoisseurship, strong in death, serves his vanity, worldiiness, and envy. He gathers up in his person the pagan survivals, the normal grossness, the assumption of authority, which were the ecclesiastical and aristocratic clogs that dragged back the forward-tending and freedom-seeking Renaissance movement. ' Old Pictures in Florence ' shows more explicitly the relation to historic periods of various new art impulses working themselves out in schools ; the indebtedness of each to each ; and the onflowing movement be- longing to all collectively. At the same time is emphasized the supreme importance to the world of assimilating the work of the pioneering artists, from whom their successors derive vitality. There is also no mistaking the expression in favor of free democratic conditions which conduce to "art's best birth." So, throughout these poems, manifesting Browning's universal enthusiasm for all varieties of art, the relativity and unity of all art expression is shown to be perfectly reconcilable with the independent worth of the special exponent of the art of his time ; and the development both of art and the artist is shown to be depend- ent on the free play and unresting aspiration of his powers. Not less sympathetic is Browning's understanding of art as wrought out in music, though in his musical poems the historical atmosphere is not so prominent as it is in the art poems. They dwell upon the different attitudes taken toward music as the result of differences in temperament, rather than upon any distinct phases of musical growth. His chief musicians, David, Abt Vogler, Hugues, and the organist who performs his mountainous fugues, Galuppi and the man who plays his toccata, the husband in ' Fifine at the Fair,' and the musical critic of 'Charles Avison,' all see different possibilities in music. David is more the poet than the musician since, when he reaches his highest point of inspiration, he throws his harp aside and depends entirely upon language for his effect. He uses music primarily as an awakener through the familiarity of the tunes, he sings to Saul of long-for- gotten memories, along with which comes the renewal of early emo- CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. xxxi tions, an effect of music often observed and used to good purpose in arousing soldiers to patriotism, through melodies that awaken mem- ories of home and childhood. David, casting aside his harp, when filled with the intense desire of adequate expression, is the exact an- tipode of the husband in ; Fifine at the Fair,' who feels that the most complete expression is only possible by means of music. This opin- ion, however, is somewhat discounted by the character of the man, sophistical as he often is in his arguments. When he finds himself pushed for logical reasons for his moral conduct, he falls back upon music, by means of which he could make all plain to his wife if she only understood its language. His dependence upon music as a re- vealer of the truth is based on the ground that it gives form to feeling, and is equivalent to his founding his arguments on feeling. That to reflect moods of feeling is among the highest offices of music is doubt- less true, but to formulate theories of moral conduct upon this fact is sophistical in the highest degree, for the all-sufficient reason that music may reflect a mood the opposite of aspiring. The critic in ' Charles Avison ' recognizes to the full the limitations of music. Though it gives form to feeling, w ; th the passage of time the form becomes ob- solete, and the feeling once expressed is no longer discernible through it. An understanding of its mood can then be gained only by recourse to the historical sense, reconstructing the time that gave it birth, and by this means obtaining a glimpse of the mood that inspired it. Thus, music furnishes to Browning another illustration of the relativity of art form, of its failure as of every effort of man to touch perfection, though, none the less, the record of man's effort to give adequate ex- pression to his aspirations. 4 A Toccata of Galuppi ' furnishes a fine illustration of the exercise of the historical sense on the part of the person who plays the toccata in conjuring up a lifelike picture of the pleasure-loving Venice, whose heartlessness re-lives for him in the dreary harmonies of Galuppi's music. The organist in ' Master Hugues ' is not blessed with any such historical sense, and he is therefore incapable of penetrating within the outer crust of the fugue. On the other hand, the fugue, as well as the toccata, are both examples of music which is less the outcome of aspira- tion than an intellectual playing with forms for form's sake, and as such furnish a warrant for the delicious humor which Browning expends on them. In 'Abt Vogler,' Browning has represented music from the point of view of the man who has, so to speak, fathomed the heart of the mys- tery. He has none of the misgivings of the critic. Like the man in * Fifine,' he, too, regards music as the most complete means of expres- xxxii CRITICAL INTRODUCTION: sion ; but it is more to him than the mere reflection of earthly emo- tions, it is the incarnation of the wish of his soul to be in touch with the Infinite. His purer spirit feels the revelation in the inspired effort to image in entirely beautiful form the strivings upward of the soul, and in a form, moreover, which is itself evolved out of the souL Aspiration becomes, as it were, flesh and blood ; is not indirectly ex- pressed by means of symbols as in the arts of painting and poetry. So much is the form identified with the spirit in the Abbe's mind, that he thinks of his music winging its way up to God, an eternal good, to take its place in the completed round of everlasting beauty. He, in- deed, is just the needed supplement to the critic, in ' Charles Avison,' who perhaps is not sufficiently alive to the fact that a new beauty does not necessarily exclude the old. Though the importance of these poems is chiefly due to their bring- ing out the various functions which music may perform for differ- ent individuals, there is a historical element of considerable interest. David's use of music is quite in keeping with an age that had not alto- gether learned to regard music other than as a handmaid to poetry. In Hugues, there is certainly 'pictured the revolt against the over- learned amplifications indulged in by the old contrapuntal writers, which was triumphantly led by Palestrina. An epoch of musical decay breathes through the ' Toccata,' which belongs to the period of the de- cline of the Italian influence in music, justly following upon a wornout inspiration, to give place to the glories of the pre-eminent German school ; while Abt Vogler is fired with the enthusiasm of a period when music, its shackles of the past rent asunder, had in the romantic school entered upon a long triumphant march of development. Browning's portraits of poets and poems illustrating in diverse ways various principles of poetic art naturally ally themselves to the groups of poems on the fine arts just considered. His early devotion to Shelley, expressed in ' Pauline,' was succeeded in ' Paracelsus ' by an imaginary representation of a poet, Aprile, who, like Shelley, was the impersonatior of spiritual love and ardor. In ' Sordello' this fervent poetic type again appears, which yearns to bury itself in what it worships. It is now con- trasted with a new self-centred type of poet which holds its own con- sciousness aloof from its dreams, yet finds no dream or function of life without as good a counterpart within itself. The distinction here made between what is called the subjective poet, such a one as Shelley, and the objective or dramatic poet, such a one as Shakespeare, recurs in his prose essay on Shelley, and some variety of one or the other or hoped- for blending of both types animates all his impersonations of poets. Eglamor in ' Sordello' is a half- ripe bardling of the Shelley order. In CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. xxxiii * The Glove ' Ronsard and Marot are incidentally characterized and con- trasted to the advantage of the poet more deeply versed in lore and life. Keats appears in ' Popularity, 1 as a poet dowering the world and many imitators with a beauty never seen before. Shelley again has a tribute of personal love in ' Memorabilia.' Euripides and Aristophanes owe to Browning, in ' Balaustion's Adventure ' and ( Aristophanes' Apol- ogy,' the deepest appreciation and soundest criticism they have ever re- ceived at any one man's hands. Shakespeare is directly defended in ' At the Mermaid ' from charges of pessimism, derision of women, and imeasy ambition to figure in court life charges more or less involved in some modern conceptions of him based on an autobiographical read- ing of the Sonnets and Plays. The sonnet theory is again directly com- bated in i House ; ' and ' Shop ' may perhaps be taken as falling in with these two. Both 'At the Mermaid' and ' House' rest on a conception of Shakespeare as belonging altogether to the objective type of poet. And the Shakespeare Sonnet, ' The Names,' is in accord with a view which accepts him as supreme dramatic creator. In the verses beginning 'Touch him ne'er so Jigh^y,' Browning sings the way of pain and obstacle through which pass the master poets who sum up great epochs of national life such a poet as Dante and who transmute the bitterness of sorrow into the splendor of song. In ' Transcendentalism ' and ' How it Strikes a Contemporary' are celebrated the vitality of the poet's gift, the keenness of the poet's sight, the warmth and humanity of his heart and office. Expressions concerning the philosophy of the poet's art and self- development are to be found in ' Sordello,' ' The Ring and the Book ' and other of his most profound works. The simple poems on poetic art given in this volume, are like the whole range of his work on this subject, in placing the poet somewhat less within the influence of the historic times to which he is related, than the artist or even the musi- cian. The poet's fortune is read aright in his intimate and loving kin- ships with humanity, his clear outsight and deep insight upon the springs of life and progress, in the dependency of his artistic power on his truth to his own highest energies and aspiration. The most exalted ideal towards which the human soul aspires is that of divine love, and this, as symbolized in the idea of the Incarnation, Browning has presented from every side. Even in so humble a thinker as Caliban, the germ of religious aspiration is discernible in his concep- tion of a God above Setebos who, if not very positive in his possession of good qualities, is at least negative so far as bad ones are concerned. This volume is rich in poems which revolve about this central idea. In David, the intensity of hi", hnmin love exr-Us his conception cf God xxxiv CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. from that of power into that of love, and with prophetic vision he sees the future attainment of a religious ideal in which love like unto human love shall have a place. What a powerful force this longing is in the human mind is again illustrated in Cleon, the cultured Greek who, de- spite his broad sympathies and deep appreciation of all forms of beauty, feels that life is not capable of affording a realization of joy such as the soul sees. Like Saul, an immortality of deed has no attractions for him ; it is the assurance of a continuing personality that he wants. Karshish, the Arab, too, is haunted by the idea of a God who is love ; but neither in him nor in Cleon has the aspiration reached such a point that they are enabled to conceive of the ideal as actual, though living at the time of Christ. In ' The Death in the Desert, 1 is presented the portrait of one who has seen the ideal incarnate. Other phases of doubt and faith are pictured as affected by more sophisticated stages of culture. While Cleon and Karshish belong to a phase of development wherein the mind has not fully grasped the possibilities of such a conception, a Bishop Blougram's doubts grow out of the uncertainties of the nature of proof. Far from being sure, like David, that the incarnation will become a veritable truth, he can only hope that it may have been true, and resolve to act as if he be- lieved it were. Still another phase of doubt is shown in ' Ferishtah's Fancies, 1 where the belief in an actual incarnation is scouted by an Oriental as preposterous. The assurance of divine love does not come to all of Browning's characters through a belief in external revelation. For instance, in the Epilogue to the first series of Selections, in the present volume, and in ' Fears and Scruples, 1 it is through the experiencing of human love alone, reaching out toward God, which carries the conviction that there must be a God of love to receive it, though he may never have manifested himself in the flesh. In 'Ferishtah's Fancies, 1 again, Fer- ishtah, who sternly reprimands the unbeliever already mentioned, seems to regard the ideal of an actual incarnation as a human conception, but, nevertheless, doing duty as a symbol of the Divine, and thus help- ing men to approach the Infinite. In giving a sketch of the general motive and content of Browning's work, we have treated it as essentially dramatic. It is to be noted, however, that he has carried his observations of the realities of life into regions never approached by any other poet, that is, into the thoughts and motives of humanity, the very sources of world movements, with the result that we do not see his characters in action so much as in the intellectual fermentation, which is the concomitant of action. This fact, namely, that his imagination invests the subjective side of man's life CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. xxxv with vitality, sets up a certain spiritual kinship between the poet and his characters, and justifies the search for a philosophy which may be styled Browning's own ; yet, that any such search must be conducted with the utmost discretion is evidenced by the existence of many diver- sities in opinion upon this subject. It is dangerous to regard each poem as a mask from behind which Browning in his own person peeps forth ; for the more one studies his creations, the more the peculiar individu- alisms of their natures assert themselves, and the more the poet retires into the background. Even admitting that there are certain religious and philosophical ideas upon which many of his dramatis persona dwell, each one presents them from his own point of view, and in a form of expression suited to the particular character and circumstance. Moreover, the ever-recurring idea in new.modes of expression is abso- lutely t_"ue to the life of thought in the world. It is no more surprising that David, Rabbi Ben Ezra, the husband in ' Fifine at the Fair,' and Paracelsus should have some points of philosophy in common, than that the wits of Plato, Buddha, Herbert Spencer, and the North American Indians should occasionally jump together. We have seen how he dis- criminates against no form of doubt or faith by allowing every shade of opinion to be presented from the standpoint of one who holds it. This is external evidence of his friendliness toward all forms of effort that indicate a search for the truth. With which particular phase of truth the poet, himself, is to be identified, it would be difficult to dis- cover, but it is not so impossible to deduce general principles ; not only from the fact that aspiration is plainly the informing spirit of his work, but because from time to time this informing spirit forces itself to the surface in an expression avowedly the poet's own. From such expressions, of which the third division of the ' Epilogue ' in the pres- ent volume, ' Reverie ' in ' Asolando,' passages in ' Paracelsus,' ' Sor- dello,' and ' Ferishtah's Fancies,' are examples, together with the whole trend of his work, his philosophy, broadly speaking, may be described as based upon the revelation of divine love in every human being, through experience of love reaching out toward an object which shall completely satisfy aspiration. The partial manifestations of love include the feeling of gratitude awakened through the enjoyment of benefits received, like that felt by Ferishtah when he eats a cherry for break- fast; the creative impulse, yearning to all-express itself in art; love seek- ing its human complement ; and love seeking expression in service to humanity. Moral failure, resulting in evil ; intellectual failure, resulting m ignorance, are simply the necessary means for the further develop- ment of the soul, and the continuance of the law of progress. While the revelation of God is thus entirely subjective, his conception of God xxxvi CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. is both subjective and objective. Looking forth upon the world, he sees Power and Law exemplified ; looking within himself, he sees Power and Law manifested as Love. God, then, must be both Power and Love, as Rabbi Ben Ezra discovered, and with this dramatic expression may be paralleled the subjective expression of the same conclusion in ' Reverie,' the poet's last piece of profound philosophizing. The faculty for twofold gaze within and without, on which Brown- ing's reconciliation of Power and Love is built, has enabled him to effect a like reconciliation between Power in Art the ability to appro- priate and project into form large swaths of fresh and living material and Love in Art the ardor to charge and energize the whole with spiritual attractiveness and meaning. The analytic tendency, for which he is often censured, does not con- trol, it subserves a much more noticeable faculty for synthesis for seeing and reproducing wholes. Another unusually happy balance of capabilities distinguishes Brown- ing. The moral interests which weight his work with significance are lightened with an over-play of humor a product of his double vision. With what genial facility he enters, for example, into Baldinucci's sim- ple old man's nature, and lends the poet-wit to the exquisite clumsiness of his joke against the Jews ; and then again, with what easy-going, wide-sweeping sympathy he enters into the complex course of law and custom which turns the laugh on Baldinucci, after all. So, in this, as in many another such dramatic picture of poor old human nature, the moral lesson is itself made dramatic. Lend Browning but a little consideration, and the opulence of his effects will convince you that these twofold counter-poised faculties have found way in the sort of art which embodies them, because that alone was large enough to befit them. Lyric, idyl, tale, fantasy, or philo- sophic imagining, are enclosed in the all-embracing dramatic frame. His artistic invention, moreover, working within the dramatic sphere, expended itself in perfecting a poetical form peculiarly his own, the monologue. His monologues range from expressions of mood as simple as in the song, ' Nay, but you, who do not love her,' to those in which not only the complex feelings of the speaker are expressed, but complete pictures of a second and sometimes a third character are given ; or even groups of characters as in ' Fra Lippo Lippi,' where the curious, alert, Florentine guards are not all portrayed with equal clearness, but are all made to emerge effectively in a picturesque knot, showing here a hang-dog face, and there a twinkling eye, or a brawny arm elbowing a neighbor. By dexterous weaving in of allusions, flashes of light are turned upon events CRITICAL INTRODUCTION'. xxxvii and feelings of the past, so adding harmonious depths to the general effect. His diction is noticeable in that he uses a large proportion of Saxon words, and, by so doing, gives a lifelike naturalness to his speech, especially in his shorter poems, in which his characters do not talk as if they were confined within metrical limits, but seemingly as if the un- stilted ways of daily life were open to them. Yet in all this apparently natural flow of words, there is a harmony of rhythm, a recurring stress of rhyme, and a condensation of thought that produces an effect of con- summate art, frequently enhanced by a subtile symbolism underlying the words. How simple in its mere external form is the little poem, 'Ap- pearances.' Two momentary scenes, a few words to each, yet there have been laid bare the worldly, ambitious heart of one person and the true heart of another, disappointed by the shattering of his idol ; and under all, symbolically, a universal truth. The obscurity with which Browning has been taxed so often is largely due to this monologue form. It is apt to be confusing at first, mainly because nothing like it has been met with before. The mind must be on the alert to catch the power of every word, to see its individual force and its relational force. Nothing, neither a scene nor an event, is de- scribed outright. Only in the course of the talk, references to events and scenes are made a part of the very warp and woof of the poem, and woven in with such skilfulness by the poet that the entire scene or event may be reconstructed by those who have eyes to see. A harmonizing of imagery and of rhythm and even rhyme with the subject in hand is a marked characteristic of Browning's verse. In the poems ' Meeting at Night ' and ' Parting at Morning,' the wave motion of the sea is indicated in the form, not only by the arrangement of the rhymes to form a climax by bringing a couplet in the middle of the stanza like the crest of the wave, but the thought, also, gathers to a climax midway in the stanzas, and subsides toward their close. In 'Pheidippides' the measure is a mixture of dactyls and spondees, original with the poet, with a pause at the end of each line, which re- flects the firm-set eager purpose of the patriotic Greek runner and the breath-obstructed rhythm of his bounding flight. In 'James Lee's Wife,' the metre is changed in each lyric to chime in with the changing mood dictating each one ; and the imagery is in general chosen to mate every aspect of the thought dominating each mood. For example, in the second section, called ' By the Fire- side,' the fire of shipwreck wood is the metaphor made to yield the mood of the brooding wife a mould which takes the cast of every sud- den turn and cranny of her ill-foreboding reverie. xxxviii CRITICAL INTRODUCTION. In the grotesque, frequently double rhymes, and the rough rhythm ot ' The Flight of the Duchess,' the bluff, blunt manner of the huntsman who tells the story is conveyed. The subtle change that passes over the spirit of the tale as the rhythm falls tranquilly, with pure rhymes, no\v, into the dreamy chant of the gypsy, is the more effective for the colloquial swing, stop, and start of the forester's gruff-voiced diction. As in his choice of poems for this volume Browning says he had an imaginary personality in mind to guide him, so it may be said that he has had always in mind imaginary personalities, in various guises and manifold circumstances, to guide him in fashioning his style. The marked traits of his art are keyed to attune with the theme and motive they interpret. As an artist Browning disclaimed the nice selection and employment of a style in itself beautiful. As an artist, none the less, he chose to create in every given case a style fitly proportioned to the design, find- ing in that dramatic relating of style ?nd motive a more vital beauty. CHARLOTTE PORTER. HELEN A. CLARKE. MAY 25, 1896. ROBERT BROWNING'S POEMS. MY STAR. ALL that I know Of a certain star Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar) Now a dart of red, Now a dart of blue ; Till my friends have said They would fain see, too, My star that dartles the red and the blue! Then it stops like a bird ; like a flower, hangs furled : ic They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a world ? Mine has opened its soul to me ; therefore I love it. A FACE. IF one could have that little head of hers Painted upon a background of pale gold, Such as the Tuscan's early art prefers! No shade encroaching on the matchless mould Of those two lips, which should be opening soft In the pure profile ; not as when she laughs, For that spoils all : but rather as if aloft Yon hyacinth, she loves so. leaned its staff's Burthen of honey-coloured buds, to kiss And capture 'twixt the lips apart for this. IO Then her lithe neck, three fingers might surround. How it should waver, on the pale gold ground, Up to the fruit-shaped, perfect chin it lifts! I know, Correggio ioves to mass, in rifts Of heaven, his angel faces, orb on orb Breaking its outline, burning shades absorb : MY LAST DUCHESS. But these are only massed there, I should think, Waiting to see some wonder momently Grow out, stand full, faae slow against the sky, (That 's the pale ground you 'd see this sweet face by) All heaven, meanwhile, condensed into one eye Which fears to lose the wonder, should it wink. MY LAST DUCHESS. ^<^i. FERRARA. 'S my last Duchess painted on the wall, J. 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, 't was not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess 1 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 1 say ? too soon made glad, Too easily impressed ; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 't was 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 SONG FROM "PIPPA PASSES:" 1 3 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 then 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 '11 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 '11 go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! SONG FROM "PIPPA PASSES." I. GIVE her but a least excuse to love me ! When where How can this arm establish her above me If fortune fixed her as my lady there, There already, to eternally reprove me ? (" Hist ! " said Kate the queen ; But " Oh," cried the maiden, binding her tresses, " 'T is only a page that carols unseen, Crumbling your hounds their messes! ") n. Is she wronged? To the rescue of her honour, 10 My heart ! Is she poor? What costs it to be styled a donor? Merely an earth to cleave, a sea to part. But that fortune should have thrust all this upon her! (" Nay, list ! " bade Kate the queen ; And still cried the maiden, binding her tresses, " 'T is onlv a page that carols unseen, Fitting your hawks their jesses! ") 4 CRISTINA. S "e^.U ^ ^L. G.. W/-/,,>. CRISTINA. ^ j HE should never have looked at me if she meant I should not love her! There are plenty . . . men, you call such, I suppose . . . she may discover All her soul to, if she pleases, and yet leave much as she found them : But I 'm not so, and she knew it when she fixed me, glancing round them. II. What ? To fix me thus meant nothing? But I can't tell (there 's my weakness) What her look said ! no vile cant, sure, about " need to strew the bleakness Of some lone shore with its pearl-seed, that the sea feels " no " strange yearning That such souls have, most to lavish where there 's chance of least returning." in. Oh, we 're sunk enough here, God knows ! but not quite so sunk that moments, Sure tho' seldom, are denied us, when the spirit's true endowments 10 Stand out plainly from its false ones, and apprise it if pursuing Or the right way or the wrong way, to its triumph or undoing. There are flashes struck from midnights, there are fire-flames noondays kindle, Whereby piled-up honours perish, whereby swollen ambitions dwindle, While just this or that poor impulse, which for once had play unstifled, Seems the sole work of a life-time that away the rest have trifled. v. Doubt you if, in some such moment, as she fixed me, she felt clearly, ') . Ages past the soul existed, here an age 't is resting merely, And hence fleets again for ages, while the true end, sole and single, It stops heie for is, this love-way, with some other soul to mingle? 20 VI. Else it loses what it lived for, and eternally must lose it ; Better ends may be in prospect, deeper blisses (if you choose it), But this life's end and this love-bliss have been lost here. Doubt you whether This she felt as, looking at me, mine and her souls rushed together? COUNT GISMOND. 5 vn. Oh, observe ! Of course, next moment, the world's honours, in derision, Trampled out the light for ever. Never fear but there's provision Of the devil's to quench knowledge, lest we walk the earth in rapture ! Making those who catch God's secret, just so much more prize their capture ! VIII. Such am I : the secret 's mine now ! She has lost me, I have gained her; Her soul 1 s mine : and thus, grown perfect, I shall pass my life's re- mainder. 30 Life will just hold out the proving both our powers, alone and blended : And then, come next life quickly ! This world's use will have been ended. COUNT GISMOND. AIX IN PROVENCE. I. God who savest man, save most V __ 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, 't was with all his strength. n. 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 ; 't was 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. COUNT GISMOND. rv. 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! 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 ; 't was time I should present The victor's crown, but . . . there, 't will last No long time . . . the old mist again Blinds me as then it did. How vain! See! Gismond 's at the gate, in talk With his two boys : I can proceed. 50 COUNT GISMOND. 7 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 honours 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 1 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, Souta, 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 8a 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. COUNT GISMOND. 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 gaontlets 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 ! loo 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 1 10 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. So, 'mid the shouting multitude We two walked forth to never more EURYDICE TO ORPHEUS. 9 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 was just telling Adela How many birds it struck since May. EURYDICE TO ORPHEUS. A PICTURE BY FREDERICK LEIGHTON, R.A. BUT give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow ! Let them once more absorb me ! One look now Will lap me round for ever, not to pass Out of its light, though darkness lie beyond : Hold me but safe again within the bond Of one immortal look ! All woe that was, Forgotten, and all terror that may be, Defied, no past is mine, no future : look at me ! THE GLOVE. (PETER RONSARD loquitur?) ". TTEIGHO! "yawned one day King Francis, L " 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 ! " IO I who, if mortal dare say so, f0 THE GLOVE. 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 SirDe Lorge pressed 'mid the foremost With the dame he professed to adore most. Oh, \vhat 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, 43 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 Ilium 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, the}' reached and they rested On space that might stand him in best stead : THE GLOVE. H 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 sirloin : 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 't was, 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 " 't was mere vanity, Not love, set that task to humanity! " 12 THE GLOVE. 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, IIQ 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 ' THE GLOVE. !^ 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 1 60 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. 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 1 t was 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 occur rite morbo ! With which moral I drop my theorbo. 190 SONG. SONG. I. N'AY but you, who do not love her, Is she not pure gold, my mistress? Holds earth aught speak truth above her? Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, And this last fairest tress of all, So fair, see, ere I let it fall? n. Because, you spend your lives in praising; To praise, you search the wide world over : Then why not witness, calmly gazing, If earth holds aught speak truth above her? 10 Above this tress, and this, I touch But cannot praise, I love so much! A SERENADE AT THE VILLA, i. r I "HAT was I, you heard last night, _L When there rose no moon at all, Nor, to pierce the strained and tight Tent of heaven, a planet small : Life was dead, and so was light. n. Not a twinkle from the fly, Not a glimmer from the worm ; When the crickets stopped their cry, When the owls forbore a term, You heard music; that was I. IO Earth turned in her sleep with pain, Sultrily suspired for proof: In at heaven and out again, Lightning! where it broke the roof, Bloodlike, some few drops of rain. A SERENADE AT THE VILLA. ^ IV. What they could my words expressed, O my love, my all, my one! Sjnging helped the verses best, And when singing's best was done, To my lute I left the rest. 20 v. So wore night ; the East was gray, White the broad-faced hemlock flowers : There would be another day ; Ere its first of heavy hours Found me, I had passed away. VI. What became of all the hopes, Words and song and lute as well? Say, this struck you : " When life gropes Feebly for the path where fell Light last on the evening slopes, 30 VII. " One friend in that path shall be, To secure my step from wrong ; One to count night day for me, Patient through the watches long, Serving most with none to see." VIII. Never say as something bodes " So, the worst has yet a worse! When life halts 'neath double loads, Better the task-master's curse Than such music on the roads! 40 " When no moon succeeds the sun, Nor can pierce the midnight's tent Any star, the smallest one, While some drops, where lightning rent, Show the final storm begun 1 6 YOUTH AND ART. x. " When the fire-fly hides its spot, When the garden-voices fail In the darkness thick and hot, Shall another voice avail, That shape be where these are not? 50 XI. " Has some plague a longer lease, Proffering its help uncouth ? Can't one even die in peace? As one shuts one's eyes on youth, Is that face the last one sees?" XII. Oh how dark your villa was, Windows fast and obdurate ! How the garden grudged me grass Where I stood the iron gate Ground its teeth to let me pass ! YOUTH AND ART. i. IT once might have been, once only : We lodged in a street together, You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely, I, a lone she-bird of his feather. Your trade was with sticks and clay, You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished, Then laughed "They will see, some day, Smith made, and Gibson demolished." in. My business was song, song, song ; I chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered, IO " Kate Brown 's on the boards ere long, And Grisi's existence embittered ! " YOUTH AND ART. 17 IV. I earned no more by a warble Than you by a sketch in plaster; You wanted a piece of marble, I needed a music-master. T. We studied hard in our styles, Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos, Cds> ^ For air, looked out on the tiles, * For fun, watched each other's windows. You lounged, like a boy of the South, Cap and blouse nay, a bit of beard too ; Or you got it, rubbing your mouth With fingers the clay adhered to. VII. And I soon managed to find Weak points in the flower-fence facing, Was torced to put up a blind And be safe in my corset-lacing. VIII. No harm ! It was not my fault If you never turned your eye's tail up 30 As I shook upon E in alt, Or ran the chromatic scale up : IX. For spring bade the sparrows pair, And the boys and girls gave guesses, And stalls in our street looked rare With bulrush and watercresses. x. Why did not you pinch a flower In a pellet of clay and fling it? Why did not I put a power Of thanks in a look, or sing it? 40 YOUTH AND ART. XI. I did look, sharp as a lynx, (And yet the memory rankles) When models arrived, some minx Tripped up stairs, she and her ankles. XII. But I think I gave you as good ! "That foreign fellow, who can know How she pays, in a playful mood, For his tuning her that piano?" Could you say so, and never say " Suppose we join hands and fortunes, 50 And I fetch her from / ~oveT the way, Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?" XIV. No, no : you would not be rash, Nor I rasher and something over; You Ve to settle yet Gibson's hash, And Grisi yet lives in clover. XV. But you meet the Prince at the Board, I 'm queen myself at bals-parts, I Ve married a rich old lord, And you 're dubbed knight and an R.A. 60 XVI. Each life unfulfilled, you see ; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy : We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired, been happy. xvir. And nobody calls you a dunce, And people suppose me clever ; This could but have happened once, And we missed it, lost it for ever THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. , 19 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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 corn-field 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. 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 ; 20 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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, THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 21 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. And he came back the pertest little ape That ever affronted human shape ; loo 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, no 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 ; 'T was 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 ! Well, such as he was, he must marry, we heard : And out of a convent, at the word, 22 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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 gray 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 gray ; For such things must begin some one day. 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 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 23 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, " 'T is done to spite me, THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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 St. Hubert ^ a 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, Might hope for real hunters at length and not murderers, 250 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 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 2 $ 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 forethought, 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, W T ell. 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, 26 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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 1 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! 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 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 27 But a troop of Gipsies on their march? No doubt with the annual gifts to greet him. xin. 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 forefoot 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 'II 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 sav>, one, a witch 28 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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 to-day, would be wiser to-morrow ; 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, 't was 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 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 29 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 unmistakable eye-points duly Live and aware looked out of their places. THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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, 400 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 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 3! 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 like 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 j 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 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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 recognise 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? THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 33 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, Ana 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 34 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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, p<~>t 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 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 35 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 court-yard 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 it, 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 36 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 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 ; THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. 37 So, they made no search and small inquiry : And when fresh Gipsies have paid us a visit, I 've Noticed the couple were never inquisitive, But told them they Ve 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 '11 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 ; 38 THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS. Could I pay in a lump I should prefer it, But there 's no mine to blow up and get done with : 86hook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 50 itood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, "ailed my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer ; "lapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, fill at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. x. V.nd all I remember is, friends flocking round ^.s I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; ^.nd uo voice but was praising this Roland of mine, U I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Vhich (the burgesses voted by common consent) Vas no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. 60 SONG FROM "PARACELSUS." HEAP cassia, sandal-buds and stripes Of labdanum, and aloe-balls. Smeared with dull nard an Indian wipes From out her hair : such balsam falls Down sea-side mountain pedestals. From tree-tops where tired winds are fain, Spent with the vast and howling main, To treasure half their island gain. And strew faint sweetness from some old Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud 10 Which breaks to dust when once unrolled;; Or shredded perfume, like a cloud From closet long to quiet vowed, With mothed and dropping arras hung, Mouldering her lute and books among, As when a queen, long dead, was young. 42 THROUGH THE METIDJA TO ABD-EL-KADR. THROUGH THE METIDJA TO ABD-EL-KADR. 1842. AS I ride, as I ride, With a full heart for my guide, So its tide rocks my side, As I ride, as I ride, That, as I were double-eyed, He, in whom our Tribes confide, Is descried, ways untried, As I ride, as I ride. n. As I ride, as I ride To our Chief and his Allied, 10 Who dares chide my heart's prida As I ride, as I ride? Or are witnesses denied Through the desert waste and wide Do I glide unespied As I ride, as I ride? ill. As I ride, as I ride, When an inner voice has cried, The sands slide, nor abide (As I ride, as I ride) 20 O'er each visioned homicide That came vaunting (has he lied?) To reside where he died, As I ride, as I ride. IV- As I ride, as I ride, Ne'er has spur my swift horse plied, Yet his hide, streaked and pied, As I ride, as I ride, Shews where sweat has sprung and dried, Zebra-footed, ostrich-thighed 30 How has vied stride with stride As I ride, as I ride! INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 43 v. As I ride, as I ride, Could I loose what Fate has tied, Ere I pried, she should hide (As I ride, as I ride) All that 's meant me satisfied When the Prophet and the Bride Stop veins I 'd have subside As I ride, as I ride! 40 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 himselferect 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. 44 THE LOST LEADER. IV. " Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace We 've got you Ratisbon ! The Marshal ^ in the market-place, And you 11 be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, 30 Perched him ! " The chiefs eye flashed ; his plans Soared up again like fire. v. The chiefs 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 : u I 'm killed, Sire ! " And his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead. 40 THE LOST LEADER. JUST for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat .Kound the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others, she lets us devote ; They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed : How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags were they purple, his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so, followed him. honoured him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! u. We shall march prospering, not thro' his presence ; Songs may inspirit us, not from his lyre ; IN A GONDOLA. 45 Deeds will be done, while he boasts his quiescence, Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire : 20 Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more, One task more declined, one more footpath untrod, One more devil's-triumph and sorrow for angels, One wrong more to man, one more insult to God! Life's night begins : let him never come back to us! There would be doubt, hesitation and pain, Forced praise on our part the glimmer of twilight, Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well, for we taught him strike gallantly, Menace our heart ere we master his own ; 30 Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne! IN A GONDOLA. /? ~yb t^ I He sings. 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 Familial Vy by my pet name, Which if the Three should hear you call, And me reply to, would proclaim 46 IN A GONDOLA. At once our secret to them ali. 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 ! 'T is 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? Gray Zanobi's just a-wooing 40 To his couch the purchased bride : Past we glide ! 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. n. The bee's kiss, now ! Kiss me as if you entered gay IN A GONDOLA. 47 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 thoul 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 for ever! 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 48 IN A GONDOLA. 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 ! IOG 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 through my back ; I reel ; And ... is it thou I feel? II. They trail me, these three godless knaves, HO 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. I. 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! il. 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, 'T is proper to be choice in what I wear. IN A GONDOLA. He speaks. 49 Row home? must we row home? Too surely Know I where its front 's demurely Over the Guidecca 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 50 IN A GONDOLA. Which dare not speak, now to itself 170 Breathes slumberously, as if some elf Went in and out the chords, his wings Make murmur, vvheresoe'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 lymph 1 80 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 A LOVERS^ QUARREL. 51 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! A LOVERS' QUARREL. OH, what a dawn of day! How the March sun feels like May! All is blue again After last night's rain, And the South dries the hawthorn-spray. Only, my Love's away! I 'd as lief that the blue were gray. Runnels, which rillets swell, Must be dancing down the dell, With a foaming head lo On the beryl bed Paven smooth as a hermit's cell: Each with a tale to tell, Could my Love but attend as well. 52 A LOVERS^ QUARREL. Dearest, three months ago! When we lived blocked-up with snow, When the wind would edge In and in his wedge, In, as far as the point could go Not to our ingle, though, 20 Where we loved each the other so! IV. Laughs with so little cause! We devised games out of straws. We would try and trace One another's face In the ash, as an artist draws ; Free on each other's flaws, How we chattered like two church daws! What 's in the " Times "? a scold At the Emperor deep and cold ; 30 He has taken a bride To his gruesome side, That 's as fair as himself is bold : There they sit ermine-stoled, And she powders her hair with gold. VI. Fancy the Pampas' sheen! Miles and miles of gold and green Where the sunflowers blow In a solid glow, And to break now and then the screen 40 Black neck and eyeballs keen, Up a wild horse leaps between! Try, will our table turn? Lay your hands there light, and yearn Till the yearning slips Thro' the finger-tips In a fire which a few discern, And a very few feel burn, And the rest, they may live and learn! A LOVERS^ QUARREL. 53 Then we would up and pace, 50 For a change, about the place, Each with arm o'er neck : 'T is our quarter-deck, We are seamen in woeful case. Help in the ocean-space! Or, if no help, we '11 embrace. IX. See, how she looks now, dressed In a sledging-cap and vest! 'T is a huge fur cloak Like a reindeer's yoke 60 Falls the lappet along the breast : Sleeves for her arms to rest, Or to hang, as my Love likes best. x. Teach me to flirt a fan As the Spanish ladies can, Or I tint your lip With a burnt stick's tip And you turn into such a man! Just the two spots that span Half the bill of the young male swan. 70 XI. Dearest, three months ago, When the mesmerizer Snow With his hand's first sweep Put the earth to sleep, 'T was a time when the heart could show All how was earth to know, Neath the mute hand's to-and-fro? XII. Dearest, three months ago, When we loved each other so, Lived and loved the same 80 Till an evening came When a shaft from the devil's bow Pierced to our ingle-glow, And the friends were friend and foe! 54 A LOVERS^ QUARREL. Not from the heart beneath 'T was a bubble born of breath, Neither sneer nor vaunt, Nor reproach nor taunt. See a word, how it severeth ! Oh, power of life and death 90 ?n the tongue, as the Preacher saith! XIV. Woman, and will you cast For a word, quite off at last Me, your own, your You, Since, as truth is true, I was You all the happy past Me do you leave aghast With the memories We amassed? xv. Love, if you knew the light That your soul casts in my sight, 100 How I look to you For the pure and true, And the beauteous and the right, Bear with a moment's spite When a mere mote threats the white! XVI. What of a hasty word? Is the fleshly heart not stirred By a worm's pin-prick Where its roots are quick? See the eye, by a fly's foot blurred no Ear, when a straw is heard Scratch the brain's coat of curd! XVII. Foul be the world or fair More or less, how can I care? 'T is the world the same For my praise or blame, And endurance is easy there. Wrong in the one thing rare Oh, it is hard to bear! A LOVERS^ QUARREL. 55 XVIII. Here 's the spring back or close, 120 When the almond-blossom blows ; We shall have the word In a minor third There is none but the cuckoo knows : Heaps of the guelder-rose! I must bear with it, I suppose. XIX. Could but November come, Were the noisy birds struck dumb At the warning slash Of his driver's-lash 130 I would laugh like the valiant Thumb Facing the castle glum And the giant's fee-faw-fum ! xx. Then, were the world well-stripped Of the gear wherein equipped We can stand apart, Heart dispense with heart In the sun, with the flowers unnipped, Oh, the world's hangings ripped, We were both in a bare-walled crypt! 140 XXI. Each in the crypt would cry " But one freezes here ! and why ? When a heart, as chill, At my own would thrill Back to life, and its fires out-fly? Heart, shall we live or die? The rest . . . settle by-and-by! " So, she 'd efface the score, And forgive me as before. It is twelve o'clock : 150 I shall hear her knock In the worst of a storm's uproar: I shall pull her through the door, I shall have her for evermore! 56 EARTH'S IMMORTALITIES. EARTH'S IMMORTALITIES. FAME. SEE, as the prettiest graves will do in time, Our poet's wants the freshness of its prime ; Spite of the' sexton's browsing horse, the sods Have struggled through its binding osier rods ; Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awrv, Wanting the brick-work promised by-and-by ; How the minute gray lichens, plate o'er plate, Have softened down the crisp-cut name and date LOVE. So, the year 's done with ! {Love me for ever .') IO All March begun with, April's endeavour ; May-wreaths that bound me June needs must sever ; Now snows fall round me, Quenching June's fever {Love me for ever I) THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER 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 THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 57 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 to-night? ni. 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, THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 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? We ride and I see her bosom heave. 60 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 You hold things beautiful the best, 70 And pace them in rhyme so, side by side. 'T is something, nay 't is much : but then, Have you yourself what 's best for men ? A Are you poor, sick, old ere your time \Jtf , C& Nearer one whit your own sublime Than we who never have turned a rhyme?/ X y ~) - J K> - 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, And that 's your Venus, whence we turn 80 To yonder girl that fords the burn! You acquiesce, and shall I repine ? What, man of music, you grown gray With notes and nothing else to say, Is this your sole praise from a friend, " Greatly his opera's strains intend, But in music we know how fashions end!" I gave my youth ; but we ride, in fine. Who knows what 's fit for us ? Had fate Proposed bliss here should sublimate MESMERISM. 59 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, for ever ride? no 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 in. And the socket floats and flares, And the house-beams groan, And a foot unknown 6o MESMERISM. Is surmised on the garret-stairs, And the locks slip unawares 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! 2O 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 gray 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 Havo and hold, then and there, Her, from head to foot, Breathing and mute, Passive and yet aware, In the grasp of my steady stare - 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 MESMERISM. 6: x. Then, if my heart's strength serve, And thro' all and each Of the veils I reach To her soul and never swerve, Knitting an iron nerve 5 XI. Command her soul to advance And inform the shape Which has made escape And before my countenance Answers me glance for glance xn. 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 xrv. 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: 62 MESMERISM. 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, Not 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 : Not a whit abate, And relax not a gesture due, As I see my belief come true. 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? MESMERISM. 63 XXII. Ha! was the hair so first? What, unfilleted, Made alive, and spread Thro' the void with a rich outburst, Chestnut gold-interspersed ? no 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. u 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? 64 BY THE FIRESIDE. BY THE FIRESIDE. i. HOW well I know what I mean to do When the long dark autumn evenings come : And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue ? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life's November too ! n. I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O'er a great wise book, as beseemeth age ; While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose ! 10 in. Till the young ones whisper, finger on lip, "There he is at it, deep in Greek: Now then, cr never, out we slip To cut from the hazels by the creek A mainmast for our ship ! " I shall be at it indeed, my friends ! Greek puts already on either side Such a branch-work forth as soon extends To a vista opening far and wide, And I pass out where it ends. 20 v. The outside-frame, like your hazel-trees But the inside-archway widens fast, And a rarer sort succeeds to these, And we slope to Italy at last And youth, by green degrees. VI. 1 follow wherever I am led, Knowing so well the leader's hand : Oh woman-country, wooed not wed, Loved all the more by earth's male-lands, Laid to their hearts instead! 30 BY THE FIRESIDE. 65 VII. Look at the ruined chapel again Half-way up in the Alpine gorge! Is that a tower, I point you plain, Or is it a mill, or an iron-forge Breaks solitude in vain? VIII. A turn, and we stand in the heart of things ; The woods are round us, heaped and dim ; From slab to slab how it slips and springs, The thread of water single and slim, Thro' the ravage some torrent brings! 40 IX. Does it feed the little lake below? That speck of white just on its marge Is Pella ; see, in the evening-glow, How sharp the silver spear-heads charge When Alp meets heaven in snow! x. On our other side is the straight-up rock ; And a path is kept 'twixt the gorge and it By boulder-stones where lichens mock The marks on a moth, and small ferns fit Their teeth to the polished block. 50 XI. Oh the sense of the yellow mountain-flowers, And thorny balls, each three in one, The chestnuts throw on our path in showers! For the drop of the woodland fruit 's begun, These early November hours, XII. That crimson the creeper's leaf across Like a splash of blood, intense, abrupt, O'er a shield else gold from rim to boss, And lay it for show on the fairy-cupped Elf-needled mat of moss, 60 r 66 BY THE FIRESIDE. XIII. By the rose-flesh mushrooms, undivulged Last evening nay, in to-day's first dew Yon sudden coral nipple bulged, Where a freaked fawn-coloured flaky crew Of toad-stools peep indulged. And yonder, at foot of the fronting ridge That takes the turn to a range beyond, Is the chapel reached by the one-arched bridge, Where the water is stopped in a stagnant pond Danced over by the midge. 70 xv. The chapel and bridge are of stone alike, Blackish-gray and mostly wet ; Cut hemp-stalks steep in the narrow dyke. See here again, how the lichens fret And the roots of the ivy strike! XVI. Poor little place, where its one priest comes On a festa-day, if he comes at all, To the dozen folk from their scattered homes, Gathered within that precinct small By the dozen ways one roams 80 xvn. To drop from the charcoal-burners' huts, Or climb from the hemp-dresser's low shed, Leave the grange where the woodman stores his nuts, Or the wattled cote where the fowlers spread Their gear on the rock's bare juts. XVIII. It has some pretension too, this front, With its bit of fresco half-moon-wise Set over the porch, Art's early wont : 'T is John in the Desert. I surmise, But has borne the weather's brunt 90 \ BY THE FIRESIDE. 67 XIX. Not from the fault of the builder, though, For a pent-house properly projects Where three carved beams make a certain show, Dating good thought of our architect's Five, six, nine, he lets you know. XX. And all day long a bird sings there, And a stray sheep drinks at the pond at times ; The place is silent and aware ; It has had its scenes, its joys and crimes, But that is its own affair. loo XXI. My perfect wife, my Leonor, Oh heart, my own, oh eyes, mine too, Whom else could I dare look backward for, With whom besides should I dare pursue The path gray heads abhor? XXII. For it leads to a crag's sheer edge with them ; Youth, flowery all the way, there stops Not they ; age threatens and they contemn, Till they reach the gulf wherein youth drops, One inch from life's safe hem ! no XXIII. With -me, youth led ... I will speak now, No longer watch you as you sit Reading by firelight, that great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it, Mutely, my heart knows how xxrv. When, if I think but deep enough, You are wont to answer, prompt as rhyme ; And you, too, find without rebuff Response your soul seeks many a time, Piercing its fine flesh-stuff. 1 20 68 BY THE FIRESIDE. My own, confirm me ! If I tread This path back, is it not in pride To think how little I dreamed it led To an age so blest that, by its side, Youth seems the waste instead? XXVI. My own, see where the years conduct! At first, 't was something our two souls Should mix as mists do ; each is sucked In each now : on, the new stream rolls, Whatever rocks obstruct. 130 XXVII. Think, when our one soul understands The great Word which makes all things new, When earth breaks up and heaven expands, How will the change strike me and you In the house not made with hands? XXVIII. h I must feel your brain prompt mine, Your heart anticipate my heart, ou must be just before, in fine, See and make me see, for your part, New depths of the divine ! . XXIX. But who could have expected this When we two drew together first Just for the obvious human bliss, To satisfy life's daily thirst With a thing men seldom miss? 140 XXX. Come back with me to the first of all, Let us lean and love it over again, Let us now forget and now recall, Break the rosary in a pearly rain, And gather what we let fall ! 150 BY THE FIRESIDE. 69 XXXI. What did I say ? that a small bird sings All day long, save when a brown pair Of hawks from the wood float with wide wings Strained to a bell : 'gainst noon-day glare You count the streaks and rings. XXXII. But at afternoon or almost eve 'T is better ; then the silence grows To that degree, you half believe It must get rid of what it knows, Its bosom does so heave. 160 XXXIII. Hither we walked then, side by side, Arm in arm and cheek to cheek, And still I questioned or replied, While my heart, convulsed to really speak, Lay choking in its pride. XXXIV. Silent the crumbling bridge we cross, And pity and praise the chapel sweet, And care about the fresco's loss, And wish for our souls a like retreat, And wonder at the moss. 170 xxxv. Stoop and kneel on the settle under, Look through the window's grated square : Nothing to see ! For fear of plunder, The cross is down and the altar bare, As if thieves don't fear thunder. XXXVI. We stoop and look in through the grate, See the little porch and rustic door, Read duly the dead builder's date ; Then cross the bridge that we crossed before, Take the path again but wait ! i8r 70 BY THE FIRESIDE. xxxvn - 7WL. Oh moment one and infinite ! The water slips o'er stock and stone ; The West is tender, hardly bright : How gray at once is the evening grown One star, its chrysolite ! XXXVIII. We two stood there with never a third, But each by each, as each knew well : The sights we saw and the sounds we heard, The lights and the shades made up a spell Till the trouble grew and stirred. 190 xxxix. Oh, the little more, and how much it is ! And the little less, and what worlds away! How a sound shall quicken content to bliss, Or a breath suspend the blood's best play, And life be a proof of this ! XL. Had she willed it, still had stood the screen So slight, so sure, 'twixt my love and her : I could fix her face with a guard between, And find her soul as when friends confer, Friends lovers that might have been. 200 For my heart had a touch of the woodland time, Wanting to sleep now over its best. Shake the whole tree in the summer-prime, But bring to the last leaf no such test ! " Hold the last fast ! " runs the rhyme. For a chance to make your little much, To gain a lover and lose a friend, Venture the tree and a myriad such, When nothing you mar but the year can mend : But a last leaf fear to touch! 210 BY THE FIRESIDE. XLIII. Yet should it unfasten itself and fall Eddying down till it find your face At some slight wind best chance of all ! Be your heart henceforth its dwelling-place You trembled to forestall ! XLIV. Worth how well, those dark gray eyes, That hair so dark and dear, how worth That a man should strive and agonize, And taste a veriest hell on earth For the hope of such a prize! 220 XLV. You might have turned and tried a man, Set him a space to weary and wear, And prove which suited more your plan, His best of hope or his worst despair, Yet end as he began. XL VI. But you spared me this, like the heart you are, And filled my empty heart at a word. If two lives join, there is oft a scar. They are one and one, with a shadowy third ; One near one is too far. 230 XLVII. A moment after, and hands unseen Were hanging the night around us fast ; But we knew that a bar was broken between Life and life : we were mixed at last In spite of the mortal screen. XLVIII. The forests had done it ; there they stood ; We caught for a moment the powers at play; They had mingled us so, for once and good, Their work was done we might go or stay, They relapsed to their ancient mood. 240 72 ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBAND. XLIX. How the world is made for each of us! How all we perceive and know in it Tends to some moment's product thus, When a soul declares itself to wit, By its fruit, the thing it does ! L. Be hate that fruit or love that fruit, It forwards the general deed of man : And each of the Many helps to recruit The life of the race by a general plan ; Each living his own, to boot. 250 LI. I am named and known by that moment's feat ; There took my station and degree ; So grew my own small life complete, As nature obtained her best of me One born to love you, sweet! LIT. And to watch you sink by the fireside now Back again, as you mutely sit Musing by firelight, that great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it, Yonder, my heart knows how! 260 LIII. So, earth has gained by one man the more, And the gain of earth must be heaven's gain too ; And the whole is well worth thinking o'er When autumn comes : which I mean to do One day, as I said before. /^Vv-*V ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBAND. ' Y love, this is the bitterest, that thou M Who art all truth, and who dost love me now As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say Shouldst love so truly, and couldst love me still 73 10 ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBAND. A whole long life through, had but love its will, Would death that leads me from thee brook delay. II. I have but to be by thee, and thy hand Will never let mine go, nor heart withstand The beating of my heart to reach its place. When shall I look for thee and feel thee gone? When cry for the old comfort and find none? Never, I know! Thy soul is in thy face. Oh, I should fade 't is willed so ! Might I save, Gladly I would, whatever beauty gave Joy to thy sense, for that was precious too. It is not to be granted. But the soul Whence the love comes, all ravage leaves that whole; Vainly the flesh fades : soul makes all things new. IV. It would not be because my eye grew dim Thou couldst not find the love there, thanks to Him ao Who never is dishonoured in the spark He gave us from his fire of fires, and bade Remember whence it sprang, nor be afraid While that burns on, tho' all the rest grow dark. v. So, how thou wouldst be perfect, white and clean Outside as inside, soul and soul's demesne Alike, this body given to show it by! Oh, three-parts thro 1 the worst of life's abyss, What plaudits from the next world after this, Couldst thou repeat a stroke and gain the sky! 30 VI. And is it not the bitterer to think That, disengage our hands and thou wilt sink Altho' thy love was love in very deed? I know that nature ! Pass a festive day, Thou dost not throw its relic-flower away Nor bid its music's loitering echo speed. 74 ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBAND. Thou let'st the stranger's glove lie where it fell ; If old things remain old things all is well, For thou art grateful as becomes man best : And hadst thou only heard me play one tune, 40 Or viewed me from a window, not so soon With thee would such things fade as with the rest. VIII. I seem to see! We meet and part ; 't is brief; The book I opened keeps a folded leaf, The very chair I sat on, breaks the rank ; That is a portrait of me on the wall Three lines, my face comes at so slight a call : And for all this, one little hour to thank! IX. But now, because the hour thro' years was fixed, Because our inmost beings met and mixed, 50 Because thou once hast loved me wilt thou dare Say to thy soul and Who may list beside, " Therefore she is immortally my bride ; Chance cannot change my love, nor time impair. x. " So, what if in the dusk of life that 's left, I, a tired traveller of my sun bereft, Look from my path when, mimicking the same, The fire-fly glimpses past me, come and gone? Where was it till the sunset ? where anon It will be at the sunrise ! What 's to blame ? " 60 XI. Is it so helpful to thee ? Canst thou take The mimic up, nor, for the true thing's sake, Put gently by such efforts at a beam ? Is the remainder of the way so long, Thou need'st the little solace, thou the strong? Watch out thy watch, let weak ones doze and dream. XII. Ah, but the fresher faces! " Is it true," Thou 'It ask, ''some eyes are beautiful and new? Some hair, how can one choose but grasp such wealth? ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBAND. 75 And if a man would press his lips to lips 70 Fresh as the wilding hedge-rose-cup there slips The dew-drop out of, must it be by stealth ? XIII. " It cannot change the love still kept for Her, More than if such a picture I prefer Passing a day with, to a room's bare side : The painted form takes nothing she possessed, Yet, while the Titian's Venus lies at rest, A man looks. Once more, what is there to chide?" XIV. So must I see, from where I sit and watch, My own self sell myself, my hand attach 80 Its warrant to the very thefts from me Thy singleness of soul that made me proud, Thy purity of heart I loved aloud, Thy man's-truth I was bold to bid God see! Love so, then, if thou wilt! Give all thou canst Away to the new faces disentranced, (Say it and think it) obdurate no more : Re-issue looks and words from the old mint, Pass them afresh, no matter whose the print, Image and superscription once they bore! 90 XVI. Re-coin thyself and give it them to spend, It all comes to the same thing at the end, Since mine thou wast, mine art, and mine shalt be, Faithful or faithless : sealing up the sum Or lavish of my treasure, thou must come Back to the heart's place here I keep for thee! XVII. Only, why should it be with stain at all ? Why must I, 'twixt the leaves of coronal, Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow? Why need the other women know so much, loo And talk together, <' Such the look and such The smile he used to love with, then as now! " 76 IN A YEAR. xvm. Might I die last and show thee! Should I find Such hardship in the few years left behind, If free to take and light my lamp, and go Into thy tomb, and shut the door and sit, Seeing thy face on those four sides of it The better that they are so blank, I know! Why, time was what I wanted, to turn o'er Within my mind each look, get more and more no By heart each word, too much to learn at first ; And join thee all the fitter for the pause 'Neath the low door-way's lintel. That were cause For lingering, though thou calledst, if I durst! XX. And yet thou art the nobler of us two : What dare I dream of, that thou canst not do, Outstripping my ten small steps with one stride? I '11 say then, here 's a trial and a task ; Is it to bear? if easy, I '11 not ask : Tho' love fail, I can trust on in thy pride. 120 Pride? when those eyes forestall the life behind The death I have to go through ! when I find, Now that I want thy help most, all of thee! What did I fear? Thy love shall hold me fast Until the little minute's sleep is past And I wake saved. And yet it will not be! IN A YEAR, i. NEVER any more, While I live, Need I hope to see his face As before. Once his love grown chill, Mine may strive : Bitterly we re-embrace, Single still. IN A YEAR. 77 II. Was it something said, Something done, 10 Vexed him? was it touch of hand, Turn of head? Strange ! that very way Love begun : I as little understand Love's decay. in. When I sewed or drew, I recall How he looked as if I sung, Sweetly too. 20 If I spoke a' word, First of all Up his cheek the colour sprung, Then he heard. rv. Sitting by my side, At my feet, So he breathed but air I breathed, Satisfied! I, too, at love's brim Touched the sweet : 30 I would die if death bequeathed Sweet to him. Speak, I love thee best! " He exclaimed : " Let thy love my own foretell!" I confessed : " Clasp my heart on thine Now unblamed. Since upon thy soul as well Hangeth mine!" 4 VI. Was it wrong to own, Being truth? . Why should all the giving prove His alone? 78 ftr A YEAR. I had wealth and ease, Beauty, youth : Since my lover gave me love, I gave these. VII. That was all I meant, To be just, 50 And the passion I had raised, To content. Since he chose to change Gold for dust, If I gave him what he praised Was it strange? VIII. Would he loved me yet, On and on, While I found some way undreamed Paid my debt! 60 Gave more life and more, Till all gone, He should smile " She never seemed Mine before. IX. What, she felt the while, Must I think? Love 's so different with us men!" He should smile : " Dying for my sake White and pink! 70 Can't we touch these bubbles then But they break ? " x. Dear, the pang is brief, Do thy part, Have thy pleasure! How perplexed Grows belief! Well, this cold clay clod Was man's heart : Crumble it. and what comes next? Is it God? 80 SONG FROM "JAMES LEE^S WIFE." 79 SONG FROM "JAMES LEE'S WIFE." I. OH, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, . This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth : Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet. n. That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true ; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows. If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you. IO Make the low nature better by your throes ! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above ! A WOMAN'S LAST WORD. LET 'S contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep : All be as before, Love, Only sleep ! II. What so wild as words are? I and thou In debate, as birds are, Hawk on bough! ill- -T See the creature stalking While we speak! IO Hush and hide the talking, Cheek on cheek. 8o A WOMAN'S LAST WORD. IV. What so false as truth is, False to thee? Where the serpent's tooth is, Shun the tree Where the apple reddens, Never pry Lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I. 2O VI. Be a god and hold me With a charm ! Be a man and fold me With thine arm! Teach me, only teach, Love! As I ought I will speak thy speech, Love, Think thy thought VIII. Meet, if thou require it, Both demands, 30 Laying flesh and spirit In thy hands. IX. That shall be to-morrow, Not to-night : I must bury sorrow Out of sight : x. Must a little weep, Love, (Foolish me!) And so fall asleep, Love, Loved by thee. 40 MEETING AT NIGHT. 82 MEETING AT NIGHT. I. '~P*HE gray sea and the long black land ; _l And the yellow half-moon large and low ; And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, And quench its speed i' the slushy sand. II. Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach ; Three fields to cross till a farm appears ; A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match, ; 3 And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears, Than the two hearts beating each to each! PARTING AT MORNING. ROUND the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the sun looked over the mountain's rim : And straight was a path of gold for him, And the need of a world of men for me. WOMEN AND ROSES. i. I DREAM of a red-rose tree. And which of its roses three Is the dearest rose to me? n. Round and round, like a dance of snow In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go Floating the women faded for ages. Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages. Then follow women fresh and gay, Living and loving and loved to-day. 82 WOMEN AND ROSES. Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens, lo Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence, They circle their rose on my rose tree. Dear rose, thy term is reached, Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached : Bees pass it unimpeached. Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb, You, great shapes of the antique time, How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you, Break my heart at your feet to please you ? Oh, to possess and be possessed! 20 Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast! Once but of love, the poesy, the passion, Drink but once and die! In vain, the same fashion, They circle their rose on my rose tree. v. D^ar rose, thy joy's undimmed : Tny cup is ruby-rimmed, Thy cup's heart nectar-brimmed. Deep, as drops from a statue's plinth The bee sucked in by the hyacinth, So will I bury me while burning, 30 Quench like him at a plunge my yearning, Eyes in your eyes, lips on your lips! Fold me fast where the cincture slips, Prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure, Girdle me for once! But no the old measure, They circle their rose on my rose tree. VII. Dear rose without a thorn, Thy bud 's the babe unborn : First streak of a new morn. VIII. Wings, lend wings for the cold, the dear! 40 What is far conquers what is near. MISCONCEPTIONS. 83 Roses will bloom nor want beholders, Sprung from the dust where our flesh moulders, What shall arrive with the cycle's change? A novel grace and a beauty strange. I will make an Eve, be the Artist that began her, Shaped her to his mind ! Alas! in like manner They circle their rose on my rose tree. MISCONCEPTIONS. is a spray the Bird clung to, L Making it blossom with pleasure, Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, Fit for her nest and her treasure. Oh, what a hope beyond measure Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to, So to be singled out, built in, and sung to! II. This is a heart the Queen leant on, Thrilled in a minute erratic, Ere the true bosom she bent on, IO Meet for love's regal dalmatic. Oh, what a fancy ecstatic Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on, Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on! A PRETTY WOMAN. I. fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers, And the blue eye Dear and dewy, And that infantine fresh air of hers! To think men cannot take you, Sweet, And enfold you, Ay, and hold you, And so keep you what they make you, Sweet! 84 A PRETTY WOMAN. in. You like us for a glance, you know For a word's sake Or a sword's sake : All 's the same, whate'er the chance, you know. IV. And in turn we make you ours, we say -r- You and youth too, Eyes and mouth too, All the face composed of flowers, we say. v. All ? s our own, to make the most of, Sweet Sing and say for, Watch and pray for, Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet! But for loving, why, you would not, Sweet, Tho 1 we prayed you, Paid you, brayed you In a mortar for you could not, Sweet! VII. So, we leave the sweet face fondly there, Be its beauty Its sole duty! Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there! VIII. And while the face lies quiet there, Who shall wonder That I ponder A conclusion? I will try it there. As, why must one, for the love foregone Scout mere liking? Thunder-striking Earth, the heaven, we looked above for, gone! A PRETTY WOMAN". 85 x. Why, with beauty, needs there money be, Love with liking? Crush the fly-king In his gauze, because no honey-bee? 40 XI. May not liking be so simple-sweet, If love grew there 'T would undo there All that breaks the cheek to dimples sweet? XII. Is the creature too imperfect, say? Would you mend it And so end it? Since not all addition perfects aye! xm. Or is it of its kind, perhaps, Just perfection jo Whence, rejection Of a grace not to its mind, perhaps ? XIV. Shall we burn up, tread that face at once Into tinder, And so hinder Sparks from kindling all the place at once? xv. Or else kiss away one's soul on her? Your love-fancies ! A sick man sees Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her! 60 XVI. Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose, Plucks a mould-flower For his gold flower, Uses fine things that efface the rose. 86 A LIGHT WOMAN'. xvn. Rosy rubies make its cup more rose, Precious metals Ape the petals, Last, some old king locks it up, morose ! Then how grace a rose? I know a way ! Leave it, rather. 70 Must you gather? Smell, kiss, wear it at last, throw away. A LIGHT WOMAN. 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? n. 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. 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! And before my friend be wholly hers, How easy to prove to him, I said, An eagle 1 s the game her pride prefers, Tho' she snaps at a wren instead ! So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take, My hand sought hers as in earnest need, A LIGHT WOMAN. 8/ 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: "Tho' I love her that, he comprehends 30 One should master one's passions, (love, in chief) And be loyal to one's friends ! " 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 ; 'T is mine, can I let it fall ? With no mind to eat it, that 's the worst ! Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist ? 'T was 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. 'T is 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 ! 88 LOVE IN A LIFE. 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 ! LOVE IN A LIFE. I. ROOM after room, I hunt the house through We inhabit together. Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her Next time, herself ! not the trouble behind her Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume! As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew ; Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather. n. Yet the day wears, And door succeeds door ; 10 I try the fresh fortune Range the wide house from the wing to the centre. Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter. Spend my whole day in the quest, who cares ? But 't is twilight, you see, with such suites to explore, Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune! LIFE IN A LOVE. T7 SCAPE me ? l\ Never Beloved! While I am I, and you are you, THE LABORATORY. 8 9 So long as the world contains us both, Me the loving and you the loth, While the one eludes, must the other pursue. My life is a fault at last, I fear : It seems too much like a fate, indeed! Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed. 10 But what if I fail of my purpose here ? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, And baffled, get up and begin again, So the chace takes up one's life, that 's all. While, look but once from your farthest bound At me so deep in the dust and dark, No sooner the old hope goes to ground Than a new one, straight to the self-same mark, I shape me 20 Ever Removed! THE LABORATORY. ANCIEN REGIME. I. NOW that I, tying thy glass mask tightly, May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely, As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy Which is the poison to poison her, prithee ? n. He is with her, and they know that I know Where they are, what they do : they believe my tears flow While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear Empty church, to pray God in, for them! I am here. in. Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste, Pound at thy powder, I am not in haste! 10 Better sit thus and observe thy strange things, Than go where men wait me, and dance at the King's. IV. That in the mortar you call it a gum ? Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come! THE LABORATORY. And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue, Sure to taste sweetly, is that poison too? v. Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures, What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures ! To carry pure death in an earring, a casket, A signet, a fan-mount, a filigree basket! 20 VI. Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live! But to light a pastile, and Elise, with her head And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead! VII. Quick is it finished? The colour's too grim! Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim? Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir, And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer! VIII. What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me! That 's why she ensnared him : this never will free 30 The soul from those masculine eyes, say, "No!" To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go. IX. For only last night, as they whispered, I brought My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall Shrivelled ; she fell not ; yet this does it all! Not that I bid you spare her the pain ; Let death be felt and the proof remain : * Brand, burn up, bite into its grace He is sure to remember her dying face! 40 XI. Is it done ? Take my mask off ! Nay, be not morose ; It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close : The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee! If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me? GOLD HAIR. Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill, You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will! But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings Ere I know it next moment I dance at the King's ' GOLD HAIR: A STORY OF PORNIC. OH, the beautiful girl, too white, Who lived at Pornic down by the sea, Just where the sea and the Loire unite! And a boasted name in Brittany She bore, which I will not write. II. Too white, for the flower of life is red ; Her flesh was the soft seraphic screen Of a soul that is meant (her parents said) . To just see earth, and hardly be seen, And blossom in heaven instead. 1C in. Yet earth saw one thing, one how fair! One grace that grew to its full on earth : Smiles might be sparse on her cheek so spare And her waist want half a girdle's girth, But she had her great gold hair. Hair, such a wonder of flix and floss, Freshness and fragrance floods of it, too I Gold, did I say ? Nay, gold's mere dross : Here, Life smiled, ; ' Think what I meant to do ! " And Love sighed, " Fancy my loss ! " 20 v. So, when she died, it was scarce more strange Than that, when delicate evening dies, And you follow its spent sun's pallid range, GOLD HAIR. There's a shoot of colour startles the skies With sudden, violent change, VI. That, while the breath was nearly to seek, As they put the little cross to her lips. She changed ; a spot came out on her cheek, A spark from her eye in mid-eclipse, And she broke forth, ' I must speak ! " 30 " Not my hair ! " made the girl her moan " All the rest is gone or to go ; But the last, last grace, my all, my own, Let it stay in the grave, that the ghosts may know! Leave my poor gold hair alone! " VIII. The passion thus vented, dead lay she : Her parents sobbed their worst on that, All friends joined in, nor observed degree : For indeed the hair was to wonder at, As it spread not flowing free, 4C IX. But curled around her brow, like a crown, And coiled beside her cheeks, like a cap, And calmed about her neck ay, down To her breasc, pressed flat, without a gap I' the gold, it reached her gown. x. All kissed that face, like a silver wedge Mid the yellow wealth, nor disturbed its hair: E'en the priest allowed death's urivilege, As he planted the crucifix with care On her breast, 'twixt edge and edge. 50 XI. And thus was she buried, inviolate Of body and soul, in the very space By the altar ; keeping saintly state In Pornic church, for her pride of race, Pure life and piteous fate. GOLD HAIR.. 93 And in after-time would your fresh tear fall, Though your mouth might twitch with a dubious smile, As they told you of gold, both robe and pall, How she prayed them leave it alone awhile. So it never was touched at all. 60 XIII. Years flew ; this legend grew at last The life of the lady ; all she had done, All been, in the memories fading fast Of lover and friend, was summed in one Sentence survivors passed : XIV. To wit, she was meant for heaven, not earth ; Had turned an angel before the time : Yet, since she was mortal, in such dearth Of frailty, all you could count a crime Was she knew her gold hair's worth. 70 xv. At little pleasant Pornic church, It chanced, the pavement wanted repair, Was taken to pieces : left in the lurch, A certain sacred space lay bare, And the boys began research. XVI. T was the space where our sires would lay a saint, A benefactor, a bishop, suppose, A baron with armour-adornments quaint, Dame with chased ring and jewelled rose, Things sanctity saves from taint ; 80 XVII. So we come to find them in after-days When the corpse is presumed to have done with gauds Of use to the living, in many ways : For the boys get pelf, and the town applauds, And the church deserves the praise. 94 GOLD HAIR. XVIII. They grubbed with a will : and at length O cor Httmanum, pectora cceca, and the rest ! They found no gaud they were prying for, No ring, no rose, but who would have guessed ? A double Louis-d'or! 90 XIX. Here was a case for the priest : he heard, Marked, inwardly digested, laid Finger on nose, smiled, " There 's a bird Chirps in my ear : " then, " Bring a spade, Dig deeper! " he gave the word. xx. And lo, when they came to the coffin-lid, Or rotten planks which composed it once, Why, there lay the girl's skull wedged amid A mint of money, it served for the nonce To hold in its hair-heaps hid! loo XXI. Hid there? Why? Could the girl be wont (She the stainless soul) to treasure up Money, earth's trash and heaven's affront? Had a spider found out the communion-cup, Was a toad in the christening-font ? XXII. Truth is truth : too true it was. Gold! She hoarded and hugged it first, Longed for it, leaned o'er it, loved it alas Till the humour grew to a head and burst, And she cried, at the final pass, no XXIII. "Talk not of God, my heart is stone! Nor lover nor friend be gold for both! Gold I lack ; and, my all, my own, It shall hide in my hair. I scarce die loth If they let my hair alone ! " GOLD HAIR. 95 XXIV. Louis-a'or, some six times five, And duly double, every piece. Now, do you see ? With the priest to shrive, With parents preventing her soul's release By kisses that kept alive, 120 XXV. With heaven's gold gates about to ope, With friends' praise, gold-like, lingering still, An instinct had bidden the girl's hand grope For gold, the true sort " Gold in heaven, if you will ; But I keep earth's too, I hope." XXVI. Enough ! The priest took the grave's grim yield '. The parents ; they eyed that price of sin As if thirty pieces lay revealed On the place to bury strangers in, The hideous Potter's Field. 130 XXVII. But the priest bethought him : " ' Milk that 's spilt' You know the adage! Watch and pray ! Saints tumble to earth with so slight a tilt ! It would build a new altar ; that, we may ! " And the altar therewith was built. XXVIII. Why I deliver this horrible verse? As the text of a sermon, which now I preach : Evil or good may be better or worse In the human heart, but the mixture of each Is a marvel and a curse. 140 XXIX. The candid incline to surmise of late That the Christian faith proves false, I find ; For our Essays-and-Reviews' debate Begins to tell on the public mind, And Colenso's words have weight : 96 THE STATUE AND THE BUST, XXX. I still, to suppose it true, for my part, See reasons and reasons ; this, to begin : 'T is the faith that launched point-blank her dart At the head of a lie taught Original Sin, The Corruption of Man's Heart. 150 THE STATUE AND THE BUST. r ~T*HERE 'S a palace in Florence, the world knows well, J_ 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 re 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 the 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. THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 97 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 self-same 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, Thro 1 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 bed-chamber 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, Thro' 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. 98 THE STATUE AND THE BUST. " 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, Sit by his side and laugh at sorrow Ere I count another ave-bell. u 'T is 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 ; 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) And smiled " 'T was 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! THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 99 " But, alas! my lady leaves the South ; loo 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 no 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. 100 THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 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. THE STATUE AND THE BUST. IQI "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.' 1 80 " 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 it's 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 2oc 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, 102 THE STATUE AND THE BUST. "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 1 the world to this. I hear you reproach, " But delay was best, For their end was a crime. 11 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 momenfs view ! Must a game be played for the sake of pelf ? Where a button goes, 't were 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 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. IO 3 If you choose to play ! is my principle. rf. ?'i-'/'j' 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 X, ' Is, the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, Tho' the end in sight was a vice, I say. You of the virtue (we issue join) How strive you ? De te,fabulal . 250 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. WHERE the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles, Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro 1 the twilight, stray or stop As they crop Was the site once of a city great and gay, (So they say) Of our country's very capital, its prince Ages since IO Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far Peace or war. n. Now, the country does not even boast a tree, As you see, To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to, (else they run Into one) Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires 20 O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all, Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed, Twelve abreast. 104 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass Never was ! Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, Stock or stone 30 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago ; Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame Struck them tame ; And that glory and that shame alike, the gold Bought and sold. Now, the single little turret that remains On the plains, By the caper overrooted, by the gourd Overscored, 40 While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Thro' the chinks Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime, And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced As they raced, And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. And I know while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave 50 To their folding, all our many tinkling fleece In such peace, And the slopes and rills in undistinguished gray Melt away That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair Waits me there In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul For the goal, When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb Till I come. 60 But he looked upon the city, every side, Far and wide, TIME'S REVENGES. IO5 All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades 1 Colonnades, All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts, and then, All the men! When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, Either hand On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace Of my face, 70 Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North, A.nd they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky, ifet reserved a thousand chariots in full force Gold, of course. Oh heart ! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns ! Earth's returns 80 For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin! Shut them in, With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. TIME'S REVENGES. T 'VE a Friend, over the sea ; J. 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 to-night in this heavy brain, To-morrow month, if I lived to try, Round should I just turn quietly, 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, IO 6 TIME'S REVENGES. The creaking of his clumsy boots. 11 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 m ,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 whi~h 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 ^ne angry word you get. But, please you. wonder I would put My cheek beneath that lady's foot Rather than trample under mine The laurels of the Florentine. And you shall see how the devil spends A fire God gave for other ends! I t-ell 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 '11 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. ji There may be heaven ; there must be hell ; Meantime, there is our earth here well! WARING. WARING. 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? n. 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 IO For us, it seems, who supped together (Friends of his too, I remember) And walked home thro 1 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! in. 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, blurrs and blottings, Certain first steps were achieved Already which" (is that your meaning?) " Had well borne out whoe'er believed 108 WARING. In more to come! " But who goes gleaning Hedge-side chance-blades, while full-sheaved Stand cornfields by him? Pride, o'enveening Pride alone, puts forth such claims 40 O'er the day's distinguished names. 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-infornv-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, Thro' 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 possessors 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, 't is 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, 3o This Waring, but one half-day more! WARING. 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 ! ion 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 Tsar, With the demurest of footfalls HO 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 borne perhaps, Like the lambwhite 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 WARING. 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 't is 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 't is cherry-time, 160 Or hops are picking : or at prime Of Marc*h 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 WARING. 1 1 1 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 ! Someone 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 't is, 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. u WHEN I last saw Waring ..." (How all turned to him who spoke! 210 You saw Waring ? Truth or joke? In land-travel or seafaring ?) 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, .112 WARING. 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 '11 never let you up the bay! We natives should know best. 1 I turned, and ' Just those fellows 1 way/ 1 Our captain said, ' the 'long-shore thieves Are laughing at us in their sleeves.' in. " 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? HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD. HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD. OH, to be in England now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England now! And after April, when May follows And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover 10 Blossoms and dewdrops at the bent spray's edge That 's the wise thrush : he sings each song twice over Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And, tho' the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND. HPHAT second time they hunted me JL From hill to plain, from shore to sea, And Austria, hounding far and wide Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side, Breathed hot an 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, 2O THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND. And much beside, two days ; the third, Hunger o'ercame 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 't was 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! THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND. \ \ 5 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 '11 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 f 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. HO How very long since I have thought Concerning much less wished for aught Beside the good of Italy. 1 1 6 THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND. 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. '6o So much for idle wishing how it steals the time! To business now. THE ENGLISHMAN IN ITALY. 117 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 ; All the Plain saw me gather, I garland the flowers or the weeds. Time for rain ! for your long hot dry Autumn had networked 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, 10 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 rock-side, wherever could thrust Some burnt sprig of bold hardy rock-flower its yellow face up, 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 1 the twisted dead vine-twigs, sole lattice that 's known. 20 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. 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 gray jellies, your sea-fruit ; you touch the strange lumps, And mouths gape there, eyes open, all manner of horns and of humps, 30 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, Came our friends, with whose help in the vineyards grape-harvest began. Il8 THE ENGLISHMAN IN ITALY. In the vat, halfway up in our house-side, 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 40 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 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. 50 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 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! 60 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 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! 70 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 W r ith 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, Tho 1 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 THE ENGLISHMAN IN ITALY. 1 19 Of some monster which climbed there to die, from the ocean beneath Place was grudged to the silver-gray fume-weed that clung to the path, And dark rosemary ever a-dying, that, 'spite the wind's wrath, 80 So loves the salt rock's face to seaward, and lentisks as stanch 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 lady, till, round after round, 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. 90 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) 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 : 'T is 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 100 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, 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 gray 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, 1 10 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 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, 120 120 UP AT A VILLA DOWN IN THE CITY. While the other, thro 1 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 Of the Rosary's Virgin, by no means of Virgins the least. As you '11 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. 130 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 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. 140 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 ! If 't were proper, Scirocco should vanish in black from the skies! UP AT A VILLA DOWN IN THE CITY. (AS DISTINGUISHED BY AX ITALIAN PERSON OF QUALITY.) HAD I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare, The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square ; Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there! II. Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least! There, the whole day long, one's life is a perfect feast ; While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than a beast. UP AT A VILLA DOWN IN THE CITY 121 in. Well now, look at our villa! stuck like the horn of a bull Just on a mountain edge as bare as the creature's skull, Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull! I scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the hair 's turned wool. 10 IV. But the city, oh the city the square with the houses ! Why ? They are stone-faced, white as a curd, there 's something to take the eye! Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry ; You watch who crosses and gossips, who saunters, who hurries by ; Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the sun gets high ; And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly. v. What of a villa? Tho' winter be over in March by rights, 'T is May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well off the heights : You Ve the brown ploughed land before, where the oxen steam and wheeze, And the hills over-smoked behind by the faint gray olive-trees. 20 VI. Is it better in May, I ask you ? You Ve summer all at once ; In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April suns. 'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well, The wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows out its great red bell Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell. VII. Is it ever hot in the square ? There 's a fountain to spout and splash ! In the shade it sings and springs ; in the shine such foam-bows flash On the horses with curling fish-tails, that prance and paddle and pash Round the lady atop in her conch fifty gazers do not abash, Tho' all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort of sash. 30 VIII. All the year long at the villa, nothing to see though you linger, Except yon cypress that points like death's lean lifted forefinger. Some think fireflies pretty, when they mix i' the corn and mingle, Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem a-tingle. Late August or early September, the stunning cicala is shrill, 122 UP AT A VILLA DOWN IN THE CITY. And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the resinous firs on the hill. Enough of the seasons, I spare you the months of the fever and chill. IX. Ere you open your eyes in the city, the blessed church-bells begin : No sooner the bells leave off than the diligence rattles in : You get the pick of the news, and it costs you never a pin. 40 By and by there's the traveling doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws teeth ; Or the Pulcinello-trumpet breaks up the market beneath. At the post-office such a scene-picture the new play, piping hot! And a notice how, only this morning, three liberal thieves were shot. Above it, behold the Archbishop's most fatherly of rebukes, And beneath, with his crown and his lion, some little new law of the Duke's ! Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the Reverend Don So-and-so Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, St. Jerome and Cicero. " And moreover," (the sonnet goes rhyming,) " the skirts of St. Paul has reached, Having preached us those six Lent-lectures more unctuous than ever he preached." 50 Noon strikes, here sweeps the procession! our Lady borne smiling and smart, With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her heart ! Bang-ivhang-whang goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife ; No keeping one's haunches still : it 's the greatest pleasure in life. x. But bless you, it's dear it 's dear! fowls, wine, at double the rate. They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil pays passing the gate It 's a horror to think of. And so, the villa for me, not the city! Beggars can scarcely be choosers : but still ah, the pity, the pity! Look, two and two' go the priests, then the monks with cowls and sandals. And the penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the yellow candles ; 60 One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross with handles, And the Duke's guard brings up the rear, for the better prevention of scandals : Bang-iuhang-whang goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife. Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life! PICTOR IGNOTUS. 123 PICTOR IGNOTUS. FLORENCE, 15 . I COULD have painted pictures like that youth's Ye praise so. How my soul springs up ! No bar Stayed me ah, thought which saddens while it soothes! Never did fate forbid me, star by star, To outburst on your night, with all my gift Of fires from God : nor would my flesh have shrunk From seconding my soul, with eyes uplift And wide to heaven, or, straight like thunder, sunk To the centre, of an instant ; or around Turned calmly and inquisitive, to scan 1C The license and the limit, space and bound, Allowed to truth made visible in man. And, like that youth ye praise so, all I saw, Over the canvas could my hand have flung, Each face obedient to its passion's law, Each passion clear proclaimed without a tongue ; Whether Hope rose at once in all the blood, A-tiptoe for the blessing of embrace, Or Rapture drooped the eyes, as when her brood Pull down the nesting dove's heart to its place ; 20 Or Confidence lit swift the forehead up, And locked the mouth fast, like a castle braved, O human faces, hath it spilt, my cup ? \V hat did ye give me that I have not saved ? Nor will I say I have not dreamed (how well!) Of going I, in each new picture, forth, As, making new hearts beat and bosoms swell, To Pope or Kaiser, East, West, South, or North, Bound for the calmly satisfied great State, Or glad aspiring little burgh, it went, 30 Flowers cast upon the car which bore the freight, Thro' old streets named afresh from the event, Till it reached home, where learned age should greet Aly face, and youth, the star not yet distinct Above his hair, lie learning at my feet! Oh, thus to live, I and my picture, linked With love about, and praise, till life should end, And then not go to heaven, but linger here, Here on my earth, earth's every man my friend, The thought grew frightful, 't was so wildly dear ! 40 But a voice changed it. Glimpses of such sights Have scared me, like the revels thro 1 a door Of some strange house of idols at its rites! I2 4 FRA LIPPO LIPPl. This world seemed not the world it was before. Mixed with my loving trusting ones, there trooped . . . Who summoned those cold faces that begun To press on me and judge me? Tho' I stooped Shrinking, as from the soldiery a nun, They drew me forth, and spite of me . . enough! These buy and sell our pictures, take and give, 50 Count them for garniture and household-stuff, And where they live needs must our pictures live And see their faces, listen to their prate, Partakers of their daily pettiness, Discussed of, " This I love, or this I hate This likes me more, and this affects me less!" Wherefore I chose my portion. If at whiles My heart sinks, as monotonous I paint These endless cloisters and eternal aisles With the same series. Virgin, Babe, and Saint, 60 With the same cold calm beautiful regard, At least no merchant traffics in my heart ; The sanctuary's gloom at least shall ward Vain tongues from where my pictures stand apart : Only prayer breaks the silence of the shrine W T hile, blackening in the daily candle-smoke, They moulder on the damp wall's travertine, 'Mid echoes the light footstep never woke. So, die my pictures! surely, gently die! O youth, men praise so, holds their praise its worth ? 70 Blown harshly, keeps the trump its golden cry? Tastes sweet the water with such specks of earth ? FRA LIPPO LIPPI. I AM poor brother Lippo, by your leave ! You need not clap 'your torches to my face. Zooks, what 's to blame ? you think you see a monk ! What, 't is past midnight, and you go the rounds, And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar? The Carmine 's my cloister : hunt it up, Do, harry out, if you must show your zeal, Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole, And nip each softling of a wee white mouse, 10 Weke, iveke, that 's crept to keep him company! Aha. you know your betters ? Then, you '11 take Your hand away that 's fiddling on my throat, FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 12$ And please to know me likewise. Who am I ? Why, one. sir, who is lodging with a friend Three streets off he 's a certain . . . how d' ye call ? Master a . . . Cosimo of the Medici, I' the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me, the day you 're hanged, How you affected such a gullet's-gripe ! 20 But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you : Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He 's Judas to a tittle, that man is! Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends. Lord, I 'm not angry ! Bid your hangdogs go Drink out this quarter-florin to the health Of the munificent House that harbours me (And many more beside, lads! more beside! ) 30 And all 's come square again. I 'd like his face His, elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern, for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (" Look you, now," as who should say) And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped! It 's not your chance to have a bit of chalk, A wood-coal or the like ? or you should see ! Yes, I 'm the painter, since you style me so. What, brother Lippo's doings, up and down, 40 You know them, and they take you? like enough! I saw the proper twinkle in your eye 'Tell you, I liked your looks at very first. Let 's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch. Here 's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival, And I 've been three weeks shut within my mew, A-painting for the great man, saints and saints And saints again. I could not paint all night Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. 50 There came a hurry of feet and little feet, A sweep of lute-strings, laughs, and whifts of song ? Flower o 1 the broom. Take away love, and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' 1 the quince, I let Lisa go, and what good in life since ? Flower a" 1 the thyme and so on. Round they went. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight, three slim shapes, And a face that looked up . . zooks, sir, flesh and blood, 60 That 's all I 'm made of! Into shreds it went, 126 FRA LIPPO LI PPL Curtain and counterpane and coverlet, All the bed-furniture a dozen knots, There was a ladder! Down I let myself, Hands and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped, And after them. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence, hail fellow, well met, Flower o the rose, If I 'i>e been merry, what matter who knows f And so, as I was stealing back again, 70 To get to bed and have a bit of sleep Ere I rise up to-morrow and go work On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast With his great round stone to subdue the flesh, You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see! Tho 1 your eye twinkles still, you shake your head Mine 's shaved a monk, you say the sting 's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself, Mum 's the word naturally ; but a monk! Come, what am I a beast for? tell us, now! 80 I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. I starved there, God knows how, a year or two On fig-skins, melon-parings, rinds and shucks, Refuse and rubbish. One fine frosty day, My stomach being empty as your hat, The wind doubled me up and down I went. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand, (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall, over the bridge, 90 By the straight cut to the convent. Six words there, While I stood munching my first bread that month : " So, boy, you : re minded,'' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth, : t was refection-time, " To quit this very miserable world ? Will you renounce " . . . " the mouthful of bread ? " thought I ; By no means! Brief, they made a monk of me ; I did renounce the world, its pride and greed, Palace, farm, villa, shop and banking-house, Trash, such as these poor devils of Medici loo Have given their hearts to all at eight years old. Well, sir, I found in time, you may be sure. 'T was not for nothing the good bellyful, The warm serge and the rope that goes all round, And day-long blessed idleness beside ! " Let 's see what the urchin 's fit for " that came next. Not overmuch their way, I must confess. Such a to-do! They tried me with their books : FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 127 Lord, they 'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower d 1 the clove, no All the Latin I construe zs, " amo" I love! But, mind you, when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together, as my fortune was, Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires, And who will curse or kick him for his pains, Which gentleman processional and fine, Holding a candle to the Sacrament, Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again, 120 Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped, How say I ? nay, which dog bites, which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street, Why, soul and sense of him grow sharp alike, He learns the look of things, and none the less For admonition from the hunger-pinch. I had a store of such remarks, be sure, Which, after I found leisure, turned to use : I drew men's faces on my copy-books, Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge, 130 Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes, Found eyes and nose and chin for A's and B's And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun, On the wall, the bench, the door. The monks looked black. "Nay," quoth the Prior, " turn him out, d 1 ye say? In no wise. Lose a crow and catch a lark. What if at last we get our man of parts, We Carmelites, like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars, to do our church up fine 140 And put the front on it that ought to be ! " And hereupon he bade me daub away. Thank you! my head being crammed, the walls a blank, Never was such prompt disemburdening. First every sort of monk, the black and white, I drew them, fat and lean : then, folk at church, From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings, candle-ends, To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. Fresh from his murder, safe and sitting there 150 With the little children round him in a row Of admiration, half for his beard, and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. Signing himself with the other because of Christ 128 FRA LIPPO LIPPf. (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl, her apron o'er her head, (Which the intense eyes looked through) came at eve On tiptoe, said a word, dropped in a loaf, 160 Her pair of ear-rings and a bunch of flowers (The brute took growling) prayed, and so was gone. I painted all, then cried, " *T is ask and have ; Choose, for more 's ready! " laid the ladder flat, And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked, taught what to see and not to see, Being simple bodies, " That 's the very man ! Look at the boy who stoops to pat the dog! That woman 's like the Prior's niece who comes 170 To care about his asthma : it 's the life ! " But there my triumph 's straw-fire flared and funked ; Their betters took their turn to see and say : The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. "How! what's here? Quite from the mark of painting, bless us all! Faces, arms, legs and bodies like the true As much as pea and pea ! it's devil's game! Your business is not to catch men with show, With homage to the perishable clay, 180 But lift them over it, ignore it all, Make them forget there 's such a thing as flesh. Your business is to paint the souls of men Man's soul, and it 's a fire, smoke . . no, it 's not . . It 's vapour done up like a new-born babe (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth) It's . . well, what matters talking, it's the soul! -Give us no more of body than shows soul! * Here 's Giotto, with his Saint a-praising God, That sets us praising, why not stop with him? 190 Why put all thoughts of praise out of our head With wonder at lines, colours, and what not? Paint the soul, never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. try at it a second time! Oh, that white smallish female with the breasts, She 's just my niece . . . Herodias, I would say, Who went and danced, and got men's heads cut off! Have it all out! " Now, is this sense, I ask? A fine way to paint soul, by painting body So ill, the eye can't stop there, must go further 200 And can't fare worse ! Thus, yellow does for white When what you put for yellow 's simply black, And any sort of meaning looks intense FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 129 When all beside itself means and looks naught. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn, Left foot and right foot, go a double step, Make his flesh liker and his soul more like, Both in their order? Take the prettiest face, The Prior's niece . . . patron-saint is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope, fear, 210 Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I 've made her eyes all right and blue, \ Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash, Vi And then add soul and heighten them threefold? V Or say there 's beauty with no soul at all (I never saw it put the case the same ) If you get simple beauty and naught else, y You get about the best thing God invents : / That 's somewhat : and you '11 find the soul you have missed, Within yourself, when you return him thanks. 22^ " Rub all out! " Well, well, there 's my life, in short, And so the thing has gone on ever since. I 'm grown a man no doubt, I Ve broken bounds : You should not take a fellow eight yc -irs old And make him swear to never kiss the girls. I 'm my own master, paint now as I please Having a friend, you see, in the Corner-house ! Lord, it's fast holding by the rings in front Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in, or tie up a horse ! 230 And yet the old schooling sticks, the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work. The heads shake still " It 's art's decline, my son! You 're not of the true painters, great and old ; Brother Angelico 's the man, you '11 find ; Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer : Fag on at flesh, you '11 never make the third!" flower o 1 the pine, You keep your mistr . . . manners, and I* II stick to mine! I 'm not the third, then : bless us, they must know! 240 Don't you think they 're the likeliest to know, They with their Latin ? So, I swallow my r?.ge, Clench my teeth, suck my lips in tight, and paint To please them sometimes do, and sometimes don't ; For, doing most, there 's pretty sure to come A turn, some warm eve finds me at my saints A laugh, a cry, the business of the world {Flower o" 1 the peach, Death for us all, and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves, the cup runs over, 250 The world and life 's too big to pass for a dream, 130 FRA LIPPO LIPPI. And I do these wild things in sheer despite, And play the fooleries you catch me at, In pure rage! The old mill-horse, out at grass After hard years, throws up his stiff heels so, Altho' the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. What would men have? Do they like grass or no May they or may n't they? all I want's the thing Settled for ever one way. As it is, 260 You tell too many lies and hurt yourself: You don't like what you only like too much, You do like what, if given you at your word, You find abundantly detestable. For me, I think I speak as I was taught : I always see the garden, and God there A-making man's wife : and, my lesson learned, TJhe value and significance of flesh. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. You understand me : I 'm a beast, I know. 270 But see, now why, I see as certainly As that the morning-star 's about to shine. What will hap some day. We 've a youngster here Comes to our convent, studies what I do. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop : His name is Guidi he'll not mind the monks They call him Hulking Tom, he lets them talk He picks my practice up he '11 paint apace, I hope so tho' I never live so long, I know what's sure to follow. You be judge ! 280 You speak no Latin more than I, belike ; However, you 're my man, you 've seen the world The beauty and the wonder and the power. The shapes of things, their colours, lights and shades, Changes, surprises, and God made it all! For what? Do you feel thankful, ay or no, For this fair town's face, yonder rivers line, The mountain round it and the sky above. Much more the figures of man, woman, child. These are the frame to ? What 's it all about ? 290 To be passed over, despised ? or dwelt upon, Wondered at? oh, this last of course! you say. But why not do as well as say, paint these Just as they are, careless what comes of it? God's works paint any one. and count it crime To let a truth slip. Don't object. " His works Are here already ; nature is complete : Suppose you reproduce her (which you can't) FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 13! There 's no advantage! you must beat her, then." For, don't you mark ? we 're made so that we love 300 First when we see them painted, things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see ; And so they are better, painted better to us, Which is the same thing. Art was given for that ; God uses us to help each other so, Lending our minds out. Have you noticed, now, Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk, And trust me but you should, though! How much more If I drew higher things with the same truth ! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place, 310 Interpret God to all of you! Oh, oh, It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves ! This world 's no blot for us/ Nor blank ; it means intensely, and means good : To find its meaning is my meat and drink. "Ay, but you don't so instigate to prayer!" Strikes in the Prior : " when your meaning 's plain It does not say to folk remember matins, Or, mind you fast next Friday! " Why, for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones, 320 Two bits of stick nailed cross-wise, or, what 's best, A bell to chime the hour with, does as well. I painted a Saint Laurence six months since At Prato, splashed the fresco in fine style : "How looks my painting, now the scaffold 's down?" I ask a brother : " Hugely," he returns "Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side, But 's scratched and prodded to our heart's content, The pious people have so eased their own 330 With coming to say prayers there in a rage : We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. Expect another job this time next year, For pity and religion grow i' the crowd Your painting serves its purpose!" Hang the fools! That is you '11 not mistake an idle word Spoke in a huff by a poor monk, Got wot, Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh, the church knows! don't misreport me, now! 340 It 's natural a poor monk out of bounds Should have his apt word to excuse himself: And hearken how I plot to make amends. I have bethought me : I shall paint a piece . . . There 's for you! Give me six months, then go, see 132 FRA LIPPO LIPPL Something in Sant' Ambrogio's ! Bless the nuns \ They want a cast o' my office. I shall paint God in the midst, Madonna and her babe, Ringed by a bowery flowery angel-brood, Lilies and vestments and white faces, sweet 350 As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to church at midsummer. And then i 1 the front, of course a saint or two Saint John, because he saves the Florentines, Saint Ambrose, who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day, And Job, I must have him there past mistake, The man of Uz (and Us without the z, Painters who need his patience). Well, all these Secured at their devotion, up shall come 360 Out of a corner when you least expect. As one by a dark stair into a great light, Music and talking, who but Lippo! I! Mazed, motionless and moon-struck I 'm the man! Back I shrink what is this I see and hear? I, caught up with my monk's things by mistake, My old serge gown and rope that goes all round, I, in this presence, this pure company! Where 's a hole, where 's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing 370 Forward, puts out a soft palm " Not so fast! " Addresses the celestial presence, " nay He made you and devised you, after all, Tho : he 's none of you ! Could Saint John there, draw His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that, fste perfecit opus ! " So, all smile I shuffle sideways with my blushing face Under the cover of a hundred wings Thrown like a spread of kittles when you 're gay 380 And play hot cockles, all the doors being shut, Till, wholly unexpected, in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind, not letting go The palm of her, the little lily thing That spoke the good word tor me in the nick. Like the Prior's niece . . . Saint Lucy, I would say. And so all 's saved for me. and for the church A pretty picture gained. Go, six months hence! Your hand, sir, and good bye : no lights, no lights! 390 The street 's hushed, and I know my own way back, Don't fear me ! There 's the gray beginning. Zooks ! ANDREA DEL SARTO. j 33 ANDREA DEL SARTO. (CALLED "THE FAULTLESS PAINTER.") BUT do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for once : Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. You turn your face, but does it bring your heart ? I '11 work then for your friend's friend, never fear, Treat his own subject after his own way, Fix his own time, accept too his own price, And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly? Oh, I '11 content him, but to-morrow, Love ! 10 I often am much wearier than you think, This evening more than usual : and it seems As if forgive now should you let me sit Here by the window, with your hand in mine, And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole, Both of one mind, as married people use, Quietly, quietly the evening through, I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this! 20 Your soft hand is a woman of itself, And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. Don't count the time lost, neither ; you must serve For each of the five pictures we require : It saves a model. So! keep looking so My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds! How could you ever prick those perfect ears, Even to put the pearl there ! oh, so sweet My face, my moon, my everybody's moon, Which everybody looks on and calls his, 30 And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn, While she looks no one's : very dear, no less. You smile? why, there 's my picture ready made, There 's what we painters call our harmony! A common grayness silvers everything, All in a twilight, you and I alike You, at the point of your first pride in me (That 's gone, you know) but I, at every point ; My youth, my hope, my art, being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. 40 There 's the bell clinking from the chapel-top ; That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside ; 134 ANDREA DEL SARTO. The last monk leaves the garden ; days decrease, And autumn grows, autumn in everything. Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape, As if I saw alike my work and self And all that I was born to be and do, A twilight-piece. Love, we are in God's hand. How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead ; 50 So free we seem, so fettered fast we are ! I feel he laid the fetter : let it lie ! This chamber for example turn your head - All that 's behind us! You don't understand Nor care to understand about my art, But you can hear at least when people speak : And that cartoon, the second from the door It is the thing, Love! so such things should be Behold Madonna! I am bold to say. I can do with my pencil what I know, 60 What I see, what at bottom of my heart I wish for, if I ever wish so deep Do easily, too when I say, perfectly, I do not boast, perhaps : yourself are judge, Who listened to the Legate's talk last week ; And just as much they used to say in France. At any rate 't is easy, all of it ! No sketches first, no studies, that 's long past : I do what many dream of, all their lives, Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do, 70 And fail in doing. I could count twenty such On twice your ringers, and not leave this town. Who strive you don't know how the others strive To paint a little thing like that you smeared Carelessly passing with your robes afloat, Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says, (I know his name, no matter) so much less! Well, less is more, Lucrezia : I am judged. There burns a truer light of God in them, In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up brain, 80 Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know, Reach many a time a heaven that 's shut to me, Enter and take their place there sure enough, Tho' they come back and cannot tell the world. My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. The sudden blood of these men! at a word Praise them, it boils, or blame them, it boils too. I, painting from myself and to myself, 90 Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame ANDREA DEL SARTO. 135 Or their praise either. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced, His hue mistaken ; what of that? or else, Rightly traced and well ordered ; what of that ? Speak as they please, what does the mountain care? Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what 's a heaven for? All is silver-gray, Placid and perfect with my art : the worse ! I know both what I want and what might gain, loo And yet how profitless to know, to sigh " Had I been two, another and myself. Our head would have overlooked the world ! " No doubt. Yonder ! s a work now, of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. ('T is copied, George Vasari sent it me.) Well, I can fancy how he did it all, Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see, Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him, Above and thro' his art for it gives way; no That arm is wrongly put and there again A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines, Its body, so to speak : its soul is right, He means right that, a child may understand. Still, what an arm! and I could alter it : But all the play, the insight and the stretch Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul, We might have risen to Rafael, I and you! Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think 120 More than I merit, yes, by many times. But had you oh, with the same perfect brow, And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth, And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare Had you, with these the same, but brought a mind! Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged " God and the glory ! never care for gain. The present by the future, what is that ? Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo! 130 Rafael is waiting : up to God, all three! " I might have done it for you. So it seems : Perhaps not. All is as God over-rules. Beside, incentives come from the soul's self; The rest avail not. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael, of has Agnolo ? In this world, who can do a thing, will not; And who would do it, can not, I perceive : Yet the will 's somewhat somewhat, too, the power 136 ANDREA DEL SARTO. And thus we half-men struggle. At the end, 140 God, I conclude, compensates, punishes. 'T is safer for me, if the award be strict, That I am something underrated here, Poor this long while, despised, to speak the truth. I dared not, do you know, leave home all day, For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. The best is when they pass and look aside ; But they speak sometimes ; I must bear it all. Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau ! 150 I surely then could sometimes leave the ground, Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear, In that humane great monarch's golden look, One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile, One arm about my shoulder, round my neck, The jingle of his gold chain in my ear, I painting proudly with his breath on me, All his court round him, seeing with his eyes, Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls 1 60 Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts, And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond, This in the background, waiting on my work, To crown the issue with a last reward ! A good time, was it not, my kingly days ? And had you not grown restless . . . but I know 'T is done and past ; 't was right, my instinct said ; Too live the life grew, golden and not gray : And I 'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. 170 How could it end in any other way? You called me, and I came home to your heart. The triumph was to reach and stay there ; since I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold, You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine ! " Rafael did this, Andrea painted that ; The Roman's is the better when you pray, But still the other's Virgin was his wife " Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge 1 80 Both pictures in your presence ; clearer grows My better fortune, I resolve to think. For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives, Said one day Agnolo, his very self, To Rafael ... I have known it all these years . . . (When the young man was naming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see, ANDREA DEL SARTO. 137 Too lifted up in heart because of it) " Friend, there 's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how, 190 Who, were he set to plan and execute As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings, Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours! " To Rafael's! And indeed the arm is wrong. I hardly dare . . . yet, only you to see, Give the chalk here quick, thus the line should go! Ay, but the soul! he 's Rafael! rub it out! Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, (What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo? Do you forget already words like those ?) 200 If really there was such a chance so lost, Is, whether you're not grateful but more pleased. Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed! This hour has been an hour! Another smile? If you would sit thus by me every night I should work better, do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more, give you more. See, it is settled dusk now ; there 's a star ; Morello 's gone, the watch-lights show the wall, The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. 210 Come from the window, love, come in, at last, Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. God is just. King Francis may forgive me : oft at nights When I look up from painting, eyes tired out, The walls become illumined, brick from brick Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold, That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? 220 Must see you you, and not with me? Those loans? More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well, let smiles buy me ! have you more to spend ? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me, work 's my ware, and what 's it worth ? I '11 pay my fancy. Only let me sit The gray remainder of the evening out, Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly How I could paint, were I but back in France, One picture, just one more the Virgin's face, 230 Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them that is, Michel Agnolo Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. Will you ? To-morrow, satisfy your friend. I take the subjects for his corridor, 1 38 THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT Finish the portrait out of hand there, there, And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs ; the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside, What 's better and what 's all I care about, 240 Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he ; The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. I regret little, I would change still less. Since there my past life lies, why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin, was tempted and complied, And built this house and sinned, and all is said. My father and my mother died of want. 250 Well, had I riches of my own ? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died : And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures let him try! No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. Yes, You loved me quite enough, it seems to-night. This must suffice me here. What would one have? In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance 260 Four great walls in the New Jerusalem, Meted on each side by the angel's reed, For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo and me To cover the three first without a wife. While I have mine! So still they overcome Because there 's still Lucrezia, as I choose. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love. THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH. ROME, 15 . VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews sons mine ... ah God, I know not! Well She. men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! ST. PRAXE&S CHURCH. What 's done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world 's a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie io In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask " Do I live, am I dead?" Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed's ever was the church for peace ; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know : Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care ; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped but thence 20 One sees the pulpit o 1 the epistle-side, And somewhat of the choir, those silent seats, And up into the aery dome where live The angels, and a sunbeam 's sure to lurk : And I shall fill my slab of basalt there, And 'neath my tabernacle take my rest, With those nine columns round me, two and two, The odd one at my feet where Anselm stands : Peach-blossom marble all, the rare, the ripe As fresh-poured red wine of a mighty pulse. 30 Old Gandolf with his paltry onion-stone, Put me where I may look at him ! True peach, Rosy and flawless : how I earned the prize! Draw close : that conflagration of my church What then? So much was saved if aught were missed! My sons, ye would not be my death ? Go dig The white-grape vineyard where the oil-press stood, Drop water gently till the surface sink, And if ye find . . . Ah God, I know not, I ! . . . Bedded in store of rotten fig-leaves soft, 40 And corded up in a tight olive-frail, Some lump, ah God, of lapis laztili, Big as a Jew's head cut off at the nape, Blue as a vein o'er the Madonna's breast . . . Sons, all have I bequeathed you, villas, all, That brave Frascati villa with its bath, So. let the blue lump poise between my knees, Like God the Father's globe on both his hands Ye worship in the Jesu Church so gay, For Gandolf shall not choose but see and burst! 50 Swift as a weaver's shuttle fleet our years : Man goeth to the grave, and where is he ? Did I say, basalt for my slab, sons ? Black 1 40 THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB. 'T was ever antique-black I meant! How else Shall ye contrast my frieze to come beneath ? The bas-relief in bronze ye promised me, Those Pans and Nymphs ye wot of, and perchance Some tripod, thyrsus, with a vase or so, The Saviour at his sermon on the mount, Saint Praxed in a glory, and one Pan 60 Ready to twitch the Nymph's last garment off, And Moses with the tables . . . but I know Ye mark me not ! What do they whisper thee, Child of my bowels, Anselm ? Ah, ye hope To revel down my villas while I gasp Bricked o'er with beggar's mouldy travertine Which Gandolf from his tomb-top chuckles at! Nay, boys, ye love me all of jasper, then! 'T is jasper ye stand pledged to, lest I grieve My bath must needs be left behind, alas! 70 One block, pure green as a pistachio-nut, There's plenty jasper somewhere in the world And have I not Saint Praxed's ear to pray Horses for ye, and brown Greek manuscripts, And mistresses with great smooth marbly limbs? That 's if ye carve my epitaph aright, Choice Latin, picked phrase, Tully's every word, No gaudy ware like Gandolf s second line Tully, my masters? Ulpian serves his need! And then how I shall lie thro' centuries, 80 And hear the blessed mutter of the mass, And see God made and eaten all day long, And feel the steady candle-flame, and taste Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke! For as I lie here, hours of the dead night, Dying in state and by such slow degrees, I fold my arms as if they clasped a crook , And stretch my feet forth straight as stone can point, And let the bedclothes, for a mortcloth, drop Into great laps and folds of sculptor's-work : 90 And as yon tapers dwindle, and strange thoughts Grow, with a certain humming in my ears, About the life before I lived this life, And this life too, popes, cardinals and priests, Saint Praxed at his sermon on the mount, Your tall pale mother with her talking eyes, And new-found agate urns as fresh as day, And marble's language, Latin pure, discreet, Aha, ELUCESCEBAT quoth our friend? No Tuily, said I, Ulpian at the best! 100 Evil and brief hath been my pilgrimage. A TOCCATA OF GALUPPPS. 141 All lapis, all, sons! Else I give the Pope My villas ! Will ye ever eat my heart ? Ever your eyes were as a lizard's quick, They glitter like your mother's for my soul, Or ye would heighten my impoverished frieze. Piece out its starved design, and fill my vase With grapes, and add a vizor and a Term, And to the tripod ye would tie a lynx That in his struggle throws the thyrsus down, Iio To comfort me on my entablature Whereon I am to lie till I must ask "Do I live, am I dead?" There, leave me, there! For ye have stabbed me with ingratitude To death ye wish it God, ye wish it! Stone Gritstone, a-crumble! Clammy squares which sweat As if the corpse they keep were oozing through And no more lapis to delight the world! Well, go! I bless ye. Fewer tapers there, But in a row : and, going, turn your backs I2O Ay. like departing altar-mi nistrants, And leave me in my church, the church for peace That I may watch at leisure if he leers Old Gandolf at me, from his onion-stone, As still he envied me, so fair she was! A TOCCATA OF GALUPPI'S. I. DH Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you ; it would prove me deaf and blind ;. Jut altho' I take your meaning, 't is with such a heavy mind! II. lere you come with your old music, and here 's all the good it brings. Vhat, they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings, Vhere St. Mark's is, where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? nf. ^.y, because the sea 's the street there ; and 't is arched by ... what you call . . Shylock's bridge with houses on it, where they kept the carnival : was never out of England it 's as if I saw it all. 142 A TOCCATA OF GALlfPPrS. IV. Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? 10 Balls and masks begun at midnight, burning ever to mid-day, When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow, do you say? v. Was a lady such a lady, cheeks so round and lips so red, On her neck the small face buoyant, like a bell-flower on its bed, O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? vr. Well, and it was graceful of them : they 'd break talk off and afford She, to bite her mask's black velvet he, to finger on his sword, While you sat and played Toccatas, stately at the clavichord? VII. What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths diminished, sigh on sigh, Told them something? Those suspensions, those solutions "Must we die ? " 20 Those commiserating sevenths " Life might last ! we can but try ! " VIII. "Were you happy?" "Yes." "And are you still as happy?" "Yes. And you?" "Then, more kisses!" "Did /stop them, when a million seemed so few ? " Hark, the dominant's persistence till it must be answered to! IX. So, an octave struck the answer. Oh, they praised you, I dare say! " Brave Galuppi! that was music! good alike at grave and gay! I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play! " x. Then they left you for their pleasure : till in due time, one by one, Some with lives that came to nothing, some with deeds as well undone, Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. 3 HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. XI. 3ut when I sit down to reason, think to take my stand nor swerve, Vhile I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve, n you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. XII. fes, you, like a ghostly cricket, creaking where a house was burned : Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what Venice earned, rhe soul, doubtless, is immortal where a soul can be discerned. xm. ; Yours for instance : you know physics, something of geology, /lathematics are your pastime ; souls shall rise in their degree ; butterflies may dread extinction, you'll not die, it can not be ! XIV. As for Venice and her people, merely born to bloom and drop, 40 lere on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop : Vhat of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop? Dust and ashes! " So you creak it, and I want the heart to scold. )ear dead women, with such hair, too what 's become of all the gold Jsed to hang and brush their bosoms ? I feel chilly and grown old. I HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY ONLY knew one poet in my life : And this, or something like it, was his way. You saw go up and down Valladolid, A man of mark, to know next time you saw. His very serviceable suit of black Was courtly once and conscientious still, And many might ha've worn it, tho' none did : The cloak, that somewhat shone and showed the threads, Had purpose, and the ruff, significance. He walked, and tapped the pavement with his cane, 10 Scenting the world, looking it full in face, HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. An old dog, bald and blindish, at his heels. They turned up, now, the alley by the church, That leads no whither ; now, they breathed themselves On the main promenade just at the wrong time : You 'd come upon his scrutinizing hat. Making a peaked shade blacker than itself Against the single window spared some house Intact yet with its mouldered Moorish work, Or else surprise the ferrel of his stick 20 Trying the mortar's temper 'tween the chinks Of some new shop a-building, French and fine. He stood and watched the cobbler at his trade, The man who slices lemons into drink, The coffee-roaster's brazier, and the boys That volunteer to help him turn its winch. He glanced o'er books on stalls with half an eye, And fly-leaf ballads on the vendor's string, And broad-edge bold-print posters by the wall. He took such cognizance of men and things, 30 If any beat a horse, you felt he saw ; If any cursed a woman, he took note ; Yet stared at nobody, you stared at him, And found, less to your pleasure than surprise, He seemed to know you and expect as much. So, next time that a neighbours tongue was loosed, It marked the shameful and notorious fact We had among us, not so much a spy As a recording chief-inquisitor, The town's true master if the town but knew! 40 We merely kept a governor for form, While this man walked about and took account Of all thought, said and acted, then went home, And wrote it fully to our Lord the King Who has an itch to know things, he knows why, And reads them in his bed-room of a night. Oh, you might smile! there wanted not a touch, A tang of ... well, it was not wholly ease As back into your mind the man's look came. Stricken in years a little such a brow 50 His eyes had to live under! clear as flint On either side the formidable nose Curved, cut and coloured like an eagle's claw. Had he to do with A's surprising fate ? When altogether old B disappeared And young C got his mistress, was 't our friend, His letter to the King, that did it all? What paid the bloodless man for so much pains? Our Lord the King has favourites manifold, HO IV IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 145 And shifts his ministry some once a month ; 60 Our city gets new governors at whiles, But never word or sign, that I could hear, Notified to this man about the streets, The King's approval of those letters conned The last thing duly at the dead of night. Did the man love his office ? Frowned our Lord, Exhorting when none heard " Beseech me not! Too far above my people, beneath me! I set the watch, how should the people know? Forget them, keep me all the more in mind! " 70 Was some such understanding 'twixt the two? I found no truth in one report at least That if you tracked him to his home, down lanes Beyond the Jewry, and as clean to pace, You found he ate his supper in a room Blazing with lights, four Titians on the wall, And twenty naked girls to change his plate! Poor man, he lived another kind of life In that new stuccoed third house by the bridge, Fresh-painted, rather smart than otherwise! 80 The whole street might o'erlook him as he sat, Leg crossing leg, one foot on the dog's back, Playing a decent cribbage with his maid (Jacynth, you 're sure her name was) o'er the cheese And fruit, three red halves of starved winter-pears, Or treat of radishes in April. Nine, Ten, struck the church clock, straight to bed went he. My father, like the man of sense he was, Would point him out to me a dozen times ; St St," he 'd whisper, " the Corregidor! " 90 I had been used to think that personage Was one with lacquered breeches, lustrous belt, And feathers like a forest in his hat, Who blew a trumpet and proclaimed the news, Announced the bull-fights, gave each church its turn, And memorized the miracle in vogue! He had a great observance from us boys ; We were in error ; that was not the man. I 'd like now, yet had haply been afraid, To have just looked, when this man came to die, 100 And seen who lined the clean gay garret sides, And stood about the neat low truckle-bed, With the heavenly manner of relieving guard. I 4 6 PROTUS. Here had been, mark, the general-in-chief, Thro 1 a whole campaign of the world's life and death, Doing the King's work all the dim day long, In his old coat and up to knees in mud, Smoked like a herring, dining on a crust, And, now the day was won, relieved at once! No further show or need for that old coat, 1 10 You are sure, for one thing ! Bless us, all the while How sprucely we are dressed out, you and I ! A second, and the angels alter that. Well, I could never write a verse, could you? Let 's to the Prado and make the most of time. 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 minlstrant : And if he quickened breath there, 't would like fire Pantingly thro' 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 : MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. i^j 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. 'T is 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 ! MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. HIST, but a word, fair and soft! Forth and be judged, Master Hugues ! Answer the question I Ve put you so oft : What do you mean by your mountainous fugues? See, we 're alone in the loft, II. I, the poor organist here, Hugues, the composer of note, I4 8 MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. Dead though, and done with, this many a year : Let 's have a colloquy, something to quote, Make the world prick up its ear! 10 nr. See, the church empties apace : Fast they extinguish the lights. Hallo there, sacristan! Five minutes' grace! Here 's a crank pedal wants setting to rights, Balks one of holding the base. IV. See, our huge house of the sounds, Hushing its hundreds at once, Bids the last loiterer back to his bounds! O you may challenge them, not a response Get the church-saints on their rounds! 20 V. (Saints go their rounds, who shall doubt? March, with the moon to admire, Up nave, down chancel, turn transept about, Supervise all betwixt pavement and spire, Put rats and mice to the rout VI. Aloys and Jurien and Just Order things back to their place, Have a sharp eye lest the candlesticks rust, Rub the church-plate, darn the sacrament-lace, Clear the desk-velvet of dust.) 30 VII. Here 's your book, younger folks shelve! Played I not off-hand and runningly, Just now, your masterpiece, hard number twelve ? Here 's what should strike, could one handle it cunningly : Help ^Jie axe, give it a helve ! VIII. Page after page as I played, Every bar's rest, where one wipes Sweat from one's brow, I looked up and surveyed, O'er my three claviers, yon forest of pipes Whence you still peeped in the shade. 40 MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. 149 IX. Sure you were wishful to speak ? You, with brow ruled like a score, Yes, and eyes buried in pits on each cheek, Like two great breves, as they wrote them of yore, Each side that bar, your straight beak! Sure you said " Good, the mere notes! Still, couldst thou take my intent, Know what procured me our Company's votes A master were lauded and sciolists shent, Parted the sheep from the goats!" 50 Well then, speak up, never flinch! Quick, ere my candle 's a snuff Burnt, do you see? to its uttermost inch / believe in you, but that 's not enough : Give my conviction a clinch ! XII. I 1 irst you deliver your phrase Nothing propound, that I see, Fit in itself for much blame or much praise Answered no less, where no answer needs be : Off start the Two on their ways. 60 XIII. Straight must a Third interpose, Volunteer needlessly help ; In strikes a Fourth, a Fifth thrusts in his nose, So the cry 's open, the kennel 's a-yelp, Argument 's hot to the close. XIV. One dissertates, he is candid ; Two must discept, has distinguished Three helps the couple, if ever yet man did ; . Four protests ; Five makes a dart at the thing wished : Back to One, goes the case bandied. 70 xv. One says his say with a difference ; More of expounding, explaining! 150 MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. All now is wrangle, abuse and vociferance ; Now there 's a truce, all 's subdued, self-restraining : Five, though, stands out all the stiffer hence. XVI. One is incisive, corrosive ; Two retorts, nettled, curt, crepitant ; Three makes rejoinder, expansive, explosive : Four overbears them all. strident and strepitant : Five . . O Danaides, O Sieve! 80 XVII. Now, they ply axes and crowbars ; Now, they prick pins at a tissue Fine as a skein of the casuist Escobar's Worked on the bone of a lie. To what issue? Where is our gain at the Two-bars ? XVIII. Est fuga, volvitur rota. On we drift : where looms the dim port ? One, Two, Three, Four, Five, contribute their quota ; Something is gained, if one caught but the import Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha! 90 XIX. What with affirming, denying, Holding, risposting, subjoining, All 's like .... it 's like .... for an instance I 'm trying . . . There! See our roof, its gilt moulding and groining Under those spider-webs lying! xx. So your fugue broadens and thickens, Greatens and deepens and lengthens, Till we exclaim " But where 's music, the dickens ? Blot ye the gold, while your spider-web strengthens Blacked to the stoutest of tickens ? " 100 XXI. I for man's effort am zealous : Prove me such censure unfounded ! MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. j^j Seems it surprising a lover grows jealous Hopes 't was for something, his organ pipes sounded Tiring three boys at the bellows? XXII. Is it your moral of Life? Such a web, simple and subtle, Weave we on earth here in impotent strife, Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle, Death ending all with a knife ? no XXIII. Over our heads truth and nature Still our life's zigzags and dodges, Ins and outs, weaving a new legislature God's gold just shining its last where that lodges, Palled beneath man's usurpature. XXIV. So we o'ershroud stars and roses, Cherub and trophy and garland ; Nothings grow something which quietly closes Heaven's earnest eye : not a glimpse of the far land Gets thro' our comments and glozes. . 120 xxv. Ah but traditions, inventions, (Say we and make up a visage) So many men with such various intentions, Down the past ages, must know more than this age ! Leave we the web its dimensions ! XXVI. Who thinks Hugues wrote for the deaf, Proved a mere mountain in labour? Better submit ; try again ; what 's the clef? 'Faith, 't is no trifle for pipe and for tabor Four flats, the minor in F. 130 XXVII. Friend, your fugue taxes the finger : Learning it once, who would lose it ? Yet all the while a misgiving will linger, Truth 's golden o'er us altho' we refuse it Nature, thro' cobwebs we string her. 152 AST VOGLER. XXVIII. Hugues! I advise med pcend (Counterpoint glares like a Gorgon) Bid One, Two, Three, Four, Five, clear the arena! Say the word, straight I unstop the full-organ, Blare out the mode Palestrina. 140 XXIX. While in the roof, if I 'm right there, . . . Lo you, the wick in the socket! Hallo, you sacristan, show us a light there! Down it dips, gone like a rocket. What, you want, do you, to come unawares, Sweeping the church up for first morning-prayers, And find a poor devil has ended his cares At the foot of your rotten-runged rat-riddled stairs ? Do I carry the moon in my pocket ? e,(uH^ Ci ,EEN EXTEMPORIZING UPON THE MUSICAL INSTRU- MENT OF HIS INVENTION.) ^ *> -J f ., y* 3 I. WOULD that the structure brave, the manifold music I build, Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work, Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when Solomon willed Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk, Man, brute, reptile, fly, alien of end and of aim, Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep removed, Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable Name, And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess he loved! Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine, This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise! 10 Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now com- bine, Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise! And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell, /) Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things, Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well, Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs. AST VOGLER. 153 ill. And another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was, Ay, another and yet another, one crowd but with many a crest, Raising my rampired walls of gold as transparent as glass, Eager to do and die, yield each his place to the rest : 20 For higher still and higher (as a runner tips with fire, When a great illumination surprises a festal night Outlining round and round Rome's dome from space to spire) Up, the pinnacled glory reached, and the pride of my soul was in sight. rv. In sight? Not half! for it seemed, it was certain, to match man's birth, Nature in turn conceived, obeying an impulse as I ; And the emulous heaven yearned down, made effort to reach the earth, As the earth had done her best, in my passion, to scale the sky : Novel splendours burst forth, grew familiar and dwelt with mine, Not a point nor peak but found and fixed its wandering star ; 30 Meteor-moons, balls of blaze : and they did not pale nor pine, For earth had attained to heaven, there was no more near nor far. v. Nay more ; for there wanted not who walked in the glare and glow, Presences plain in the place ; or, fresh from the Protoplast, Furnished for ages to come, when a kindlier wind should blow, Lured now to begin and live, in a house to their liking at last ; Or else the wonderful Dead who have passed thro' the body and gone, But were back once more to breathe in an old world worth their new : What never had been, was now; what was, as it shall be anon ; And what is, shall I say, matched both ? for I was made per- fect too. 40 VI. All thro' my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul, All thro' my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth, All thro' music and me ! For think, had I painted the whole, Why, there it had stood, to see, nor the process so wonder-worth : Had I written the same, made verse still, effect proceeds from cause, Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told ; It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws, Painter and poet are proud, in the artist-list enrolled : 154 ABT VOGLER. But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can, Existent behind all laws, that made them, and, lo, they are! 50 And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star. Consider it well : each tone of our scale in itself is naught ; It is everywhere in the world loud, soft, and all is said: Give it to me to use ! I mix it with two in my thought, And, there! Ye have heard and seen : consider and bow the head! VIII. Well, it is gone at last, the palace of music I reared ; Gone! and the good tears start, the praises that come too slow ; For one is assured at first, one scarce can say that he feared, That he even gave it a thought, the gone thing was to go. 60 Never to be again! But many more of the kind As good, nay, better perchance : is this your comfort to me ? To me, who must be saved because I cling with my mind To the same, same self, same love, same God : ay, what was, shall be. Therefore to whom turn I but to Thee, the ineffable Name? Builder and maker, thou, of houses not made with hands ! What, have fear of change from thee who art ever the same? Doubt that thy power can fill the heart that thy power expands ? There shall never be one lost good ! What was, shall live as before : The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound : 70 What was good, shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more ; On the earth the broken arcs ; in the heaven, a perfect round. x. All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist, When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard ; Enough that he heard it once : we shall hear it by-and-by. 80 XI. And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or agonized? VVhv else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence.' Why rushed the discords in but that harmony should be prized? TWO IK THE CAMPAGNA. ^5 Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear, Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe : But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome ; 't is we musicians know. XII. Well, it is earth with me ; silence resumes her reign : I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce. 90 Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again, Sliding by semitones, till I sink to the minor, yes, And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground, Surveying awhile the heights 1 rolled from into the deep : Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place is found, The C Major of this life : so, now I will try to sleep. TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA. I WONDER do you feel to-day As I have felt since, hand in hand, We sat down on the grass, to stray In spirit better thro' the land, This morn of Rome and May ? II. For me. I touched a thought, I know, Has tantalized me many times, (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. 10 in. Help me to hold it! First it left The yellowing fennel, run to seed There, branching from the brickwork's cleft, Some old tomb's ruin : yonder weed Took up the floating weft, IV. Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles, blind and green they grope TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA. Among the honey-meal : and last, Everywhere on the grassy slope, I traced it. Hold it fast! ' 2O The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion, joy and peace, An everlasting wash of air Rome's ghost since her decease. vr. Such life here, thro' such lengths of hours. Such miracles performed in play, Such primal naked forms of flowers, Such letting nature have her way While heaven looks from its towers! 30 How say you? Let us, O my dove ? Let us be unashamed of soul, As earth lies bare to heaven above! How is it under our control To love or not to love? I would that you were all to me, You that are just so much, no more. Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? What the core O' the wound, since wound must be? 40 I would I could adopt your will, See with your eyes, and set my heart Beating by yours, and drink my fill At your soul's springs, your part my part In life> for good and ill. x. No. I yearn upward, touch you close, Then stand away. I kiss your cheek, Catch your souPs warmth, I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak Then the good minute goes. "DE GUSTIBUS-" XI. Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball, no bar, Onward, whenever light winds blow, Fixed by no friendly star? XII. Just when I seemed about to learn! Where is the thread now? Off again. The old trick! Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. 60 DE GUSTIBUS " YOUR ghost will walk, you lover of trees, (If our loves remain) In an English lane, By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. Hark, those two in the hazel coppice A boy and a girl, if the good fates please, Making love, say, The happier they! Draw yourself up from the light of the moon, And let them pass, as they will too soon, 10 With the beanflower's boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June! What I love best in all the world Is a castle, precipice-encurled, In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine. Or look for me, old fellow of mine, (If I get my head from out the mouth O' the grave, and loose my spirit's bands, And come again to the land of lands) 20 In a sea-side house to the farther South, Where the baked cicala dies of drouth, And one sharp tree 'tis a cypress stands, By the many hundred years red-rusted, 158 THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL. Rough iron-spiked, ripe fruit-o'ercrusted My sentinel to guard the sands To the water's edge. For, what expands Before the house, but the great opaque Blue breadth of sea without a break ? While, in the house, for ever crumbles 30 Some fragment of the frescoed walls, From blisters where a scorpion sprawls. A girl bare-footed brings, and tumbles Down on the pavement, green-flesh melons, And says there 's news to-day the king Was shot at, touched in the liver-wing, Goes with his Bourbon arm in a sling : She hopes they have not caught the felons. Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me 40 (When fortune's malice Lost her. Calais) Open my heart and you will see Graved inside of it, " Italy." Such lovers old are I and she : So it always was, so shall ever be ! THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL. A PICTURE AT FANO. DEAR and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave That child, when thou hast done with him, for me! Let me sit all the day here, that when eve Shall find performed thy special ministry, And time come for departure, thou. suspending Thy flight, mayst see another child for tending, Another still to quiet and retrieve. n. Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more, From where thou standest now, to where I gaze. And suddenly my head is covered o'er With those wings, white above the child who prays Now on that tomb and I shall feel thee guarding Me, out of all the world ; for me, discarding Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door. THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL. 159 I would not look up thither past thy head Because the door opes, like that child, I know, For 1 should have thy gracious face instead, Thou bird of God ! And wilt thou bend me low Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together, And lift them up to pray, and gently tether 20 Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread ? If this was ever granted, I would rest My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast, Pressing the brain which too much thought expands, Back to its proper size again, and smoothing Distortion down till every nerve had soothing, And all lay quiet, happy and suppressed. V. How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired! I think how I should view the earth and skies 30 And sea, when once again my brow was bared After thy healing, with such different eyes. O world, as God has made it ! All is beauty : And knowing this is love, and love is duty. What further may be sought for or declared? VI. Guercino drew this angel I saw teach (Alfred, dear friend!) that little child to pray, Holding the little hands up, each to each Pressed gently, with his own head turned away Over the earth where so much lay before him 40 Of work to do, tho' heaven was opening o'er him, And he was left at Fano by the beach. vn. We were at Fano, and three times we went To sit and see him in his chapel there, And drink his beauty to our soul's content My angel with me too : and since I care For dear Guercino's fame (to which in power And glory comes this picture for a dower, Fraught with a pathos so magnificent) !6o EVELYN HOPE. VIII. And since he did not work thus earnestly 50 At all times, and has else endured some wrong I took one thought his picture struck from me. And spread it out, translating it to song. My love is here. Where are you, dear old friend? How rolls the Wairoa at your world's far end ? This is Ancona, yonder is the sea. EVELYN HOPE. T)EAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead! JL) Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass ; Little has yet been changed. I think : The shutters are shut, no light may pass Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink. n. Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name ; IO It was not her time to love ; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares, And the sweet white brow is all of her. Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire and dew 20 And, just because I was thrice as oid And our paths in the world diverged so wide. Each was naught to each, must I be told? We were fellow mortals, naught beside? IV. No, indeed ! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make, EVELYN HOPE. l6l And creates the love to reward the love : I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed it may be for more lives yet, Thro' worlds I shall traverse, not a few : 30 Much is to learn, much to forget Ere the time be come for taking you. But the time will come, at last it will, When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) In the lower earth, in the years long still, That body and soul so pure and gay ? Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, And your mouth of your own geranium's red And what you would do with me, in fine, In the new life come in the old one's stead. 40 VI. I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, Given up myself so many times, Gained me the gains of various men, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, Either I missed or itself missed me : And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! What is the issue ? let us see ! VII. I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! My heart seemed full as it could hold ; 50 There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So hush, I will give you this leaf to keep : See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand! There, that is our secret : go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand 1 62 MEMORABILIA. MEMORABILIA. AH, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems and new! But you were living before that, And also you are living after ; And the memory I started at My starting moves your laughter! I crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt, 10 Yet a hand's-breadih of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about ; IV. For there I picked up on the heather And there I put inside my breast A moulted feather, an eagle-feather! Well, I forget the rest. APPARENT FAILURE. " We shall soon lose a celebrated building." Paris Newspaper I. NO, for I '11 save it! Seven years since, I passed thro' Paris, stopped a day To see the baptism of your Prince ; Saw, made my bow, and went my way : Walking the heat and headache off, I took the Seine-side, you surmise, Thought of the Congress, Gortschakoff, Cavour's appeal and Duel's replies, So sauntered till what met my eyes ? APPARENT FAILURE. 163 n. Only the Doric little Morgue! 10 The dead-house where you show your drowned : Petrarch's Vaucluse makes proud the Sorgue, Your Morgue has made the Seine renowned. One pays one's debt in such a case ; I plucked up heart and entered, stalked, Keeping a tolerable face Compared with some whose cheeks were chalked : Let them! No Briton 's to be balked! in. First came the silent gazers ; next, A screen of glass, we 're thankful for ; 20 Last, the sight's self, the sermon's text, The three men who did most abhor Their life in Paris yesterday, So killed themselves : and now, enthroned Each on his copper couch, they lay Fronting me, waiting to be owned. I thought, and think, their sin 's atoned. Poor men, God made, and all for that! The reverence struck me ; o'er each head Religiously was hung its hat, 30 Each coat dripped by the owner's bed, Sacred from touch : each had his berth, His bounds, his proper place of rest, Who last night tenanted on earth Some arch, where twelve such slept abreast, Unless the plain asphalt seemed best. How did it happen, my poor boy? You wanted to be Buonaparte And have the Tuileries for toy, And could not, so it broke your heart? 40 You, old one by his side, I judge, Were, red as blood, a socialist, A leveller! Does the Empire grudge You 've gained what no Republic missed? Be quiet, and unclench your fist! VI. And this why, he was red in vain, Or black, poor fellow that is blue! 1 64 PROSPICE. What fancy was it, turned your brain ? Oh, women were the prize for you! Money gets women, cards and dice 50 Get money, and ill-luck gets just The copper couch and one clear nice Cool squirt of water o'er your bust, The right thing to extinguish lust! It 's wiser being good than bad ; It 's safer being meek than fierce : It's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched ; That, after Last, returns the First, Tho' a wide compass round be fetched ; That what began best, can't end worst, Nor what God blessed once, prove accurst. PROSPICE. flA FEAR death? to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote Cy . I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go : For the journey is done and the summit attained, ^ And the barriers fall, 10 Tho' a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, is %n i/ <,^> The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. 20 For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute 's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, "CHILDE ROLAND." Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! 1 shall clasp thee again, i And with God be the rest! "CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME." (See Edgar's song in " LEAR.") 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. What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travelers who might find him posted there, And ask the road ? I guessed what skull-like laugh 10 Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare, ill. 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. !66 " CHILD E ROLAND TO THE 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, 't was gone ; gray plain all round : Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. I might go on ; naught else remained to do. x. So, on I went. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature ; nothing throve : DARK TOWER CAME:' 1 ^7 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 can not help my case : 'T is 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 balk 70 All hope of greenness ? \ is a brute must walk Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents. 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! xrv. 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 !68 "CH1LDE ROLAND TO THE 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! 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. no 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 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 DARK TOWER CAME." 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. 169 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 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. "CHILDE ROLANDS And just as far as ever from the end. Naught in the distance but the evening, naught 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. 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. Not see? because of night perhaps? why, day Came back again for that! before it left, The dying sunset kindled thro 1 a cleft : A GRAMMARIANS FUNERAL. \j\ 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. 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." A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL. ^^ f.su <^5*^^^v_. . SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE.//, , / i /J 'KM' T ET us begin and carry up this corpse, Jjf J iu /;<- 1 - Singing together. "-tCX.***^^ f ^^ Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes, |t 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 ; 5 I // Clouds overcome it ; -TTL No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's yjfc*.*^ A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL. Circling its summit. 2O 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, famgus-jcalm 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 1 ?"? 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? t^ //. /y- i^- ^ Patience a moment ! / - Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text, / ^ , I/ , / 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. A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL. 173 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 fopiogs and ap^.?!' 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! loo 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 FoundTof eartrTrfailure : no "Wilt thou trust death or not?" He answered " Yes! Hence with life's pale lure! " f That low man seeks a little thing to do, ^ // J/ C CLEON. 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 Hail's business let it be! Properly based Oun 130 Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, DeadJrojnthe waistdjQwn. Well, here 's the plaTformTTiere'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 butKnow Bury this man therel j^o 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 lying, Leave him still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying. } Q - j> * *J 2 f *, , . f " As certain a l so of your own poets have said " X the poet, (from the sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea. And laugh^hehi pride when the light wave lisps " Greece ") To Protus m his Tyranny: much health! CLEON. 175 They give thy letter to me, even now : I read and seem as if I heard thee speak. The master of thy galley still unlades Gift after gift ; they block my court at last And pile themselves along its portico Royal with sunset, like a thought of thee ; 10 And one white she-slave, from the group dispersed Of black and white slaves, (like the chequer-work Pavement, at once my nation's work and gift, Now covered with this settle-down of doves) One lyric woman, in her crqcus vest Woven of sea-wools, with her two white hands Commends to me the strainer and the cup Thy lip hath bettered ere it blesses mine. Well-counselled, king, in thy munificence! For so shall men remark, in such an act 20 Of love for him whose song gives life its joy, Thy recognition of the use of life : Nor call thy spirit barely adequate To help on life in straight ways, broad enough For vulgar souls, by ruling and the rest. Thou, in the daily building of thy tower, Whether in fierce and sudden spasms of toil, Or thro' dim lulls of unapparent growth, Or when the general work, 'mid good acclaim, Climbed with the eye to cheer the architect, 30 Didst ne'er engage in work for mere work's sake : Hadst ever in thy heart the luring hope Of some eventual rest a-top of it, Whence, all the tumult of the building hushed, Thou first of men mightst look out to the East : The vulgar saw thy tower, thou sawest the sun. For this, I promise on thy festival To pour libation, looking o'er the sea, Making this slave narrate thy fortunes, speak Thy great words and describe thy royal face 40 Wishing thee wholly where Zeus lives the most, Within the eventual element of calm. Thy letter's first requirement meets me here. It is as thou hast heard : in one short life I, Cleon, have effected all those things Thou wonderingly dost enumerate. That epos on thy hundred plates of gold Is mine, and also mine the little chant So sure to rise from every fishing bark When, lights at prow, the seamen haul their net. 50 1 76 CLEON". ' , The image of the sun-god on the phare, - x Men turn from the sun's self to see, is mine ; The Precile, o'er-storied its -whole length, As thou didst hear, with painting, is mine too. I know the true proportions of a man And woman also, not observed before ; And I have written three books on the soul, Proving absurd all written hitherto, And putting us to ignorance again. For music, why, I have combined the moods, 60 Inventing one. In brief, all arts are mine; Thus much the people know and recognize, Throughout our seventeen islands. Marvel not! We of these latter days, with greater mind j , Than our forerunners, since more composite, 1 , Look not so great, beside their simple way, To a judge who only sees one way at once, One mind-point and' no other at a time, Compares the small part of a man of us With some whole man of the heroic age, 70 Great in his way not ours, nor meant for ours ; And ours is greater, had we skill to know : For, what we call this life of men on earth, This sequence of the soul's achievements here, Being, as I find much reason to conceive, Intended to be viewed eventually As a great whole, not analyzed to parts, But each part having reference to all, * * /7 (J. .> How shall a certain part, pronounced complete, Endure effacement by another part? 80 Was the thing done? then, what's to do again? See, in the chequered pavement opposite, Suppose the artist made a perfect rhomb, And next a lozenge, then a trapezoid He did not overlay them, superimpose The new upon the old and blot it out, But laid them on a level in his work, Making at last a picture ; there it lies. So first the perfect separate forms were made, The portions of mankind ; and after, so, 90 Occurred the combination of the same. For where had been a progress, otherwise? Mankind, made up of all the single men, In such a synthesis the labour ends. Now mark me ! those divine men of old time Have reached, thou sayest well, each at one point The outside verge that rounds our faculty ; And where they reached, who can do more than reach ? CLEON. 177 It takes but little water just to touch At some one point the inside of a sphere. 100 And, as we turn the sphere, touch all the rest In due succession : but the finer air Which not so palpably nor obviously, Though no less universally, can touch The whole circumference of that emptied sphere, Fills it more fully than the water did ; Holds thrice the weight of water in itself Resolved into a subtler element. And yet the vulgar call the sphere first full Up to the visible height and after, void ; no Not knowing airs more hidden properties. And thus our soul, misknown, cries out to Zeus To vindicate his purpose in our life : Why stay we on the earth unless to grow ? Long since, I imaged, wrote the fiction out, That he or other god descended here And, once for all, showed simultaneously What, in its nature, never can be shown Piecemeal or in succession,: showed, I say, The worth both absolute and relative I2O Of all his children from the birth of time, His instruments for all appointed work. I now go on to image, might we hear The judgment which should give the due to each, Show where the labour lay and where the ease, And prove Zeus' self, the latent everywhere ! This is a dream : but no dream, let us hope, That years and days, the summers and the springs, Follow each other with unwaning powers. The grapes which dye thy wine, are richer far 130 Thro 1 culture, than the wild wealth of the rock ; The suave plum than the savage-tasted drupe ; The pastured honey-bee drops choicer sweet ; The flowers turn double, and the leaves turn flowers ; That young and tender crescent moon, thy slave, Sleeping above her robe as buoyed by clouds, Refines upon the women of my youth. What, and the soul alone deteriorates? I have not chanted verse like Homer, no Nor swept string like Terpander, no nor carved 140 And painted men like Phidias and his friend^ " I am not great as they are, point by point. But I have entered into sympathy // With these four, running these into one soul, ' Who, separate, ignored each other's art. Say, T? it nothing that I know them all? 178 CLEON-. The wild flower was the larger ; I have dashed Rose-blood upon its petals, pricked its cup's Honey with wine, and driven its seed to fruit, And show a better flower if not so large : 150 I stand myself. Refer this to the gods Whose gift alone it is! which, shall I dare (All pride apart) upon the absurd pretext That such a gift by chance lay in my hand, Discourse of lightly or depreciate ? It might have fallen to another's hand : what then ? I pass too surely : let at least truth stay! And next, of what thou followest on to ask. This being with me as I declare, O king. My works in all these varicoloured kinds, 160 So done by me, accepted so by men Thou askest, if (my soul thus in men's hearts) I must not be accounted to attain The very crown and proper end of life ? Inquiring thence how, now life closeth up, I face death with success in my right hand : Whether I fear death less than dost thyself The fortunate of men? "For" (writest thou) " Thou leavest much behind, while I leave naught. / Thy life stays in the poems men shall sing, 170 The pictures men shall study ; while my life, Complete and whole now in its power and joy, Dies altogether with my brain and arm, Is lost indeed ; since, what survives myself? The brazen statue to o'erlook my grave, Set on the promontory which I named. And that some supple courtier of my heir Shall use its robed and sceptred arm, perhaps To fix the rope to, which best drags it down. I go then : triumph thou, who dost not go ! " 180 Nay, thou art worthy of hearing my whole mind. Is this apparent, when thou turn'st to muse Upon the scheme of earth and man in chief, That admiration grows as knowledge grows? That imperfection means perfection hid, Reserved in part, to grace the after-time? If, in the morning of philosophy, Ere aught had been recorded, nay perceived, Thou, with the light now in thee, couldst have looked On all earth's tenantry, from worm to bird, 190 Ere man, her last, appeared upon the stage Thou wouldst have seen them perfect, and deduced CLEOfr. 179 The perfectness of others yet unseen. Conceding which, had Zeus then questioned thee " Shall I go on a step, improve on this, Do more for visible creatures than is done ? " Thou wouldst have answered, " Ay, by making each Grow conscious in himself by that alone. All 's perfect else : the shell sucks fast the rock, The fish strikes thro 1 the sea, the snake both swims 200 And slides, forth range the beasts, the birds take flight, Till life's mechanics can no further go And all this joy in natural life is put Like fire from off thy finger into each, So exquisitely perfect is the same. But 't is pure fire, and they mere matter are : It has them, not they it ; and so I choose For man, thy last premeditated work (If I might add a glory to the scheme) That a third thing should stand apart from both, 210 A quality arise within his soul, Which, intro-active, made to supervise And feel the force it has, may view itself, And so be happy." Man might live at first The animal life : but is there nothing more ? In due time, let him critically learn How he lives ; and, the more he gets to know Of his own life's adaptabilities, / The more joy-giving will his life become. Thus man, who hath this quality, is best. 220 But thou, king, hadst more reasonably said : "Let progress end at once, man make no step Beyond the natural man, the better beast, Using his senses, not the sense of sense!" In man there 's failure, only since he left The lower and inconscious forms of life. We called it an advance, the rendering plain Man's spirit might grow conscious of man's life, And, by new lore so added to the old, Take each step higher over the brute's head. 230 This grew the only life, the pleasure-house, Watch-tower and treasure-fortress of the soul, Which whole surrounding flats of natural life Seemed only fit to yield subsistence to ; A tower that crowns a country. But alas, The soul now climbs it just to perish there! For thence we have discovered ('t is no dream We know this, which we had not else perceived) That there 's a world of capability / CLEON. For joy spread round about us, meant for us, \ 240 Inviting us ; and still the soul craves all, And still the flesh replies, " Take no jot more Than ere thou clombst the tower to look abroad! Nay, so much less as that fatigue has brought Deduction to it." We struggle, fain to enlarge Our bounded physical recipiency, Increase our power, supply fresh oil to life, Repair the waste of age and sickness : no, It skills not! life 's inadequate to joy, As the soul sees joy, tempting life to take. 250 They praise a fountain in my garden here Wherein a Naiad sends the water-bow Thin from her tube ; she smiles to see it rise. What if I told her, it is just a thread From that great river which the hills shut up, And mock her with my leave to take the same ? The artificer has given her one small tube Past power to widen or exchange what boots To know she might spout oceans if she could ? She can not lift beyond her first thin thread : 260 And so a man can use but a man's joy While he sees (loci's. Is it. for Zeus to boast "See, man. how" happy I live, and despair That I may be still happier for thy use!" If this were so, we could not thank our lord, As hearts beat on to doing : \ is not so Malice it is not. Is it carelessness? Still, no. If care where is the sign? I ask, And get no answer, and agree in sum, O king, with thy profound discouragement, 270 Who seest the wider but to sigh the more. Most progress is most failure : thou sayest well. The last point now : thou dost except a case Holding joy not impossible to one With artist-gifts to such a man as I Who leave behind me living works indeed ; For, such a poem, such a painting lives. What? dost thou verily trip upon a word, Confound the accurate view of what joy is (Caught somewhat clearer by my eyes than thine) 280 With feeling joy? confound the knowing how And showing how to live (my faculty) With actually living? Otherwise Where is the artist's vantage o'er the king? Because in my great epos I display How divers men young, strong, fair, wise, can act CLEOtT. Is this as tho 1 I acted? if I paint, Carve the young Phoebus, am I therefore young? Methinks I 'm older that I bowed myself The many years of pain that taught me art! 290 Indeed, to know is something, and to prove How all this beauty might be enjoyed, is more : But, knowing naught, to enjoy is something too. Yon rower, with the moulded muscles there, Lowering the sail, is nearer it than I. I can write love-odes:, thy fair slave 's an ode. I get to sing of love, when grown too gray For being beloved : she turns to that young man, The muscles all a-ripple on his back. I know the joy of kingship : well, thou art king! 300 " But, 11 sayest thou (and I marvel, I repeat, To find thee trip on such a mere word) " what Thou writest, paintest, stays ; that does not die : Sappho survives, because we sing her songs, And yCschylus, because we read his plays!" Why, if they live still, let them come and take Thy slave in my despite, drink from thy cup, Speak in my place. Thou diest while I survive? Say rather that my fate is deadlier still, In this, that every day my sense of joy 310 Grows more acute, my soul (intensified By power and insight) more enlarged, more keen ; While every day my hairs fall more and more, My hand shakes, and the heavy years increase The horror quickening still from year to year, The consummation coming past escape, When I shall know most, and yet least enjoy When all my works wherein I prove my worth, Being present still to mock me in men's mouths, Alive still, in the praise of such as thou, 320 I, I the feeling, thinking, acting man, The man who loved his life so overmuch, Sleep in my urn. It is so horrible, L I dare at times imagine to my need J Some future state revealed to us by Zeus, Unlimited in capability For joy, as this is in desire for joy, To seek which, the jj>Vj^)unger forces us : That, stung by straitness of our life, made strait On purpose to make prized the life at large 330 Freed by the throbbing impulse we call death, We burst there as the worm into the fly, Who, while a worm still, wants his wings. But no! Zeus has not yet revealed it ; and alas, He must have done so, were it possible! INSTANS TYRANNUS. Live long and happy, and in that thought die, Glad for what was! Farewell. And for the rest, I cannot tell thy messenger aright Where to deliver what he bears of thine To one called Paulus ; we have heard his fame 340 Indeed, if Christus be not one with him I know not, nor am troubled much to know. Thou canst not think a mere barbarian Jew As Paulus proves to be, one circumcised, Hath access to a secret shut from us ? Thou wrongest our philosophy, O king, In stooping to inquire of such an one, As if his answer could impose at all ! He writeth, doth he ? well, and he may write. Oh, the Jew findeth scholars! certain slaves 350 Who touched on this same isle, preached him and Christ ; And (as I gathered from a bystander) Their doctrine could be held by no sane man. 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 ill. "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, IWSTANS TYRANNUS. 183 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 thro' my chafe : For the fellow lay safe As his mates do, the midge and the nit, Thro' minuteness, to wit. 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 Tho' I waste half my realm to unearth Toad or rat, 't is 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 ; Overhead, did my thunder combine EPISTLE. With my under-ground mine : Till I looked from my labour content To enjoy the event. 60 vn. 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, / was afraid! AN EPISTLE. CONTAINING THE STRANGE MEDICAL EXPERIENCE OF KARSHISH, THE ARAB PHYSICIAN. TV'ARSHISH, the picker-up of learning's crumbs, J^. The not-incurious in God's handiwork (This man's-flesh he hath admirably made, Blown like a bubble, kneaded like a paste, To coop up and keep down on earth a space That puff of vapour from his mouth, man's soul) To Abib, all-sagacious in our art, Breeder in me of what poor skill I boast, Like me inquisitive how pricks and cracks Befall the flesh thro' too much stress and strain, 10 Whereby the wily vapour fain would slip Back and rejoin its source before the term, And aptest in contrivance (under God) To baffle it by deftly stopping such : The vagrant Scholar to his Sage at home Sends greeting (health and knowledge, fame with peace) Three samples of true snake-stone rarer still, One of the other sort, the melon-shaped, (But fitter, pounded fine, for charms than drugs) And writeth now the twenty-second time. 20 AN EPISTLE. I8 5 My journeyings were brought to Jericho : Thus I resume. Who studious in our art Shall count a little labour unrepaid? I have shed sweat enough, left flesh and bone On many a flinty furlong of this land. Also, the country-side is all on fire With rumours of a marching hitherward : Some say Vespasian cometh, some, his son. A black lynx snarled and pricked a tufted ear : Lust of my blood inflamed his yellow balls : 30 I cried and threw my staff and he was gone. Twice have the robbers stripped and beaten me, And once a town declared me for a spy ; But at the end, I reach Jerusalem, Since this poor covert where I pass the night, This Bethany, lies scarce the distance thence A man with plague-sores at the third degree Runs till he drops down dead. Thou laughest here! 'Sooth, it elates me, thus reposed and safe, To void the stuffing of my travel-scrip 40 And share with thee whatever Jewry yields. A viscid choler is observable In tertians, I was nearly bold to say; And falling-sickness hath a happier cure Than our school wots of: there 's a spider here Weaves no web, watches on' the ledge of tombs, Sprinkled with mottles on an ash-gray back ; Take five and drop them . . . but who knows his mind, The Syrian run-a-gate I "trust this to? His service payeth me a/sublimate 50 Blown up his nose to help the ailing eye. Best wait : I reach Jerusalem at morn, These set in order my experiences, Gather what most deserves, and give thee all Of*I 'might add, Judaea's gum-tragacanth Scare* off in purer flakes, shines clearer-grained, Cracks 'twixt the pestle and the porphyry, In fine exceeds our produce. Scalp-disease Confounds me, crossing so with leprosy : Thou hadst admired one sort I gained at Zoar 60 But zeal outruns discretion. Here I end. Yet stay! my Syrian blinketh gratefully, Protesteth his devotion is my price Suppose I write what harms not, tho' he steal ? 1 half resolve to tell thee, yet I blush, What set me off a-writing first of all. An itch I had, a sting to write, a tang ! EPISTLE. For, be it this town's barrenness or else The Man had something in the look of him His case has struck me far more than 't is worth. 70 So, pardon if (lest presently I lose, In the great press of novelty at hand, The care and pains this somehow stole from me) I bid thee take the thing while fresh in mind. Almost in sight for, wilt thou have the truth ? The very man is gone from me but now, Whose ailment is the subject of discourse. Thus then, and let thy better wit help all! 'T is but a case of mania : subinduced By epilepsy, at the turning-point 80 Of trance prolonged unduly some three days When, by the exhibition of some drug Or spell, exorcisation, stroke of art Unknown to me and which 't were well to know, The evil thing, out-breaking all at once, Left the man whole and sound of body indeed, But, flinging (so to speak) life's gates too wide, Making a clear house of it too suddenly, The first conceit that entered might inscribe Whatever it was minded on the wall 90 So plainly at that vantage, as it were, (First come, first served) that nothing subsequent Attaineth to erase those fancy-scrawls The just-returned and new-established soul Hath gotten now so thoroughly by heart That henceforth she will read or these or none. And first the man's own firm conviction rests That he was dead (in fact they buried him) That he was dead and then restored to life By a Nazarene physician of his tribe : loo 'Sayeth, the same bade "Rise," and he did rise. " Such cases are diurnal," thou wilt cry. Not so this figment ! not, that such a fume, Instead of giving way to time and health, Should eat itself into the life of life, As saffron tingeth flesh, blood, bones, and all! For see, how he takes up the after-life. The man it is one Lazarus a Je\v. Sanguine, proportioned, fifty years of age, The body's habit wholly laudable, I Id As much, indeed, beyond the common health As he were made and put aside to show. Think, could we penetrate by any drug And bathe the wearied soul and worried flesh, AN EPISTLE. jg/ And bring it clear and fair, by three days' sleep! Whence has the man the balm that brightens all? This grown man eyes the world now like a child. Some elders of his tribe, I should premise, Led in their friend, obedient as a sheep, To bear my inquisition. While they spoke, 120 Now sharply, now with sorrow, told the case, He listened not except I spoke to him, But folded his two hands and let them talk, Watching the flies that buzzed : and yet no fool. And that 's a sample how his years must go. Look if a beggar, in fixed middle-life, Should find a treasure, can he use the same With straitened habits and with tastes starved small, And take at once to his impoverished brain The sudden element that changes things, 130 That sets the undreamed-of rapture at his hand, And puts the cheap old joy in the scorned dust? Is he not such an one as moves to mirth Warily parsimonious, when no need, Wasteful as drunkenness at undue times ? All prudent counsel as to what befits The golden mean, is lost on such ar ^ne : The man's fantastic will is the man's ia\v. So here we call the treasure knowledge, say, Increased beyond the fleshly faculty 140 Heaven opened to a soul while yet on earth, Earth forced on a soul's use while seeing heaven : The man is witless of the size, the sum, The value in proportion of all things, Or whether it be little or be much. Discourse to him of prodigious armaments Assembled to besiege his city now, And of the passing of a mule with gourds 'T is one! Then take it on the other side, Speak of some trifling fact, he will gaze rapt 150 With stupor at its very littleness, (Far as I see) as if in that indeed He caught prodigious import, whole results ; And so will turn to us the bystanders In ever the same stupor (note this point) That we too see not with his opened eyes. Wonder and doubt come wrongly into play, Preposterously, at cross purposes. Should his child sicken unto death, why, look For scarce abatement of his cheerfulness, 1 60 Or pretermission of the daily craft! While a word, gesture, glance from that same child AN EPISTLE. At play or in the school or laid asleep, Will startle him to an agony of fear. Exasperation, just as like. Demand The reason why " 't is but a word," object '' A gesture " he regards thee as our lord Who lived there in the pyramid alone, Looked at us (dost thou mind?) when, being young, We both would unadvisedly recite 170 Some charm's beginning, from that book of his, Able to bid the sun throb wide and burst All into stars, as suns grown old are wont. Thou and the child have each a veil alike Thrown o'er your heads, from under which ye both Stretch your blind hands and trirle with a match Over a mine of Greek fire, did ye know! He holds on firmly to some thread of life (It is the life to lead perforcedly) Which runs across some vast distracting orb 1 80 Of glory on either side that meagre thread, Which, conscious of, he must not enter yet The spiritual life around the earthly life : The law of that is known to him as this, His heart and brain move there, his feet stay here. So is the man perplext with impulses Sudden to start off crosswise, not straight on, Proclaiming what is right and wrong across. And not along, this black thread thro 1 the blaze " It should be " balked by "here it can not be." . 190 And oft the man's soul springs into his face As if he saw again and heard again His sage that bade him " Rise" and he did rise. Something, a word, a tick o' the blood within Admonishes : then back he sinks at once To ashes, who was very fire before, In sedulous recurrence to his trade Whereby he earneth him the daily bread ; And studiously the humbler for that pride, Professedly the faultier that he knows 200 God's secret, while he holds the thread of life. Indeed the especial marking of the man Is prone submission to the heavenly will Seeing it, what it is, and why it is. 'Sayeth, he will wait patient to the last For that same death which must restore his being To equilibrium, body loosening soul Divorced even now by premature full growth : He will live, nay. it pleaseth him to live So long as God please, and just how God please. 210 AN EPISTLE. 189 He even seeketh not to please God more (Which meaneth, otherwise) than as God please. Hence, I perceive not he affects to preach The doctrine of his sect whate'er it be, Make proselytes as madmen thirst to do : How can he give his neighbour the real ground, His own conviction ? Ardent as he is Call his great truth a lie, why, still the old " Be it as God please" reassureth him. I probed the sore as thy disciple should : 220 " How, beast," said I, " this stolid carelessness Sufficeth thee, when Rome is on her march To stamp out like a little spark thy town, Thy tribe, thy crazy tale and thee at once ? " He merely looked with his large eyes on me. The man is apathetic, you deduce ? Contrariwise, he loves both old and young, Able and weak, affects the very brutes And birds how say I ? flowers of the field As a wise workman recognizes tools 230 In a master's workshop, loving what they make. Thus is the man as harmless as a lamb : Only impatient, let him do his best, At ignorance and carelessness and sin An indignation which is promptly curbed : As when in certain travel I have feigned To be an ignoramus in our art According to some preconceived design, And happed to hear the land's practitioners Steeped in conceit sublimed by ignorance, 240 Prattle fantastically on disease, Its cause and cure and I must hold my peace! Thou wilt object Why have I not ere this Sought out the sage himself, the Nazarene Who wrought this cure, inquiring at the source, Conferring with the frankness that befits ? Alas ! it grieveth me, the learned leech Perished in a tumult many years ago, Accused, our learning's fate, of wizardry, Rebellion, to the setting up a rule 250 And creed prodigious as described to me. His death, which happened when the earthquake fell (Prefiguring, as soon appeared, the loss To occult learning in our lord the sage Who lived there in the pyramid alone) Was wrought by the mad people that 's their wont! On vain recourse, as I conjecture it, I90 AN EPISTLE. To his tried virtue, for miraculous help How could he stop the earthquake? That 's their way! The other imputations must be lies : 260 But take one, tho 1 I loathe to give it thee, In mere respect for any good man's fame. (And after all, our patient Lazarus Is stark mad ; should we count on what he says ? Perhaps not : tho' in writing to a leech 'T is well to keep back nothing of a case.) This man so cured regards the curer, then. As God forgive me ! who but God himself, Creator and sustainer of the world, That came and dwelt in flesh on it awhile. 270 'Sayeth that such an one was born and lived, Taught, healed the sick, broke bread at his own house, Then died, with Lazarus by. for aught I know,, And yet was . . . what I said nor choose repeat, And must have so avouched himself, in fact, In hearing of this very Lazarus Who saith but why all this of what he saith ? Why write of trivial matters, things of price Calling at every moment for remark? I noticed on the margin of a pool 280 Blue-flowering borage, the Aleppo sort, Aboundeth, very nitrous. It is strange! Thy pardon for this long and tedious case, Which, now that I review it, needs must seem Unduly dwelt on, prolixly set forth! Nor I myself discern in what is writ Good cause for the peculiar interest And awe indeed this man has touched me with. Perhaps the journey's end, the weariness Had wrought upon me first. I met him thus : 290 I crossed a ridge of short sharp broken hills Like an old lion's cheek teeth. Out there came A moon made like a face with certain spots Multiform, manifold and menacing : Then a wind rose behind me. So we met In this old sleepy town at unaware, The man and I. I send thee what is writ. Regard it as a chance, a matter risked To this ambiguous Syrian : he may lose, Or steal, or give it thee with equal good. 300 Jerusalem's repose shall make amends For time this letter wastes, thy time and mine ; Till when, once more thy pardon and farewell! CALIBAN UPON 1 SETEBOS. The very God! think, Abib ; dost thou think? So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too So, thro 1 the thunder comes a human voice Saying, " O heart I made, a heart beats here! Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself! Thou hast no power nor mayst conceive of mine : But love I gave thee, with myself to love, And thou must love me who have died for thee! " The madman saith He said. so : it is strange. -. CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS **^ OR, QW*" ' ^J^ ,/* *~ & 2-J NATURAL THEOLOGY IN THE ISLAND. r $; ' n -K ' i^- ^ *' Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such a one as thyself." /, -\v<^ ' ['"1 T 7ILL sprawl, now that the heat of day is best, t- f VV Flat on his belly in the pit's much mire, fa.*-"- With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin, j/ And, while he kicks both feet in the cool slush, L^ts^st.-),* And feels about his spine small eft-things course, & . t-^^t. Run in and out each arm, and make him laugh : And while above his head a pompion-plant.' *"/X AJ* * * Coating the cave-top as a brow its eye, ^*/^^-t/ vl ^ / /v*>^* ^> > " Creeps down to touch and tickle hair and beard/ ** 0, O"" j And now a flower drops with a bee inside, iq,. And now a fruit to snap at, catch and crunch, *#^AJ-- He looks out o'er yon sea which sunbeams cross And recross till they weave a spider-web, ****>* (Meshes of fire, some great fish breaks at times) JL^.^.. *u- . And talks to his own self, howe'er he please, Touching that other, whom his dam called God. Because to talk about Him, vexes ha, Could He but know ! and time to vex is now, When talk is safer than in winter-time. Moreover Prosper and Miranda sleep 2O In confidence he drudges at their task, And it is good to cheat the pair, and gibe, Letting the rank tongue blossom into speech.] Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos! 'Thinketh, He dwelleth i' the cold o' the moon. 'Thinketh He made it, with the sun to match, But not the stars ; the stars came otherwise ; CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS. Only made clouds, winds, meteors, such as that : -/.^ - Also this isle, what lives and grows thereon, And snaky sea which rounds and ends the same. 7 ~j f(t ^ r A 30 'Thinketh, it came of being ill at ease : He hated that He can not change His cold, \ Nor cure its ache. 'Hath spied an icy_fish That longed to 'scape the rock-stream where she lived, And thaw herself within the lukewarm brine O' the lazy sea her stream thrusts far amid, A crystal spike 'twixt two warm walls of wave ; Only, she ever sickened, found repulse At the other kind of water, not her life, (Green-dense and dim-delicious, bred o' the sun) 40 Flounced back from bliss she was not born to breathe, And in her old bounds buried her despair, Hating and loving warmth alike : so He. 'Thinketh, He made thereat the sun, this isle, Trees and the fowls here, beast and creeping thing. Yon otter, sleek-wet, black, lithe as a leech ; Yon au]^ one fire-eye in a ball of foam, *- $ t*. uv That floats and feeds ; a certain badger brown. He hath watched hunt with that slant white-wedge eye I^-wviv^ By moonlight ; and the pie. with the long tongue - , , . 50 That pricks deep into oakwarts for a worm, -_ / (l t . w , . (' '' And says a plain- word when she finds her prize, But will not eat the ants ; the ants themselves That build a wall of seeds and settled stalks About their hole He made all these and more, Made all we see, and us, in spite : how else ? He could not. Himself, make a second self To be His mate : as well have made Himself: He would not make what He mislikes or slights, An eyesore to Him, or not worth His pains ; 60 But did, in envy, listlessness or sport. Make what Himself would fain, in a manner, be Weaker in most points, stronger in a few, Worthy, and yet mere playthings all the while, Things He admires and mocks too, that is it! Because, so brave, so better tho' they be, It nothing skills if He begin to plague. Look now, I melt a gourd-fruit into mash, Add honeycomb and pods,' Tliave perceived, Which bite like finches when they bill and kiss, 70 Then, when froth rises bladdery, drink up all, Quick, quick, till maggots scamper thro' my brain; Last, throw me on my back i' the seeded thyme, CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS. 193 And wanton, wishing I were born a bird. Put case, unable to be what I wish, I yet could make a live bird out of clay : Would not I take clay, pinch my Caliban Able to fly? for, there, see, he hath wings, [ And great comb like the hoopoe's to admire, j And there, a sting to do his foes offence, 80 There, and I will that he begin to live. "* J-/^ Fly to yon rock-top, nip me off the horns pf grigs high up that make the merry din, Cs*\*>&**i t**t Saucy "thro' their veined wings, and mind me not. In which feat, if his leg snapped, brittle clay, And he lay stupid-like, why, I should laugh ; And if he, spying me, should fall to weep, Beseech me to be good, repair his wrong, Bid his poor leg smart less or g/uw again, Well, as the chance were, this nii^ht take or else Not take my fancy : I might hear his cry, And give the mankin three sound legs for one, Or pluck the otner orf, leave him like an egg, And lessoned he was mine and merely clay. Were this no pleasure, lying in the thyme, Drinking the mash, with brain become alive, I Making and marring clay at will ? So He. 'Thinketh, such shows nor right nor wrong in Him Nor kind, nor cruel : He is strong and Lord, , ^f^JI J l*-"i ~ VV *1 'Am strong myself compared to yonder crabs 106 That march now from the mountain to the sea ; 'Let twenty pass, and stone the twenty-first, Loving not, hating not, just choosing so. 'Say, the first straggler that boasts purple spots Shall join the file, one pincer twisted off; > 4 * 'Say, this bruised fellow shall receive a worm, And two worms he whose nippers end in red : r As it likes me each time, I do : so He. Well then, 'supposeth He is good i' the main,\ Placable if His mind and ways were guessed, no But rougher than His handiwork, be sure! Oh, He hath made things worthier than Himself, And^envjeth that T so helped, such things do more Than He who made thenx! What consoles but this? fa \^ That they, unless thro' Him, do naught at all, And must submit : what other use in things? 'Hath cut a pipe of pithless elder-joint That, blown through, gives exact the scream o' the jay , When from her wing you twitch the feathers blue : I94 CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS. Sound this, and little birds that hate the jay 120 Flock within stone's throw, glad their foe is hurt: Put case such pipe could prattle and boast forsooth " I catch the birds, I am the crafty thing, I make the cry my maker can not make With his great round mouth ; he must blow thro' Would not I smash it with my foot? So He. But wherefore rough, why cold and ill at ease? Aha, that is a question! Ask, for that, What knows, the something over Setebos That made Him, or He, may be, found and fought, Worsted, drove off and did to nothing, perchance. There may be something quiet o'er His head, . j Out of His reach, that feels nor joy nor grief, 1 I Since both derive from weakness in some way. \\- I joy because the quails"colfie~pvvould not joy Could I bring quails here when I have a mind : This Quiet, all it hath a mind to. doth. 'Esteemeth stars the outposts of its couch. But never spends much thought nor care that way. It may look up, work up. the worse for those It works on! 'Careth but for Setebos The many-handed as a cuttle-fish, Who, making Himself feared throMvhat He does, Looks up. first, and perceives he can not soar To what is quiet and hath happy life ; Next looks down here, and out of very spite Makes this a bauble-world to ape yon real. These good things to match those as hips do grapes 'T is solace making baubles, ay, and sport. Himself peeped late, eyed Prosper at his books 150 Careless and lofty, lord now oftHe isle : Vexed, 'stitched a book of broad leaves, arrow-shaped, Wrote thereon, he knows what, prodigious words ; Has peeled a wand and called it by a name ; ^ Weareth at whiles for an enchanter's robe The eyed skin of a supple oncelot ; f-n^..i>w ft* 4! And hath an ounce sleeker" than youngling mole, A four-legged serpent he makes cower and couch, Now snarl, now hold its breath and mind his eye, And saith she is Miranda and my wife: 160 'Keeps for his Ariel a tall pouch-bilJLcrane_ He bids go wade for fish arid straight disgorge ; Also a sea-beast, lumpish, which he snared, Blinded the eyes of, and brought somewhat tame, And split its toe-webs, and now pens the drudge In a hole o' the rock, and calls him Caliban ; 170 CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS. A bitter heart that bides its time and bites. 'Plays thus at being Prosper in a way, Taketh his mirth with make-believes : so He. His dam held that the Quiet made all things Which Setebos vexed only : 'holds not so. Who made them weak, meant weakness He might vex. Had He meant other, while His hand was in, Why not make horny eyes no thorn could prick, Or plate my scalp with bone against the snow, Or overscale my flesh 'neath joint and joint, Like an ore's armour? Ay, so spoil His He is the One now : only He doth all. ' Saith, He may like, perchance, what profits Him. Ay, himself loves what does him good ; but why? 180 'Gets good no otherwise. This blinded beast Loves whoso places flesh-meat on his nose, But, had he eyes, would want no help, but hate Or love, just as it liked him : He hath eyes. Also it pleaseth Setebos to work, Use all His hands, and exercise much craft, /* j* By no means for the love of what is worked. 'Tasteth, himself, no finer good i' the world When all goes right, in this safe summer-time, i^L^tM--^' And he wants little, hungers, aches not much, 190 Than trying what to do with wit and strength. 'Falls to make something : 'piled yon pile of turfs, And squared and stuck there squares of soft white chalk, And, with a fish-tooth, scratched a moon on each, And set up endwise certain spikes of tree, And crowned the whole with a sloth's skull a-top, Found dead i' the woods, too hard for one to kill. -> -a. /,_ -^ No use at all i' the work, for work's sole sake ; 'Shall some day knock it down again : so He. 'Saith He is terrible: watch His feats in proof! 200 One hurricane will spoil six good months' hope. He hath a spite against me, that I know. JusTas~TT5~ftfv6'urs Prosper, who knows why? ScTTrTs, all the sameyasTwelf I find. ^ "i " , 'Wove wattles half the winter, fenced them firm /tr-vA-o With stone and stake to stop she-tortoises / Crawling to lay their eggs here : well, one wave, Feeling the foot of Him upon its neck, Gaped as a snake does, lolled out its large tongue, And licked the whole labour flat : so much for spite! 210 'Saw a ball flame down late (yonder it lies) 196 220 CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS. Where, half an hour before, I slept i' the shade : Often they scatter sparkles : there is force ! 'Dug up a newt He may have envied once And turned to stone, shut up inside a stone. Please Him and hinder this? What Prosper does? Aha, if he would tell me how. Not He! There is the sport : discover how or die! All need not die, for of the things o' the isle Some flee afar, some dive, some run up trees ; Those at His mercy, why, they please Him most When . . . when . . . well, never try the same way twice! Repeat what act has pleased, He may grow wroth. You must not know His ways, and play Him off, Sure of the issue. 'Doth the like himself: 'Spareth a squirrel that it nothing fears But steals the nut from underneath my thumb, And when I threat, bites stoutly in defence : 'Spareth an urchin that contrariwise, Curls up into a ball, pretending death For fright at my approach : the two ways please. But what would move my choler more than this, That either creature counted on its life To-morrow, next day and all days to come, Saying forsooth in the inmost of its heart, " Because he did so yesterday with me, And otherwise with such another brute, So must he do henceforth and always." Ay? 'Would teach the reasoning couple what " must " means! \ 'Doth as he likes, or wherefore Lord? So He. v 240 'Conceiveth all things will continue thus, And we shall have to live in fear of Him So long as He lives, keeps His strength : no change, If He have done His best, make no new world To please Him more, so leave off watching this, If He surprise not even the Quiet's self Some strange day, or, suppose, grow into it As grubs grow butterflies : else, here are we, And there is He, and nowhere help at all. 'Believeth with the life the pain shall stop. His dam held different, that after death He both plagued enemies and feasted friends s Idly! He cloth His worst in this our life, 1 Giving just respitejest we diethro' pain, Saving last p~ain for worsTp=^with which, an end., Meanwhile, the best way to escape His ire Is, not to seem too happy. 'Sees, himself, 250 CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS. 197 Yonder two flies, with purple films and pink, Bask on the pompion-bell above : kills both. 'Sees two black painful beetles roll their ball 260 On head and tail as if to save their lives : 'Moves them the stick away they strive to clear. Even so, 'would have Him misconceive, suppose This Caliban strives hard and ails no less, And always, above all else, envies Him ; i -Wherefore he mainly dances on dark nights, g^ Moans in the sun, gets under holes to laugh, ^ And never speaks his mind save housed as now : , Outside, 'groans, curses. If He caught me here, ^ O'erheard this speech, and asked "What chucklest at?" 270 ^'Would, to appease Him, cut a finger off, Or of my three kid yearlings burn the best, ^Or let the toothsome apples rot on tree, v vOr push my tame beast for the jarc to taste ^While myself lit a fire, and made a song ^ And sung it, "What I hate, be consecrate i? j ^ To celebrate Thee and Thy state, no mate ^ For Thee ; what see for envy in poor me ? " .. ... Hoping the while, since evils sometimes mend, / ^ Warts rub away and sores are cured with slime, "X That some strange day, will either the Quiet catch And conquer Setebos, or likelier He Decrepit may doze, doze, as good as die. J - [What, what? A curtain o'er the world at once! J J.J Crickets stop hissing ; not a bird or, yes, There scuds His raven that hath told Him all! It was fool's play^jhis prattling! Ha! The wind Shoulders the pillared dust," death's house o' the move, And fast invading fires begin! White blaze A tree's head snaps and there, there, there, there, there, 290 His thunder follows! Fool to gibe at Him! Lo! 'Lieth flat and loveth Setebos! 'Maketh his teeth meet thro' his upper lip, Will let those quails fly, will not eat this month One little mess of whelks, so he may 'scape!] 198 SAUL. SAUL. i. SAID Abner, " At last thou art come! Ere I tell, ere thou speak, Kiss my cheek, wish ms well! " Then I wished it, and did kiss his cheek. And he, " Since the King, O my friend, for thy countenance sent, Neither drunlyen nor eat/in have we ; /nor until, from his tent Thou return/with the joyful assurance the King/iveth yet, Shall our lip/with the hbnfey be bright,/with the water be wet. For ouyof/the black/ mid-tent's si^nce, a space^f three days, Not a sound hath escaped to thy' servants, of prayer nor of praise, To betoken that Saul and the Spirit have ended their strife, And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch sinks back upon life. 10 "Yet now my heart leaps, O beloved! God's child with his dew On thy gracious gold hair, and those lilies still living and blue Just broken to twine round thy harp-strings, as if no wild heat Were now raging to torture the desert! " III. Then I, as was meet, Knelt down to the God of my fathers, and rose on my feet, And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder. The tent was unlooped ; I pulled up the spear that obstructed, and under I stooped ; Hands and knees on the slippery grass-patch, all withered and gone, That extends to the second enclosure, I groped my way on Till I felt where the foldskirts fly open. Then once more I prayed, 20 And opened the foldskirts and entered, and was not afraid But spoke. " Here is David, thy servant ! " And no voice replied. At the first I saw naught but the blackness; but soon I descried A something more black than the blackness the vast, the upright Main prop which sustains the pavilion : and slow into sight Grew a figure against it, gigantic and blackest of all. Then a sunbeam, that burst thro' the tent roof, showed Saul. rv. He stood as erect as that tent-prop, both arms stretched out wide On the great cross-support in the centre, that goes to each side ; He relaxed not a muscle, but hung there as, caught in his pangs 30 And waiting his change, the king serpent all heavily hangs, Far away from his kind, in the pine, till deliverance come With the spring-time, so agonized Saul, drear and stark, blind and dumb. SAUL. v. 199 Then I tuned my harp, took off the lilies we twine round its chords Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide those sunbeams like swords ! And I first played the tune all our sheep know, as, one after one, So docile they come to the pen-door till folding be done. They are white and untorn by the bushes, for lo, they have fed Where the long grasses stifle the water within the stream's bed ; And now one after one seeks its lodging, as star follows star 40 Into eve and the blue far above us, so blue and so far ! VI. Then the tune,* for which quails Ion the cornland will each/leave his mate / To fly after the player ; then, what makes the crickets elate Till for boldness they fight one another : and then, what has weight To set the quick jerboa a-musing outside his sand house There are none such as he for a wonder, half bird and half mouse ! God made all the creatures and gave them our love and our fear, To give sign, we and they are his children, one family here. VII. Then I played the help-tune of our reapers, their wine-song, when hand Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, and great hearts expand 50 And grow one in the sense of this world's life. And then, the last song When the dead man is praised on his journey "Bear, bear him along With his few faults shut up like dead flowerets! Are balm-seeds not 'here To console us? The land has none left such as he on the bier. "Oh, would we might keep thee, my brother!" And then, the glad chaunt Of the marriage, first go the young maidens, next, she whom we vaunt As the beauty, the pride of our dwelling. And then, the great march Wherein man runs to man to assist him and buttress an arch Naught can break; who shall harm them, our friends? Then, the chorus intoned As the Levites go up to the altar in glory enthroned. 60 But I stopped here : for here in the darkness Saul groaned. VIII. And I paused, held my breath in such silence, and listened apart ; And the tent shook, for mighty Saul shuddered: and sparkles 'gan dart 200 SAUL. From the jewels that woke in his turban, at once with a start All its lordly male-sapphires, and rubies courageous at heart. So the head : but the body still moved not, still hung there erect. And I bent once again to my playing, pursued it unchecked, As I sang, IX. < Oh, our manhood's prime vigour! No spirit feels waste, Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced. Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock, 70 The sjrangrending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock Of the plungeTin a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear, And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair. And the meal, the rich dates yellowed over with gold dust divine, And the locust-flesh steeped in the pitcher, the full draught of wine, And the sleep in the dried river-channel where bulrushes tell That the water was wont to go warbling so softly and well. How good is man's life, the mere living ! how fit to employ All the heart and the soul and the senses for ever in joy! Hast thou loved the white locks of thy father, whose sword thou didst guard 80 When he trusted thee forth with the armies, for glorious reward? Didst thou see the thin hands of thy mother, held up as men sung The low song of the nearly departed, and hear her faint tongue Joining in while it could to the witness, ' Let one more attest, I have lived, seen God's hand thro' a lifetime, and all was for best ! ' Then they sung thro' their tears in strong triumph, not much, but the rest. And thy brothers, the help and the contest, the working whence grew Such result as, from seething grape-bundles, the spirit strained true : And the friends of thy boyhood that boyhood of wonder and hope, Present promise and wealth of the future beyond the eye's scope, 90 Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch ; a people is thine : And all gifts, which the world offers singly, on one head combine! On one head, all the beauty and strength, love and rage (like the throe That, a-work in the rock, helps its labour and lets the gold go) High ambition and deeds which surpass it, fame crowning them, all Brought to blaze on the head of one creature King Saul! " x. And lo, with that leap of my spirit', heart, hand, harp and voice, Each lifting Saul's name out of sorrow, each bidding rejoice Saul's fame in the light it was made for as when, dare I say, The Lord's army, in rapture of service, strains thro' its array, 100 And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot " Saul!" cried I, and stopped. And waited the thing that should follow. Then Saul, who hung propped SAUL. 2O I By the tent's cross-support in the centre, was struck by his name. Have ye seen when Spring's arrowy summons goes right to the aim, And some mountain, the last to withstand her, that held (he alone, While the vale laughed in freedom and flowers) on a broad bust oi stone A year's snow bound about for a breastplate, leaves grasp of the sheet ? Fold on fold^all at once'it crowds thunderously down/to his feet, And there fronts you, stark, black, but alive yet, your mountain of old, With his rents, the successive bequeathings of ages untold: 110 Yea, each harm got in fighting your battles, each furrow and scar Of his head thrust : twixt you and the tempest all hail, there they are! Now again to be softened with verdure, again hold the nest Of the dove, tempt the goat and its young to the green on his crest For their food in the ardours of summer. One long shudder thrilled All the tent till the very air tingled, then sank and was stilled At the King's self left standing before me, released and aware. What was gone, what remained? All to traverse 'twixt hope and despair. Death was past,/life not come : /so he waited./ Awhile/iiis right hand Held the brow/helped the eyes'/left too vacant, forthwith to remand 120 To their place what new objects should enter: 't was Saul as before. I looked up, and dared gaze at those eyes, nor was hurt any more Than by slow pallid sunsets in autumn, ye watch from the shore, At their sad level gaze o'er the ocean a sun's slow decline Over hills which, resolved in stern silence, o'erlap and entwine Base with base to knit strength more intensely : so, arm folded arm O'er the chest whose slow heavings subsided. XI. What spell or what charm, (For, awhile there was trouble within me) what next should I urge To sustain him where song had restored him? Song filled to the verge His cup with the wine of this life, pressing all that it yields 130 Of mere fruitage, the strength and the beauty : beyond, on what fields, Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to brighten the eye, And bring blood to the lip, and commend them the cup they put by? He saith, " It is good ; " still he drinks not : he lets me praise life, Gives assent, yet would die for his own part. XII. Then fancies grew rife Which had come long ago on the pasture, when round me the sheep Fed in silence above, the one eagle wheeled slow as in sleep ; 202 SAUL. And I lay in my hollow and mused on the world that might lie ^Neath his ken, tho' I saw but the strip 'twixt the hill and the sky : And 1 laughed " Since my days are ordained to be passed with my flocks, 140 Let me people at least, with my fancies, the plains and the rocks, Dream the life I am never to mix with, and image the show Of mankind as they live in those fashions I hardly shall know! Schemes of life, its best rules and right uses, the courage that gains, And the prudence that keeps what men strive for ! " And now these old trains Of vague thought came again ; I grew surer ; so, once more the string Of my harp made response to my spirit, as thus XIII. " Yea, my King," I began "thou dost well in rejecting mere comforts that spring From the mere mortal life held in common by man and by brute : In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our soul it bears fruit. 150 Thou hast marked the slow rise of the tree, how its stem trembled first Till it passed the kid's lip, the stag's antler ; then safely outburst The fan-branches all round; and thou mindest when these too, in turn Broke a-bloom and the palm-tree seemed perfect : yet more was to learn, E'en the good that comes in with the palm-fruit. Our dates shall we slight. When their juice brings a cure for all sorrow? or care for the plight Of the palm's self whose slow growth produced them ? Not so ! stem and branch Shall decay, nor be known in their place, while the palm-wine shall staunch Every wound of man's spirit in winter. I pour thee such wine. Leave the flesh to the fate it was fit for! the spirit be thine! 160 By the spirit, when age shall o'ercome thee, thou still shalt enjoy More indeed, than at first when, inconscious, the life of a boy. Crush that life, and behold its wine running! Each deed thou hast done Dies, revives, goes to work in the world ; until e'en as the sun Looking down on the earth, tho' clouds spoil him, tho' tempests efface, Can find nothing his own deed produced not, must everywhere trace The results of his past summer-prime, so, each ray of thy will, Every flash of thy passion and prowess, long over, shall thrill Thy whole people, the countless, with ardour, till they too give forth A like cheer to their sons : who in turn, fill the South and the North 170 With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. Carouse in the past.' SAUL. 203 But the license of age has its limit ; thou diest at last. As the lion when age dims his eyeball, the rose at her height, So with man so his power and his beauty for ever take flight. No! Again a long draught of my soul- wine! Look forth o'er the years ! Thou hast done now with eyes for the actual ; begin with the seer's ! Is Saul dead? In the depth of the vale make his tomb bid arise A gray mountain of marble heaped four-square, till, built to the skies, Let it mark where the great First King slumbers : whose fame would ye know? Up above see the rock's naked face, where the record shall go 180 In great characters cut by the scribe, Such was Saul, so he did; With the sages directing the work, by the populace chid, For not half, they '11 affirm, is comprised there! Which fault to amend. In the grove with his kind grows the cedar, whereon they shall spend (See, in tablets 't is level before them) their praise, and record With the gold of the graver, Saul's story, the statesman's great word Side by side with the poet's sweet comment. The river 's a-wave With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other when prophet-winds rave : So the pen gives unborn generations their due and their part In thy being! Then, first of the mighty, thank God that thou art!" 190 XIV. And behold while I sang . . . but O Thou who didst grant me that day, And before it not seldom has granted thy help to essay, Carry on and complete an adventure, my shield and my sword In that act where my soul was thy servant, thy word was my word, Still be with me, who then at the summit of human endeavour And scaling the highest, man's thought could, gazed hopeless as ever On the new stretch of heaven above me till, mighty to save. Just one lift of thy hand cleared that distance God's throne from man's grave! Let me tell out my tale to its ending my voice to my heart Which can scarce dare believe in what marvels last night I took part, 200 As this morning I gather the fragments, alone with my sheep, And still fear lest the terrible glory evanish like sleep ! For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while Hebron upheaves The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder, and Kidron retrieves Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine. I say then, my song While I sang thus, assuring the monarch, and, ever more strong, 204 SAUL. Made a proffer of good to console him he slowly resumed His old motions and habitudes kingly. The right hand replumed H.is black locks to their wonted composure, adjusted the swathes Of his turban, and see the huge sweat that his countenance bathes, 210 He wipes off with the robe ; and he girds now his loins as of yore, And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the clasp set before. He is Saul, ye remember in glory, ere error had bent The broad brow from the daily communion ; and still, tho' much spent Be the life and the bearing that front you, the same, God did choose, To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose. So sank he along by the tent-prop, till, stayed by the pile Of his armour and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile, And sat out my singing. one arm round the tent-prop, to raise His bent head, and the other hung slack till I touched on the praise 220 I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man patient there ; And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then first I was 'ware That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees Which were thrust out on each side around me, like oak roots which please To encircle a lamb %vhen it slumbers. I looked up to know If the best I could do had brought solace : he spoke not, but slow Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till he laid it with care Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on my brow : thro' my hair The large fingers were pushed, and he bent back my head, with kind power All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower. 230 Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine And oh, all my heart how it loved him! but where was the sign? I yearned ''Could I help thee, my father, inventing a bliss, I would add, to that life of the past, both the future and this ; I would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence, As this moment, had love but the warrant, love's heart to dispense!" XVI. Then the truth came upon me. No harp more no song more! out- broke XVII. ' I have gone the whole round of creation : I saw and I spoke ; I. a work of God's hand for that purpose, received in my brain And pronounced on the rest of his handwork returned him again 240 His creation's approval or censure: I spoke as I saw, Reported, as man may of God's work all 's love, yet all 's law. Now I lay down the judgeship he lent me. Each faculty tasked SAUL. 205 To perceive him has gained an abyss, where a dewdrop was asked. Have I knowledge? confounded it shrivels at Wisdom laid bare. Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank, to the Infinite Care! Do I task any faculty highest, to image success? I but open my eyes, and perfection, no more and no less, In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and God is seen God In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod. 250 And thus looking within and around me, I ever renew (With that stoop of the soul which in bending upraises it too) The submission of man's nothing-perfect to God's all-complete, As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to his feet. Yet with all this abounding experience, this deity known, I shall dare to discover some province, some gift of my own. There 's a faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to hoodwink, I am fain to keep still in abeyance, (I laugh as I think) Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it, wot ye, I worst E'en the Giver in one gift. Behold, I could love if I durst! 260 But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may overtake God's own speed in the one way of love : I abstain for love's sake. What, my soul? see thus far, and no farther? when doors great and small, Nine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should the hundredth appal ? In the least things have faith, yet distrust in the greatest of all? Do 1 find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift, Thav i doubt his own love can compete with it? Here, the parts shift ? Here, the creature surpass the creator, the end, what began ? Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for this man, And dare doubt he alone shall not help him, who yet alone can? 270 Would it ever have entered my mind, the bare will, much less power, To bestow on this Saul what I sang of, the marvellous dower Of the life he was gifted and filled with ? to make such a soul, Such a body, and then such an earth for insphering the whole? And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm tears attest), These good things being given, to go on, and give one more, the best? Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, maintain at the height This perfection, succeed with life's dayspring, death's minute of night? Interpose at the difficult minute, snatch Saul the mistake, Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now, and bid him awake 280 From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set Clear and safe in new light and new life, a new harmony yet To be run and continued, and ended who knows? or endure! The man taught enough by life's dream, of the rest to make sure ; By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning intensified bliss, And the next world's reward and repose, by the struggles in this. 206 SAUL. XVIII. " I believe it! 'T is thpu, God, that givest, 't is I who receive : In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to believe. All 's one gift : thou canst grant it moreover, as prompt to my prayer, As I breathe out this breath, as I open these arms to the air. 290 From thy will, stream the worlds, life and nature, thy dread Sabaoth /will? the mere atoms despise me! Why am I not loth To look that, even that in the face too ? Why is it I dare Think but lightly of such impuissance? What stops my despair? This ; 't is not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would Sol See the King I would help him, but cannot, the wishes fall through. Could I wrestle to raise him from sorrow, grow poor to enrich, To fill up his life, starve my own out, I would knowing which, I know that my service is perfect. Oh, speak thro' me now! Would I suffer for him that I love? So wouldst thou so wilt thou! 300 So shall crown thee the topmost, ineffablest, uttermost crown And thy love fill infinitude wholly, nor leave up nor down One spot for the creature to stand in! It is by no breath, Turn of eye, wave of hand, that salvation joins issue with death! As thy love is discovered almighty, almighty be proved Thy power, that exists with and for it, of being Beloved! He who did most, shall bear most ; the strongest shall stand the most weak. i'T is the weakness in strength, that I cry for! my flesh, that I seek In the Godhead! I seek and I find it. O Saul, it shall be A Face like my face that receives thee ; a Man like to me. 310 Thou shalt love and be loved by, for ever : a Hand like this hand Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee ! See the Christ stand! " XIX. I know not too well how I found my way home in the night. There were witnesses, cohorts about me, to left and to right, Angels, powers, the unuttered, unseen, the alive, the aware : I repressed, I got thro 1 them as hardly, as strugglingly there, As a runner beset by the populace famished for news Life or death. The whole earth was awakened, hell loosed with her crews ; And the stars of night beat with emotion, and tingled and shot Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowledge : but I fainted not, 320 For the Hand still impelled me at once and supported, suppressed All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and holy behest, Till the rapture was shut in itself, and the earth sank to rest. Anon at the dawn, all that trouble had withered from earth Not so much, but I saw it die out in the day's tender birth ; In the gathered intensity brought to the gray of the hills ; In the shuddering forests' held breath ; in the sudden wind-thrills ; RABBI BEN EZRA. 2O7 In the startled wild beasts that bore off, each with eye sidling still, Tho' averted with wonder and dread ; in the birds stiff and chill That rose heavily as I approached them, made stupid with awe : 330 E'en the serpent that slid away silent he felt the new law. The same stared in the white humid faces upturned by the flowers ; The same worked in the heart of the cedar and moved the vine- bowers : And the little brooks witnessing murmured, persistent and low, With their obstinate, all but hushed voices " E'en so, it is so!" RABBI BEN EZRA. I. GROW old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in His hand Who saith " A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God : see all, nor be afraid! " n. Not that, amassing flowers, Youth sighed "Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall! " Not that, admiring stars, lo It yearned " Nor Jove, nor Mars ; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!" in. Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth's brief years, Do I remonstrate : folly wide the mark! Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without, Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. rv. Poor vaunt of life ind ;ed, Were man but formed to feed 20 On joy, to solely seek and find and feast : Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men ; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? 20 3 RABBI BEN EZRA. v. Rejoice we are allied To That which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive! A spark disturbs our clod ; Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe. 30 VI. Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! \ Be our joys three-parts pain! <) Strive, and hold cheap the strain ; / Learn, nor account the pang ; dare, never grudge the throe! VII. For thence, a paradox AVhich comforts while it mocks, . LShall life succeed in that it seems to fail :> What I aspired to be, 40 And was not, comforts me : A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. VIII. What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? To man, propose this test Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? IX. Yet gifts should prove their use : I own the Past profuse 50 Of power each side, perfection every turn : Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole ; Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn?" x. Not once beat " Praise be Thine ! I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now love perfect too- Perfect I call Thy plan : RABBI BEN EZRA. 209 Thanks that I was a man! Maker, remake, complete, I trust what Thou shalt do ! " 60 XI. For pleasant is this flesh ; Our soul, in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest : Would we some prize might hold To match those manifold Possessions of the brute, gain most, as we did best! XII. Let us not always say " Spite of this flesh to-day I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!" As the bird wings and sings, 70 Let us cry " All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!" XIII. Therefore I summon age To grant youth's heritage, Life^ struggle having so far reached its term : Thence shall I pass, approved A man, for aye removed From the developed brute ; a_God tho' in the germ. XIV. And I shall thereupon Take rest, ere I be gone 80 Once more on my adventure brave and new : Fearless and unperplexed, When I wage battle next, What weapons to select, what armour to indue. xv. Youth ended, I shall try My gain or loss thereby ; Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold : And I shall weigh the same, Give life its praise or blame : Young, all lay in dispute ; I shall know, being old. 90 XVI. For, note when evening shuts, A certain moment cuts RABBI BEN EZRA, The deed off, calls the glory from the gray : A whisper from the west Shoots " Add this to the rest, Take it and try its worth : here dies another day." XVII. So, still within this life, Tho' lifted o'er its strife, Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, " This rage was right i' the main, 100 That acquiescence vain : The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." XVIII. For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day : Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. XIX. As it was better, youth Should strive, thro' acts uncouth, 1 10 Toward making, than repose on aught found made : So, better, age, exempt From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedst age : wait death nor be afraid! xx. Enough now, if the Right And Good and Infinite Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own, With knowledge absolute, Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. 120 Be there, for once and all, Severed great minds from small, Announced to each his station in the Past! Was I, the world arraigned, Were they, my soul disdained, Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last! RABBI BEN EZRA. 211 XXII. Now, who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive ; Ten, who in ears and eyes 130 Match me : we all surmise, They, this thing, and I, that: whom shall my soul believer XXIII. Not on the vulgar mass Called " work," must sentence pass. Things done, that took the eye and had the price ; O'er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice : xxrv. But all, the world's coarse thumb And finger failed to plumb. 140 So passed in making up the main account : All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount : XXV. Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act. Fancies that broke thro' language and escaped : All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. 150 XXVI. Ay, note that Potter's wheel, That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, " Since life fleets, all is change ; the Past gone, seize to-day! " XXVII. Fool! All that is, at all, Lasts ever, past recall ; Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure : What entered into thee, 160 2I2 RABBI BEN EZRA. That was, is, and shall be : Time's wheel runs back or stops : Potter and clay endure. He fixed thee mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest: Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent, Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. XXIX. What tho 1 the earlier grooves Which ran the laughing loves 170 Around thy base, no longer pause and press? What tho' about thy rim, Scull-things in order grim Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress ? XXX. Look not thou down but up! To uses of a cup, The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, The new wine's foaming flow, The Master's lips a-glow! Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel? 180 XXXI. But I need, now as then, Thee, God, who mouldest men! And since, not even while the whirl was worst, Did I, to the wheel of life With shapes and colours rife, Bound dizzily, mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst : XXXII. Sc, take and use Thy work. Amend what flaws may lurk, What strain o 1 the stuff, what warpings past the aim ! My times be in Thy hand! 190 Perfect the cup as planned! Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same! EPILOGUE. 213 EPILOGUE. FIRST SPEAKER, as David. ON the first of the Feast of Feasts, The Dedication Day, When the Levites joined the Priests At the Altar in robed array, Gave signal to sound and say, When the thousands, rear and van, Swarming with one accord, Became as a single man (Look, gesture, thought and word) In praising and thanking the Lord, 10 in. When the singers lift up their voice, And the trumpets made endeavour, Sounding, "In God rejoice! " Saying, "In Him rejoice Whose mercy endureth for ever!" IV. Then the Temple filled with a cloud, Even the House of the Lord : Porch bent and pillar bowed : For the presence of the Lord, In the glory of His cloud, Had filled the House of the Lord. 20 SECOND SPEAKER, as Renan. Gone now ! All gone across the dark so far, Sharpening fast, shuddering ever, shutting still, Dwindling into the distance, dies that star Which came, stood, opened once! We gazed our fill With upturned faces on as real a Face That, stooping from grave music and mild fire, Took in our homage, made a visible place Thro' many a depth of glory, gyre on gyre, For the dim human tribute. Was this true? Could man indeed avail, mere praise of his, 30 214 EPILOGUE. To help by rapture God's own rapture too, Thrill with a heart's red tinge that pure pale bliss? Why did it end ? Who failed to beat the breast, And shriek, and throw the arms protesting wide, When a first shadow showed the star addressed Itself to motion, and on either side The rims contracted as the rays retired ; The music, like a fountain's sickening pulse, Subsided on itself; awhile transpired Some vestige of a Face no pangs convulse, 40 No prayers retard ; then even this was gone, Lost in the night at last. We, lone and left Silent thro' centuries, ever and anon Venture to probe again the vault bereft Of all now save the lesser lights, a mist Of multitudinous points, yet suns, men say And this leaps ruby, this lurks amethyst, But where may hide what came and loved our clay? How shall the sage detect in yon expanse The star which chose to stoop and stay for us ? 50 Unroll the records! Hailed ye such advance Indeed, and did your hope evanish thus? Watchers of twilight, is the worst averred ? We shall not look up, know ourselves are seen, Speak, and be sure that we again are heard, Acting or suffering, have the disk's serene Reflect our life, absorb an earthly flame, Nor doubt that, were mankind inert and numb, Its core had never crimsoned all the same, Nor, missing ours, its music fallen dumb ? 60 Oh, dread succession to a dizzy post, Sad sway of sceptre whose mere touch appals, Ghastly dethronement, cursed by those the most On whose repugnant brow the crown next falls ! THIRD SPEAKER. i. Witless alike of will and way divine, How heaven's high with earth's low should intertwine! Friends, I have seen thro' your eyes : now use mine! n. Take the least man of all mankind, as I ; Look at his head and heart, find how and why He differs from his fellows utterly : 70 EPILOGUE. 215 in. Then, like me, watch when nature by degrees Grows alive round him, as in Arctic seas (They said of old) the instinctive water flees IV. Toward some elected point of central rock, As tho', for its sake only, roamed the flock Of waves about the waste : awhile they mock v. With radiance caught for the occasion, hues Of blackest hell now, now such reds and blues As only heaven could fitly interfuse, VI. The mimic monarch of the whirlpool, king 80 O' the current for a minute : then they wring Up by the roots and oversweep the thing, And hasten off, to play again elsewhere The same part, choose another peak as bare, They find and flatter, feast and finish there. vm. When you see what I tell you, nature dance About each man of us, retire, advance, As tho' the pageant's end were to enhance IX. His worth, and once the life, his product, gained Roll away elsewhere, keep the strife sustained, 90 And show thus real, a thing the North but feigned, x. When you acknowledge that one world could do All the diverse work, old yet ever new, Divide us, each from other, me from you, 2i6 EPILOGUE. XI. Why, where 's the need of Temple, when the walls O' the world are that ? What use of swells and falls From Levites 1 choir, Priests' cries, and trumpet-calls ? XII. That one Face, far from vanish, rather grows, Or decomposes but to recompose, Become my universe that feels and knows! 100 A WALL. OTHE old wall here! How I could pass Life in a long midsummer day, My feet confined to a plot of grass, My eyes from a wall not once away! And lush and lithe do the creepers clothe Yon wall I watch, with a wealth of green: Its bald red bricks draped, nothing loth, In lappets of tangle they laugh between. in. Now, what is it makes pulsate the robe ? Why tremble the sprays ? What life o'erbrims 10 The body, the house, no eye can probe, Divined as, beneath a robe, the limbs? IV. And there again ! But my heart may guess Who tripped behind ; and she sang perhaps : So, the old wall throbbed, and its life's excess Died out and away in the leafy wraps. Wall upon wall are between us : life And song should away from heart to heart ! I prison-bird, with a ruddy strife At breast, and a lip whence storm-notes start 20 VI. Hold on, hope hard in the subtle thing That 's spirit : tho' cloistered fast, soar free ; Account as wood, brick, stone, this ring Of the rueful neighbours, and forth to thee! 217 2l8 APPARITIONS. APPARITIONS. SUCH a starved bank of moss Till, that May-morn, Blue ran the flash across : Violets were bora! n. Sky what a scowl of cloud Till, near and far, Ray on ray split the shroud : Splendid, a star! in. World how it walled about Life with disgrace io Till God's own smile came out : That was thy face! NATURAL MAGIC. ALL I can say is I saw it! The room was as bare as your hand. I locked in the swarth little lady, I swear, From the head to the foot of her well, quite as bare! "No Nautch shall cheat me," said I. " taking my stand At this bolt which I draw! " .And this bolt I withdraw it, And there laughs the lady, not bare, but embowered With who knows what verdure, o'erfruited, o'erflowered? Impossible! Only I saw it! n. All I can sing is I feel it! io This life was as blank as that room ; I let you pass in here. Precaution, indeed? Walls, ceiling and floor, not a chance for a weed! Wide opens the entrance : where 's cold now, where' s gloom ? No May to sow seed here, no June to reveal it, MAGICAL NATURE. 219 Behold you enshrined in these blooms of your bringing, These fruits of your bearing nay, birds of your winging! A fairy-tale ! Only I feel it ! MAGICAL NATURE. T. FLOWER I never fancied, jewel I profess you! Bright I see and soft I feel the outside of a flower. Save but glow inside and jewel, I should guess you, Dim to sight and rough to touch : the glory is the dowers n. You, forsooth, a flower? Nay, my love, a jewel Jewel at no mercy of a moment in your prime! Time may fray the flower-face : kind be time or cruel, Jewel, from each facet, flash your laugh at time! GARDEN FANCIES. i.. THE FLOWER'S NAME. i. HERE 'S the garden she walked across, Arm in my arm, such a short while since : Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss Hinders the hinges and makes them wince! She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, As back with that murmur the wicket swung ; For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned, To feed and forget it the leaves among. II. Down this side of the gravel-walk She went while her robe's edge brushed the box : And here she paused in her gracious talk To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox. Roses, ranged in valiant row, I will never think that she passed you by! She loves you noble roses, I know ; But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie! 220 GARDEN FANCIES. in. This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim ; Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, Its soft meandering Spanish name. 20 What a name! Was it love or praise? Speech half-asleep or -song half-awake ? I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake. IV. Roses, if I live and do well, I may bring her, one of these days, To fix you fast with as fine a spell, Fit you each with his Spanish phrase. But do not detain me now ; for she lingers There, like sunshine over the ground, 30 And ever 1 see her soft white fingers Searching after the bud she found. Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not, Stay as you are and be loved for ever! Bud, if I kiss you 1 t is that you blow not : Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never! For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle, Twinkling the audacious leaves between, Till round they turn and down they nestle ; Is not the dear mark still to be seen? 40 VI. Where I find her not, beauties vanish ; Whither I follow her, beauties flee ; Is there no method to tell her in Spanish June 's twice June since she breathed it with me? Come, bud, show me the least of her traces, Treasure my lady's lightest footfall! Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces Roses, you are not so fair after all ! GARDEN FANCIES. 2 2I n. SIBRANDUS SCHAFNABURGENSIS. I. Plague take all your pedants, say I! He who wrote what I hold in my hand, Centuries back was so good as to die, Leaving this rubbish to cumber the land ; This, that was a book in its time, Printed on paper and bound in leather, Last month in the white of a matin-prime Just when the birds sang all together. n. Into the garden I brought it to read, And under the arbute and laurustine IO Read it, so help me grace in my need, From title-page to closing line. Chapter on chapter did I count, As a curious traveler counts Stonehenge ; Added up the mortal amount, And then proceeded to my revenge. Yonder 's a plum-tree with a crevice An owl would build in, were he but sage ; For a lap of moss, like a fine pont-levis In a castle of the Middle Age, 2O Joins to a lip of gum, pure amber ; When he 'd be private, there might he spend Hours alone in his lady's chamber : Into this crevice I dropped our friend. rv. Splash, went he, as under he ducked, At the bottom, I knew, rain-drippings stagnate ; Next, a handful of blossoms I plucked To bury him with, my bookshelf's magnate ; Then I went in-doors, brought out a loaf, Half a cheese, and a bottle of Chablis ; 30 Lay on the grass and forgot the oaf Over a jolly chapter of Rabelais. v. Now, this morning, betwixt the moss And gum that locked our friend in limbo, 222 GARDEN FANCIES. A spider had spun his web across, And sat in the midst with arms akimbo : So, I took pity, for learning's sake, And, de profundis, accentibus l&tis, Cantatel quoth I, as I got a rake ; And up I fished his delectable treatise. 40 VI. Here you have it, dry in the sun, With all the binding all of a blister, And great blue spots where the ink has run, And reddish streaks that wink and glister O'er the page so beautifully yellow : Oh, well have the droppings played their tricks! Did he guess how toadstools grow, this fellow ? Here 's one stuck in his chapter six! VII. How did he like it when the live creatures Tickled and toused and browsed him all over, 50 And worm, slug, eft, with serious features, Came in, each one, for his right of trover? When the water-beetle with great blind deaf face Made of her eggs the stately deposit, And the newt borrowed just so much of the preface As tiled in the top of his black wife's closet ? VIII. All that life and fun and romping, All that frisking and twisting and coupling, While slowly our poor friend's leaves were swamping And clasps were cracking and covers suppling! 60 As if you had carried sour John Knox To the play-house at Paris, Vienna or Munich, Fastened him into a front-row box, And danced off the ballet with trousers and tunic. Come, old martyr! What, torment enough is it? Back to my room shall you take your sweet self. Good-bye, mother-beetle ; husband-eft, sufficit ! See the snug niche I have made on my shelf! A's book shall prop you up, B 1 s shall cover you, Here 's C to be grave with, or D to be gay, 70 And with E on each side, and F right over you, Dry-rot at ease till the Judgment-day! IN THREE DAYS. 223 IN THREE DAYS, i. SO, I shall see her in three days And just one night, but nights are short, Then two long hours, and that is morn. See how I come, unchanged, unworn! Feel, where my life broke off from thine How fresh the splinters keep and fine, Only a touch and we combine! II. Too long, this time of year, the days! But nights, at least the nights are short. As night shows where her one moon is, IO A hand's-breadth of pure light and bliss, So life's night gives my lady birth And my eyes hold her! What is worth The rest of heaven, the rest of earth ? in. O loaded curls, release your store Of warmth and scent, as once before The tingling hair did, lights and darks Outbreaking into fairy sparks, When under curl and curl I pried After the warmth and scent inside, 20 Thro' lights and darks how manifold The dark inspired, the light controlled, As early Art embrowns the gold! IV. What great fear, should one say, " Three days, That change the world might change as well Your fortune ; and if joy delays, Be happy that no worse befell ! " What small fear, if another says, " Three days and one short night beside May throw no shadow on your ways ; y> But years must teem with change untried, With chance not easily defied, With an end somewhere undescried." No fear! or, if a fear be born 224 THE LOST MISTRESS. This minute, it dies out in scorn. Fear? I shall see her in three days Artd one night, now the nights are short, Then just two hours, and that is morn! THE LOST MISTRESS. ALL 'S over, then : does truth sound bitter As one at first believes? Hark, 't is the sparrows' good-night twitter About your cottage eaves ! And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, I noticed that, to-day ; One day more bursts them open fully : You know the red turns gray. in. To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest? May I take your hand in mine? 10 Mere friends are we, well, friends the merest Keep much that I resign: For each glance of the eye so bright and black, Tho' I keep with heart's endeavour, Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, Tho' it stay in my soul for ever! Yet I will but say what mere friends say, Or only a thought stronger : I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer ! ONE WAY OF LOVE. 2 2$ ONE WAY OF LOVE. ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas! Let them lie. Suppose they die? The chance was they might take her eye. How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute! To-day I venture all I know. She will not hear my music ? So! IO Break the string ; fold music's wing : Suppose Pauline had bade me sing ! in. My whole life long I learned to love. This hour my utmost art I prove And speak my passion heaven or hell ? She will not give me heaven? 'T is well! Lose who may I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they ! RUDEL TO THE LADY OF TRIPOLI. I KNOW a Mount, the gracious Sun perceives First, when he visits, last, too, when he leaves The world ; and, vainly favoured, it repays The day-long glory of his steadfast gaze By no change of its large calm front of snow. And, underneath the Mount, a Flower I know, He can not have perceived, that changes ever At his approach ; and, in the lost endeavour To live his life, has parted, one by one, With all a flower's true graces, for the grace IO Of being but a foolish mimic sun, With ray-like florets round a disk-like face. 22 6 NUMPHOLEPTOS. Men nobly call by many a name the Mount As over many a land of theirs its large Calm front of snow like a triumphal targe Is reared, and still with old names, fresh names vie, Each to its proper praise and own account : Men call the Flower, the Sunflower, sportively. Oh, Angel of the East, one, one gold look Across the waters to this twilight nook, The far sad waters, Angel, to this nook! Dear Pilgrim, art thou for the East indeed ? Go! saying ever as thou dost proceed, That I, French Rudel. choose for my device A sunflower outspread like a sacrifice Before its idol. See! These inexpert And hurried fingers could not fail to hurt The woven picture : 't is a woman's skill Indeed ; but nothing baffled me. so, ill Or well, the work is finished. Say, men feed 30 On songs I sing, and therefore bask the bees On my flower's breast as on a platform broad : But, as the flowers concern is not for these But solely for the sun, so men applaud In vain this Rudel, he not looking here But to the East th^. East! Go, say this, Pilgrim dear 1 . NUMPHOLEPTOS. STILL you stand, still you listen, still you smile! _ Still melts your moonbeam thro' me, white awhile, S< iftening, sweetening, till sweet and soft Increase so round this heart of mine, that oft I could believe your moonbeam-smile has past The pallid limit lies, transformed at last To sunlight and salvation warms the soul It sweetens, softens! Would you pass that goal, Gain love's birth at the limit's happier verge, And, where an iridescence lurks, but urge 10 The hesitating pallor on to prime Of dawn' true blood-streaked, sun-warmth, action-time, NUMPHOLEPTOS. 227 By heart-pulse ripened to a ruddy glow Of gold above my clay I scarce should know From gold's self, thus suffused! For gold means love. What means the sad slow silver smile above My clay but pity, pardon ? at the best, But acquiescence that I take my rest, Contented to be clay, while in your heaven The sun reserves love for the Spirit-Seven 20 Companioning God's throne they lamp before, Leaves earth a mute waste only wandered o'er By that pale soft sweet disempassioned moon Which smiles me slow forgiveness! Such the boon I beg? Nay, dear, submit to this just this Supreme endeavour! As my lips now kiss Your feet, my arms convulse your shrouding robe, My eyes acquainted with the dust, dare probe Your eyes above for what, if born, would blind Mine with redundant bliss, as flash may find 30 The inert nerve, sting awake the palsied limb, Bid with life's ecstacy sense overbrim And suck back death in the resurging joy Love, the love whole and sole without alloy! Vainly! The promise withers! I employ Lips, arms, eyes, pray the prayer which finds the word, Make the appeal which must be felt, not heard, And none the more is changed your calm regard : Rather, its sweet and soft grow harsh and hard Forbearance, then repulsion, then disdain. 40 Avert the rest ! I rise, see .' make, again Once more, the old departure for some track Untried yet thro' a world which brings me back Ever thus fruitlessly to find your feet, To fix your eyes, to pray the soft and sweet Which smile there take from his new pilgrimage Your outcast, once your inmate, and assuage With love not placid pardon now his thirst For a mere drop from out the ocean erst He drank at! Well, the quest shall be renewed. 50 Fear nothing! Tho' I linger, unembued With any drop, my lips thus close. I go! So did I leave you, I have found you so, And doubtlessly, if fated to return, So shall my pleading persevere and earn Pardon not love in that same smile, I learn, And lose the meaning of, to learn once more, Vainly! 22 8 NUMPHOLEPTOS. What fairy track do I explore? What magic hall return to, like the gem Centuply-angled o'er a diadem ? 60 You dwell there, hearted ; from your midmost home Rays forth thro 1 that fantastic world I roam Ever from centre to circumference, Shaft upon coloured shaft : this crimsons thence, That pui-ples out its precinct thro' the waste. Surely I had your sanction when I faced, Fared forth upon that untried yellow ray Whence I retrack my steps? They end to-day Where they began, before your feet, beneath Your eyes, your smile : the blade is shut in sheath, 70 Fire quenched in flint ; irradiation, late Triumphant thro 1 the distance, finds its fate, Merged in your blank pure soul, alike the source And tomb of that prismatic glow : divorce Absolute, all-conclusive! Forth I fared. Treading the lambent flamelet : little cared If now its flickering took the topaz tint, If now my dull-caked path gave sulphury hint Of subterranean rage no stay nor stint To yellow, since you sanctioned that I bathe, 8c Burnish me, soul and body, s\vim and swathe In yellow license. Here I reek suffused With crocus, saffron, orange, as I used With scarlet, purple, every dye o' the bow- Born of the storm-cloud. As before, you shcl? Scarce recognition, no approval, some Mistrust, more wonder at a man become Monstrous in garb, nay flesh disguised as well, Thro 1 his adventure. Whatsoe'er befell, I followed, wheresoever it wound, that vein 90 You authorized should leave your whiteness, stain Earth's sombre stretch beyond your midmost place Of vantage, trode that tinct whereof the trace On garb and flesh repel you! Yes, I plead Your own permission your command, indeed, That who would worthily retain the love Must share the knowledge shrined those eyes above, Go boldly on adventure, break thro' bounds O' the quintessential whiteness that surrounds Your feet, obtain experience of each tinge 100 That bickers forth to broaden out, impinge Plainer his foot its pathway all distinct From every other. Ah, the wonder, linked With fear, as exploration manifests What agency it was first tipped the crests NUMPHOLEPTOS. 229 Of unnamed wildflower. soon protruding grew Portentous 'mid the sands, as when his hue Betrays him and the burrowing snake gleams through ; Till, last . . but why parade more shame and pain? Are not the proofs upon me? Here again no I pass into your presence, I receive Your smile of pity, pardon, and I leave . . . No, not this last of times I leave you, mute, Submitted to my penance, so my foot May yet again adventure, tread, from source To issue, one more ray of rays which course Each other, at your bidding, from the sphere Silver and sweet, their birthplace, down that drear Dark of the world, you promise shall return Your pilgrim jewelled as with drops o' the urn 120 The rainbow paints from, and no smatch at all Of ghastliness at edge of some cloud-pall Heaven cowers before, as earth awaits the fall O' the bolt and flash of doom. Who trusts your word Tries the adventure : and returns absurd As frightful in that sulphur-steeped disguise Mocking the priestly cloth-of-gold, sole prize The arch-heretic was wont to bear away Until he reached the burning. No, I say : No fresh adventure! No more seeking love 130 At end of toil, and finding, calm above My passion, the old statuesque regard, The sad petrific smile ! O you less hard And hateful than mistaken and obtuse Unreason of a she-intelligence! You very woman with the pert pretence To match the male achievement! Like enough! Ay, you were easy victors, did the rough Straightway efface itself to smooth, the gruff Grind down and grow a whisper, did man's truth 140 Subdue, for sake of chivalry and ruth, Its rapier-edge to suit the bulrush-spear Womanly falsehood fights with ! O that ear All fact pricks rudely, that thrice-superfine Feminity of sense, with right divine To waive all process, take result stain-free From out the very muck wherein . . . Ah me! The true slave's querulous outbreak! All the rest Be resignation ! Forth at your behest APPEARANCES. I fare. Who knows but this the crimson-quest 150 May deepen to a sunrise, not decay To that cold sad sweet smile ? which I obey. APPEARANCES. AND so you found that poor room dull, Dark, hardly to your taste, my Dear? Its features seemed unbeautiful : But this I know 't was there, not here, You plighted troth to me, the word Which ask that poor room how it heard! II. And this rich room obtains your praise Unqualified, so bright, so fair, So all whereat perfection stays ? Ay, but remember here, not there, The other word was spoken! Ask This rich room how you dropped the mask! THE WORST OF IT. i. WOULD it were I had been false, not you! I that am nothing, not you that are all : I, never the worse for a touch or two On my speckled hide ; not you, the pride Of the day, my swan, that a first fleck's fall On her wonder of white must unswan, undo! n. I had dipped in life's struggle and, out again, Bore specks of it here, there, easy to see, When I found my swan and the cure was plain ; The dull turned bright as I caught your white On my bosom : you saved me saved in vain If you ruined yourself, and all thro 1 me! THE WORST OF IT, 231 in. yes, ail thro' the speckled beast that I am, Who taught you to stoop ; you gave me yourself, And bound your soul by the vows that damn : Since on better thought you break, as you ought, Vows words, no angel set down, some elf Mistook, for an oath, an epigram ! IV. Yes, might I judge you, here were my heart, And a hundred its like, to treat as you pleased! 20 I choose to be yours, for my proper part, Yours, leave or take, or mar me or make ; If I acquiesce, why should you be teased With the conscience-prick and the memory-smart? v. But what will God say? Oh, my Sweet, Think, and be sorry you did this thing! Tho' earth were unworthy to feel your feet, There 's a heaven above may deserve your love : Should you forfeit heaven for a snapt gold ring And a promise broke, were it just or meet ? 30 VI. And I to have tempted you! I, who tried Your soul, no doubt, till it sank ! Unwise, I loved and was lowly, loved and aspired, Loved, grieving or glad, till I made you mad And you meant to have hated and despised Whereas, you deceived me nor inquired! VII. She, ruined? How? No heaven for her? Crowns to give, and none for the brow That looked like marble and smelt like myrrh ? Shall the robe be worn, and the palm-branch borne, 40 And she go graceless, she graced now Beyond all saints, as themselves aver? VIII. Hardly! That must be understood! The earth is your place of penance, then ; 232 THE WORST OF IT. And what will it prove ? I desire your good, But, plot as I may, I can find no way How a blow should fall, such as falls on men, Nor prove too much for your womanhood. IX. It will come, I suspect, at the end of life, When you walk alone, and review the past ; 50 And I, who so long shall have done with strife, And journeyed my stage and earned my wage And retired as was right, I am called at last When the devil stabs you, to lend the knife. He stabs for the minute of trivial wrong, Nor the other hours are able to save, The happy, that lasted my whole life long : For a promise broke, not for first words spoke, The true, the only, that turn my grave To a blaze of joy and a crash of song. 60 Witness beforehand! Off I trip On a safe path gay thro 1 the flowers you flung : My very name made great by your lip, And my heart a-glow with the good I know Of a perfect year when we both were young, And I tasted the angels 1 fellowship. And witness, moreover . . . Ah, but wait ! I spy the loop whence an arrow shoots! It may be for yourself, when you meditate, That you grieve for slain ruth, murdered truth : 70 " Tho 1 falsehood escape in the end, what boots ? How truth would have triumphed!" you sigh too late. Ay, who would have triumphed like you, I say ! Well, it is lost now ; well, you must bear, Abide and grow fit for a better day : You should hardly grudge, could I be your judge ! But hush ! For you, can be no despair : There ? s amends : 't is a secret : hope and pray! THE WORST OF 77*. 233 XIV. For I was true at least oh, true enough! And, Dear, truth is not as good as it seems ! 80 Commend me to conscience! Idle stuff! Much help is in mine, as I mope and pine, And skulk thro 1 day, and scowl in my dreams At my swan's obtaining the crow's rebuff. XV. Men tell me of truth now " False ! " I cry : Of beauty "A mask, friend ! Look beneath ! " We take our own method, the devil and I, With pleasant and fair and wise and rare : And the best we wish to what lives, is death ; Which even in wishing, perhaps we lie! 90 XVI. Far better commit a fault and have done As you, Dear! for ever ; and choose the pure, And look where the healing waters run, And strive and strain to be good again, And a place in the other world ensure, All glass and gold, with God for its sun. xvn. Misery! What shall I say or do? I can not advise, or, at least, persuade. Most like, you are glad you deceived me rue No whit of the wrong : you endured too long, 100 Have done no evil and want no aid, Will live the old life out and chance the new. XVIII. And your sentence is written all the same, And I can do nothing, pray, perhaps : But somehow the world pursues its game, If I pray, if I curse, for better or worse : And my faith is torn to a thousand scraps, And my heart feels ice while my words breathe flame. XIX. Dear, I look from my hiding-place. Are you still so fair? Have you still the eyes? no Be happy ! Add but the other grace, Be good! Why want what the angels vaunt? I knew you once : but in Paradise, If we meet, I will pass nor turn my face. 234 TOO LATE. TOO LATE. HERE was I with my arm and heart And brain, all yours for a word, a want Put into a look just a look, your part, While mine, to repay it ... vainest vaunt, Were the woman, that 's dead, alive to hear, Had her lover, that's lost, love's proof to show! But I can not show it ; you can not speak From the churchyard neither, miles removed, Tho' I feel by a pulse within my cheek, Which stabs and stops, that the woman I loved 10 Needs help in her grave and finds none near, Wants warmth from the heart which sends it so! II. Did I speak once angrily, all the drear days You lived, you woman I loved so well, Who married the other? Blame or praise, Where was the use then? Time would tell, And the end declare what man for you, What woman for me was the choice of God. But, Edith dead! no doubting more! I used to sit and look at my life 20 As it rippled and ran till, right before, A great stone stopped it : oh, the strife Of waves at the stone some devil threw In my life's midcurrent, thwarting God! But either I thought, " They may churn and chide Awhile, my waves which came for their joy And found this horrible stone full-tide : Yet I see just a thread escape, deploy Thro' the evening-country, silent and safe, And it suffers no more till it finds the sea." 30 Or else I would think, " Perhaps some night When new things happen, a meteor-ball May slip thro' the sky in a line of light, And earth breathe hard, and landmarks fall, And my waves no longer champ nor chafe, Since a stone will have rolled from its place : let be ! " TOO LATE. 235 IV. But, dead ! All 's done with : wait who may, Watch and wear and wonder who will. Oh, my whole life that ends to-day! Oh, my soul's sentence, sounding still, 40 " The woman is dead, that was none of his ; And the man, that was none of hers may go! " There 's only the past left : worry that! Wreak, like a bull, on the empty coat, Rage, its late wearer is laughing at ! Tear the collar to rags, having missed his throat ; Strike stupidly on " This, this and this, Where I would that a bosom received the blow! " v. I ought to have done more : once my speech, And once your answer, and there, the end, 50 And Edith was henceforth out of reach ! Why, men do more to deserve a friend, Be rid of a foe, get rich, grow wise, Nor, folding their arms, stare fate in the face. Why, better even have burst like a thief And borne you away to a rock for us two, In a moment's horror, bright, bloody and brief, Then changed to myself again "I slew Myself in that moment ; a ruffian lies Somewhere : your slave, see, born in his place ! " 60 VI. What did the other do? You be judge! Look at us, Edith ! Here are we both! Give him his six whole years : I grudge None of the life with you, nay, loathe Myself that I grudged his start in advance Of me who could overtake and pass. But, as if he loved you! No, not he, Nor anyone else in the world, 't is plain : Who ever heard that another, free As I, young, prosperous, sound and sane, 70 Poured life out, proffered it " Half a glance Of those eyes of yours and I drop the glass!" VII. Handsome, were you ? 'T is more than they held, More than they said ; I was 'ware and watched : 236 TOO LATE. I was the 'scapegrace, this rat belled The cat, this fool got his whiskers scratched : The others? No head that was turned, no heart Broken, my lady, assure yourself! Each soon made his mind up ; so and so Married a dancer, such and such 80 Stole his friend's wife, stagnated slow, Or maundered, unable to do as much, And muttered of peace where he had no part : While, hid in the closet, laid on the shelf, On the whole, you were let alone, I think! So, you looked to the other, who acquiesced ; My rival, the proud man, prize your pink Of poets ! A poet he was ! I Ve guessed : He rhymed you his rubbish nobody read, Loved you and doved you did not I laugh! 90 There was a prize! But we both were tried. Oh, heart of mine, marked broad with her mark, Tekel, found wanting, set aside, Scorned! See, I bleed these tears in the dark Till comfort come and the last be bled : He? He is tagging your epitaph. IX. If it would only come over again! Time to be patient with me, and probe This heart till you punctured the proper vein, Just to learn what blood is : twitch the robe 100 From that blank lay-figure your fancy draped, Prick the leathern heart till the verses spirt ! And late it was easy ; late, you walked Where a friend might meet you ; Edith's name Arose to one's lip if one laughed or talked ; If I heard good news, you heard the same ; When 1 woke, I knew that your breath escaped ; I could bide my time, keep alive, alert. x. And alive I shall keep and long, you will see! I knew a man, was kicked like a dog no From gutter to cesspool ; what cared he So long as he picked from the filth his prog? He saw youth, beauty and genius die. BIFURCATION-. 237 And jollily lived to his hundredth year. But I will live otherwise: none of such life! At once I begin as I mean to end. Go on with the world, get gold in its strife, Give your spouse the slip and betray your friend! There are two who decline, a woman and I, And enjoy our death in the darkness here. 120 XI. I liked that way you had with your curls Wound to a ball in a net behind : Your cheek was chaste as a quaker-girl's And your mouth there was never, to my mind, Such a funny mouth, for it would not shut ; And the dented chin too what a chin! There were certain ways when you spoke, some words That you know you never could pronounce : You were thin, however ; like a bird's Your hand seemed some would say, the pounce 130 Of a scaly-footed hawk all but! The world was right when it called you thin. XII. But I turn my back on the world : I take Your hand, and kneel, and lay to my lips. Bid me live, Edith ! Let me slake Thirst at your presence ! Fear no slips ! 'T is your slave shall pay, while his soul endures, Full due, love's whole debt, summum jus . My queen shall have high observance, planned Courtship made perfect, no least line 140 Crossed without warrant. There you stand, Warm too, and white too : would this wine Had washed all over that body of yours, Ere I drank it, and you down with it, thus! BIFURCATION. WE were two lovers ; let me lie by her, My tomb beside her tomb. On hers inscribe " I loved him ; but my reason bade prefer Duty to love, reject the tempters bribe Of rose and lily when each path diverged, 238 A LIKENESS. And either I must pace to life's far end As love should lead me, or, as duty urged, Plod the worn causeway arm in arm with friend. So, truth turned falsehood : ' How I loathe a flower, How prize the pavement! ' still caressed his ear lo The deafish friend's thro 1 life's day, hour by hour, As he laughed (coughing) ' Ay, it would appear! ' But deep within my heart of hearts there hid Ever the confidence, amends for all, That heaven repairs what wrong earth's journey did, When love from life-long exile comes at call. Duty and love, one broad way, were the best Who doubts? But one or other was to choose. I chose the darkling half, and wait the rest In that new world where light and darkness fuse." 20 Inscribe on mine "I loved her : love's track lay O'er sand and pebble, as all travelers know. Duty led thro' a smiling country, gay With greensward where the rose and lily blow. ' Our roads are diverse : farewell, love ! ' said she : 1 'T is duty I abide by : homely sward And not the rock-rough picturesque for me! Above, where both roads join, I wait reward. Be you as constant to the path whereon I leave you planted! ' But man needs must move, 30 Keep moving whither, when the star is gone Whereby he steps secure nor strays from love ? No stone but I was tripped by, stumbling-block But brought me to confusion. Where I fell, There I lay flat, if moss disguised the rock : Thence, if flint pierced, I rose and cried ' All 's well! Duty be mine to tread in that high sphere Where love from duty ne'er disparts, I trust, And two halves make that whole, whereof since here One must suffice a man why, this one must! ' " 40 Inscribe each tomb thus : then, some sage acquaint The simple which holds sinner, which holds saint! A LIKENESS. SOME people hang portraits up In a room where they dine or sup : And the wife clinks tea-things under, A LIKENESS. 239 And her cousin, he stirs his cup, Asks, "Who was the lady, I wonder? " . " 'T is a daub John bought at a sale," Quoth the wife, looks black as thunder i " What a shade beneath her nose! Snuff-taking, I suppose, " Adds the cousin, while John's corns ail. 10 Or else, there 's no wife in the case, But the portrait 's queen of the place, Alone mid the other spoils Of youth, masks, gloves and foils, And pipe-sticks, rose, cherry-tree, jasmine, And the long whip, the tandem-lasher, And the cast from a fist, (" not, alas ! mine, But my master's, the Tipton Slasher ") And the cards where pistol-balls mark ace, And a satin shoe used for cigar-case, 20 And the chamois-horns (" shot in the Chablais ") And prints Rarey drumming on Cruiser, And Sayers, our champion, the bruiser, And the little edition of Rabelais : Where a friend, with both hands in his pockets May saunter up close to examine it, And remark a good deal of Jane Lamb in it, " But the eyes are half out of their sockets ; That hair 's not so bad, where the gloss is, But they Ve made the girl's nose a proboscis : 30 Jane Lamb, that we danced with at Vichy! What, is not she Jane? Then, who is she?" All that I own is a print, An etching, a mezzotint ; 'T is a study, a fancy, a fiction, Yet a fact (take my conviction) Because it has more than a hint Of a certain face, I never Saw elsewhere touch or trace of In women I Ve seen the face of: 40 Just an etching, and, so far, clever. I keep my prints, an imbroglio, Fifty in one portfolio. When somebody tries my claret, We turn round chairs to the fire, Chirp over days in a garret, Chuckle o'er increase of salary, Taste the good fruits of our leisure, 240 MAY AND DEATH. Talk about pencil and lyre, And the National Portrait Gallery : 50 Then I exhibit my treasure. After we 've turned over twenty, And the debt of wonder my crony owes Is paid to my Marc Antonios, He stops me " Festina lentil What 's that sweet thing there, the etching?" How my waistcoat -strings want stretching, How my cheeks grow red as tomatoes, How my heart leaps! But hearts, after leaps, ache. " By the by, you must take, for a keepsake, 60 That other, you praised, of Volpato's." The fool! would he try a flight further and say He never saw, never before to-day, , What was able to take his breath away, A ftce to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with, why, I '11 not engage But that, half in a rapture and half in a rage, I should toss him the thing's self " 'T is only a duplicate, A thing of no value! Take it, I supplicate! " MAY AND DEATH. I. I WISH that when you died last May, Charles, there had died along with you Three parts of spring's delightful things ; Ay, and, for me, the fourth part too. n. A foolish thought, and worse, perhaps! There must be many a pair of friends Who, arm in arm, deserve the warm Moon-births and the long evening-ends. in. So, for their sake, be May still May! Let their new time, as mine of old, IO Do all it did for me : I bid Sweet sights and sounds throng manifold. A FORGIVENESS. IV. 241 Only, one little sight, one plant, Woods have in May, that starts up green Save a sole streak which, so to speak, Is spring's blood, spilt its leaves between, v. That, they might spare ; a certain wood Might miss the plant : their loss were small : But I, whene'er the leaf grows there, Its drop comes from my heart, that 's all. 20 A FORGIVENESS. I AM indeed the personage you know. As for my wife, what happened long ago You have a right to question me, as I Am bound to answer. ("Son, a fit reply!" The monk half spoke, half ground thro 1 his clenched teeth, At the confession-grate I knelt beneath.) Thus then all happened, Father! Power and place I had as still I have. I ran life's race, With the whole world to see, as only strains His strength some athlete whose prodigious gains 10 Of good appal him : happy to excess, Work freely done should balance happiness Fully enjoyed ; and, since beneath my roof Housed she who made home heaven, in heaven's behoof I went forth every day, and all day long Worked for the world. Look, how the labourer's song Cheers him ! Thus sang my soul, at each sharp throe Of labouring flesh and blood " She loves me so!" One day, perhaps such song so knit the nerve That work grew play and vanished. " I deserve 20 Haply my heaven an hour before the time! " I laughed, as silverly the clockhouse-chime Surprised me passing thro' the postern-gate Not the main entry where the menials wait And wonder why the world's affairs allow 242 A FORGIVENESS. TTie master sudden leisure. That was how I took the private garden-way for once. Forth from the alcove, I saw start, ensconce Himself behind the porphyry vase, a man. My fancies in the natural order ran : 30 " A spy, perhaps a foe in ambuscade, A thief, more like, a sweetheart of some maid Who pitched on the alcove for tryst perhaps." "Stand there!" Ibid. Whereat my man but wraps His face the closelier with uplifted arm Whereon the cloak lies, strikes in blind alarm This and that pedestal as, stretch and stoop, Now in, now out of sight, he thrids the group Of statues, marble god and goddess ranged Each side the pathway, till the gate 's exchanged 40 For safety : one step thence, the street, you know ! Thus far I followed with my gaze. Then, slow, Near on admiringly, I breathed again, And back to that last fancy of the train " A danger risked for hope of just a word With which of all my nest may be the bird This poacher covets for her plumage, pray? Carmen? Juana? Carmen seems too gay For such adventure, while Juana 's grave Would scorn the folly. I applaud the knave ! 5 He had the eye, could single from my brood His proper fledgeling ! " As I turned, there stood In face of me, my wife stone-still stone-white. Whether one bound had brought her, at first sight Of what she judged the encounter, sure to be Next moment, of the venturous man and me, Brought her to clutch and keep me from my prey : Whether impelled because her death no day- Could come so absolutely opportune As now at joy's height, like a year in June 60 Stayed at the fall of its first ripened rose ; Or whether hungry for my hate who knows? Eager to end an irksome lie, and taste Our tingling true relation, hate embraced By hate one naked moment : anyhow A FORGIVENESS. 243 There stone-still stone-white stood my wife, but now The woman who made heaven within my house. Ay, she who faced me was my very spouse As well as love you are to recollect ! " Stay ! " she said. "Keep at least one soul unspecked 70 With crime, that 's spotless hitherto your own ! Kill me who court the blessing, who alone Was, am and shall be guilty, first to last ! The man lay helpless in the toils I cast About him, helpless as the statue there Against that strangling bell-flower's bondage : tear Away and tread to dust the parasite, But do the passive marble no despite ! I love him as I hate you. Kill me ! Strike At one blow both infinitudes alike 80 Out of existence hate and love ! Whence love? That 's safe inside my heart, nor will remove For any searching of your steel, I think. Whence hate? The secret lay on lip, at brink Of speech, in one fierce tremble to escape, At every form wherein your love took shape, At each new provocation of your kiss, Kill me ! " We went in. Next day after this, I felt as if the speech might come. I spoke Easily, after all. " The lifted cloak 90 Was screen sufficient : I concern myself Hardly with laying hands on who for pelf Whate'er the ignoble kind may prowl and brave Cuffing and kicking proper to a knave Detected by my household's vigilance. Enough of such ! As for my love-romance I, like our good Hidalgo, rub my eyes And wake and wonder how the film could rise Which changed for me a barber's basin straight Into Mambrino's helm? I hesitate loo Nowise to say God's sacramental cup ! Why should I blame the brass which, burnished up, Will blaze, to all but me, as good as gold ? To me -a warning I was overbold In judging metals. The Hidalgo waked Only to die, if I remember, staked 244 A FORGIVEN ' ESS - His life upon the basin's worth, and lost : While I confess torpidity at most In here and there a limb ; but, lame and halt, Still should I work on, still repair my fault 1 10 Ere I took rest in death, no fear at all ! Now, work no word before the curtain fall ! " The " curtain " ? That of death on life, I meant : My " word " permissible in death's event. Would be truth, soul to soul ; for, otherwise, Day by day, three years long, there had to rise And, night by night, to fall upon our stage Ours, doomed to public play by heritage Another curtain, when the world, perforce Our critical assembly, in due course 120 Came and went, witnessing, gave praise or blame To art-mimetic. It had spoiled the game If. suffered to set foot behind our scene. The world had witnessed how stage-king and queen, Gallant and lady, but a minute since Enarming each the other, would evince No sign of recognition as they took His way and her way to whatever nook Waited them in the darkness either side Of that bright stage where lately groom and bride 130 Had fired the audience to a frenzy-fit Of sympathetic rapture every whit Earned as the curtain fell on her and me, Actors. Three whole years, nothing was to see But calm and concord : where a speech was due There came the speech ; when smiles were wanted too Smiles were as ready. In a place like mine, Where foreign and domestic cares combine, There 's audience every day and all day long : But finally the last of the whole throng 140 Who linger lets one see his back. For her Why, liberty and liking : I aver, Liking and liberty ! For me I breathed, Let my face rest from every wrinkle wreathed Smile-like about the mouth, unlearned my task Of personation till next day bade mask, And quietly betook me from that world To the real world, not pageant : there unfurled In work, its wings, my soul, the fretted power. Three years I worked, each minute of each hour 150 Not claimed by acting : work I may dispense With talk about, since work in evidence, Perhaps in history ; who knows or cares? A FORGIVENESS. 245 After three years, this way, all unawares, Our acting ended. She and I, at close Of a loud night-least, led, between two rows Of bending male and female loyalty, Our lord the king down staircase, while, held high At arm's length did the twisted tapers' flare Herald his passage from our palace where 160 Such visiting left glory evermore. Again the ascent in public, till at door As we two stood by the saloon now blank And disencumbered of its guests there sank A whisper in my ear, so low and yet So unmistakable ! I half forget The chamber you repair to, and I want Occasion for one short word if you grant That grace within a certain room you called Our ' Study, "* for you wrote there while I scrawled 170 Some paper full of faces for my sport. That room I can remember. Just one short Word with you there, for the remembrance' sake ! " " Follow me thither ! " I replied. We break The gloom a little, as with guiding lamp I lead the way, leave warmth and cheer, by damp Blind disused serpentining ways afar From where the habitable chambers are, Ascend, descend stairs tunneled thro' the stone, Always in silence, till I reach the lone 180 Chamber sepulchred for my very own Out of the palace-quarry. When a boy, Here was my fortress, stronghold from annoy, Proof-positive of ownership ; in youth I garnered up my gleanings here uncouth But precious relics of vain hopes, vain fears ; Finally, this became in after years My closet of entrenchment to withstand Invasion of the foe on every hand The multifarious herd in bower and hall, 190 State-room, rooms whatsoe'er the style, which call On masters to be mindful that, before Men, they must look like men and something more. Here, when our lord the king's bestowment ceased To deck me on the day that, golden-fleeced, I touched ambition's height, 't was here, released 246 A FORGIVENESS. From glory (always symboled by a chain !) No sooner was I privileged to gain My secret domicile than glad 1 flung That last toy on the table gazed where hung 200 On hook my father's gift, the arquebus And asked myself " Shall I envisage thus The new prize and the old prize, when I reach Another year's experience? own that each Equaled advantage sportsman's statesman's tool? That brought me down an eagle, this a fool !" Into which room on entry, I set down The lamp, and. turning saw whose rustled gown Had told me my wife followed, pace for pace. Each of us looked the other in the face. 210 She spoke. " Since I could die now ..." (To explain Why that first struck me, know not once again Since the adventure at the porphyry's edge Three years before, which sundered like a wedge Her soul from mine, tho : daily, smile to smile, We stood before the public, all the while Not once had I distinguished, in that face I paid observance to, the faintest trace Of feature more than requisite for eyes To do their duty by and recognize : 220 So did I force mine to obey my will And pry no further. There exists such skill, Those know who need it. What physician shrinks From needful contact with a corpse? He drinks No plague so long as thirst for knowledge, not An idler impulse, prompts inquiry. What, And will you disbelieve in power to bid Our spirit back to bounds, as tho : we chid A child from scrutiny that 's just and right In manhood? Sense, not soul, accomplished sight, 230 Reported daily she it was not how Nor why a change had come to cheek and brow.) " Since I could die now of the truth concealed, Yet dare not, must not die, so seems revealed The Virgin's mind to me, for death means peace, Wherein no lawful part have I, whose lease Of life and punishment the truth avowed May haply lengthen, let me push the shroud Away, that steals to muffle ere is just My penance-fire in snow ! I dare I must 240 A FORGIVENESS. 24? Live, by avowal of the truth this truth I loved you ! Thanks for the fresh serpent's tooth That, by a prompt new pang more exquisite Than all preceding torture, proves me right ! I loved you yet I lost you ! May I go Burn to the ashes, now my shame you know?" I think there never was such how express? Horror coquetting with voluptuousness, As in those arms of Eastern workmanship Yataghan, kandjar, things that rend and rip, 250 Gash rough, slash smooth, help hate so many ways, Yet ever keep a beauty that betrays Love still at work with the artificer Throughout his quaint devising. Why prefer. Except for love's sake, that a blade should writhe And bicker like a flame? now play the scythe As if some broad neck tempted, now contract And needle off into a fineness lacked For just that puncture which the heart demands? Then, such adornment ! Wherefore need our hands 260 Enclose not ivory alone, nor gold Roughened for use, but jewels? Nay, behold ! Fancy my favourite which I seem to grasp While I describe the luxury. No asp Is diapered more delicate round throat Than this below the handle ! These denote These mazy lines meandering, to end Only in flesh they open what intend They else but water-purlings pale contrast With the life-crimson where they blend at last ? 270 And mark the handle's dim pellucid green, Carved, the hard jadestone, as you pinch a bean, Into a sort of parrot-bird ! He pecks A grape-bunch ; his two eyes are ruby-specks Pure from the mine : seen this way, glassy blank, But turn them, lo the inmost fire, that shrank From sparkling, sends a red dart right to aim ! Why did I choose such toys? Perhaps the game Of peaceful men is warlike, just as men War-wearied get amusement from that pen 280 And paper we grow sick of statesfolk tired Of merely (when such measures are required) Dealing out doom to people by three words, A signature and seal : we play with swords Suggestive of quick process. That is how I came to like the toys described you now, Store of which glittered on the walls and strewed 24 8 A FORGIVENESS. The table, even, while my wife pursued Her purpose to its ending. " Now you know This shame, my three years 1 torture, let me go, 290 Burn to the very ashes ! You I lost, Yet you I loved ! " The thing I pity most In men is action prompted by surprise Of anger : men ? nay, bulls whose onset lies At instance of the firework and the goad ! Once the foe prostrate, trampling once bestowed, Prompt follows placability, regret, Atonement. Trust me, blood-warmth never yet Betokened strong will ! As no leap of pulse Pricked me, that first time, so did none convulse 300 My veins at this occasion for resolve. Had that devolved which did not then devolve Upon me, I had done what now to do Was quietly apparent. " Tell me who The man was, crouching by the porphyry vase !" " No, never ! All was folly in his case, All guilt in mine. I tempted, he complied." " And yet you loved me ? " " Loved you. Double-dyed In folly and in guilt, I thought you gave Your heart and soul away from me to slave 310 At statecraft. Since my right in you seemed lost, I stung myself to teach you, to your cost, What you rejected could be prized beyond Life, heaven, by the first fool I threw a fond Look on, a fatal word to." " And you still Love me ? Do I conjecture well or ill? " "Conjecture well or ill ! I had three years To spend in learning you." "We both are peers In knowledge, therefore : since three years are spent Ere thus much of yourself / learn who went 320 Back to the house, that day, and brought my mind To bear upon your action : uncombined A FORGIVENESS. 249 Motive from motive, till the dross, deprived Of every purer particle, survived At last in native simple hideousness, Utter contemptibility, nor less Nor more. Contemptibility exempt How could I, from its proper due contempt? I have too much despised you to divert My life from its set course by help or hurt 330 Of your all-despicable life perturb The calm I work in, by men's mouths to curb, Which at such news were clamorous enough Men's eyes to shut before my broidered stuff With the huge hole there, my emblazoned wall Blank where a scutcheon hung, by, worse than all, Each day's procession, my paraded life Robbed and impoverished thro' the wanting wife Now that my life (which means my work) was grown Riches indeed ! Once, just this worth alone 340 Seemed work to have, that profit gained thereby . Of good and praise would how rewardingly! Fall at your feet, a crown I hoped to cast Before your love, my love should crown at last. No love remaining to cast crown before, My love stopped work now : but contempt the more Impelled me task as ever head and hand, Because the very fiends weave ropes of sand Rather than taste pure hell in idleness. Therefore I kept my memory down by stress 350 Of daily work I had no mind to stay For the world's wonder at the wife away. Oh, it was easy all of it, believe, For I despised you ! But your words retrieve Importantly the past. No hate assumed The mask of love at any time ! There gloomed A moment when love took hate's semblance, urged By causes you declare ; but love's self purged Away a fancied wrong I did both loves Yours and my own ; by no hate's help, it proves 360 Purgation was attempted. Then, you rise High by how many a grade ! I did despise I do but hate you. Let hate's punishment Replace contempt's ! First step to which ascent Write down your own words I re-utter you ! ' / loved my husband and I hated who He was, I took up as my first chance, mere Mud-ball to fling and make love foul with ! ' Here Lies paper ! " A FORGIVENESS. " Would my blood for ink suffice ! " " It may : this minion from a land of spice, 370 Silk, feather every bird of jeweled breast This poignard's beauty, ne'er so lightly prest Above your heart there.". . . "Thus?" " It flows, I see. Dip there the point and write ! " " Dictate to me! Nay, I remember." And she wrote the words. I read them. Then " Since love, in you, affords License for hate, in me, to quench (I say) Contempt why, hate itself has passed away In vengeance foreign to contempt. Depart Peacefully to that death which Eastern art 380 Imbued this weapon with, if tales be true ! Love will succeed to hate. I pardon you Dead in our chamber ! " True as truth the tale. She died ere morning ; then, I saw how pale Her cheek was ere it wore day's paint-disguise, And what a hollow darkened 'neath her eyes, Now that I used my own. She sleeps, as erst Beloved, in this your church : ay, yours ! Immersed In thought so deeply, Father ? Sad, perhaps? For whose sake, hers or mine or his who wraps 390 Still plain I seem to see ! about his head The idle cloak, about his heart (instead Of cuirass) some fond hope he may elude My vengeance in the cloister's solitude? Hardly, I think ! As little helped his brow The cloak then, Father as your grate helps now ! CENCIAJA. 251 CENCIAJA. Ogni cencio vuol enlrare in bucato. Italian Proverb. MAY I print, Shelley, how it came to pass That when your Beatrice seemed by lapse Of many a long month since her sentence fell Assured of pardon for the parricide, By intercession of staunch friends, or say, By certain pricks of conscience in the Pope, Conniver at Francesco Cenci's guilt, Suddenly all things changed and Clement grew " Stern," as you state, " nor to be moved nor bent, But said these three words coldly 'She must die;" 1 10 Subjoining ' Pardon f Paolo Santa Croce Murdered his mother also y ester eve, And he is fled: she shall not flee, at least ." " So, to the letter, sentence was fulfilled ? Shelley, may I condense verbosity That lies before me, into some few words Of English, and illustrate your superb Achievement by a rescued anecdote, No great things, only new and true beside? As if some mere familiar of a house 2O Should venture to accost the group at gaze Before its Titian, famed the wide world through, And supplement such pictured masterpiece By whisper " Searching in the archives here, I found the reason of the Lady's fate, And how by accident it came to pass She wears the halo and displays the palm : Who, haply, else had never suffered no, Nor graced our gallery, by consequence." Who loved the work would like the little news : 30 Who lauds your poem lends an ear to me Relating how the penalty was paid By one Marchese dell' Oriolo, called Onofrio Santa Croce otherwise, For his complicity in matricide With Paolo his own brother, he whose crime And flight induced " those three words She must die." Thus I unroll you then the manuscript. " God's justice " (of the multiplicity Of such communications extant still, 4 Recording, each, injustice done by God In person of his Vicar-upon-earth, 252 CENCIAJA. Scarce one but leads off to the self-same tune) "God's justice, tardy tho' it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency. In proof I cite the case Of Paolo Santa Croce." Many times The youngster, having been importunate That Marchesine Costanza, who remained His widowed mother, should supplant the heir 50 Her elder son, and substitute himself In sole possession of her faculty, And meeting just as often with rebuff, Blinded by so exorbitant a lust Of gold, the youngster straightway tasked his wits, Casting about to kill the lady thus. He first, to cover his iniquity, Writes to Onofrio Santa Croce, then Authoritative lord, acquainting him Their mother was contamination wrought 60 Like hell-fire in the beaut}' of their House By dissoluteness and abandonment Of soul and body to impure delight. Moreover, since she suffered from disease, Those symptoms which her death made manifest Hydroptic, he affirmed were fruits of sin About to bring confusion and disgrace Upon the ancient lineage and high fame O' the family, when published. Duty-bound, He asked his brother what a son should do ? 70 Which when Marchese dell 1 Oriolo heard By letter, being absent at his land Oriolo, he made answer, this, no more : "It must behove a son, things haply so, To act as honour prompts a cavalier And son, perform his duty to all three, Mother and brothers" here advice broke off. By which advice informed and fortified As he professed himself as bound by birth To hear God's voice in primogeniture 80 Paolo, who kept his mother company In her domain Subiaco, straightway dared His whole enormity of enterprise And, falling on her, stabbed the lady dead ; Whose death demonstrated her innocence, CENCFAJA. 253 And happened, by the way, since Jesus Christ Died to save man, just sixteen hundred years. Costanza was of aspect beautiful Exceedingly, and seemed, altho' in age Sixty about, to far surpass her peers 90 The coetaneous dames, in youth and grace. Done the misdeed, its author takes to flight, Foiling thereby the justice of the world : Not God's however, God, be sure, knows well The way to clutch a culprit. Witness here ! The present sinner, when he leasts expects, Snug-cornered somewhere i 1 the Basilicate, Stumbles upon his death by violence. A man of blood assaults a man of blood And slays him somehow. This was afterward : 100 Enough, he promptly met with his deserts, And, ending thus, permits we end with him, And push forthwith to this important point His matricide fell out, of all the days, Precisely when the law-procedure closed Respecting Count Francesco Cenci's death Chargeable on his daughter, sons and wife. " Thus patricide was matched with matricide," A poet not inelegantly rhymed : Nay, fratricide those Princes Massimi ! no Which so disturbed the spirit of the Pope That all the likelihood Rome entertained Of Beatrice's pardon vanished straight, And she endured the piteous death. Now see The sequel what effect commandment had For strict inquiry into this last case, When Cardinal Aldobrandini (great His efficacy nephew to the Pope) Was bidden crush ay, tho' his very hand Got soil i 1 the act crime spawning everywhere! 120 Because, when all endeavour had been used To catch the aforesaid Paolo, all in vain "Make perquisition" quoth our Eminence, " Throughout his now deserted domicile ! Ransack the palace, roof and floor, to find If haply any scrap of writing, hid In nook or corner, may convict who knows? Brother Onofrio of intelligence With brother Paolo, as in brotherhood Is but too likely : crime spawns everywhere ! " 130 254 CENCIAJA. And, every cranny searched accordingly, There comes to light O lynx-eyed Cardinal! Onofrio's unconsidered writing-scrap, The letter in reply to Paolo's prayer, The word of counsel that things proving so, Paolo should act the proper knightly part, And do as was incumbent on a son, A brother and a man of birth, be sure! Whereat immediately the officers Proceeded to arrest Onofrio found 140 At football, child's play, unaware of harm, Safe with his friends, the Orsini, at their seat Monte Giordano ; as he left the house He came upon the watch in wait for him Set by the Barigel, was caught and caged. News of which capture being, that same hour, Conveyed to Rome, forthwith our Eminence Commands Taverna, Governor and Judge, To have the process in especial care, Be, first to last, not only president 150 In person, but inquisitor as well, Nor trust the by-work to a substitute : Bids him not, squeamish, keep the bench, but scrub The floor of Justice, so to speak, go try His best in prison with the criminal ; Promising, as reward for by-work done Fairly on all-fours, that, success obtained And crime avowed, or such connivency With crime as should procure a decent death Himself will humbly beg which means, procure 160 The Hat and Purple from his relative The Pope, and so repay a diligence Which, meritorious in the Cenci-case, Mounts plainly here to Purple and the Hat ! Whereupon did my lord the Governor So masterfully exercise the task Enjoined him, that he, day by day, and week By week, and month by month, from first to last Toiled for the prize : now, punctual at his place, Played Judge, and now, assiduous at his post, 170 Inquisitor pressed cushion and scoured plank, Early and late. Noon's fervour and night's chill, Naught moved whom morn would, purpling, make amends! So that observers laughed as, many a day, He left home, in July when day is flame, CENCIAJA. 255 Posted to Tordinona-prison, plunged Into a vault where daylong night is ice, There passed his eight hours on a stretch, content, Examining Onofrio : all the stress Of all examination steadily 1 80 Converging into one pin-point, he pushed Tentative now of head and now of heart. As when the nuthatch taps and tries the nut This side and that side till the kernel sound, So did he press the sole and single point What was the very meaning of the phrase " Do as beseems an honoured cavalier ? " Which one persistent question-torture, plied Day by day, week by week, and month by month, Morn, noon^and night, fatigued away a mind 190 Grown imbecile by darkness, solitude, And one vivacious memory gnawing there As when a corpse is coffined with a snake : Fatigued Onofrio into what might seem Admission that perchance his judgment groped So blindly, feeling for an issue aught With semblance of an issue from the toils Cast of a sudden round feet late so free, He possibly might have envisaged, scarce Recoiled from even were the issue death 200 - Even her death whose life was death and worse! Always provided that the charge of crime, Each jot and tittle of the charge were true. In such a sense, belike, he might advise His brother to expurgate crime with . . . well, With blood, if blood must follow on " the course Taken as might beseem a cavalier '." Whereupon process ended, and report Was made without a minute of delay To Clement, who, because of those two crimes 210 O' the Massimi and Cenci flagrant late, Must needs impatiently desire result. Result obtained, he bade the Governor Summon the Congregation and despatch. Summons made, sentence passed accordingly Death by beheading. When his death-decree Was intimated to Onofrio, all Man could do that did he to save himself. 'T was much, the having gained for his defence The Advocate o' the Poor, with natural help 220 256 CENCIAJA. Of many noble friendly persons fain To disengage a man of family, So young too, from his grim entanglement : But Cardinal Aldobrandini ruled There must be no diversion of the law. Justice is justice, and the magistrate Bears not the sword in vain. Who sins must die. So, the Marchese had his head cut off With Rome to see, a concourse infinite ; In Place Saint Angelo beside the Bridge: 230 Where, demonstrating magnanimity Adequate to his birth and breed, poor boy ! He made the people the accustomed speech, Exhorted them to true faith, honest works, And special good behaviour as regards A parent of no matter what the sex, Bidding each son take warning from himself. Truly, it was considered in the boy Stark staring lunacy, no less, to snap So plain a bait, be hooked and hauled a-shore 240 By such an angler as the Cardinal ! Why make confession of his privity To Paolo's enterprise ? Mere sealing lips Or, better, saying " When I counselled him ' To do as might beseem a cavalier] What could I mean but ' Hide our parent's shame As Christian ought, by aid of Holy Church ! Bury it in a con-vent ay, beneath Enough dotation to prevent its ghost From troubling earth ! ' " Mere saying thus, 't is plain, 250 Not only were his life the recompense, But he had manifestly proved himself True Christian, and in lieu of punishment Got praise of all men. So the populace. Anyhow, when the Pope made promise good (That of Aldobrandini. near and dear) And gave Taverna, who had toiled so much, A Cardinal's equipment, some such word As this from mouth to ear went saucily : " Taverna's cap is dyed in what he drew 260 From Santa Croce's veins ! " So joked the world. I add : Onofrio left one child behind, A daughter named Valeria, dowered with grace Abundantly of soul and body, doomed To life the shorter for her father's fate. PORPHYRIES LOVER. 2 $? By death of her, the Marquisate returned To that Orsini House from whence it came: Oriolo having passed as donative To Santa Croce from their ancestors. And no word more ? By all means ! Would you know 270 The authoritative answer, when folk urged " What made Aldobrandini, hound-like staunch, Hunt out of life a harmless simpleton?" The answer was " Hatred implacable, By reason they were rivals in their love." The Cardinal's desire was to a dame Whose favour was Onofrio's. Pricked with pride, The simpleton must ostentatiously Display a ring, the Cardinal's love-gift, Given to Onofrio as the lady's gage ; 280 Which ring on ringer, as he put forth hand To draw a tapestry, the Cardinal Saw and knew, gift and owner, old and young ; Whereon a fury entered him the fire He quenched with what coul quench fire only blood. Nay, more : " there want not who affirm to boot, The unwise boy, a certain festal eve, Feigned ignorance of who the wight might be That pressed too closely on him with a crowd. He struck the Cardinal a blow : and then, 290 To put a face upon the incident, Dared next day, smug as ever, go pay court I' the Cardinal's antechamber. Mark and mend, Ye youth, by this example how may greed Vainglorious operate in worldly souls!" So ends the chronicler, beginning with " God's justice, tardy tho' it prove perchance, Rests never till it reach delinquency." Ay, or how otherwise had come to pass That Victor rules, this present year, in Rome? 300 PORPHYRIA'S LOVER, i. '""T'HE rain set early in to-night, _L 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. 258 PORPHYRIES LOVER. n. 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 jo in. 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. VI. 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 thro' wind and rain. 30 VII. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Happy and proud ; at last I knew Porphyria worshiped me ; suiprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. VIII. That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good : I found FILIPPO BALDINUCCL 259 A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, 40 IX. 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 XI. 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 ! XII. 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 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL A Reminiscence of A.D. 1676.. NO, boy, we must not (so began My Uncle he 's with God long since A-petting me, the good old man!) We must not (and he seemed to wince, FILIPPO BALDINUCCI And lost that laugh whereto had grown His chuckle at my piece of news, How cleverly I aimed my stone) I fear we must not pelt the Jews! n. When I was young, indeed, ah, faith Was young and strong in Florence too! 10 We Christians never dreamed of scathe Because we cursed or kicked the crew. But now well, well! The olive-crops Weighed double then, and Arno's pranks Would always spare religious shops Whenever he o'erflowed his banks ! m. I '11 tell you (and his eye regained Its twinkle) tell you something choice ! Something may help you keep unstained Your honest zeal to stop the voice 2O Of unbelief with stone-throw spite Of laws, which modern fools enact, That we must suffer Jews in sight Go wholly unmolested ! Fact ! IV. There was, then, in my youth, and yet Is, by our San Frediano, just Below the Blessed Olivet, A wayside ground wherein they thrust Their dead, these Jews, the more our shame! Except that, so they will but die, 30 Christians perchance incur no blame ' In giving hogs a hoist to stye. v. There, anyhow, Jews stow away Their dead; and, such their insolence, Slink at odd times to sing and pray As Christians do all make-pretence ! Which wickedness they perpetrate Because they think no Christians see. They reckoned here, at any rate, Without their host : ha, ha! he, he! 40 ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 2 6l VI. For, what should join their plot of ground But a good Farmer's Christian field? The Jews had hedged their corner round With bramble-bush to keep concealed Their doings : for the public road Ran betwixt this their ground and that The Farmer's, where he ploughed and sowed, Grew corn for barn and grapes for vat. VII. So, properly to guard his store And gall the unbelievers too, 50 He builds a shrine and, what is more, Procures a painter whom I knew, One Buti (he 's with God) to paint A holy picture there no less Than Virgin Mary free from taint Borne to the sky by angels : yes! Which shrine he fixed, who says him nay? A-facing with its picture-side Not as you 'd think, the public way, But just where sought these hounds to hide 60 Their carrion from that very truth Of Mary's triumph : not a hound Could act his mummeries uncouth But Mary shamed the pack all round! IX. Now, if it was amusing, judge! To see the company arrive, Each Jew intent to end his trudge And take his pleasure (tho' alive) With all his Jewish kith and kin Below ground, have his venom out, 70 Sharpen his wits for next day's sin, Curse Christians, and so home, no doubt! Whereas, each phiz upturned beholds Mary, I warrant, soaring brave! And in a trice, beneath the folds Of filthy garb which gowns each knave, 262 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Down drops it there to hide grimace, Contortion of the mouth and nose At finding Mary in the place They 'd keep for Pilate, I suppose ! 80 At last, they will not brook not they! Longer such outrage on their tribe : So, in some hole and corner, lay Their heads together how to bribe The meritorious Farmer's self To straight undo his work, restore Their chance to meet, and muse on pelf Pretending sorrow, as before! XII. Forthwith, a posse, if you please, Of Rabbi This and Rabbi That 90 Almost go down upon their knees To get him lay the picture flat. The spokesman, eighty years of age, Gray as a badger, with a goat's Not only beard but bleat, 'gins wage War with our Mary. Thus he dotes : XIII. "Friends, grant a grace ! How Hebrews toil Thro' life in Florence why relate To those who lay the burden, spoil Our paths of peace ? We bear our fate loo But when with life the long toil ends, Why must you the expression craves Pardon, but truth compels me, friends ! Why must you plague us in our graves ? XIV. " Thoughtlessly plague, I would believe ! For how can you the lords of ease By nurture, birthright e'en conceive Our luxury to lie with trees And turf, the cricket and the bird Left for our last companionship : no No harsh deed, no unkindly word, No frowning brow nor scornful lip! ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 263 " Death's luxury, we now rehearse While, living thro' your streets we fare And take your hatred : nothing worse Have we, once dead and safe, to bear! So we refresh our souls, fulfil Our works, our daily tasks ; and thus Gather you grain earth's harvest still The wheat for you, the straw for us. 120 " ' What flouting in a face, what harm, In just a lady borne from bier By boys' heads, wings for leg and arm ? ' You question. Friends, the harm is here That just when our last sigh is heaved, And we would fain thank God and you For labour done and peace achieved, Back comes the Past in full review! XVII. "At sight of just that simple flag. Starts the foe-feeling serpent-like 130 From slumber. Leave it lulled, nor drag Tho' fangless forth, what needs must strike When stricken sore, tho' stroke be vain Against the mailed oppressor! Give Play to our fancy that we gain Life's rights when once*we cease to live! XVIII. " Thus much to courtesy, to kind, To conscience! Now to Florence folk! There's core beneath this apple-rind, Beneath this white-of-egg there 's yolk! 140 Beneath this prayer to courtesy, Kind, conscience there 's a sum to pouch! How many ducats down will buy Our shame's removal, sirs? Avouch! XIX. "Removal, not destruction, sirs! Just turn your picture ! Let it front The public path! Or memory errs, Or that same public path is wont 264 FILIPPO BALDINUCCl To witness many a chance befall Of lust, theft, bloodshed sins enough, 150 Wherein our Hebrew part is small. Convert yourselves ! " he cut up rough. XX. Look you, how soon a service paid Religion yields the servant fruit! A prompt reply our Farmer made So following : " Sirs, to grant your suit Involves much danger! How? Transpose Our Lady? Stop the chastisement, All for your good, herself bestows ? What wonder if I grudge consent? 1 60 XXI. " Yet grant it : since, what cash I take Is so much saved from wicked use. We know you! And, for Mary's sake, A hundred ducats shall induce Concession to your prayer. One day Suffices : Master Buti's brush Turns Mary round the other way, And deluges your side with slush. xxn. "Down with the ducats therefore!" Dump, Dump, dump it falls, each counted piece, 170 Hard gold. Then out of door they stump, These dogs, each brisk as with new lease Of life, I warrant, glad he '11 die Henceforward just as he may choose, Be buried and in clover lie! Well said Esaias " stiff-necked Jews! " Off posts without a minute's loss Our Farmer, once the cash in poke, And summons Buti ere its gloss Have time to fade from off the joke 1 80 To chop and change his work, undo The done side, make the side, now blank, Recipient of our Lady who, Displaced thus, had these dogs to thank! ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 265 Now, boy, you 're hardly to instruct In technicalities of Art! My nephew's childhood sure has sucked Along with motherVmilk some part Of painter's-practice learned, at least, How expeditiously is plied 190 A work in fresco never ceased When once begun a day, each side. xxv. So, Buti he 's with God begins : First covers up the shrine all round With hoarding ; then, as like as twins, Paints, t 1 other side the burial-ground, New Mary, every point the same ; Next, sluices over, as agreed, The old ; and last but, spoil the game By telling you? Not I, indeed! 200 XXVI. Well, ere the week was half at end, Out came the object of this zeal, This fine alacrity to spend Hard money for mere dead men's weal! How think you? That old spokesman Jew Was High Priest, and he had a wife As old, and she was dying too, And wished to end in peace her life! XXVII. And he must humour dying whims, And soothe her with the idle hope 210 They 'd say their prayers and sing their hymns As if her husband were the Pope! And she did die believing just This privilege was purchased! Dead In comfort thro 1 her foolish trust! " Stiff-necked ones," well Esaias said! XXVIII. So, Sabbath morning, out of gate And on to way, what sees our arch Good Farmer? Why, they hoist their freight The corpse on shoulder, and so, march! 220 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Now for it, Buti ! " In the nick Of time 't is pully-hauly, hence With hoarding ! O'er the wayside quick There 's Mary plain in evidence ! XXIX. And here : s the convoy halting : right ! O they are bent on howling psalms And growling prayers, when opposite ! And yet they glance, for all their qualms, Approve that promptitude of his, The Farmer's duly at his post 230 To take due thanks from every phiz, Sour smirk nay, surly smile almost ! XXX. Then earthward drops each brow again ; The solemn task 's resumed ; they reach Their holy field the unholy train : Enter its precinct, all and each, Wrapt somehow in their godless rites ; Till, rites at end. up-waking, lo They lift their faces ! What delights The mourners as they turn to go ? 240 XXXI. Ha, ha ! he, he ! On just the side They drew their purse-strings to make quit Of Mary, Christ the Crucified Fronted them now these biters bit ! Never was such a hiss and snort. Such screwing nose and shooting lip ! Their purchase honey in report Proved gall and verjuice at first sip ! Out they break, on they bustle, where, A-top of wall, the Farmer waits 250 With Buti : never fun so rare ! The Farmer has the best : he rates The rascal, as the old High Priest Takes on himself to sermonize Nay, sneer " We Jews supposed, at least, Theft was a crime in Christian eves !" ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. xxxin. 267 " Theft ? " cries the Farmer, " Eat your words ! Show me what constitutes a breach Of faith in aught was said or heard ! I promised you in plainest speech 260 I 'd take the thing you count disgrace And put it here and here 't is put ! Did you suppose I 'd leave the place Blank therefore, just your rage to glut? xxxiv. " I guess you dared not stipulate For such a damned impertinence ! So, quick, my graybeard, out of gate And in at Ghetto ! Haste you hence ! As long as I have house and land, To spite you irreligious chaps '270 Here shall the Crucifixion stand Unless you down with cash, perhaps ! " xxxv. So snickered he and Buti both. The Jews said nothing, interchanged A glance or two, renewed their oath To keep ears stopped and hearts estranged From grace, for all our Church can do. Then off they scuttle : sullen jog Homewards, against our Church to brew Fresh mischief in their synagogue. 280 xxxvi. But next day see what happened, boy ! See why I bid you have a care How you pelt Jews ! The knaves employ Such methods of revenge, forbear No outrage on our faith, when free To wreak their malice ! Here they took So base a method plague o 1 me If I record it in my Book! XXXVII. For, next day, while the Farmer sat Laughing with Buti, in his shop, 290 At their successful joke, rat-tat, Door opens, and they 're like to drop 2 68 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Down to the floor as in there stalks A six-feet-high herculean-built Young he-Jew with a beard that baulks Description. ' Help ere blood be spilt! " xxxvin. Screamed Buti : for he recognized Whom but the son, no less no more, Of that High Priest his work surprised So pleasantly the day before ! 300 Son of the mother, then, whereof The bier he lent a shoulder to, And made the moans about, dared scoff At sober Christian grief the Jew! XXXIX. " Sirs, I salute you ! Never rise ! No apprehension ! " (Buti, white And trembling like a tub of size, Had tried to smuggle out of sight The picture's self the thing in oils, You know, from which a fresco 's dashed 310 Which courage speeds while caution spoils) "Stay and be praised sir, unabashed! XL. "Praised, ay, and paid too: for I come To buy that very work of yours. My poor abode, which boasts well, some Few specimens of Art, secures Haply, a masterpiece indeed If I should find my humble means Suffice the outlay. So, proceed! Propose ere prudence intervenes!" 320 XLI. On Buti, cowering like a child, These words descended from aloft, In tones so ominously mild, With smile terrifically soft To that degree could Buti dare (Poor fellow) use his brains, think twice? He asked, thus taken unaware, No more than just the proper price ! ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 269 XLII. "Done! " cries the monster. "I disburse Forthwith your moderate demand. 330 Count on my custom if no worse Your future work be, understand, Than this I carry off ! No aid ! My arm, sir, lacks nor bone nor thews : The burden 's easy, and we 're made, Easy or hard, to bear we Jews! " XLIII. Crossing himself at such escape, Buti by turns the money eyes And, timidly, the stalwart shape Now moving doorwards ; but, more wise, 340 The Farmer, who, tho' dumb, this while Had watched advantage straight conceived A reason for that tone and smile So mild and soft! The Jew believed! XLIV. Mary in triumph borne to deck A Hebrew household! Pictured where No one was used to bend the nec"k In praise or bow the knee in prayer! Borne to that domicile by whom? The son of the High Priest! Thro' what? 350 An insult done his mother's tomb! Saul changed to Paul the case came pat! " Stay, dog-Jew . . . gentle sir, that is! Resolve me! Can it be, she crowned, Mary, by miracle, Oh bliss! My present to your burial-ground ? Certain, a ray of light has burst Your veil of darkness! Had you else, Only for Mary's sake, unpursed So much hard money ? Tell oh, tell 's ! " 360 XLVI. Round like a serpent that we took For worm and trod on turns his bulk About the Jew. First dreadful look Sends Buti in a trice to skulk 270 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Out of sight somewhere, safe alack! But our good Farmer faith made bold : And firm (with Florence at his back) He stood, while gruff the gutturals rolled XLVII. "Ay, sir, a miracle was worked, By quite another power, I trow, 370 Than ever yet in canvas lurked, Or you would scarcely face me now! A certain impulse did suggest A certain grasp with this right-hand, Which probably had put to rest Our quarrel, thus your throat once spanned! XLVIII. " But I remembered me, subdued That impulse, and you face me still! And soon a philosophic mood Succeeding (hear it, if you will!) 380 Has altogether changed my views Concerning Art. Blind prejudice! Well may you Christians tax us Jews With scrupulosity too nice ! XLIX. u For, don't I see, let 's issue join ! Whenever I 'm allowed pollute (I and my little bag of coin) Some Christian palace of repute, Don't I see stuck up everywhere Abundant proof that cultured taste 390 Has Beauty for its only care, And upon Truth no thought to waste? L. u ' Jew, since it must be, take in pledge Of payment ' so a Cardinal Has signed to me as if a wedge Entered his heart i this best of all My treasures ! ' Leda, Ganymede Or Antiope : swan, eagle, ape, (Or what 's the beast of what 's the breed) And Jupiter in every shape! 400 ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 271 LI. " Whereat if I presume to ask ' But, Eminence, tho' Titian's whisk Of brush have well performed its task, How comes it these false godships frisk In presence of what yonder frame Pretends to image ? Surely, odd It seems, you let confront The Name Each beast the heathen called his god! ' LII. " Benignant smiles me pity straight 'The Cardinal. T is Truth, we prize! 410 Art 's the sole question in debate! These subjects are so many lies. We treat them with a proper scorn When we turn lies called gods forsooth To lies' fit use, now Christ is born. Drawing and colouring are Truth. LIII. '* ' Think you I honour lies so much As scruple to parade the charms Of Leda Titian, every touch Because the thing within her arms 420 Means Jupiter who had the praise And prayer of a benighted world? He would have mine too, if, in days Of light, I kept the canvas furled! ' < ; So ending, with some easy gibe. What power has logic! I, at once, Acknowledged error in our tribe So squeamish that, when friends ensconce A pretty picture in its niche To do us honour, deck our graves, 430 We fret and fume and have an itch To strangle folk ungrateful kn.aves! LV. " No, sir! Be sure that what 's its style, Your picture ? shall possess ungrudged A place among my rank and file Of Ledas and what not be judged 272 SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER. Just as a picture! and (because I fear me much I scarce have bought A Titian) Master Buti's flaws Found there, will have the laugh flaws ought! " 440 LVI. So, with a scowl, it darkens door This bulk no longer! Buti makes Prompt glad re-entry ; there 's a score Of oaths, as the good Farmer wakes From what must needs have been a trance, Or he had struck (he swears) to ground The bold bad mouth that dared advance Such doctrine the reverse of sound! LVII. Was magic here? Most like! For, since, Somehow our city's faith grows still 450 More and more lukewarm, and our Prince Or loses heart or wants the will To check increase of cold. 'T is " Live And let live! Languidly repress The Dissident! In short, contrive Christians must bear with Jews : no less! M LVIII. The end seems, any Israelite Wants any picture, pishes, poohs, Purchases, hangs it full in sight In any chamber he may choose! 460 In Christ's crown, one more thorn we rue ! In Mary's bosom, one more sword! No, boy, you must not pelt a Jew! O Lord, how long? How long, O Lord? SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER. GR-R-R there go, my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots, do! If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence, God's blood, would not mine kill you! SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER. 273 What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh, that rose has prior claims Needs its leaden vase filled brimming? Hell dry you up with its flames! n. At the meal we sit together : Salve tibi! I must hear lo Wise talk of the kind of weather, Sort of season, time of year : Not a plenteous cork-crop : scarcely Dare u>e hope oak-galls, I doubt: What 'j the Latin name for ''parsley M ? What 's the Greek name for Swine's Snout? in. Whew ! We T ll have our platter burnished, Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we 're furnished, And a goblet for ourself, 20 Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 't is fit to touch our chaps Marked with L for our initial ! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) IV. Saint, forsooth ! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha, telling stories, Steeping tresses in the tank, Blue-black, lustrous, thick like horse hairs, Can 't I see his dead eye glow, 30 Bright as 't were a Barbary corsair's? (That is, if he 'd let it show!) v. When he finishes refection. Knife and fork he never lays Cross-wise, to my recollection, As do I, in Jesu's praise. I the Trinity illustrate, Drinking watered orange-pulp In three sips the Arian frustrate ; While he drains his at one gulp. 40 T 274 SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER. Oh, those melons ? If he 's able We 're to have a feast : so nice ! One goes to the Abbot's table, All of us get each a slice. How go on your flowers ? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy ? Strange! And I, too, at such trouble Keep them close-nipped on the sly! VII. There 's a great text in Galatians Once you trip on it, entails 50 Twenty-nine distinct damnations One sure, if another fails : If I trip him just a-dying. Sure of heaven as sure can be, Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell, a Manichee? VIII. Or, my scrofulous French novel On gray paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it, you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe : 60 If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print, When he gathers his greengages, Ope a sieve and slip it in 't? IX. Or, there's Satan! one might venture Pledge one's soul to him, yet leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he 'd miss, till, past retrieve, Blasted lay that rose-acacia We 're so proud of ! Hy, Zy, Him ... 70 'St, there 's Vespers! Plena gratid Ave, Virgo ! Gr-r-r you swine ! THE HERETICS TRAGEDY. 2?$ THE HERETICS TRAGEDY. A MIDDLE-AGE INTERLUDE. ROSA MUNDI; SEU, FULCITE ME FLORIBUS. A CONCEIT OF MASTER GYS- BRECHT, CANON-REGULAR OF SAINT JODOCUS-BY-THE-BAR, YPRES CITY. CANTUQUE, Virgilius, AND HATH OFTEN BEEN SUNG AT HOCKTIDE AND FESTIVALS. GAVISUS ERAM, JtSSldes. (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.) I. PREADMONISHETH THE ABBOT DEODAET. '""P'HE Lord, we look to once for all, JL Is the Lord we should look at, all at once: He knows not to vary, saith St. 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 dipt of his wings in Paris square, They bring him now to be burned alive. {And wanteth there grace of lute or clavzcithern, 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 THE HERETIC'S TRAGEDY. 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 ; Fagots 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. rv. 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 : Then 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. Lans 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. (Satvd reverentid nunc.) Now it was, " Saviour, bountiful lamb, I have roasted thee Turks, tho' men roast me! See thy servant, the plight wherein I am ! 50 Art thou a saviour? Save thou me ! " THE HERETICS TRAGEDY. CHORUS. *T is John the mocker cries, " Save thou met w vn. 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? Once a rose, ever a rose, he saith. 60 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. CHORUS. What cometh to John of the wicked thumb? 70 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 he.. 278 HOLY-CROSS DAY. x. So, as John called now, thro' the fire amain, 80 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 darkl HOLY-CROSS DAY. ON WHICH THE JEWS WERE FORCED TO ATTEND AN ANNUAL CHRIS- TIAN 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 GO 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 ! Xor was my lord wanting to himself on so apt an occasion ; witness the abundance of conver- sions 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 : 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 summcns 'tis sermon-time! HOLY-CROSS DAY. 279 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? 10 Fair play 's a jewel! Leave friends in the lurch? Stand on a line ere you start for the church ! in. Higgledy, piggledy, packed we lie, Rats in a hamper, swine in a stye, Wasps in a bottle, frogs in a sieve, Worms in a carcass, 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! vn. 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 2 8o HOLY-CROSS DAY. 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 '11 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 altogether 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 thro' 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. xn. 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 a change. 70 But what, or where ? at the last or first ? In one point only we sinned, at worst. HOLY-CROSS DAY. 2 8l 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. u 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 : Tho 1 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, loc Whose life laughs thro' 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, 282 AMPHIBIAN: 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, lie By the Ghetto's plague, by the garb's disgrace, By the badge of shame, by the felon's place, By ths 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.~\ AMPHIBIAN, i. ' I "HE fancy I had to-day, JL Fancy which turned a fear! I swam far out in the bay, Since waves laughed warm and clear. n. I lay and looked at the sun, The noon-sun looked at me : Between us two, no one Live creature, that I could see. in. Yes! There came floating by Me, who lay floating too, 10 Such a strange butterfly! Creature as dear as new : AMPHIBIAN. 283 IV. Because the membraned wings So wonderful, so wide, So sun-suffused, were things Like soul and naught beside. A handbreadth over head! All of the sea my own, It owned the sky instead ;H. Both of us were alone. 20 VI. I never shall join its flight, For, naught buoys flesh in air. If it touch the sea good night! Death sure and swift waits there. VII. Can the insect feel the better For watching the uncouth play Of limbs that slip the fetter, Pretend as they were not clay? vm. Undoubtedly I rejoice That the air comports so well 30 With a creature which had the choice Of the land once. Who can tell? What if a certain soul Which early slipped its sheath, And has for its home the whole Of heaven, thus look beneath, x. Thus watch one who, in the world, Both lives and likes life's way, Nor wishes the wings unfurled That sleep in the worm, they say ? 40 284 AMPHIBIAN. XI. But sometimes when the weather Is blue, and warm waves tempt To free oneself of tether, And try a life exempt XII. From worldly noise and dust. In the sphere which overbrims With passion and thought, why, just Unable to fly, one swims! XIII. By passion and thought upborne, One smiles to oneself They fare 50 Scarce better, they need not scorn Our sea. who live in the air! " XIV. Emancipate thro' passion And thought, with sea for sky, We substitute, in a fashion, For heaven poetry : XV. Which sea, to all intent, Gives flesh such noon-disport As a finer element Affords the spirit-sort. 60 Whatever they are. we seem : Imagine the thing they know; All deeds they do. we dream ; Can heaven be else but so? And meantime, yonder streak Meets the horizon's verge : That is the land, to seek If we tire or dread the surge ; ST. MARTINIS SUMMER. 285 XVIII. Land the solid and safe To welcome again (confess!) 70 When, high and dry, we chafe The body, and don the dress. XIX. Does she look, pity, wonder At one who mimics flight, Swims heaven above, sea under, Yet always earth in sight ? ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. i. NO protesting, dearest ! Hardly kisses even ! Don't we both know how it ends ? How the greenest leaf turns serest? Bluest outbreak blankest heaven ? Lovers friends ? n. You would build a mansion, I would weave a bower Want the heart for enterprise. Walls admit of no expansion : IO Trellis-work may haply flower Twice the size. in. What makes glad Life's Winter? New buds, old blooms after. Sad the sighing "How suspect Beams would ere mid-Autumn splinter, Rooftree scarce support a rafter, Walls lie wrecked ? " IV. You are young, my princess ! I am hardly older : 20 ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. Yet I steal a glance behind ! Dare I tell you what convinces Timid me that you, if bolder, Bold are blind? v. Where we plan our dwelling Glooms a graveyard surely ! Headstone, footstone moss may drape, Name, date, violets hide from spelling, But, tho 1 corpses rot obscurely, Ghosts escape. 30 Ghosts! O breathing Beauty, Give my frank word pardon! What if I somehow, somewhere Pledged my soul to endless duty Many a time and oft ? Be hard on Love laid there ? VII. Nay. blame grief that \s fickle, Time that proves a traitor, Chance, change, all that purpose warps, Death who spares to thrust the sickle, 40 Laid Love low, thro' flowers which later Shroud the corpse! And you, my winsome lady, Whisper with like frankness! Lies nothing buried long ago ? Are yon which shimmer mid the shady Where moss and violet run to rankness Tombs or no ? Who taxes you with murder? My hands are clean or nearly ! 50 Love being mortal needs must pass. Repentance ? Nothing were absurder. Enough : we felt Love's loss severely ; Tho' now alas ! ST. MARTINIS SUMMER. 2 87 x. Love's corpse lies quiet therefore, Only Love's ghost plays truant, And warns us have in wholesome awe Durable mansionry ; that 's wherefore I weave but trellis work, pursuant Life, to law. 60 XI. The solid, not the fragile, Tempts rain and hail and thunder. If bower stand firm at Autumn's close, Beyond my hope, why, boughs were agile ; If bower fall flat, we scarce need wonder Wreathing rose! XII. So, truce to the protesting, So, muffled be the kisses! For, would we but avow the truth, Sober is genuine joy. No jesting! 70 Ask else Penelope, Ulysses Old in youth! XIII. For why should ghosts feel angered? Let all their interference Be faint march-music in the air! " Up! Join the rear of us the vanguard! Up, lovers, dead to all appearance, Laggard pair ! " XIV. The while you clasp me closer, The while I press you deeper, 80 As safe we chuckle, under breath, Yet all the slyer, the jocoser, " So, life can boast its day, like leap-year, Stolen from death ! " \ XV. Ah me the sudden terror! Hence quick avaunt, avoid me, You cheat, the ghostly flesh-disguised! 288 JAMES LEE^S WIFE. Nay, all the ghosts in one! Strange error ! So, 't was Death's self that clipped and coyed me, Loved and lied ! 90 XVI. Ay, dead loves are the potent ! Like any cloud they used you, Mere semblance you, but substance they! Build we no mansion, weave we no tent! Mere flesh their spirit interfused you ! Hence, I say! XVII. All theirs, none yours the glamour! Theirs each low word that won me, Soft look that found me Love's, and left What else but you the tears and clamour loo That 's all your very own! Undone me Ghost bereft! JAMES LEE'S WIFE. I. FAMES LEE'S WIFE SPEAKS AT THE WINDOW. AH, Love, but a day, And the world has changed! The sun 's away, And the bird estranged ; The wind has dropped, And the sky 's deranged : Summer has stopped. II. jLOok in my eyes ! Wilt thou change too? Should I fear surprise ? xo Shall I find aught new In the old and dear, In the good and true. With the changing year? JAMES LEE^S WIFE. 289 in. Thou art a man, But I am thy love. For the lake, its swan ; For the dell, its dove ; And for thee (oh, haste!) Me, to bend above, 20 Me, to hold embraced. BY THE FIRESIDE. I. Is all our fire of shipwreck wood, Oak and pine? Oh, for the ills half-understood, The dim dead woe Long ago Befallen this bitter coast of France! Well, poor sailors took their chance ; I take mine. n. A ruddy shaft our fire must shoot O'er the sea ; ic Do sailors eye the casement mute, Drenched and stark, From their bark And envy, gnash their teeth for hate O 1 the warm safe house and happy freight Thee and me? God help you, sailors, at your need! Spare the curse! For some ships, safe in port indeed, Rot and rust, 20 Run to dust, All thro 1 worms i' the wood, which crept, Gnawed our hearts out while we slept : That is worse. 290 JAMES LEE^S WIFE. Who lived here before us two? Old-world pairs. Did a woman ever would I knew ! Watch the man With whom began Love's voyage, full-sail, (now, gnash your teeth !) 30 When planks start, open hell beneath Unawares ? III. IN THE DOORWAY. I. THE swallow has set her six young on the rail, And looks seaward : The water 's in stripes like a snake, olive-pale To the leeward, On the weather-side, black, spotted white with the wind. "Good fortune departs, and disaster 's behind," Hark, the wind with its wants and its infinite wail! II. Our fig-tree, that leaned for the saltness, has furled Her five fingers, Each leaf like a hand opened wide to the world 10 Where there lingers No glint of the gold, Summer sent for her sake : How the vines writhe in rows, each impaled on its stake! My heart shrivels up and my spirit shrinks curled. in. Yet here are we two ; we have love, house enough, With the field there, This house of four rooms, that field red and rough, Tho 1 it yield there, For the rabbit that robs, scarce a blade or a bent ; If a magpie alight now, it seems an event ; 20 And they both will be gone at November's rebuff. But why must cold spread? but wherefore bring change To the spirit, JAMES LEE^S WIFE. 29 1 God meant should mate his with an infinite range, And inherit His power to put life in the darkness and cold? Oh, live and love worthily, bear and be bold! Whom Summer made friends of, let Winter estrange! IV. ALONG THE BEACH. I WILL be quiet and talk with you, And reason why you are wrong. You wanted my love is that much true? And so I did love, so I do : What has come of it all along? I took you how could I otherwise? For a world to me, and more ; For all, love greatens and glorifies Till God 's a-glow, to the loving eyes, In what was mere earth before. IO in. Yes, earth yes, mere ignoble earth ! Now do I mis-state, mistake ? Do I wrong your weakness and call it worth ? Expect all harvest, dread no dearth, Seal my sense up for your sake? IV. Oh, Love, Love, no, Love! not so indeed! You were just weak earth, I knew : With much in you waste, with many a weed And plenty of passions run to seed, But a little good grain too. 20 v. And such as you were, I took you for mine : Did not you find me yours, To watch the olive and wait the vine, 292 JAMES LEE'S WIFE. And wonder when rivers of oil and wine Would flow, as the Book assures? VI. Well, and if none of these good things came, What did the failure prove ? The man was my whole world, all the same, With his flowers to praise or his weeds to blame, And, either or both, to love. VII. Yet this turns now to a fault there! there! That I do love, watch too long, And wait too well, and weary and wear ; And 't is all an old story, and my despair Fit subject for some new song : " How the light, light love, he has wings to fly At suspicion of a bond : My wisdom has bidden your pleasure good-bye, Which will turn up next in a laughing eye, And why should you look beyond ? " 40 V. ON THE CLIFF. I. I LEANED on the turf, I looked at a rock Left dry by the surf; For the turf, to call it grass were to mock : Dead to the roots, so deep was done The work of the summer sun. II. And the rock lay flat As an anvil's face : No iron like that ! Baked dry: of a weed, of a shell, no trace: 10 Sunshine outside, but ice at the core, Death's altar by the lone shore. JAMES LEE^S WIFE. 293 m. On the turf, sprang gay With his films of blue, No cricket, I '11 say, But a war-horse, barded and chanfroned top. The gift of a quixote-mage to his knight, Real fairy, with wings all right. iv. On the rock, they scorch Like a drop of fire 20 From a brandished torch, Fall two red fans of a butterfly : No turf, no rock, in their ugly stead, See, wonderful blue and red! v. Is it not so With the minds of men? The level and low, The burnt and bare, in themselves ; but then With such a blue and red grace, not theirs, Love settling unawares ! 30 VI. READING A BOOK, UNDER THE CLIFF. " STILL ailing, Wind? Wilt be appeased or no? Which needs the other's office, thou or I ? Dost want to be disburthened of a woe, And can, in truth, my voice untie Its links, and let it go? n. "Art thou a dumb wronged thing that would be righted. Entrusting thus thy cause to me? Forbear! No tongue can mend such pleadings ; faith, requited With falsehood, Love, at last aware Of scorn, hopes, early blighted, 10 JAMES LEE'S WIFE. in. " We have them ; but I know not any tone So fit as thine to falter forth a sorrow : Dost think men would go mad without a moan, If they knew any way to borrow A pathos like thine own? rv. "Which sigh wouldst mock, of all the sighs? The one So long escaping from lips starved and blue, That lasts while on her pallet-bed the nun Stretches her length ; her foot comes through The straw she shivers on ; 20 v. " You had not thought she was so tall : and spent, Her shrunk lids open, her lean fingers shut Close, close, their sharp and livid nails indent The clammy palm ; then all is mute : That way, the spirit went. VI. u Or wouldst thou rather that I understand Thy will to help me? like the dog I found Once, pacing sad this solitary strand, Who would not take my food, poor hound, But whined and licked my hand." 30 VII. All this, and more, comes from some young man's pride Of power to see, in failure and mistake, Relinquishment, disgrace, on every side, Merely examples for his sake, Helps to his path untried : VIII. Instances he must simply recognize? Oh, more than so! must, with a learner's zeal, Make doubly prominent, twice emphasize, By added touches that reveal The god in babe's disguise. 40 IX. Oh, he knows what defeat means, and the rest! Himself the undefeated that shall be : JAMES LEE^S WIFE. 395 failure, disgrace, he flings them you to test, His triumph, in eternity Too plainly manifest ! x. Whence, judge if he learn forthwith what the wind Means in its moaning by the happy prompt Instinctive way of youth, I mean ; for kind Calm years, exacting their accompt Of pain, mature the mind : 50 And some midsummer morning, at the lull Just about daybreak, as he looks across A sparkling foreign country, wonderful To the sea's edge for gloom and gloss, Next minute must annul, XII. Then, when the wind begins among the vines, So low, so low, what shall it say but this? "Here is the change beginning, here the lines Circumscribe beauty, set to bliss The limit time assigns." 60 XIII. Nothing can be as it has been before ; Better, so call it, only not the same. To draw one beauty into our hearts' core And keep it changeless ! such our claim ; So answered, Never more! XIV. Simple? Why this is the old woe o' the world; Tune, to whose rise and fall we live and die. Rise with it, then ! Rejoice that man is hurled From change to change unceasingly, His soul's wings never furled! 70 xv. That 's a new question ; still replies the fact, Nothing endures : the wind moans, saying so ; We moan in acquiescence : there 's life's pact, Perhaps probation do / know ? God does : endure his act! 296 JAMES LEE'S WIFE. XVI. Only, for man, how bitter not to grave On his soul's hands' palms one fair good wise thing Just as he grasped it ! For himself, death's wave ; While time first washes ah, the sting! O'er all he 'd sink to save. 80 VII. AMONG THE ROCKS. I. OH, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth ; Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet. That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true ; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows. If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you : 10 Make the low nature better by your throes ! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above ! VIII. BESIDE THE DRAWING-BOARD. I. "As like as a Hand to another Hand!" Whoever said that foolish thing. Could not have studied to understand The counsels of God in fashioning, Out of the infinite love of his heart, This Hand, whose beauty I praise, apart From the world of wonder left to praise, JAMES LEE'S WIFE. 297 If I tried to learn the other ways Of love in its skill, or love in its power. " As like as a Hand to another Hand : " 10 Who said that, never took his stand, Found and followed, like me, an hour, The beauty in this, how free, how fine To fear, almost, of the limit-line! As I looked at this, and learned and drew, Drew and learned, and looked again, While fast the happy minutes flew, Its beauty mounted into my brain, And a fancy seized me ; I was fain To efface my work, begin anew, 20 Kiss what before I only drew ; Ay, laying the red chalk 'twixt my lips, With soul to help if the mere lips failed, I kissed all right where the drawing ailed, Kissed fast the grace that somehow slips Still from one's soulless finger-tips. II. 'T is a clay cast, the perfect thing, From Hand live once, dead long ago : Princess-like it wears the ring To fancy's eye, by which we know 30 That here at length a master found His match, a proud lone soul its mate, As soaring genius sank to ground, And pencil could not emulate The beauty in this, how free, how fine To fear almost! of the limit-line. Long ago the god, like me The worm, learned, each in our degree : Looked and loved, learned and drew, Drew and learned and loved again, 40 While fast the happy minutes flew, Till beauty mounted into his brain And on the finger which outvied His art he placed the ring that 's there, Still by fancy's eye descried, In token of a marriage rare : For him on earth, his arts despair, For him in heaven, his soul's fit bride. in. Little girl with the poor coarse hand I turned from to a cold clay cast 50 298 JAMES LEE'S WIFE. I have my lesson, understand The worth of flesh and blood at last! Nothing but beauty in a Hand ? Because he could not change the hue, Mend the lines and make them true To this which met his soul's demand, Would Da Vinci turn from you ? I hear him laugh my woes to scorn " The fool forsooth is all forlorn Because the beauty, she thinks best, 60 Lived long ago or was never born. Because no beauty bears the test In this rough peasant Hand! Confessed! 'Art is null and study void!' So sayest thou? So said not I. Who threw the faulty pencil by. And years instead of hours employed, Learning the veritable use Of flesh and bone and nerve beneath Lines and hue of the outer sheath, 70 If haply I might reproduce One motive of the powers profuse Flesh and bone and nerve that make The poorest coarsest human hand An object worthy to be scanned A whole life long for their sole sake. Shall earth and the cramped moment-space Yield the heavenly crowning grace ? Now the parts and then the whole! Who art thou, with stinted soul 80 And stunted body, thus to cry ' I love, shall that be life's strait dole ? I must live beloved or die! 1 This peasant hand that spins the wool And bakes the bread, why lives it on, Poor and coarse with beauty gone, What use survives the beauty? " Fool! Go, little girl with the poor coarse hand! I have my lesson, shall understand. 90 JAMES LEE^S WIFE. 299 IX. ON DECK. THERE is nothing to remember in me, Nothing I ever said with a grace, Nothing I did that you care to see, Nothing I was that deserves a place In your mind, now I leave you, set you free. II. Conceded! In turn, concede to me, Such things have been as a mutual flame. Your soul 's locked fast ; but, love for a key, You might let it loose, till I grew the same In your eyes, as in mine you stand : strange plea! 10 in. For then, then, what would it matter to me That I was the harsh, ill-favoured one? We both should be like as pea and pea ; It was ever so since the world begun : So, let me proceed with my reverie. How strange it were if you had all me, As I have all you in my heart and brain, You, whose least word brought gloom or glee, Who never lifted the hand in vain Will hold mine yet, from over the sea! 20 v. Strange, if a face, when you thought of me, Rose like your own face present now, With eyes as dear in their due degree, Much such a mouth, and as bright a brow, Till you saw yourself, while you cried "'T is She!" VI. Well, you may, you must, set down to me Love that was life, life that was love ; A tenure of breath at your lips' decree, A passion to stand as your thoughts approve, A rapture to fall where your foot might be. 30 300 RESPECTABILITY. VII. But did one touch of such love for me Come in a word or a look of yours, Whose words and looks will, circling, flee Round me and round while life endures, Could I fancy " As I feel, thus feels He ; " VIII. Why, fade you might to a thing like me, And your hair grow these coarse hanks of hair, Your skin, this bark of a gnarled tree, You might turn myself ! should I know or care, When I should be dead of joy, James Lee? 40 RESPECTABILITY, i. DEAR, had the world in its caprice Deigned to proclaim " I know you both, Have recognized your plighted troth, Am sponsor for you : live in peace ! " How many precious months and years Of youth had passed, that speed so fast, Before we found it out at last, The world, and what it fears ? II. How much of priceless life were spent With men that every virtue decks, IO And women models of their sex, Society's true ornament, Ere we dared wander, nights like this, Thro' wind and rain, and watch the Seine. And feel the Boulevard break again To warmth and light and bliss ? in. I know! the world proscribes not love; Allows my ringer to caress Your lips 1 contour and downiness, Provided it supply a glove. 2O D/S ALITER VISUM. The world's good word ! the Institute ! Guizot receives Montalembert! Eh ? Down the court three lampions flare : Put forward your best foot ! DIS ALITER VISUM ; OR, LE BYRON DE NOS JOURS. STOP, let me have the truth of that ! Is that all true ? I say, the day Ten years ago when both of us Met on a morning, friends as thus We meet this evening, friends or what ? Did you because I took your arm And sillily smiled, "A mass of brass That sea looks, blazing underneath !" While up the cliff-road edged with heath, We took the turns nor came to harm 10 Did you consider " Now makes twice That I have seen her, walked and talked With this poor pretty thoughtful thing, Whose worth I weigh : she tries to sing ; Draws, hopes in time the eye grows nice ; " Reads verse and thinks she understands ; Loves all, at any rate, that 's great, Good, beautiful ; but much as we Down at the bath-house love the sea, Who breathe its salt and bruise its sands : 20 "While ... do but follow the fishing-gull That flaps and floats from wave to cave! There 's the sea-lover, fair my friend! What then? Be patient, mark and mend! Had you the making of your skull? " ALITER VISUM. VI. And did you, when we faced the church With spire and sad slate roof, aloof From human fellowship so far, Where a few graveyard crosses are, And garlands for the swallows 1 perch, 30 VII. Did you determine, as we stepped O'er the lone stone fence, " Let me get Her for myself, and what 's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth Compared with love, found, gained, and kept ? " Schumann 's our music-maker now ; Has his march-movement youth and mouth? Ingres 's the modern man that paints ; Which will lean on me, of his saints? Heine for songs ; for kisses, how?" 40 And did you, when we entered, reached The votive frigate, soft aloft Riding on air this hundred years, Safe-smiling at old hopes and fears, Did you draw profit while she preached? Resolving, "Fools we wise men grow: Yes, I could easily blurt out curt Some question that might find reply As prompt in her stopped lips, dropped eye And rush of red to cheek and brow : 50 " Thus were a match made, sure and fast. 'Mid the blue weed-flowers round the mound Where, issuing, we shall stand and stay For one more look at baths and bay, Sands, sea-gulls, and the old church last DIS ALITER VISUM. 303 " A match 'twixt me, beat, wigged and lamed, Famous, however, for verse and worse, Sure of the Fortieth spare~A"rm-chalr~~ When gout and glory seat me there, So, one whose love-freaks pass unblamed, 60 XIII. " And this young beauty, round and sound As a mountain-apple, youth and truth With loves and doves, at all events" With money in the Three per Cents ; Whose choice of me would seem profound: XIV. " She might take me as I take her. Perfect the hour would pass, alasj Climb high, love high, whaffnatter? Still, Feet, feelings, must descend the hill : An hour's perfection can't recur. 70 XV. " Then follows Paris and full time For both to reason : ' Thus with us,' She '11 sigh, ' Thus girls give body and soul At first word, think they gain the goal, When r t is the starting-place they climb! XVI. " ' My friend makes verse and gets renown ; Have they all fifty years, his peers ? He knows the world, firm, quiet and gay ; Boys will become as much one day : They Ve fools ; he cheats, with beard less brown. 80 XVII. " ' For boys say, Love me or I die ! He did not say, The truth is, youth I want, who am old and know too much ; / \i catch youth : lend me sight and touch ' Drop heart's blood where life's wheels grate dry ! ' 304 DJS ALITER VISUM. " While I should make rejoinder " (then It was, no doubt, you ceased that least Light pressure of my arm in yours) I can conceive of cheaper cures For a yawning-fit o'er books and men. 90 " ' What ? All I am, was, and might be, All, books taught, art brought, life's whole strife, Painful results since precious, just Were fitly exchanged, in wise disgust, For two cheeks freshened by youth and sea? XX. " ' All for a nosegay! what came first ; With fields in flower, untried each side; I rally, need my books and men, And find a nosegay : ' drop it, then, No match yet made for best or worst! " loo XXI. That ended me. You judged the porch We left by, Norman ; took our look At sea and sky ; wondered so few Find out the place for air and view ; Remarked the sun began to scorch ; Descended, soon regained the baths, And then, good-bye ! Years ten since then : Ten years ! We meet : you tell me, now, By a window-seat for that cliff-brow, On carpet-stripes for those sand-paths. no XXIII. Now I may speak : you fool, for all Your lore ! WHO made things plain in vain ? What was the sea for ? What, the gray Sad church, that solitary day, Crosses and graves and swallows' call ? DfS ALITER VISUM. 305 XXIV. Was there naught better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break. And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ ? 120 xxv. No wise beginning, here and now, What cannot grow complete (earth's feat) And heaven must finish, there and then? No tasting earth's true food for men, Its sweet in sad, its sad in sweet? XXVI. No grasping at love, gaining a share O 1 the sole spark from God's life at strife With death, so, sure of range above The limits here? For us and love, Failure; but, when God fails, despair. 130 xxvn. This you call wisdom ? Thus you add Good unto good again, in vain ? You loved, with body worn and weak ; I loved, with faculties to seek : Were both loves worthless since ill-clad? XXVIII. Let the mere star-fish in his vault Crawl in a wash of weed, indeed, Rose-jacynth to the finger-tips : He, whole in body and soul, outstrips Man, found with either in default. 140 XXIX. But what 's whole, can increase no more, Is dwarfed and dies, since here 's its sphere. The devil laughed at you in his sleeve! You knew not? That I well believe ; Or you had saved two souls : nay, four. x 3 o6 CONFESSIONS. XXX. For Stephanie sprained last night her wrist, Ankle or something. " Pooh," cry you? At any rate she danced, all say, Vilely ; her vogue has had its day. Here comes my husband from his whist. 150 CONFESSIONS. I. WHAT is he buzzing in my ears? "Now that I come to die, Do I view the world as a vale of tears?" Ah, reverend sir, not I ! n. What I viewed there once, what I view again Where the physic bottles stand On the table's edge, is a suburb lane, With a wall to my bedside hand. in. That lane sloped, much as the bottles do, From a house you could descry IO O'er the garden-wall : is the curtain blue Or green to a healthy eye ? rv. To mine, it serves for the old June weather Blue above lane and wall ; And that farthest bottle labeled " Ether" Is the house o'er-topping all. V. At a terrace, somewhere near the stopper, There watched for me, one June, A girl : I know, sir, it 's improper, My poor mind 's out of tune. 20 THE HOUSEHOLDER. ' 307 VI. Only, there was a way . . . you crept Close by the side, to dodge Eyes in the house, two eyes except : They styled their house " The Lodge." VII. What right had a lounger up their lane? But, by creeping very close, With the good wall's help, their eyes might strain And stretch themselves to Oes, VIII. Yet never catch her and me together, As she left the attic, there, 30 By the rim of the bottle labeled " Ether," And stole from stair to stair, IX. And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas, We loved, sir used to meet : How sad and bad and mad it was But then, how it was sweet! THE HOUSEHOLDER. I. SAVAGE I was sitting in my house, late, lone : Dreary, weary with the long day's work : Head of me, heart of me, stupid as a stone : Tongue-tied now, now blaspheming like a Turk; When, in a moment, just a knock, call, cry, Half a pang and all a rapture, there again were we! u What, and is it really you again ? " quoth I : " 1 again, what else did you expect? " quoth She. n. "Never mind, hie away from this old house Every crumbling brick embrowned with sin and shame! 10 308 TRAY. Quick, in its corners ere certain shapes arouse! Let them every devil of the night lay claim, Make and mend, or rap and rend, for me! Goodbye! God be their guard from disturbance at their glee, Till, crash, comes down the carcass in a heap ! " quoth I : " Nay, but there 's a decency required! " quoth She. in. "Ah, but if you knew how time has dragged, days, nights! All the neighbour-talk with man and maid such men! All the fuss and trouble of street-sounds, window-sights : All the worry of flapping door and echoing roof: and then, All the fancies . . . Who were they had leave, dared try Darker arts that almost struck despair in me? If you knew but how I dwelt down here!" quoth I : "And was I so better off up there?" quoth She. " Help and get it over ! Re-united to his wife (How dra\v up the paper lets the parish-people know?) Lies M. or JV., departed from this life, Day the this or that, month and year the so and so, What T the way of final flourish ? Prose, verse? Try ! Affliction sore, long time he bore, or, what is it to be ? 30 Till God did please to grant him ease. Do end! " quoth I : " I end with Love is all and Death is naught ! " quoth She. TRAY. SING me a hero ! Quench my thirst Of soul, ye bards ! Quoth Bard the first : " Sir Olaf, the good knight, did don His helm and eke his habergeon. . ." Sir Olaf and his bard ! "That sin-scathed brow" (quoth Bard the second), " That eye wide ope as tho 1 Fate beckoned My hero to some steep, beneath Which precipice smiled tempting Death . . ." You too without your host have reckoned! 10 TRAY. 309 A beggar-child" (let 's hear this third!) " Sat on a quay's edge : like a bird Sang to herself at careless play, And fell into the stream. ' Dismay! Help, you the standers-by ! ' None stirred. " Bystanders reason, think of wives And children ere they risk their lives. Over the balustrade has bounced A mere instinctive dog, and pounced Plumb on the prize. 'How well he dives! 20 u ' Up he comes with the child, see, tight In mouth, alive too, clutched from quite A depth often feet twelve, 1 bet! Good dog ! What, off again? There 's yet Another child to save ? All right ! "'How strange we saw no other fall! It's instinct in the animal. Good dog! But he 's a long while under: If he got drowned I should not wonder Strong current, that against the wall! 30 "'Here he comes, holds in mouth this time What may the thing be? Well, that 's prime! Now, did you ever? Reason reigns In man alone, since all Tray's pains Have fished the child's doll from the slime!' " And so, amid the laughter gay, Trotted my hero off, old Tray, Till somebody, prerogatived With reason, reasoned : ' Why he dived, His brain would show us, I should say. 40 Ui John, go and catch or, if needs be, Purchase that animal for me! By vivisection, at expense Of half-an-hour and eighteen pence, How brain secretes dog's soul, we '11 see ! '" CAVALIER TUNES. CAVALIER TUNES. I. MARCHING ALONG. I. TV'ENTISH Sir Byng stood for his King, J^w. Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing : And, pressing a troop unable to stoop And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, Marched them along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. God for King Charles ! Pym and such carles To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous paries! Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup, Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup 10 Till you 're (Chorus) Marching along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. in. Hampden to hell, and his obsequies 1 knell Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well ! England, good cheer! Rupert is near! Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here, (Chorus) Marching along, fifty-score strong. Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song? IV. Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles! 20 Hold by the right, you double your might : So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight, (Chorus) March we along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song I CAVALIER TUNES. II. GIVE A ROUSE. I. KING CHARLES, and who '11 do him right nc v ? King Charles, and who 7 s ripe for fight now? Give a rouse : here 's, in hell's despite now, King Charles! ir. Who gave me the goods that went since? Who raised me the house that sank once? Who helped me to gold I spent since? Who found me in wine you drank once? (Chorus) King Charles, and who '// do him right now ? King Charles, and who V ripe for fight now ? ro Give a rouse : here ''s, in heWs despite now, King Charles ! III. To whom used my boy George quafF else, By the old fool's side that begot him ? For whom did he cheer and laugh else, While Noll's damned troopers shot him? (Chorus) King Charles, and who '// do him right now f King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse : here ''s, in heWs despite now, King Charles ! 20 III. BOOT AND SADDLE. I. BOOT, saddle, to horse, and away! Rescue my castle before the hot day Brightens to blue from its silvery gray, (Chorus) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away \ 312 BEFORE. II. Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you 'd say ; Many 's the friend there, will listen and pray " God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay (Chorus') " Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! " ill. Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads 1 array: 10 Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, (Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away I" IV. Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, Laughs when you talk of surrendering, " Nay! I 've better counsellors ; what counsel they? (Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! " BEFORE. I. LET them fight it out, friend! things have gone too far. God must judge the couple : leave them as they are Whichever one 's the guiltless, to his glory, And whichever one the guilt 's with, to my story! II. Why, you would not bid men, sunk in such a slough, Strike no arm out further, stick and stink as now, Leaving right and wrong to settle the embroilment, Heaven with snaky hell, in torture and entoilment? in. Who 's the culprit of them? How must he conceive God the queen he caps to, laughing in his sleeve, 10 " 'T is but decent to profess oneself beneath her : Still, one must not be too much in earnest, either! " IV. Better sin the whole sin, sure that God observes ; Then go live his life out! Life will try his nerves, BEFORE. When the sky, which noticed all, makes no disclosure, And the earth keeps up her terrible composure. 313 v. Let him pace at pleasure, past the walls of rose, Pluck their fruits when grape-trees graze him as he goes! For he 'gins to guess the purpose of the garden, With the sly mute thing, beside there, for a warden. 20 VI. What 's the leopard-dog-thing, constant at his side, A leer and lie in every eye of its obsequious hide? When will come an end to all the mock obeisance, And the price appear that pays for the misfeasance ? VII. So much for the culprit. Who 's the martyred man? Let him bear one stroke more, for be sure he can! He that strove thus evil's lump with good to leaven, Let him give his blood at last and get his heaven! VIII. All or nothing, stake it! Trusts he God or no? Thus far and no farther? farther? be it so! 3, dpiirpeirt' fj.apfJ.ap^r]v^ as "shaken violently" or "held immovably" by both hands, not a single one and that the left hand : dXXii TT)v yowi and so on, TTJV &p 6 7' fv x^P fffffiv %X WV X f P ff i v *X drp^fjut K.T.\. More- over, while he shook it he "shouted enormously," veiir', eirl d' avrds di/cre /xaXa (j.eya, which the statue does not. Presently when Teukros, on the other side, plies the bow, it is TO|OI> e% a "' ^" X ei pi ira\lvrovov. Besides, by the act of discharging an arrow, the right arm and hand are thrown back as we see : a quite gratuitous and theatrical display in the case supposed. The conjecture of Flaxman that the statue was suggested by the bronze Apollon Alexikakos of Kalamis, mentioned by Pausanias, remains probable, though the " hard- ness " which Cicero considers to distinguish the artist's workmanship from that of Muron is not by any means apparent in our marble copy, if it be one. Feb. 1 6, 1880. BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY. NO more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, tho' : cool, i' faith ! We ought to have our Abbey back, you see. It 's different, preaching in basilicas, And doing duty in some masterpiece Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart! I doubt if they 're half baked, those chalk rosettes, Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere ; It 's just like breathing in a lime-kiln : eh ? These hot long ceremonies of our Church 10 Cost us a little oh, they pay the price, You take me amply pay it ! Now, we '11 talk! So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs. No deprecation, nay, I beg you, sir! Beside 't is our engagement : don't you know I promised, if you 'd watch a dinner out, We 'd see truth dawn together? truth that peeps Over the glasses' edge when dinner 's done, And body gets its sop and holds its noise And leaves soul free a little. Now 's the time : 20 Truth's break of day! You do despise me then. And if I say, " despise me," never fear! 348 BISHOP BLOUGRAbrS APOLOGY. I know you do not in a certain sense Not in my arm-chair, for example : here, I well imagine you respect my place {Status, entourage, worldly circumstance) Quite to its value very much indeed : Are up to the protesting eyes of you In pride at being seated here for once You '11 turn it to such capital account ! 3?. When somebody, thro 1 years and years to come, Hints of the bishop, names me that 's enough: " Biougram? I knew him " (into it you slide) Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day, All alone, we two ; he 's a clever man : And after dinner, why, the wine you know, Oh, there was wine, and good ! what with the wine . . . 'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk ! He 's no bad fellow, Biougram ; he had seen Something of mine he relished, some review : 40 He 's quite above their humbug in his heart, Half-said as much, indeed the thing's his trade. I warrant, Biougram 's sceptical at times : How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!" Che, che, my dear sir, as we say at Rome, Don't you protest now! It 's fair give and take ; You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths : The hand 's mine now, and here you follow suit. Thus much conceded, still the first fact stays You do despise me ; your ideal of life 50 Is not the bishop's : you would not be I. You would like better to be Goethe, now, Or Buonaparte, or, bless me, lower still, Count D'Orsay, so you did what you preferred, Spoke as you thought, and, as you can not help, Believed or disbelieved, no matter what, So long as on that point, whate'er it was, You loosed your mind, were whole and sole yourself. That, my ideal never can include. Upon that element of truth and worth 60 Never be based! for say they make me Pope (They can't suppose it for our argument!) Why, there I 'm at my tether's end, I 've reached My height, and not a height which pleases you : An unbelieving Pope won't do, you say. It's like those eerie stories nurses tell, Of how some actor on a stage played Death, With pasteboard crown, sham orb and tinselled dart, And called himself the monarch of the world; BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. Then, going in the tire-room afterward, 7O Because the play was done, to shift himself, Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly, The moment he had shut the closet door, By Death himself. Thus God might touch a Pope At unawares, ask what his baubles mean, And whose part he presumed to play just now Best be yourself, imperial, plain and true! So, drawing comfortable breath again. You weigh and find, whatever more or less I boast of my ideal realized, 80 Is nothing in the balance when opposed To your ideal, your grand simple life, Of which you will not realize one jot. I am much, you are nothing ; you would be all, I would be merely much : you beat me there. No, friend, you do not beat me : harken why! The common problem, yours, mine, every one's, Is not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be, but, finding first What may be, then find how to make it fair go Up to our means : a very different thing ! No abstract intellectual plan of life Quite irrespective of life's plainest laws, But one, a man, who is man and nothing more, May lead within a world which (by your leave) Is Rome or London, not Fool's-paradise. Embellish Rome, idealize away, Make paradise of London if you can, You 're welcome, nay, you 're wise. A simile ! We mortals cross the ocean of this world 100 Each in his average cabin of a life ; The best 's not big, the worst yields elbow-room. Now for our six months' voyage how prepare? You come on shipboard with a landsman's list Of things he calls convenient : so they are ! An India screen is pretty furniture, A piano-forte is a fine resource, All Balzac's novels occupy one shelf, The new edition fifty volumes long ; And little Greek books, with the funny type lio They get up well at Leipsic, fill the next : Go on! slabbed marble, what a bath it makes! 350 BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. And Parma's pride, the Jerome, let us add ! 1 T were pleasant could Correggio's fleeting glow Hang full in face of one where'er one roams, Since he more than the others brings with him Italy's self, the marvellous Modenese ! Yet was not on your list before, perhaps. Alas, friend, here 's the agent ... is 't the name? The captain, or whoever 's master here 120 You see him screw his face up ; what 's his cry Ere you set foot on shipboard ? " Six feet square ! " If you won't understand what six feet mean, Compute and purchase stores accordingly And if, in pique because he overhauls Your Jerome, piano, bath, you come on board Bare why, you cut a figure at the first While sympathetic landsmen see you off; Not afterward, when long ere half seas over, You peep up from your utterly naked boards 130 Into some snug and well-appointed berth, Like mine for instance (try the cooler jug Put back the other, but don't jog the ice !) And mortified you mutter " Well and good ; He sits enjoying his sea-furniture ; 'T is stout and proper, and there 's store of it : Tho' I 've the better notion, all agree, Of fitting rooms up. Hang the carpenter, Neat ship-shape fixings and contrivances I would have brought my Jerome, frame and all !" 140 And meantime you bring nothing : never mind You 've proved your artist-nature : what you don't You might bring, so despise me, as I say. Now come, let 's backward to the starting-place. See my way : we 're two college friends, suppose. Prepare together for our voyage, then ; Each note and check the other in his work, Here's mine, a bishop's outfit; criticize! What 's wrong? why won't you be a bishop too? Why first, you don't believe, you don't and can't, 150 (Not statedly, that is, and fixedly And absolutely and exclusively) In any revelation called divine. No dogmas nail your faith ; and what remains But say so, like the honest man you are? First, therefore, overhaul theology! Nay, I too, not a fool, you please to think, Must find believing every whit as hard : BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. 35 1 And if I do not frankly say as much, The ugly consequence is clear enough. 160 Now wait, my friend: well, I do not believe If you '11 accept no faith that is not fixed, Absolute and exclusive, as you say. You 're wrong I mean to prove it in due time. Meanwhile, I know where difficulties lie I could not, can not solve, nor ever shall, So give up hope accordingly to solve (To you, and over the wine) . Our dogmas then With both of us, tho' in unlike degree, Missing full credence overboard with them! 170 I mean to meet you on your own premise : Good, there go mine in company with yours! And now what are we? unbelievers both, Calm and complete, determinately fixed To-day, to-morrow and for ever, pray ? You '11 guarantee me that? Not so, I think! In no wise! all we Ve gained is, that belief, As unbelief before, shakes us by fits, Confounds us like its predecessor. Where 's The gain? how can we guard our unbelief, 180 Make it bear fruit to us? the problem here. Just when we are safest, there 's a sunset-touch, A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, A chorus-ending from Euripides, And that 's enough for fifty hopes and fears As old and new at once as nature's self, To rap and knock and enter in our soul, Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, Round the ancient idol, on his base again, The grand Perhapsj. We look on helplessly. 190 There the old misgivings, crooked questions are This good God, what he could do, if he would, Would, if he could then must have done long since : If so, when, where and how? some way must be, Once feel about, and soon or late you hit Some sense, in which it might be, after all. Why not "The Way, the Truth, the Life?" That way Over the mountain, which who stands upon Is apt to doubt if it be meant for a road ; While, if he views it from the waste itself, 200 Up goes the line there, plain from base to brow, Not vague, mistakeable! what 's a break or two 352 BISHOP BLOUGRAAfS APOLOGY. Seen from the unbroken desert either side ? And then (to bring in fresh philosophy) What if the breaks themselves should prove at last The most consummate of contrivances To train a man's eye, teach him what is faith? And so we stumble at truth's very test! All we have gained then by our unbelief I Is a life of doubt diversified by faith, 210 For one of faith diversified by doubt : We called the chess-board white, we call it black. " Well," you rejoin, " the end 's no worse, at least ; We 've reason for both colours on the board : Why not confess then, where I drop the faith And you the doubt, that I 'm as right as you?" Because, friend, in the next place, this being so, And both things even, faith and unbelief Left to a man's choice, we '11 proceed a step, Returning to our image, which I like. 220 A man's choice, yes but a cabin passenger's The man made for the special life o' the world Do you forget him? I remember though! Consult our ship's conditions and you find One and but one choice suitable to all; The choice, that you unluckily prefer, Turning things topsy-turvy they or it Going to the ground. Belief or unbelief Bears upon life, determines its whole course, Begins at its beginning. See the world 230 Such as it is, you made it not, nor I ; I mean to take it as it is, and you, Not-so you '11 take it, tho' you get naught else. I know the special kind of life I like, What suits the most my idiosyncrasy, Brings out the best of me and bears me fruit In power, peace, pleasantness and length of days I find that positive belief does this For me, and unbelief, no whit of this. For you, it does, however? that, we '11 try! 240 'T is clear, I can not lead my life, at least, Induce the world to let me peaceably, Without declaring at the outset, " Friends, I absolutely and peremptorily Believe ! " I say, faith is my waking life : One sleeps, indeed, and dreams at intervals, We know, but waking 's the main point with us BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. And my provision 's for life's waking part. Accordingly, I use heart, head and hand All day, 1 build, scheme, study, and make friends : 250 And when night overtakes me, down I lie, Sleep, dream a little, and get done with it, The sooner the better, to begin afresh. What 's midnight doubt before the dayspring's faith? You, the philosopher, that disbelieve, That recognize the night, give dreams their weight To be consistent you should keep your bed, Abstain from healthy acts that prove you man, For fear you drowse perhaps at unawares! And certainly at night you '11 sleep and dream, 260 Live thro' the day and bustle as you please, And so you live to sleep as I to wake, To unbelieve as I to still believe? Well, and the common sense o' the world calls you Bed-ridden, and its good things come to me. Its estimation, which is half the fight, That 's the first-cabin comfort I secure : The next . . . but you perceive with half an eye! Come, come, it 's best believing, if we may ; You can't but own that! Next, concede again, 270 If once we choose belief, on all accounts We can't be too decisive in our faith. Conclusive and exclusive in its terms, To suit the world which gives us the good things. In every man's career are certain points Whereon he dares not be indifferent ; The world detects him clearly, if he dare, As baffled at the game, and losing life. He may care little, or he may care much For riches, honour, pleasure, work, repose, 280 Since various theories of life and life's Success are extant which might easily Comport with either estimate of these ; And whoso chooses wealth or poverty, Labour or quiet, is not judged a fool Because his fellow would choose otherwise : We let him choose upon his own account So long as he 's consistent with his choice. But certain points, left wholly to himself, When once a man has arbitrated on, 290 We say he must succeed there or go hang. Thus, he should wed the woman he loves most Or needs most, whatsoe'er the love or need 354 BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. For he can't wed twice. Then, he must avouch, Or follow, at the least, sufficiently, The form of faith his conscience holds the best, Whate'er the process of conviction was : For nothing can compensate his mistake On such a point, the man himself being judge : He can not wed twice, nor twice lose his soul. 300 Well now, there 's one great form of Christian faith I happened to be born in which to teach Was given me as I grew up, on all hands, As best and readiest means of living by ; The same on examination being proved The most pronounced moreover, fixed, precise And absolute form of faith in the whole world Accordingly, most potent of all forms For working on the world. Observe, my friend! Such as you know me, I am free to say, 310 In these hard latter days which hamper one, Myself by no immoderate exercise Of intellect and learning, but the tact To let external forces work for me, Bid the street's stones be bread and they are bread ; Bid Peter's creed, or rather, Hildebrand's, Exalt me o'er my fellows in the world And make my life an ease and joy and pride ; It does so, which for me 's a great point gained, Who have a soul and body that exact 320 A comfortable care in many ways. There 's power in me and will to dominate Which I must exercise, they hurt me else : In many ways I need mankind's respect, Obedience, and the love that 's born of fear : While at the same time, there 's a taste I have, A toy of soul, a titillating thing, Refuses to digest these dainties crude. The naked life is gross till clothed upon : I must take what men offer, with a grace 330 As tho' I would not, could I help it, take! An uniform I wear tho' over-rich Something imposed on me, no choice of mine ; No fancy-dress worn for pure fancy's sake And despicable therefore! now folk kneel , And kiss my hand of course the Church's hand. Thus I am made, thus life is best for me, And thus that it should be I have procured ; And thus it could not be another way. I venture to imagine. BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. 355 You '11 reply, 340 So far my choice, no doubt, is a success ; But were I made of better elements, With nobler instincts, purer tastes, like you, I hardly would account the thing success Tho' it did all for me I say. But, friend, We speak of what is ; not of what might be, And how 't were better if 't were otherwise. I am the man you see here plain enough : Grant I 'm a beast, why, beasts must lead beasts 1 lives! Suppose I own at once to tail and claws ; 350 The tailless man exceeds me : but being tailed I '11 lash out lion fashion, and leave apes To dock their stump and dress their haunches up. My business is not to remake myself. But make the absolute best of what God made. Or our first simile tho' you prove me doomed To a viler berth still, to the steerage-hole, The sheep-pen or the pig-stye, I should strive To make what use of each were possible ; And, as this cabin gets upholstery, 360 That hutch should rustle with sufficient straw. But, friend, I don't acknowledge quite so fast I fail of all your manhood's lofty tastes Enumerated so complacently, On the mere ground that you forsooth can find In this particular life I choose to lead No fit provision for them. Can you not ? Say you, my fault is I address myself To grosser estimators than should judge ? And that 's no way of holding up the soul, 370 Which, nobler, needs men's praise perhaps, yet knows One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools' Would like the two, but, forced' to choose, takes that. I pine among my million imbeciles (You think) aware some dozen men of sense Eye me and know me, whether I believe In the last winking Virgin, as I vow, And am a fool, or disbelieve in her And am a knave, approve in neither case, Withhold their voices though I look their way : 380 Like Verdi when, at his worst opera's end (The thing they gave at Florence what 's its name?) While the mad houseful's plaudits near out-bang His orchestra of salt-box, tongs and bones, 356 BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. He looks thro' all the roaring and the wreaths Where sits Rossini patient in his stall. Nay, friend, I meet you with an answer here That even your prime men who appraise their kind Are men still, catch a wheel within a wheel, See more in a truth than the truth's simple self, 390 Confuse themselves. You see lads walk the street Sixty the minute ; what 's to note in that? You see one lad o'erstride a chimney-stack ; Him you must watch he 's sure to fall, yet stands! Our imtprp <;t 'g pa the dangerous f dfif of thinrq The honest thief, the tender murderer, The superstitious atheist, demirep That loves and saves her soul in new French books We watch while these in equilibrium keep The giddy line midway : one step aside, 400 They 're classed and done with. I, then, keep the line Before your sages, just the men to shrink From the gross weights, coarse scales and labels broad You offer their refinement. Fool or knave? Why needs a bishop be a fool or knave When there's a thousand diamond weights between? So, I enlist them. Your picked twelve, you : 11 find 1-rotess themselves indignant, scandalized At thus being held unable to explain How a superior man who disbelieves 410 May not believe as well : that 's Schelling's way! It 's thro' my coming in the tail of time, Nicking the minute with a happy tact. Had I been born three hundred years ago They 'd say, "' What 's strange ? Blougram of course believes ; " And, seventy years since, "disbelieves of course." But now, " He may believe ; and yet, and yet How can he? " All eyes turn with interest. W'hereas, step off the line on either side You, for example, clever to a fault, 420 The rough and ready man who write apace, Read somewhat seldomer, think perhaps even less You disbelieve! Who wonders and who cares? Lord So-and-so his coat bedropped with wax, All Peter's chains about his waist, his back Brave with the needlework of Noodledom Believes! Again, who wonders and who cares? But I, the man of sense and learning too, The able to think yet act. the this, the that, I, to believe at this late time of day! 430 Enough ; you see, I need not fear contempt. BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. 357 Except it 's yours! Admire me as these may, You don't. But whom at least do you admire? Present your own perfection, your ideal, Your pattern man for a minute oh, make haste! Is it Napoleon you would have us grow? Concede the means ; allow his head and hand (A large concession, clever as you are) Good! In our common primal element Of unbelief (we can't believe, you know 440 We 're still at that admission, recollect !) Where do you find apart from, towering o'er The secondary temporary aims Which satisfy the gross taste you despise Where do you find his star? his crazy trust God knows thro' what or in what? it 's alive And shines and leads him, and that 's all we want. . Have we aught in our sober night shall point Such ends as his were, and direct the means Of working out our purpose straight as his, 450 Nor bring a moment's trouble on success With after-care to justify the same ? Be a Napoleon and yet disbelieve 'Why, the man 's mad, friend, take his light away. What 's the vague good o' the world, for which you dare With comfort to yourself blow millions up ? We neither of us see it ! we do see The blown-up millions spatter of their brains And writhing of their bowels and so forth, In that bewildering entanglement 460 Of horrible eventualities Past calculation to the end of time ! Can I mistake for some clear word of God (Which were my ample warrant for it all) His puff of hazy instinct, idle talk, " The State, that 's I," quack-nonsense about crowns And (when one beats the man to his last hold) A vague idea of setting things to rights, Policing people efficaciously, More to their profit, most of all to his OWR; 470 The whole to end that dismallest of ends By an Austrian marriage, cant to us the Church, And resurrection of the old regime ? Would I, who hope to live a dozen years, Fight Austerlitz for reasons such and such? No : for, concede me but the merest chance Doubt may be wrong there 's judgment, life to come! With just that chance, I dare not. Doubt proves right? This present life is all ? you offer me 358 BISHOP BLOUGRAArS APOLOGY Its dozen noisy years, without a chance 480 That wedding an arch -duchess, wearing lace, And getting called by divers new-coined names, Will drive off ugly thoughts and let me dine, Sleep, read and chat in quiet as I like ! Therefore I will not. Take another case : Fit up the cabin yet another way. What say you to the poets ? shall we write Hamlet, Othello make the world our own, Without a risk to run of either sort ? I can't ! to put the strongest reason first. 490 " But try," you urge, " the trying shall suffice : The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life : Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate! " Spare my self-knowledge there 's no fooling me! If I prefer remaining my poor self, I say so not in self-dispraise but praise, If I 'm a Shakespeare, let the well alone! Why should I try to be what now I am ? If I 'm no Shakespeare, as too probable, His power and consciousness and self-delight 500 And all we want in common, shall I find Trying for ever? while on points of taste Wherewith, to speak it humbly, he and I Are dowered alike I '11 ask you, I or he, Which in our two lives realizes most ? Much, he imagined : somewhat, I possess. He had the imagination; stick to that! Let him say. '''In the face of my soul's works Your world is worthless and I touch it not Lest I should wrong them " I '11 withdraw my plea 510 But does he say so? look upon his life! Himself, who only can, gives judgment there. He leaves his towers and gorgeous palaces To build the trimmest house in Stratford town ; Saves money, spends it, owns the worth of things, Giulio Romano's pictures, Dowland's lute ; Enjoys a show, respects the puppets, too. And none more, had he seen its entry once, Than " Pandulph. of fair Milan cardinal." Why then should I who play that personage, 520 The very Pandulph Shakespeare's fancy made, Be told that had the poet chanced to start From where I stand now (some degree like mine Being just the goal he ran his race to reach) He would have run the whole race back, forsooth. BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. And left being Pandulph, to begin write plays? Ah, the earth's best can be but the earth's best! Did Shakespeare live, he could but sit at home And get himself in dreams the Vatican, Greek busts, Venetian paintings, Roman walls, 530 And English books, none equal to his own, Which I read, bound in gold (he never did). Term's fall, Naples' bay and Gothard's top Eh, friend ? I could not fancy one of these ; But, as I pour this claret, there they are : I Ye gained them crossed St. Gothard last July With ten mules to the carriage and a bed Slung inside ; is my hap the worse for that? We want the same things, Shakespeare and myself, And what I want, I have : he, gifted more, 540 Could fancy he too had them when he liked, But not so thoroughly that, if fate allowed, He would not have them also in mv sense. We play one game ; I send the ball aloft No less adroitly that of fifty strokes Scarce five go o'er the wall so wide and high Which sends them back to me : I wish and get. He struck balls higher and with better skill, But at a poor fence level with his head, And hit his Stratford house, a coat of arms, 550 Successful dealings in his grain and wool, While I receive heaven's incense in my nose And style myself the cousin of Queen Bess. Ask him, if this life 's all, who wins the game? Believe and our whole argument breaks up. Enthusiasm 's the best thing, I repeat ; Only, we can't command it ; fire and life Are all, dead matter 's nothing, we agree : And be it a mad dream or God's very breath, The fact 's the same, belief's fire, once in us, 560 Makes of all else mere stuff to show itself: We penetrate our life with such a glow As fire lends wood and iron this turns steel, That burns to ash all 's one, fire proves its power For good or ill, since men call flare success. But paint a fire, it will not therefore burn. Light one in me, I '11 find it food enough! Why, to be Luther that 's a life to lead, Incomparably better than my own. He comes, reclaims God's earth for God, he says, 570 Sets up God's rule again by simple means, Re-opens a shut book, and all is done. 360 BISHOP BLOLTGRAM'S APOLOGY. He flared out in the flaring of mankind ; Such Luther's luck was : how shall such be mine? If he succeeded, nothing 's left to do : And if he did not altogether well, Strauss is the next advance. All Strauss should be I might be also. But to what result? He looks upon no future : Luther did. What can I gain on the denying side? 580 Ice makes no conflagration. State the facts, Read the text right, emancipate the world The emancipated world enjoys itself With scarce a thank-you : Blougram told it first It could not owe a farthing, not to him More than Saint Paul! 't would press its pay, you think? Then add there 's still that plaguy hundredth chance Strauss may be wrong. And so a risk is run For what gain ? not for Luther's, who secured A real heaven in his heart throughout his life, 590 Supposing death a little altered things. " Ay, but since really you lack faith, 1 ' you cry, " You run the same risk really on all sides, In cool indifference as bold unbelief. As well be Strauss as swing 'twixt Paul and him. It 's not worth having, such imperfect faith, No more available to do faith's work Than unbelief like mine. Whole faith, or none!" Softly, my friend ! I must dispute that point. Once own the use of faith, I 'II find you faith. 600 We 're back on Christian ground. You call for faith : I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists. The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say, If faith o'ercomes doubt. How I know it does? By life and man's free will. God gave for that! To mould life as we choose it, shows our choice : That 's our one act, the previous work 's His own. You criticize the soul ? it reared this tree This broad life and whatever fruit it bears ! What matter tho' I doubt at every pore, 610 Head-doubts, heart-doubts, doubts at my fingers' ends, Doubts in the trivial work of every day, Doubts at the very bases of my soul In the grand moments when she probes herself If finally I have a life to show. The thing I did, brought out in evidence Against the thing done to me underground By hell and all its brood, for aught I know? I say, whence sprang this? shows it faith or doubt? BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. 36 1 All 's doubt in me ; where 's break of faith in this ? 620 It is the idea, the feeling and the love, God means mankind should strive for and show forth Whatever be the process to that end, And not historic knowledge, logic sound, And metaphysical acumen, sure! V " What think ye of Christ," friend ? when all 's done and said, Like you this Christianity or not? It may be false, but will you wish it true? Has it your vote to be so if it can ? Trust you an instinct silenced long ago 630 That will break silence and enjoin you love What mortified philosophy is hoarse, IAnd all in vain, with bidding you despise? If you desire faith then you 've faith enough : What else seeks God nay, what else seek ourselves ? You form a notion of me, we '11 suppose, On hearsay ; it 's a favourable one : l< But still," (you add) " there was no such good man, Because of contradiction in the facts. One proves, for instance, he was born in Rome, 640 This Blougram ; yet throughout the tales of him I see he figures as an Englishman." Well, the two things are reconcileable. But would I rather you discovered that, Subjoining "Still, what matter tho' they be? Blougram concerns me naught, born here or there." Pure faith, indeed? you know not what you ask! Naked belief in God the Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent, sears too much The sense of conscious creatures to be borne. 650 It were the seeing Him, no flesh shall dare. Some think, Creation 's meant to show Him forth : I say it 's meant to hide Him all it can, And that 's what all theblessed evil 's for. Its use in"llTne Ik to environ us, / Our breath, our drop of dew, with shield enough / Against that sight till we can bear its stress. Under a vertical sun, the exposed brain And lidless eye and disemprisoned heart Less certainly would wither up at once 660 Than mind, confronted with the truth of Him. But time and earth case-harden us to live : The feeblest sense is trusted most ; the child Feels God a moment, ichors o'er the place, Plays on and grows to be a man like us. With me, faith means perpetual unbelief 362 BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY. Kept quiet like the snake 'neath Michael's foot Who stands calm just because he feels it writhe. Or, if that 's too ambitious, here 's my box I need the excitation of a pinch 670 Threatening the torpor of the inside-nose Nigh on the imminent sneeze that never comes. 'Leave it in peace!" advise the simple folk : Make it aware of peace by itching-fits. Say I let doubt occasion still more faith! You '11 say, once all believed, man, woman, child, In that dear middle-age these noodles praise. How you 'd exult if I could put you back Six hundred years, blot out cosmogony, Geology, ethnology, what not, 680 (Greek endings, each the little passing-bell That signifies some faith 's about to die) And set you square with Genesis again, When such a traveler told you his last news, He saw the ark a-top of Ararat But did not climb there since 't was getting dusk And robber-bands infest the mountain's foot! How should you feel, I ask, in such an age, How act ? As other people felt and did ; W T ith soul more blank than this decanter's knob, 690 Believe and yet lie, kill, rob, fornicate Full in belief's face, like the beast you 'd be! No, when the fight begins within himself, A man 's worth something. God stoops o'er his head, Satan looks up between his feet both tug He 's left, himself, i' the middle : the soul wakes And grows. Prolong that battle thro' his life! Never leave growing till the life to come ! Here we 've got callous to the Virgin's winks That used to puzzle people wholesomely : 700 Men have outgrown the shame of being fools. What are the laws of nature, not to bend If the Church bid them? brother Newman asks. Up with the Immaculate Conception, then On to the rack with faith! is my advice. Will not that hurry us upon our knees, Knocking our breasts, "It can't be yet it shall! Who am I. the worm, to argue with my Pope? Low things confound the high things!" and so forth. That 's better than acquitting God with grace, 710 As some folk do. He 's tried no case is proved, Philosophy is lenient He may go ! I BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. 363 You '11 say, the old system 's not so obsolete But men believe still : ay, but who and where? King Bomba's lazzaroni foster yet The sacred flame, so Antonelli writes ; But even of these, what ragamuffin-saint Believes God watches him continually, As he believes in fire that it will burn, Or rain that it will drench him ? Break fire's law, 720 Sin against rain, altho' the penalty Be just a singe or soaking? " No," he smiles ; " Those laws are laws that can enforce themselves." The sum of all is yes, my doubt is great, / / My faith still greater, then my faith 's enough. 1 / I have read much, thought much, experienced n(uch, Yet would die rather than avow my fear The Naples' liquefaction may be false, When set to happen by the palace-clock According to the clouds or dinner-time. 730 I hear you recommend, I might at least Eliminate, decrassify my faith Since I adopt it ; keeping what I must And leaving what I can such points as this. I won't that is, I can't throw one away. Supposing there 's no truth in what I hold About the need of trial to man's faith, Still, when you bid me purify the same, To such a process I discern no end. Clearing off one .excrescence to see two, 740 There 's ever a next in size, now grown as big, That meets the knife : I cut and cut again! First cut the Liquefaction, what comes last But Fichte's clever cut at God himself? Experimentalize on sacred things! I trust nor hand nor eye nor heart nor brain To stop betimes : they all get drunk alike. The first step, I am master not to take. You 'd find the cutting-process to your taste As much as leaving growths of lies unpruned, 750 Nor see more danger in it, you retort. Your taste 's worth mine ; but my taste proves more wise When we consider that the steadfast hold On the extreme end of the chain of faith Gives all the advantage, makes the difference With the rough purblind mass we seek to rule : We are their lords, or they are free of us, Just as we tighten or relax our hold. 364 BISHOP BLOUGRAArS APOLOGY. So, other matters equal, we'll revert To the first problem which, if solved my way 760 And thrown into the balance, turns the scale How we may lead a comfortable life, How suit our luggage to the cabin's size. Of course you are remarking all this time How narrowly and grossly I view life, Respect the creature-comforts, care to rule The masses, and regard complacently "The cabin," in our old phrase. Well. I do. 1 act for, talk for, live for this world now, As this world prizes action, life and talk : 770 No prejudice to what next world may prove, Whose new laws and requirements, my best pledge To observe then, is that I observe these now, Shall do hereafter what I do meanwhile. Let us concede (gratuitously though) Next life relieves the soul of body, yields Pure spiritual enjoyment : well, my friend, Why lose this life i 1 the meantime, since its use May be to make the next life more intense? Do you know, I have often had a dream 780 (Work it up in your next month's article) Of man's poor spirit in its progress, still Losing true life for ever and a day Thro' ever trying to be and ever being In the evolution of successive spheres Before its actual sphere and place of life, Halfway into the next, which having reached, It shoots with corresponding foolery Halfway into the next still, on and off ! As when a traveler, bound from North to South, 790 Scouts fur in Russia ; what 's its use in France ? In France spurns flannel ; where 's its need in Spain ? In Spain drops cloth, too cumbrous for Algiers! Linen goes next, and last the skin itself, A superfluity at Timbuctoo. When, thro 1 his journey, was the fool at ease? I 'm at ease now, friend ; worldly in this world, 1 I take and like its way of life ; I think My brothers, who administer the means, Live better for my comfort that 's good too ; 800 And God, if He pronounce upon such life, Approves my service, which is better still. If He keep silence, why, for you or me Or that brute beast pulled-up in to-day's " Times," What odds is 't, save to ourselves, what life we lead ? BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. 36* You meet me at this issue : you declare, All special-pleading done with, truth is truth, And justifies itself by undreamed ways. You don't fear but it 's better, if we doubt, To say so, act up to our truth perceived 810 However feebly. Do then, act away! 'T is there I 'm on the watch for you. How one acts Is, both of us agree, our chief concern : And how you '11 act is what I fain would see If, like the candid person you appear, You dare to make the most of your life's scheme As I of mine, live up to its full law Since there 's no higher law that counterchecks. Put natural religion to the test You 've just demolished the revealed with quick, 820 Down to the root of all that checks your will, All prohibition to lie, kill and thieve Or even to be an atheistic priest! Suppose a pricking to incontinence Philosophers deduce you chastity Or shame, from just the fact that at the first Whoso embraced a woman in the field Threw club down and forewent his brains beside, So, stood a ready victim in the reach Of any brother-savage, club in hand ; 830 Hence saw the use of going out of sight In wood or cave to prosecute his loves : I read this in a French book t 1 other day. Does law so analyzed coerce you much ? Oh, men spin clouds of fuzz where matters end, But you who reach where the first thread begins, You '11 soon cut that ! which means you can, but won't, Thro' certain instincts, blind, unreasoned-out, You dare not set aside, you can't tell why, But there they are, and so you let them rule. 840 Then, friend, you seem as much a slave as I, A liar, conscious coward and hypocrite, Without the good the slave expects to get, In case he has a master after all! You own your instincts ? why, what else do I, Who want, am made for, and must have a God Ere I can be aught, dp aught ? no mere name , Want, but the true thing with what proves its truth, To wit, a relation from that thing to me, \ Touching from head to foot which touch I feel, 850 And with it take the rest, this life of ours! I live my life here ; yours you dare not live. 366 BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. Not as I state it, who (you please subjoin) Disfigure such a life and call it names, While, to your mind, remains another way For simple men : knowledge and power have rights, But ignorance and weakness have rights too. There needs no crucial effort to find truth If here or there or anywhere about : We ought to turn each side, try hard and see, 860 And if we can't, be glad we 've earned at least The right, by one laborious proof the more, To graze in peace earth's pleasant pasturage. . Men are not angels, neither are they brutes : Something we may see, all we can not see. What need of lying? I say, I see all, And swear to each detail the most minute In what I think a Pan's face you, mere cloud : I swear I hear him speak and see him wink, For fear, if once I drop the emphasis, 870 Mankind may doubt there 's any cloud at all. You take the simple life ready to see. Willing to see (for no cloud's worth a face) And leaving quiet what no strength can move, And which, who bids you move? who has the right? I bid you ; but you are God's sheep, not mine : "Pastor est titi Dammus" You find In this the pleasant pasture of our life Much you may eat without the least offence, Much you don't eat because your maw objects, 880 Much you would eat but that your fellow-flock Open great eyes at you and even butt, And thereupon you like your mates so well You can not please yourself, offending them ; Tho' when they seem exorbitantly sheep, You weigh your pleasure with their butts and bleats And strike the balance. Sometimes certain fears Restrain you, real checks since you find them so ; Sometimes you please yourself and nothing checks : And thus you graze thro' life with not one lie, 890 And like it best. But do you, in truth's name? If so, you beat which means you are not I Who needs must make earth mine and feed my fill Not simply unbutted at, unbickered with, But motioned to the velvet of the sward By those obsequious wethers' very selves. Look at me, sir ; my age is double yours : At yours, I knew beforehand, so enjoyed, BISHOP BLOUGRAM^S APOLOGY. 367 What now I should be as, permit the word, I pretty well imagine your whole range 900 And stretch of tether twenty years to come. We both have minds and bodies much alike : In truth's name, don't you want my bishopric, My daily bread, my influence and my state ? You 're young. I'm old ; you must be old one day ; Will you find then, as I do hour by hour, Women their lovers kneel to, who cut curls From your fat lap-dog's ear to grace a brooch Dukes, who petition just to kiss your ring With much beside you know or may conceive? 910 Suppose we die to-night : well, here am I, Such were my gains, life bore this fruit to me, While writing all the same my articles On music, poetry, the fictile vase Found at Albano, chess, Anacreon's Greek. ; / But you the highest honour in your life, The thing you '11 crown yourself with, all your days, Is dining here and drinking this last glass I pour you out in sign of amity Before we part for ever. Of your power I 920 And social influence, worldly worth in short, Judge what 's my estimation by the fact I do not condescend to enjoin, beseech, Hint secrecy on one of all these words! You 're shrewd and know that should you publish one The world would brand the lie my enemies first, Who 'd sneer u the bishop 's an arch-hypocrite And knave perhaps, but not so frank a fool." Whereas I should not dare for both my ears Breathe one such syllable, smile one such smile, 930 Before the chaplain who reflects myself My shade 's so much more potent than your flesh. What 's your reward, self-abnegating friend ? Stood you confessed of those exceptional And privileged great natures that dwarf mine A zealot with a mad ideal in reach, A poet just about to print his ode, A statesman with a scheme to stop this war, An artist whose religion is his art I should have nothing to object : such men 940 Carry the fire, all things grow warm to them, Their drugget 's worth my purple, they beat me. But you, you 're just as little those as I You, Gigadibs, who, thirty years of age, , Write statedly for Blackwood's Magazine, Believe you see two points in Hamlet's soul 368 BISHOP BLOC/GRAM'S APOLOGY. Unseized by the Germans yet which view you '11 print Meantime the best you have to show being still That lively lightsome article we took Almost for the true Dickens, what 's its name? 950 " The Slum and Cellar, or Whitechapel life Limned after dark!" it made me laugh, I know. And pleased a month, a :d brought you in ten pounds. Success I recognize a \d compliment, And therefore give you, if you choose, three words (The card and pencil-scratch is quite enough) Which whether here, in Dublin or New York, Will get you, prompt as at my eyebrow's wink, . Such terms as never you aspired to get In all our own reviews and some not ours. 960 Go write your lively sketches! be the first " Blougram, or The Eccentric Confidence " Or better simply say, " The Outward-bound." Why, men as soon would throw it in my teeth As copy and quote the infamy chalked broad About me on the church-door opposite. You will not wait for that experience though, I fancy, howsoever you decide, To discontinue not detesting, not Defaming, but at least despising me! 970 Over his wine so smiled and talked his hour Sylvester Blougram, styled in partibus Epi scopus, nee non (the deuce knows what It 's changed to by our novel hierarchy) With Gigadibs the literary man, Who played with spoons, explored his plate's design ; And ranged the olive-stones about its edge, While the great bishop rolled him out a mind Long crumpled, till creased consciousness lay smooth. For Blougram, he believed, say, half he spoke. 980 The other portion, as he shaped it thus For argumentatory purposes, He felt his foe was foolish to dispute. Some arbitrary accidental thoughts That crossed his mind, amusing because new, He chose to represent as fixtures there, Invariable convictions (such they seemed Beside his interlocutor's loose cards Flung daily down, and not the same way twice) While certain hell-deep instincts, man's weak tongue 990 Is never bold to utter in their truth MR. SLUDGE, THE MEDIUM." 369 Because styled hell-deep ('t is an old mistake To place hell at the bottom of the earth) He ignored these, not having in readiness Their nomenclature and philosophy : He said true things, but called them by wrong names. "On the whole," he thought, " I justify myself On every point where cavillers like this Oppugn my life : he tries one kind of fence, I close, he 's worsted, that 's enough for him. looo He 's on the ground : if ground should break away I take my stand on, there 's a firmer yet Beneath it, both of us may sink and reach. His ground was over mine and broke the first : So, let him sit with me this many a year!" He did not sit five minutes. Just a week Sufficed his sudden healthy vehemence. Something had struck him in the "Outward-bound" Another way than Blougram's purpose was : And having bought, not cabin-furniture loio But settler's-implements (enough for three) And started for Australia there, I hope, By this time he has tested his first plough, And studied his last chapter of St. John. MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." NOW, don't, sir! Don't expose me! Just this once! This was the first and only time, I '11 swear, Look at me, see, I kneel, the only time, I swear, I ever cheated, yes, by the soul Of Her who hears (your sainted mother, sir!) All, except this last accident, was truth This little kind of slip! and even this, It was your own wine, sir, the good champagne, (I took it for Catawba, you 're so kind) Which put the folly in my head! "Get up?" 10 You still inflict on me that terrible face ? You show no mercy? Not for Her dear sake, The sainted spirit's, whose soft breath even now Blows on my cheek (don't you feel something, sir?) You '11 telJ ? 2B 370 MR. SLUDGE, " THE MEDIUM." Go tell, then! Who the devil cares What such a rowdy chooses to ... Aie aie aie! Please, sir! your thumbs are thro' my windpipe, sir! Ch ch! Well, sir, I hope you 've done it now Oh Lord! I little thought, sir, yesterday, When your departed mother spoke those words 20 Of peace thro 1 me, and moved you, sir, so much, You gave me (very kind it was of you) These shirt-studs (better take them back again, Please, sir) yes, little did I think so soon A trifle of trick, all thro' a glass too much Of his own champagne, would change my best of friends Into an angry gentleman! Though, 't was wrong. I don't contest the point ; your anger 's just : Whatever put such folly in my head, I know 't was wicked of me. There 's a thick 30 Dusk undeveloped spirit (I 've observed) Owes me a grudge a negro's, I should say, Or else an Irish emigrant's ; yourself Explained the case so well last Sunday, sir, When we had summoned Franklin to clear up A point about those shares i' the telegraph : Ay, and he swore . . or might it be Tom Paine? . Thumping the table close by where I crouched, He 'd do me soon a mischief: that 's come true! Why, now your face clears! I was sure it would! 40 Then, this one time . . don't take your hand away, Thro' yours I surely kiss your mother's hand . . You '11 promise to forgive me ? or, at least, Tell nobody of this? Consider, sir! What harm can mercy do? Would but the shade Of the venerable dead-one just vouchsafe A rap or tip! What bit of paper's here? Suppose we take a pencil, let her write, Make the least sign, she urges on her child Forgiveness? There now! Eh? Oh! 'T was your foot, 50 And not a natural creak, sir? Answer, then! Once, twice, thrice . . . see, I 'm waiting to say " thrice ! " All to no use? No sort of hope for me? It's all to post to Greeley's newspaper? MR, SLUDGE, THE MEDIUM." 37 1 What? If I told you all about the tricks? Upon my soul! the whole truth, and naught else, And how there 's been some falsehood for your part, Will you engage to pay my passage out, And hold your tongue until I 'm safe on board? England 's the place, not Boston no offence! 60 I see what makes you hesitate : don't fear! I mean to change my trade and cheat no more, Yes. this time really it 's upon my soul! Be my salvation! under Heaven, of course. I '11 tell some queer things. Sixty V's must do. A trifle, though, to start with ! We '11 refer The question to this table ? How you 're changed! Then split the difference ; thirty more, we '11 say. Ay, but you leave my presents! Else I '11 swear 'T was all thro' those : you wanted yours again, 70 So, picked a quarrel with me, to get them back! Tread on a worm, it turns, sir! If I turn, Your fault! 'T is you '11 have forced me! Who 's obliged To give up life yet try no self-defence? At all events, I '11 run the risk. Eh ? Done! May I sit, sir? This dear old table, now! Please, sir, a parting egg-nogg and cigar! I 've been so happy with you! Nice stuffed chairs, And sympathetic sideboards ; what an end To all the instructive evenings! (It 's alight.) 80 Well, nothing lasts, as Bacon came and said. Here goes, but keep your temper, or I '11 scream! Fol-lol-the-rido-liddle-iddle-ol! You see, sir, it 's your own fault more than mine ; It 's all your fault, you curious gentlefolk ! You 're prigs, excuse me, like to look so spry So clever, while you cling by half a claw To the perch whereon you puff yourselves at roost, Such piece of self-conceit as serves for perch Because you chose it, so it must be safe. 90 Oh, otherwise you 're sharp enough! You spy Who slips, who slides, who holds by help of wing, Wanting real foothold, who can't keep upright On the other perch, your neighbour chose, not you: There 's no outwitting you respecting him! For instance, men love money that, you know 372 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM? And what men do to gain it : well, suppose A poor lad, say a help's son in your house, Listening at keyholes, hears the company Talk grand of dollars, V-notes, and so forth, 100 How hard they are to get, how good to hold, How much they buy, if, suddenly, in pops he "/'ve got a V-note!" what do you say to him? What 's your first word which follows your last kick ? " Where did you steal it, rascal ? " That 's because He finds you, fain would fool you, off your perch, Not on the special piece of nonsense, sir, Elected your parade-ground : let him try Lies to the end of the list, " He picked it up. His cousin died and left it him by will, no The President flung it to him, riding by, An actress trucked it for a curl of his hair, He dreamed of luck and found his shoe enriched, He dug up clay, and out of clay made gold" How would you treat such possibilities? Would not you, prompt, investigate the case With cow-hide ? " Lies, lies, lies," you 'd shout : and why? Which of the stories might not prove mere truth ? This last, perhaps, that clay was turned to coin! Let 's see, now, give him me to speak for him! 1 20 How many of your rare philosophers, In plaguy books I Ve had to dip into, Believed gold could be made thus, saw it made And made it? Oh, with such philosophers You Ve on your best behaviour! While the lad With him, in a trice, you settle likelihoods, Nor doubt a moment how he got his prize : In his case, you hear, judge and execute, All in a breath : so would most men of sense. But let the same lad hear you talk as grand 130 At the same keyhole, you and company, Of signs and wonders, the invisible world ; How wisdom scouts our vulgar unbelief More than our vulgarest credulity ; How good men have desired to see a ghost, What Johnson used to say, what Wesley did, Mother Goose thought, and fiddle-didclle-dee : If he break in with, " Sir, / saw a ghost! " Ah, the ways change! He finds you perched and prim It 's a conceit of yours that ghosts may be : i^o There's no talk now of cow-hide. "Tell it out! Don't fear us! Take your time and recollect! MR, SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." 373 Sit down first ; try a glass of wine, my boy ! And, David, (is not that your Christian name?) Of all things, should this happen twice it may Be sure, while fresh in mind, you let us know!" Does the boy blunder, blurt out this, blab that, Break down in the other, as beginners will ? All's candour, all's considerateness "No haste! Pause and collect yourself ! We understand ! 150 That 's the bad memory, or the natural shock, Or the unexplained phenomena ! " Egad, The boy take* heart of grace ; finds, never fear, The readiest way to ope your own heart wide, Show what I call your peacock-perch, pet post To strut, and spread the tail, and squawk upon! " Just as you thought, much as you might expect! There be more things in heaven and earth, Horatio," . . And so on. Shall not David take the hint, Grow bolder, stroke you down at quickened rate? 1 60 If he ruffle a feather, it's " Gently, patiently! Manifestations are so weak at first ! Doubting, moreover, kills them, cuts all short, Cures with a vengeance ! " There, sir, that 's your style ! You and your boy such pains bestowed on him, Or any headpiece of the average worth, To teach, say, Greek, would perfect him apace, Make him a Person (" Person? " thank you, sir!) Much more, proficient in the art of lies. You never leave the lesson ! Fire alight, 170 Catch you permitting it to die ! You 've friends ; There's no withholding knowledge, least from those Apt to look elsewhere for their souls' supply : Why should not you parade your lawful prize ? Who finds a picture, digs a medal up, Hits on a first edition, he henceforth Gives it his name, grows notable : how much more Who ferrets out a " medium "? " David 's yours, You highly-favoured man? Then, pity souls Less privileged! Allow us share your luck! " 1 80 So, David holds the circle, rules the roast, Narrates the vision, peeps in the glass ball, Sets-to the spirit-writing, hears the raps, As the case may be. 374 MR - SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." Now mark! To be precise Tho' I say, " lies " all these, at this first stage, 'T is just for science" sake : I call such grubs By the name of what they "11 turn to, dragonflies. Strictly, it "s what good people style untruth ; But yet, so far, not quite the full-grown thing : It's fancying, fable-making, nonsense-work 190 What never meant to be so very bad The knack of story-telling, brightening up Each dull old bit of fact that drops its shine. One does see somewhat when one shuts one's eyes, If only spots and streaks ; tables do tip In the oddest way of themselves : and pens, good Lord, Who knows if you drive them or they drive you? T is but a foot in the water and out again ; Not that duck-under which decides your dive. Note this, for it 's important : listen why. 200 I ? 11 prove, you push on David till he dives And ends the shivering. Here 's your circle, now : Two-thirds of them, with heads like you their host, Turn up their eyes, and cry, as you expect, " Lord, who 'd have thought it! " But there s always one Looks wise, compassionately smiles, submits " Of your veracity no kind of doubt, But do you feel so certain of that boy's? Really, I wonder! I confess myself More chary of my faith!" That "s galling, sir! 210 What, he the investigator, he the sage. When all "s done ? Then, you just have shut your eyes, Opened your mouth, and gulped down David whole, You! Terrible were such catastrophe! So, evidence is redoubled, doubled again, And doubled besides ; once more, " He heard, we heard, You and they heard, your mother and your wife. Your children and the stranger in your gates : Did they or did they not?" So much for him. The black sheep, guest without the wedding-garb. 220 The doubting Thomas! Now 's your turn to crow : " He "s kind to think you such a fool : Sludge cheats ? Leave you alone to take precautions!" Straight The rest join chorus. Thomas stands abashed, Sips silent some such beverage as this, Considers if it be harder, shutting eyes And gulping David in good fellowship. Than going elsewhere, getting, in exchange, MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." 375 With no egg-nogg to lubricate the food, Some just as tough a morsel. Over the way, 230 Holds Captain Sparks his court : is it better there? Have not you hunting-stories, scalping-scenes, And Mexican War exploits to swallow plump If you "d be free o' the stove-side, rocking-chair, And trio of affable daughters ? Doubt succumbs! Victory! All your circle's yours again! Out of the clubbing of submissive wits, David's performance rounds, each chink gets patched, Every protrusion of a point 's filed fine, All "s fit to set a-rolling round the world, 240 And then return to David finally, Lies seven-feet thick about his first half-inch. Here 's a choice birth o' the supernatural. Poor David 's pledged to! You 've employed no tool That laws exclaim at, save the devil's own, Yet screwed him into henceforth gulling you To the top o' your bent, all out of one half-lie! You hold, if there 's one half or a hundredth part Of a lie, that 's his fault, his be the penalty! I dare say! You 'd prove firmer in his place? 250 You 'd find the courage, that first flurry over, That mild bit of romancing-work at end, To interpose with * It gets serious, this ; Must stop here. Sir, I saw no ghost at all. Inform your friends I made . . well, fools of them, And found you ready made. I Ve lived in clover These three weeks : take it out in kicks of me ! " I doubt it. Ask your conscience! Let me know, Twelve months hence, with how few embellishments You 've told almighty Boston of this passage 260 Of arms between us, your first taste o" the foil From Sludge who could not fence, sir! Sludge, your boy! I lied, sir, there! I got up from my gorge On offal in the gutter, and preferred Your canvas-backs : I took their carver's size, Measured his modicum of intelligence, Tickled him on the cockles of his heart With a raven feather, and next week found myself Sweet and clean, dining daintily, dizened smart, Set on a stool buttressed by ladies 1 knees, 270 Every soft smiler calling me her pet, Encouraging my story to uncoil And creep out from its hole, inch after inch, 376 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." " How last night, I no sooner snug in bed, Tucked up, just as they left me, than came raps ! While a light whisked " . . " Shaped somewhat like a star?" "Well, like some sort of stars, ma'am," "So we thought! And any voice ? Not yet ? Try hard, next time, If you can't hear a voice ; we think you may ; At least, the Pennsylvanian 'mediums ' did." 280 Oh, next time comes the voice! "Just as we hoped! " Are not the hopers proud now, pleased, profuse O' the natural acknowledgment? Of course! So, off we push, illy-oh-yo, trim the boat, On we sweep with a cataract ahead, We 're midway to the Horse-shoe : stop, who can, The dance of bubbles gay about our prow ! Experiences become worth waiting for, Spirits now speak up, tell their inmost mind, And compliment the " medium " properly, 290 Concern themselves about his Sunday coat, See rings on his hand with pleasure. Ask yourself How you 'd receive a course of treats like these! Why, take the quietest hack and stall him up, Cram him with corn a month, then out with him Among his mates on a bright April morn, With the turf to tread ; see if you find or no A caper in him, if he bucks or bolts! Much more a youth whose fancies sprout as rank As toadstool-clump from melon-bed. 'T is soon, 300 " Sirrah, you spirit, come, go, fetch and carry, Read, write, rap, rub-a-dub, and hang yourself! " I 'm spared all further trouble ; all 's arranged ; Your circle does my business ; I may rave Like an epileptic dervish in the books, Foam, fling myself flat, rend my clothes to shreds ; No matter : lovers, friends and countrymen Will lay down spiritual laws, read wrong things right By the rule o' reverse. If Francis Verulam Styles himself Bacon, spells the name beside 310 With a/ and a k, says he drew breath in York, Gave up the ghost in Wales when Cromwell reigned, (As, sir. we somewhat fear he was apt to say, Before I found the useful book that knows) Why, what harm 's done? The circle smiles apace, " It was not Bacon, after all, you see ! We understand ; the trick 's but natural : Such spirits' individuality Is hard to put in evidence : they incline MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." To gibe and jeer, these undeveloped sorts. 320 You see, their world 's much like a jail broke loose, While this of ours remains shut, bolted, barred, With a single window to it. Sludge, our friend, Serves as this window, whether thin or thick, Or stained or stainless ; he 's the medium-pane Thro' which, to see us and be seen, they peep : They crowd each other, hustle for a chance, Tread on their neighbour's kibes, play tricks enough! Does Bacon, tired of waiting swerve aside? Up in his place jumps Barnum ' I 'm your man, 330 1 11 answer you for Bacon! ' Try o ce m >!" Or else it 's " What 's a ' medium ? ' He 's a means, Good, bad, indifferent, still the only means Spirits can speak by ; he may misconceive, Stutter and stammer, he 's their Sludge and drudge, Take him or leave him ; they must hold their peace, Or else, put up with having knowledge strained To half-expression thro' his ignorance. Suppose, the spirit Beethoven wants to shed New music he 's brimful of; why, he turns 340 The handle of this organ, grinds with Sludge, And what he poured in at the mouth o 1 the mill As a Thirty-third Sonata, (fancy now!) Comes from the hopper as brand-new Sludge, naught else, The Shakers 1 Hymn in G, with a natural F, Or the ' Stars and Stripes ' set to consecutive fourths." Sir, where 's the scrape you did not help me through, You that are wise? And for the fools, the folk Who came to see, the guests, (observe that word!) Pray do you find guests criticize your wine, 350 Your furniture, your grammar, or your nose? Then, why your " medium ? " What 's the difference ? Prove your madeira red-ink and gamboge, Your Sludge, a cheat then somebody 's a goose For vaunting both as genuine. " Guests! " Don't fear! They '11 make a wry facq, nor too much of that. And leave you in your glory. " No, sometimes They doubt and say as much! " Ay, doubt they do! And what 's the consequence? " Of course they doubt "- (You triumph) " that explains the hitch at once! 360 Doubt posed our ; medium,' puddled his pure mind ; He gave them back their rubbish : pitch chaff in. Could flour come out o' the honest mill ? " So, prompt 378 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." Applaud the faithful : cases flock in point, " How, when a mocker willed a ' medium ' once Should name a spirit James whose name was George, ' James ' cried the ' medium ' 't was the test of truth ! " In short, a hit proves much, a miss proves more. Does this convince ? The better : does it -fail ? Time for the double-shotted broadside, then 370 The grand means, last resource. Look black and big! "You style us idiots, therefore why stop short? Accomplices in rascality : this we hear In our own house, from our invited guest Found brave enough to outrage a poor boy Exposed by our good faith! Have you been heard? Now, then, hear us ; one man 's not quite worth twelve. You see a cheat? Here 's some twelve see an ass: Excuse me if I calculate : good day ! " Out slinks the sceptic, all the laughs explode, 380 Sludge waves his hat in triumph! Or he don't. There 's something in real truth (explain who can!) One casts a wistful eye at, like the horse Who mopes beneath stuffed hay-racks and won't munch Because he spies a corn-bag : hang that truth, It spoils all dainties proffered in its place! I 've felt at times when, cockered, cossetted And coddled by the aforesaid company, Bidden enjoy their bullying, never fear, But o'er their shoulders spit at the flying man, 390 I Ve felt a child ; only, a fractious child That, dandled soft by nurse, aunt, grandmother, Who keep him from the kennel, sun and wind, Good fun and wholesome mud,- enjoined be sweet, And comely and superior, eyes askance The ragged sons o' the gutter at their game, Fain would be down with them \" the thick o' the filth, Making dirt-pies, laughing free, speaking plain. And calling granny the gray old cat she is. I 've felt a spite, I say, at you, at them, 400 Huggings and humbug gnashed my teeth to mark A decent dog pass! It 's too bad, I say, Ruining a soul so! But what 's "so," what 's fixed, Where may one stop? Nowhere! The cheating 's nursed Out of the lying, softly and surely spun To just your length, sir! I 'd stop soon enough : But you 're for progress. " All old, nothing new? MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." 379 Only the wsual talking thro' the mouth, Or writing by the hand? I own, I thought This would develop, grow demonstrable, 410 Make doubt absurd, give figures we might see, Flowers we might touch. There 's no one doubts you, Sludge! You dream the dreams, you see the spiritual sights, The speeches come in your head, beyond dispute. Still, for the sceptics' sake, to stop all mouths, We want some outward manifestation ! well, The Pennsylvanians gained such ; why not Sludge? He may improve with time!" Ay, that he may! He sees his lot : there 's no avoiding fate. 'T is a trifle at first. " Eh, David? Did you hear? 420 You jogged the table, your foot caused the squeak, This time you 're ... joking, are you not, my boy ? " "N-n-no!" and I 'm done for, bought and sold henceforth. The old good easy jog-trot way, the . . . eh ? The . . . n t so very false, as falsehood goes, The spinning out and drawing fine, you know, Really mere novel-writing of a sort, Acting, or improvising, make believe, Surely not downright cheatery, any how, 'T is done with and my lot cast ; Cheat 's my name : 430 The fatal dash of brandy in your tea Has settled what you '11 have the souchong's smack : The caddy gives way to the dram-bottle. Then, it's so cruel easy! Oh, those tricks That can't be tricks, those feats by sleight of hand, Clearly no common conjuror's ! no, indeed ! A conjuror? Choose me any craft i' the world A man puts hand to ; and with six months' pains I '11 play you twenty tricks miraculous To people untaught the trade. Have you seen glass blown, 440 Pipes pierced? Why, just this biscuit that I chip, Did you ever watch a baker toss one flat To the oven? Try and do it! Take my word, Practise but half as much, while limbs are lithe, To turn, shove, tilt a table, crack your joints, Manage your feet, dispose your hands aright, Work wires that twitch the curtains, play the glove At end o' your slipper, then put out the lights And . . . there, there, all you want you '11 get, I hope ! I found it slip, easy as an old shoe. 450 380 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." Now, lights en table again! I Ve done my part, You take my place while I give thanks and rest. "Well, Judge Humgruffin, what 's your verdict, sir? You, hardest head in the United States. Did you detect a cheat here? Wait! Let 's see! Just an experiment first, for candour's sake! I '11 try and cheat you, Judge! The table tilts : Is it I that move it ? Write ! I '11 press your hand : Cry when I push, or guide your pencil, Judge!'' Sludge still triumphant! "That a rap, indeed? 460 That, the real writing? Very like a whale! Then, if, sir, you a most distinguished man, And, were the Judge not here, I 'd. say, . . no matter! Well, sir, if you fail, you can't take us in, There 's little fear that Sludge will!" Won't he ma'am ? But what if our distinguished host, like Sludge, Bade God bear witness that he played no trick, While you believed that what produced the raps Was just a certain child who died, you know, And whose last breath you thought your lips had felt ? 470 Eh ? That 's a capital point, ma'am : Sludge begins At your entreaty with your dearest dead, The little voice set lisping once again, The tiny hand made feel for yours once more, The poor lost image brought back, plain as dreams, Which image, if a word had chanced recall, The customary cloud would cross your eyes, Your heart return the old tick, pay its pang! A right mood for investigation, this! One 's at one's ease with Saul and Jonathan, 480 Pompey and Caesar : but one's own lost child . . . I wonder, when you heard the first clod drop From the spadeful at the grave-side, felt you free To investigate who twitched your funeral scarf Or brushed your flounces ? Then, it came of course You should be stunned and stupid; then, (how else?) Your breath stopped with your blood, your brain struck work. But now, such causes fail of such effects, All 's changed, the little voice begins afresh, Yet you, calm, consequent, can test and try, 490 And touch the truth. ' Tests? Did n't the creature tell Its nurse's name, and say it lived six years, And rode a rocking-horse? Enough of tests! Sludge never could learn that! " He could not, eh? You compliment him. "Could not? " Speak for yourself! MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM: 38l I 'd like to know the man I ever saw Once, never mind where, how, why, when, once saw, Of whom I do not keep some matter in mind He 'd swear I " could not " know, sagacious soul! What? Do you live in this world's blow of blacks, coo Palaver, gossipry, a single hour Nor find one smut has settled on your nose, Of a smut's worth, no more, no less? one fact Out of the drift of facts, whereby you learn What someone was, somewhere, somewhen, somewhy? You don't tell folk" See what has stuck to me! Judge Humgruffin, our most distinguished man, Your uncle was a tailor, and your wife Thought to have married Miggs, missed him, hit you! " Do you, sir, tho' you see him twice a-week? 510 " No," you reply, " what use retailing it ? Why should I ? " But, you see, one day you should, Because one day there 's much use, when this fact Brings you the Judge upon both gouty knees Before the supernatural ; proves that Sludge Knows, as you say, a thing he " could not " know : Will not Sludge thenceforth keep an outstretched face The way the wind drives ? " Could not! " Look you now, I '11 tell you a story! There 's a whiskered chap, A foreigner, that teaches music here 520 And gets his bread, knowing no better way. He says, the fellow who informed of him And made him fly his country and fall West, Was a hunchback cobbler, sat, stitched soles and sang, In some outlandish place, the city Rome, In a cellar by their Broadway, all day long ; Never asked questions, stopped to listen or look, Nor lifted nose from lapstone ; let the world Roll round his three-legged stool, and news run in The ears he hardly seemed to keep pricked up. 530 Well, that man went on Sundays, touched his pay And took his praise from government, you see ; For something like two dollars every week, He 'd engage tell you some one little thing Of some one man, which led to many more, (Because one truth leads right to the world's end) And make you that man's master when he dined And on what dish, where walked to keep his health And to what street. His trade was, throwing thus His sense out, like an ant-eater's long tongue, 540 Soft, innocent, warm, moist, impassible, 382 MR. SLUDGE, " THE MEDIUM." And when 't was crusted o'er with creatures slick, Their juice enriched his palate. "Could not Sludge!" I '11 go yet a step further, and maintain, Once the imposture plunged its proper depth I' the rotten of your natures, a]' of you, (If one 's not mad nor drunk, ana hardly then) It 's impossible to cheat that 's, be found out! Go tell your brotherhood this first slip of mine, All to-day's tale, how you detected Sludge, 550 Behaved unpleasantly, till he was fain confess, And so has come to grief! You '11 find, I think, Why Sludge still snaps his fingers in your face. There now, you Ve told them ! What 's their prompt reply ? " Sir, did that youth confess he had cheated me, I 'd disbelieve him. He may cheat at times; That 's in the ' medium '-nature, thus they 're made, Vain and vindictive, cowards, prone to scratch. And so all cats are ; still a cat 's the beast You coax the strange electric sparks from out, 560 By rubbing back its fur ; not so a dog, Nor lion, nor lamb : : t is the cat's nature, sir! Why not the dog's? Ask God, who made them beasts! D' ye think the sound, the nicely-balanced man (Like me " aside) " like you yourself," (aloud) " He 's stuff to make a ' medium '? Bless your soul, 'T is these hysteric, hybrid half-and-halfs, Equivocal, worthless vermin yield the fire! We take such as we find them, 'ware their tricks, Wanting their service. Sir, Sludge took in you S7 How, I can't say, not being there to watch : He was tried, was tempted by your easiness, He did not take in me ! " Thank you for Sludge! I 'm to be grateful to such patrons, eh, When what you hear 's my best word ? 'T is a challenge : " Snap at all strangers, half-tamed prairie-dog, So you cower duly at your keeper's beck ! Cat, show what claws were made for, muffling them Only to me ! Cheat others if you can, Me, if you dare!" And, my wise sir, I dared 580 Did cheat you first, made you cheat others next, And had the help o' your vaunted manliness To bully the incredulous. You used me? Have not I used you, taken full revenge, Persuaded folk they knew not their own name, And straight they 'd own the error! Who was the fool "When, to an awe-struck wide-eyed open-mouthed MR. SLUDGE, THE MEDIUM." 383 Circle of sages, Sludge would introduce Milton composing baby-rhymes, and Locke Reasoning in gibberish, Homer writing Greek 590 In naughts and crosses, Asaph setting psalms To crotchet and quaver? I 've made a spirit squeak In sham voice for a minute, then outbroke Bold in my own, defying the imbeciles Have copied some ghost's pothooks, half a page, Then ended with my own scrawl undisguised. " All right! The ghost was merely using Sludge, Suiting itself from his imperfect stock!" Don't talk of gratitude to me! For what? For being treated as a showman's ape, 600 Encouraged to be wicked and make sport, Fret or sulk, grin or whimper, any mood So long as the ape be in it and no man Because a nut pays every mood alike. Curse your superior, superintending sort, Who, since you hate smoke, send up boys that climb To cure your chimney, bid a " medium " lie To sweep you truth down ! Curse your women too, Your insolent wives and daughters, that fire up Or faint away if a male hand squeeze theirs, 610 Yet, to encourage Sludge, may play with Sludge As only a " medium," only the kind of thing They must humour, fondle . . oh, to misconceive Were too preposterous! But I 've paid them out! They 've had their wish called for the naked truth, And in she tripped, sat down and bade them stare : They had to blush a little and forgive! " The fact is, children talk so ; in next world All our conventions are reversed, perhaps Made light of: something like old prints, my dear! 620 The Judge has one, he brought from Italy, A metropolis in the background, o'er a bridge, A team of trotting roadsters, cheerful groups Of wayside travelers, peasants at their work, And, full in front, quite unconcerned, why not? Three nymphs conversing with a cavalier, And never a rag among them : ' fine,' folk cry And heavenly manners seem not much unlike! Let Sludge go on ; we '11 fancy it 's in print! " If such as came for wool, sir, went home shorn, 630 Where is the wrong I did them ? 'T was their choice : They tried the adventure, ran the risk, tossed up And lost, as some one 's sure to do in games. They fancied I was made to lose, smoked glass Useful to spy the sun through, spare their eyes : 384 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." And had I proved a red-hot iron plate They thought to pierce, and, for their pains, grew blind, Whose were the fault but theirs ? While, as things go, Their loss amounts to gain, the more 's the shame! They 've had their peep into the spirit-world, 640 And all this world may know it. They 've fed fat Their self-conceit which else had starved : what chance Save this, of cackling o'er a golden egg And compassing distinction from the flock, Friends of a feather? Well, they paid for it, And not prodigiously ; the price o' the play, Not counting certain pleasant interludes, Was scarce a vulgar play's worth. When you buy The actor's talent, do you dare propose For his soul beside? Whereas, my soul you buy! 650 Sludge acts Macbeth, obliged to be Macbeth, Or you'll not hear his first word! Just go through That slight formality, swear himself 's the Thane, And thenceforth he may strut and fret his hour, Spout, spawl, or spin his target, no one cares! Why had n't I leave to play tricks, Sludge as Sludge? Enough of it all! I 've wiped out scores with you Vented your fustian, let myself be streaked Like tom-fool with your ochre and carmine, Worn patchwork your respectable fingers sewed 660 To metamorphose somebody, yes, I Ve earned My wages, swallowed down my bread of shame, And shake the crumbs off where but in your face ? As for religion why, I served it, sir! I '11 stick to that ! With my phenomena I laid the atheist sprawling on his back, Propped up Saint Paul, or, at least. Swedenborg! In fact, it 's just the proper way to baulk These troublesome fellows : liars, one and all, Are not these sceptics ? Well, to baffle them, 670 No use in being squeamish : lie yourself! Erect your buttress just as wide o' the line, Your side, as they build up the wall on theirs ; Where both meet, midway in a point, is truth, High overhead : so, take your room, pile bricks, Lie! Oh, there's titillation in all shame! What snow may lose in white, snow gains in rose! Miss Stokes turns Rahab, nor a bad exchange! Glory be on her, for the good she wrought, Breeding belief anew 'neath ribs of death, 680 Brow-beating now the unabashed before, Ridding us of their whole life's gathered straws MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM.'" 385 By a live coal from the altar! Why, of old, Great men spent years and years in writing books To prove we 've souls, and hardly proved it then : Miss Stokes with her live coal, for you and me! Surely, to this good issue, all was fair Not only fondling Sludge, but, even suppose He let escape some spice of knavery, well, In wisely being blind to it! Don't you praise 690 Nelson for setting spy-glass to blind eye And saying . . what was it that he could not see The signal he was bothered with? Ay, indeed! I '11 go beyond : there 's a real love of a lie, Liars find ready-made for lies they make, As hand for glove, or tongue for sugar-plum. At best, 't is never pure and full belief; Those furthest in the quagmire, don't suppose They strayed there with no warning, got no chance Of a filth-speck in their face, which they clenched teeth, 700 Bent brow against! Be sure they had their doubts, And fears, and fairest challenges to try The floor o' the seeming solid sand! But no! Their faith was pledged^ acquaintance too apprised, All but the last step ventured, kerchiefs waved, And Sludge called "pet : " 't was easier marching on To the promised land ; join those who, Thursday next, Meant to meet Shakespeare : better follow Sludge Prudent, oh sure! on the alert, how else? But making for the mid-bog, all the same! 710 To hear your outcries, one would think I caught Miss Stokes by the scruff o' the neck, and pitched her flat, Foolish-face-foremost! Hear these simpletons, That 's all I beg, before my work 's begun, Before I 've touched them with my finger-tip! Thus they await me (do but listen, now! It : s reasoning, this is, I can't imitate The baby voice, though) "In so many tales Must be some truth, truth tho' a pin-point big, Yet, some : a single man 's deceived, perhaps 720 Hardly, a thousand : to suppose one cheat Can gull all these, were more miraculous far Than aught we should confess a miracle" And so on. Then the Judge sums up (it 's rare) Bids you respect the authorities that leap To the judgment-seat at once, why, don't you note The limpid nature, the unblemished life, The spotless honour, indisputable sense Of the first upstart with his story? What 3 86 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." Outrage a boy on whom you ne'er till now 730 Set eyes, because he finds raps trouble him? Fools, these are : ay, and how of their opposites Who never did, at bottom of their hearts, Believe for a moment? Men emasculate, Blank of belief, who played, as eunuchs use, With superstition safely, cold of blood, Who saw what made for them i' the mystery, Took their occasion, and supported Sludge As proselytes? No, thank you, far too shrewd! But promisers of fair play, encouragers 740 O' the claimant ; who in candour needs must hoist Sludge up on Mars' Hill, get speech out of Sludge To carry off, criticize, and cant about! Did n't Athens treat Saint Paul so ? at any rate, It's '-a new thing," philosophy fumbles at. Then there 's the other picker out of pearl From dung heaps, ay, your literary man, Who draws on his kid gloves to deal with Sludge Daintily and discreetly, shakes a dust O' the doctrine, flavours thence, he well knows how, 750 The narrative or the novel, half-believes, All for the book's sake, and the public's stare, And the cash that 's God's sole solid in this world! Look at him ! Try to be too bold, too gross For the master! Not you! He 's the man for muck; Shovel it forth, full-splash, he '11 smooth your brown Into artistic richness, never fear! Find him the crude stuff; when you recognize Your lie again, you '11 doff your hat to it, Dressed out for company! " For company," 760 I say, since there 's the relish of success : Let all pay due respect, call the lie truth, Save the soft silent smirking gentleman Who ushered in the stranger : you must sigh " How melancholy, he, the only one Fails to perceive the bearing of the truth Himself gave birth to! 1 '- There 's the triumph's smack! That man would choose to see the whole world roll I' the slime o' the slough, so he might touch the tip Of his brush with what I call the best of browns 770 Tint ghost-tales, spirit-stories, past the power Of the outworn umber and bistre ! Yet I think There 's a more hateful form of foolery The social sage's, Solomon of saloons MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM: 387 And philosophic diner-out, the fiibble Who wants a doctrine for a chopping-block To try the edge of his faculty upon, Prove how much common-sense he '11 hack and hew I 1 the critical minute 'twixt the soup and fish! These were my patrons : these and the like of them 780 Who, rising in my soul now, sicken it, These I have injured ! Gratitude to these ? The gratitude, forsooth, of a prostitute To the greenhorn and the bully friends of hers, From the wag that wants the queer jokes for his club, To the snuff-box-decorator, honest man, Who just was at his wits' end where to find So genial a Pasiphae ! All and each Pay, compliment, protect from the police, And how she hates them for their pains, like me! 790 So much for my remorse at thanklessness Toward a deserving public! But, for God? Ay, that 's a question! Well, sir, since you press (How you do tease the whole thing out of me! I don't mean you, you know, when I say, " them : " Hate you, indeed ! But that Miss Stokes, that Judge ! Enough, enough with sugar: thank you, sir!) Now for it, then! Will you believe me, though? You Ve heard what I confess ; I don't unsay A single word : I cheated when I could, 800 Rapped with my toe-joints, set sham hands at work, Wrote down names weak in sympathetic ink, Rubbed odic lights with ends of phosphor-match, And all the rest; believe that: believe this, By the same token, though it seem to set The crooked straight again, unsay the said, Stick up what I 've knocked down ; I can't help that, It's truth! I somehow vomit truth to-day. This trade of mine I don't know, can't be sure But there was something in it, tricks and all! 810 Really, I want to light up my own mind. They were tricks, true, but what I mean to add Is also true. First, don't it strike you, sir? Go back t<5 the beginning, the first fact We 're taught is, there 's a world beside this world, With spirits, not mankind, for tenantry ; That much within that world once sojourned here, That all upon this world will visit there, And therefore that we, bodily here below, Must have exactly such an interest 820 3 88 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." In learning what may be the ways o' the world Above us, as the disembodied folk Have (by all analogic likelihood) In watching how things go in the old home With us, their sons, successors, and what not. Oh yes, with added powers probably, Fit for the novel state, old loves grown pure, Old interests understood aright, they watch! Eyes to see, ears to hear, and hands to help, Proportionate to advancement : they 're ahead, 830 That 's all do what we do, but noblier done Use plate, whereas we eat our meals off delf (To use a figure). Concede that, and I ask Next what may be the mode of intercourse Between us men here, and those once-men there? First comes the Bible's speech ; then, history With the supernatural element, you know All that we sucked in with our mothers 1 milk, Grew up with, got inside of us at last. Till it's found bone of bone and flesh of flesh. 840 See now, we start with the miraculous, And know it used to be, at all events : What 's the first step we take, and can't but take, In arguing from the known to the obscure? Why this : " What was before, may be to-day. Since Samuel's ghost appeared to Saul, of course My brother's spirit may appear to me." Go tell your teacher that! What 's his reply? What brings a shade of doubt for the first time O'er his brow late so luminous with faith ? 850 " Such things have been," says he, "and there 's no doubt Such things may be : but I advise mistrust Of eyes, ears, stomach, and more than all, your brain, Unless it be of your great-grandmother, Whenever they propose a ghost to you! " The end is, there 's a composition struck ; 'T is settled, we 've some way of intercourse Just as in Saul's time ; only, different : How, when and where, precisely, find it out!, I want to know, then, what 's so natural 860 As that a person born into this world And seized on by such teaching, should begin With firm expectancy and a frank look-out For his own allotment, his especial share I' the secret, his particular ghost, in fine? I mean, a person born to look that way, MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUMS 389 Since natures differ : take the painter-sort, One man lives fifty years in ignorance Whether grass be'green or red, No kind of eye For colour," say you ; while another picks 870 And puts away even pebbles, when a child, Because of bluish spots and pinky veins " Give him forthwith a paint-box! " Just the same Was I born ..." medium," you won't let me say, Well, seer of the supernatural Everywhen, everyhow and everywhere, Will that do? I and all such boys of course Started with the same stock of Bible-truth ; Only, what in the rest you style their sense, Instinct, blind reasoning but imperative, 880 This, betimes, taught them the old world had one law And ours another: "New world, new laws," cried they: " None but old laws, seen everywhere at work," Cried I, and by their help explained my life The Jews' way, still a working way to me. Ghosts made the noises, fairies waved the lights, Or Santa Claus slid down on New Year's Eve And stuffed with cakes the stocking at my bed. Changed the worn shoes, rubbed clean the fingered slate O' the sum that came to grief the day before. 890 This could not last. long: soon enough I found Who had worked wonders thus, and to what end : But did I find all easy, like my mates? Henceforth no supernatural any more? Not a whit: what projects the billiard-balls? " A cue," you answer : " Yes, a cue," said I ; " But what hand, off the cushion, moved the cue? What unseen agency, outside the world, Prompted its puppets to do this and that, Put cakes and shoes and slates into their mind, 900 These mothers and aunts, nay even schoolmasters?" Thus high I sprang, and there have settled since. Just so I reason, in sober earnest still, About the greater god-sends, what you call The serious gains and losses of my life. What do I know or care about your world Which either is or seems to be? This snap O' my fingers, sir! My care is for myself; Myself am whole and sole reality Inside a raree-show and a market-mob 9 10 Gathered about it : that 's the use of things. 390 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." 'T is easy saying they serve vast purposes, Advantage their grand selves : be it true or false, Each thing may have two uses. What 's a star? A world, or a world's sun : does n't it serve As taper also, time-piece, weather-glass, And almanac? Are stars not set for signs When we should shear our sheep, sow corn, prune trees? The Bible says so. Well, I add one use To all the acknowledged uses, and declare 920 If I spy Charles's Wain at twelve to-night, It warns me, " Go, nor lose another day, And have your hair cut, Sludge! " You laugh : and why? Were such a sign too hard for God to give ? No : but Sludge seems too little for such grace : Thank you, sir! So you think, so does not Sludge! When you and good men gape at Providence, Go into history and bid us mark Not merely powder-plots prevented, crowns Kept on kings' heads by miracle enough, 930 But private mercies oh, you Ve told me, sir, Of such interpositions! How yourself Once, missing on a memorable day Your handkerchief just setting out, you know, You must return to fetch it, lost the train, And saved your precious self from what befell The thirty-three whom Providence forgot. You tell, and ask me what I think of this ? Well, sir, I think then, since you needs must know, What matter had you and Boston city to boot 940 Sailed skyward, like burnt onion-peelings? Much To you, no doubt : for me undoubtedly The cutting of my hair concerns me more, Because, however sad the truth may seem, Sludge is of all-importance to himself. You set apart that day in every year For special thanksgiving, were a heathen else : Well, I who can not boast the like escape, Suppose I said " I don't thank Providence For my part, owing it no gratitude ? " 95 " Nay, but you owe as much " you 'd tutor me, " You, every man alive, for blessings gained In every hour o' the day, could you but know! I saw my crowning mercy : all have such, Could they but see! " Well sir, why don't they see? "Because they won't look or perhaps, they can't." Then, sir, suppose I can, and will, and do MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDfUM? 39 r Look, microscopically as is right, Into each hour with its infinitude Of influences at work to profit Sludge ? 060 For that 's the case : I Ve sharpened up my sight To spy a providence in the fire's going out, The kettle's boiling, the dime's sticking fast Despite the hole i' the pocket. Call such facts Fancies, too petty a work for Providence, And those same thanks which you exact from me, Prove too prodigious payment ; thanks for what, If nothing guards and guides us little men? No, no, sir! You must put away your pride, Resolved to let Sludge into partnership! 970 I live by signs and omens : looked at the roof Where the pigeons settle "If the further bird, The white, takes wing first, I '11 confess when thrashed ; Not, if the blue does " so I said to myself Last week, lest you should take me by surprise : Off flapped the white, and I 'm confessing, sir! Perhaps 't is Providence's whim and way With only me, i' the world : how can you tell? " Because unlikely! " Was it likelier, now, That this our one out of all worlds beside, 980 The what-d'you-call-'em millions, should be just Precisely chosen to make Adam for, And the rest o' the tale ? Yet the tale 's true, you know : Such undeserving clod was graced so once ; Why not graced likewise undeserving Sludge ? Are we merit-mongers, flaunt we filthy rags ? All you can bring against my privilege Is, that another way was taken with you, Which I don't question. It 's pure grace, my luck : I 'm broken to the way of nods and winks, 990 And need no formal summoning. You Ve a help ; Holloa his name or whistle, clap your hands, Stamp with your foot or pull the bell : all 's one, He understands you want him, here he comes. Just so, I come at the knocking : you, sir, wait The tongue o' the bell, nor stir before you catch Reason's clear tingle, nature's clapper brisk, Or that traditional peal was wont to cheer Your mother's face turned heavenward : short of these There 's no authentic intimation, eh? 1000 Well, when you hear, you '11 answer them, start up And stride into the presence, top of toe, And there find Sludge beforehand, Sludge that sprang At noise o' the knuckle on the partition-wall! I think myself the more religious man. 392 MR. SLUDGE, " THE MEDIUM." Religion 's all or nothing ; it 's no mere smile O' contentment, sigh of aspiration, sir No quality o' the finelier-tempered clay Like its whiteness or its lightness ; rather, stuff O 1 the very stuff, life of life, and self of self. IOIO I tell you. men won't notice ; when they do, They '11 understand. I notice nothing else : I 'm eyes, ears, mouth of me, one gaze and gape, Nothing eludes me, even-thing 's a hint, Handle and help. It's all absurd, and yet There 's something in it all, I know : how much ? No answer! What does that prove? Man 's still man, Still meant for a poor blundering piece of work When all 's done ; but, if somewhat 's done, like this, Or not done, is the case the same? Suppose 1020 I blunder in my guess at the true sense O' the knuckle-summons, nine times out of ten, What if the tenth guess happen to be right? If the tenth shovel-load of powdered quartz Yield me the nugget? I gather, crush, sift all, Pass o'er the failure, pounce on the success. To give you a notion, now (let who wins, laugh!) When first I see a man, what do I first? Why, count the letters which make up his name, And as their number chances, even or odd, 1030 Arrive at my conclusion, trim my course : Hiram H. Horsefall is your honoured name, And have n't I found a patron, sir, in you ? " Shall I cheat this stranger?" I take apple-pips, Stick one in either canthus of my eye, And if the left drops first (your left, sir, stuck) I 'm warned, I let the trick alone this time. You, sir, who smile, superior to such trash, You judge of character by other rules : Don't your rules sometimes fail you ? Pray, what rule 1040 Have you judged Sludge by hitherto ? Oh, be sure, You, everybody blunders, just as I, In simpler things than these by far! For see : I knew two farmers, one, a wiseacre Who studied seasons, rummaged almanacs, Quoted the dew-point, registered the frost, And then declared, for outcome of his pains, Next summer must be dampish : 't was a drought. His neighbour prophesied such drought would fall, Saved hay and corn, made cent, per cent, thereby, 1050 And proved a sage indeed : how came his lore? MR. SLUDGE, " THE MEDIUM? 393 Because one brindled heifer, late in March, Stiffened her tail of evenings, and somehow He got into his head that drought was meant! I don't expect all men can do as much : Such kissing goes by favour. You must take A certain turn of mind for this, a twist I' the flesh, as well. Be lazily alive, Open-mouthed, like my friend the ant-eater, Letting all nature's loosely-guarded motes 1060 Settle and, slick, be swallowed! Think yourself The one i' the world, the one for whom the world Was made, expect it tickling at your mouth ! Then will the swarm of busy buzzing flies, Clouds of coincidence, break egg-shell, thrive, Breed, multiply, and bring you food enough. I can't pretend to mind your smiling, sir! Oh, what you mean is this! Such intimate way, Close converse, frank exchange of offices, Strict sympathy of the immeasurably great 1070 With the infinitely small, betokened here By a course of signs and omens, raps and sparks, How does it suit the dread traditional text O' the " Great and Terrible Name? " Shall the Heaven of Heavens Stoop to such child's play? Please sir, go with me A moment, and I '11 try to answer you. The "Magnum et terribile'" (is that right?) Well, folk began with this in the early day ; And all the acts they recognized in proof Were thunders, lightnings, earthquakes, whirlwinds, dealt 1080 Indisputably on men whose death they caused. There, and there only, folk saw Providence At work, and seeing it, 't was right enough All heads should tremble, hands wring hands amain, And knees knock hard together at the breath O' the Name's first letter ; why, the Jews, I 'm told, Won't write it down, no, to this very hour, Nor speak aloud : you know best if H be so. Each ague-fit of fear at end, they crept (Because somehow people once born must live) Out of the sound, sight, swing and sway o' the Name, Into a corner, the dark rest of the world And safe space where as yet no fear had reached ; 'T was there they looked about them, breathed again, And felt indeed at home, as we might say. 394 MR - SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." The current o' common things, the daily life, This had their due contempt ; no Name pursued Man from the mountain-top where fires abide, To his particular mouse-hole at its foot Where he ate, drank, digested, lived in short. noo Such was man's vulgar business, far too small To be worth thunder : " small," folk kept on, " small," With much complacency in those great days! A mote of sand, you know, a blade of grass What was so despicable as mere grass. Except perhaps the life o 1 the worm or fly Which fed there ? These were " small " and men were great. Well, sir, the old way 's altered somewhat since, And the world wears another aspect now : Somebody turns our spyglass round, or else mo Puts a new lens in it : grass, worm, fly grow big : We find great things are made of little things, And little things go lessening till at last Comes God behind them. Talk of mountains now? We talk of mould that heaps the mountain, mites That throng the mould, and God that makes the mites. The Name comes close behind a stomach-cyst, The simplest of creations, just a sac That 's mouth, heart, legs and belly at once, yet lives And feels, and could do neither, we conclude, 1120 If simplified still further one degree : The small becomes the dreadful and immense! Lightning, forsooth? No word more upon that! A tin-foil bottle, a strip of greasy silk, With a bit of wire and knob of brass, and there 's Your dollar's worth of lightning! But the cyst The life of the least of the little things ? No, no! * Preachers and teachers try another tack, Come near the truth this time : they put aside Thunder and lightning : " That 's mistake," they cry, 1130 "Thunderbolts fall for neither fright nor sport, But do appreciable good, like tides, Changes o' the wind, and other natural facts ' Good ' meaning good to man, his body or soul. Mediate, immediate, all things minister To man, that 's settled : be our future text 'We are His children! ' " So, they now harangue About the intention, the contrivance, all That keeps up an incessant play of love, See the Bridgewater book. MR. SLUDGE, THE MEDIUM." 395 Amen to it! 1140 Well, sir, I put this question : I 'm a child ? I lose no time, but take you at your word : How shall I act a child's part properly ? Your sainted mother, sir, used you to live With such a thought as this a-worrying you? " She has it in her power to throttle me, Or stab or poison : she may turn me out, Or lock me in, nor stop at this to-day, But cut me off to-morrow from the estate I look for" (long may you enjoy it, sir!) 1150 " In brief, she may unchild the child I am." You never had such crotchets? Nor have I! Who, frank confessing childship from the first, Can not both fear and take my ease at once. So, don't fear, know what might be, well enough But know too, child-like, that it will not be, At least in my case, mine, the son and heir O' the kingdom, as yourself proclaim my style. But do you fancy I stop short at this ? Wonder if suit and service, son and heir 1160 Needs must expect, I dare pretend to find? If, looking for signs proper to such an one, I straight perceive them irresistible ? Concede that homage is a son's plain right, And, never mind the nods and raps and winks, 'T is the pure obvious supernatural Steps forward, does its duty : why, of course ! I have presentiments : my dreams come true : I fancy a friend stands whistling all in white Blithe as a boblink, and he 's dead I learn. 1170 I take dislike to a dog my favourite long, And sell him ; he goes mad next week and snaps. I guess that stranger will turn up to-day I have not seen these three years ; there 's his knock. I wager " sixty peaches on that tree ! " - That I pick up a dollar in my walk, That your wife's brother's cousin's name was George And win on all points. Oh, you wince at this? You 'd fain distinguish between gift and gift, Washington's oracle and Sludge's itch n8c O' the elbow when at whist he ought to trump? With Sludge it 's too absurd? Fine, draw the line Somewhere, but, sir, your somewhere is not mine! Bless us, I 'm turning poet! It 's time to end. How you have drawn me out, sir! All I ask Is am I heir or not heir? If I 'm he, 396 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." Then, sir, remember, that same personage (To judge by what we read i' the newspaper) Requires, beside one nobleman in gold To carry up and down his coronet, 1190 Another servant, probably a duke, To hold egg-nogg in readiness : why want Attendance, sir, when helps in his father's house Abound, I 'd like to know ? Enough of talk! My fault is that I tell too plain a truth. Why, which of those who say they disbelieve, Your clever people, but has dreamed his dream, Caught his coincidence, stumbled on his fact He can't explain, (he '11 tell you smilingly) Which he 's too much of a philosopher 1200 To count as supernatural, indeed, So calls a puzzle and problem, proud of it? Bidding you still be on your guard, you know, Because one fact don't make a system stand, Nor prove this an occasional escape Of spirit beneath the matter : that 's the way ! Just so wild Indians picked up, piece by piece, The fact in California, the fine gold That underlay the gravel hoarded these, But never made a system stand, nor dug! 1210 So wise men hold out in each hollowed palm A handful of experience, sparkling fact They can't explain; and since their rest of life Is all explainable, what proof in this? Whereas I take the fact, the grain of gold, And fling away the dirty rest of life. And add this grain to the grain each fool has found O' the million other such philosophers, Till I see gold, all gold and only gold, Truth questionless tho 1 unexplainable, I22O And the miraculous proved the commonplace! The other fools believed in mud, no doubt Failed to know gold they saw : was that so strange? Are all men born to play Bach's fiddle-fugues, " Time " with the foil in carte, jump their own height, Cut the mutton with the broadsword, skate a five, Make the red hazard with the cue, clip nails While swimming, in five minutes row a mile, Pull themselves three feet up with the left arm, Do sums of fifty figures in their head, 1230 And so on, .by the scores of instances? The Sludge with luck, who sees the spiritual facts MR. SLUDGE, THE MEDIUM." His fellows strive and fail to see, may rank With these, and share the advantage. ~, , , Ay, but share The drawback! Think it over by yourself; I have not heart, sir, and the fire 's gone gray. Defect somewhere compensates for success, Everyone knows that. Oh, we 're equals, sir! The big-legged fellow has a little arm And a less brain, tho' big legs win the race. I2 4a Do you suppose I 'scape the common lot? Say, I was born with flesh so sensitive, Soul so alert, that, practice helping both, I guess what 's going on outside the veil, Just as a prisoned crane feels pairing-time In the islands where his kind are, so must fall To capering by himself some shiny night, As if your back-yard were a plot of spice Thus am I 'ware o' the spirit-world : while you, Blind as a beetle that way, for amends, 1250 Why, you can double fist and floor me, sir! Ride that hot hardmouthed horrid horse of yours, Laugh while it lightens, play with the great dog, Speak your mind tho' it vex some friend to hear, Never brag, never bluster, never blush, In short, you Ve pluck, when I 'm a coward there! I know it, I can't help it, folly or no, I 'm paralyzed, my hand 's no more a hand, Nor my head a head, in danger : you can smile And change the pipe in your cheek. Your gift 's not mine '260 Would you swap for mine? No! but you 'd add my gift To yours : I dare say ! I too sigh at times, Wish I were stouter, could tell truth nor flinch, Kept cool when threatened, did not mind so much Being dressed gaily, making strangers stare, Eating nice things ; when I 'd amuse myself, I shut my eyes and fancy in my brain, I 'm now the President, now, Jenny Lind, Now, Emerson, now, the Benicia Boy With all the civilized world a-wondering 1270 And worshiping. I know it 's folly and worse ; I feel such tricks sap, honeycomb the soul : But I can't cure myself, despond, despair, And then, hey, presto, there 's a turn o' the wheel, Under comes uppermost, fate makes full amends ; Sludge knows and sees and hears a hundred things You all are blind to, I Ve my taste of truth, Likewise my touch of falsehood, vice no doubt, But you 've your vices also : I 'm content. 398 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." What, sir? You won't shake hands? "Because I 1280 cheat! You 've found me out in cheating! " That 's enough To make an apostle swear! Why, when I cheat, Mean to cheat, do cheat, and ant caught in the act, Are you, or rather, am I sure 0' the fact? (There 's verse again, but I 'm inspired somehow.) Well then I 'm not sure! I may be, perhaps, Free as a babe from cheating : how it began, My gift, no matter ; what 't is got to be In the end now, that 's the question ; answer that! Had I seen, perhaps, what hand was holding mine, 1290 Leading me whither, I had died of fright, So, I was made believe I led myself. If I should lay a six-inch plank from roof To roof, you would not cross the street, one step, Even at your mother's summons : but, being shrewd, If I paste paper on each side the plank And swear 't is solid pavement, why, you '11 cross Humming a tune the while, in ignorance Beacon Street stretches a hundred feet below : I walked thus, took the paper-cheat for stone. 1300 Some impulse made me set a thing o" the move Which, started once, ran really by itself; Beer flows thus, suck the siphon ; toss the kite, It takes the wind and floats of its own force. Don't let truth's lump rot stagnant for the lack Of a timely helpful lie to leaven it! Put a chalk-egg beneath the clucking hen, She '11 lay a real one, laudably deceived, Daily for weeks to come. I 've told my lie, And seen truth follow, marvels none of mine ; 1310 All was not cheating, sir, I 'm positive! I don't know if I move your hand sometimes When the spontaneous writing spreads so far, If my knee lifts the table all that height, Why the inkstand don't fall off the desk a-tilt, Why the accordion plays a prettier waltz Than I can pick out on the piano-forte, Why I speak so much more than I intend, Describe so many things I never saw. I tell you, sir, in one sense, I believe 1320 Nothing at all, that everybody can, Will, and does cheat : but in another sense I 'm ready to believe my very self That every cheat 's inspired, and every lie Quick with a germ of truth. MR. SLUDGE, " THE MEDIUM? You ask perhaps Why I should condescend to trick at all If I know a way without it? This is why! There 's a strange secret sweet self-sacrifice In any desecration of one's soul To a worthy end, is n't it Herodotus 1330 (I wish I could read Latin!) who describes The single gift o' the land's virginity, Demanded in those old Egyptian rites, (I 've but a hazy notion help me, sir!) For one purpose in the world, one day in a life, One hour in a day thereafter, purity, And a veil thrown o'er the past for evermore! Well now they understood a many things Down by Nile city, or wherever it was ! I Ve always vowed, after the minute's lie, 1340 And the end's gain, truth should be mine henceforth. This goes to the root o' the matter, sir, this plain Plump fact : accept it and unlock with it The wards of many a puzzle! Or, finally, Why should I set so fine a gloss on things? What need I care? I cheat in self-defence, And there 's my answer to a world of cheats! Cheat? To be sure, sir! What 's the world worth else? Who takes it as he finds, and thanks his stars ? Don't it want trimming, turning, furbishing up 1350 And polishing over? Your so-styled great men, Do they accept one truth as truth is found, Or try their skill at tinkering? What 's your world? Here are you born, who are, I '11 say at once, Of the luckiest kind whether in head and heart, Body and soul, or all that helps them both. Well, now, look back : what faculty of yours Came to its full, had ample justice done By growing when rain fell, biding its time, Solidifying growth when earth was dead, 1360 Spiring up, broadening wide, in seasons due? Never! You shot up and frost nipped you off, Settled to sleep when sunshine bade you sprout ; One faculty thwarted its fellow : at the end, All you boast is, " I had proved a topping tree In other climes " yet this was the right clime Had you foreknown the seasons. Young, you 've force Wasted like well-streams : old, oh, then indeed* Behold a labyrinth of hydraulic pipes Thro' which you 'd play off wondrous waterwork ; 1370 400 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." Only, no water 's left to feed their play. Young, you Ve a hope, an aim, a love ; it 's tossed And crossed and lost : you struggle on, some spark Shut in your heart against the puffs around, Thro' cold and pain ; these in due time subside : Now then for age's triumph, the hoarded light You mean to loose on the altered face of things, Up with it on the tripod! It 's extinct. Spend your life's remnant asking which was best, Light smothered up that never peeped forth once, 1380 Or the cold cresset with full leave to shine? Well, accept this too, seek the fruit of it > Not in enjoyment, proved a dream on earth,? But knowledge, useful for a second chance, ' Another life, you 've lost this world, you Ve gained Its knowledge for the next. What knowledge, sir, Except that you know nothing? Nay, you doubt Whether 't were better have made you man or brute, If aught be true, if good and evil clash. No foul, no fair, no inside, no outside, 1390 There 's your world! Give it me! I slap it brisk With harlequin's pasteboard sceptre : what 's it now? Changed like a rock-flat, rough with rusty weed, At first wash-over o' the returning wave! All the dry dead impracticable stuff Starts into life and light again ; this world Pervaded by the influx from the next. I cheat, and what's the happy consequence? You find full justice straightway dealt you out, Each want supplied, each ignorance set at ease, 1400 Each folly fooled. No life-long labour now As the price of worse than nothing! No mere film Holding you chained in iron, as it seems, Against the outstretch of your very arms And legs i' the sunshine moralists forbid! What would you have? Just speak and, there, you see! You 're supplemented, made a whole at last : Bacon advises, Shakespeare writes you songs, And Mary Queen of Scots embraces you. Thus it goes on, not quite like life perhaps, 1410 But so near, that the very difference piques, Shows that e'en better than this best will be This passing entertainment in a hut Whose bare walls take your taste since, one stage more, And you arrive at the palace : all half real, And you, to suit it, less than real beside, MR. SLUDGE, " THE MEDIUM." 4OI In a dream, lethargic kind of death in life, That helps the interchange of natures, flesh Transfused by souls, and such souls! Oh, \ is choice! And if at whiles the bubble, blown too thin, 1420 Seem nigh on bursting, if you nearly see The real -world thro' the false, whatV^ you see? Is the oia so ruined? You find you 're in a flock O' the youthful, earnest, passionate genius, beauty, Rank and wealth also, if you care for these : And all depose their natural rights, hail you, (That 's me, sir) as their mate and yoke-fellow. Participate in Sludgehood nay, grow mine, I veritably possess them banish doubt, And reticence and modesty alike! 1430 Why^iere 's the Golden Age, old Paradise Or new Eutopia! Here 's true life indeed, And the world well won now, mine for the first time ! And all this might be, may be, and with good help Of a little lying shall be : so, Sludge lies! Why, he 's at worst your poet who sings how Greeks That never were, in Troy which never was, Did this or the other impossible great thing ! He 's Lowell it 's a world (you smile applause) Of his own invention wondrous Longfellow, 144 Surprising Hawthorne! Sludge does more than they, And acts the books they write : the more his praise! But why do I mount to poets ? Take plain prose Dealers in common sense, set these at work, What can they do without their helpful lies? Each states the law and fact and face o' the thing Just as he 'd have them, finds what he thinks fit, Is blind to what missuits him, just records What makes his case out, quite ignores the rest. It 's a History of the World, the Lizard Age, 1450 The Early Indians, the Old Country War, Jerome Napoleon, whatsoever you please, All as the author wants it. Such a scribe You pay and praise for putting life in stones, Fire into fog, making the past your world. There 's plenty of " How did you contrive to grasp The thread which led you thro' this labyrinth ? How build such solid fabric out of air? How on so slight foundation found this tale, Biography, narrative?" or, in other words, 1460 "How many lies did it require to make The portly truth you here present us with?" 4 02 MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM? " Oh," quoth the penman, purring at your praise, " 'T is fancy all ; no particle of fact : I was poor and threadbare when I wrote that book ' Bliss in the Golden City.' I, at Thebes? We writers paint out of our heads, you see! " " Ah, the more wonderful the gift in you, The more creativeness and godlike craft!" But I, do I present you with my piece, 147 It 's " What, Sludge? When my sainted mother spoke The verses Lady Jane Grey last composed About the rosy bower in the seventh heaven Where she and Queen Elizabeth keep house, You made the raps ? 'T was your invention that ? Cur, slave and devil!" eight fingers and two thumbs Stuck in my throat! Well, if the marks seem gone, 'T is because stiffish cock-tail, taken in time, Is better for a bruise than arnica. There, sir! I bear no malice : 't is n't in me. 1480 I know I acted wrongly : still, I've tried What I could say in my excuse, to show The devil 's not all devil ... I don't 'pretend He 's angel, much less such a gentleman As you, sir! And I 've lost you, lost myself, Lost all-1-1-1- .... No are you in earnest, sir? O, yours, sir, is an angel's part! I know What prejudice prompts, and what 's the common course Men take to soothe their ruffled self-conceit : Only you rise superior to it all ! *49 No, sir, it don't hurt much ; it 's speaking long That makes me choke a little : the marks will go! What? Twenty V-notes more, and outfit too, And not a word to Greeley ? One one kiss O' the hand that saves me? You '11 not let me speak, I well know, and I Ve lost the right, too true ! But I must say, sir, if She hears (she does) Your sainted . . . Well, sir, be it so! That's, I think, My bed-room candle. Good-night! Bl-1-less you, sir! R-r-r, you brute-beast and blackguard! Cowardly scamp! 1500 I only wish I dared burn down the house And spoil your sniggering! Oh, what, you 're the man? You 're satisfied at last ? You 've found out Sludge ? We '11 see that presently : my turn, sir, next! THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. 403 I too can tell my story: brute. do you hear? You throttled your sainted mother, that old hag, In just such a fit of passion : no, it was . . . To get this house of hers, and many a note Like these . . . I '11 pocket them, however . . . five, Ten, fifteen . . . ay, you gave her throat the twist, 1510 Or else you poisoned her! Confound the cuss! Where was my head ? I ought to have prophesied He '11 die in a year and join her : that 's the way. I don't know where my head is : what had I done? How did it all go ? I said he poisoned her, And hoped he 'd have grace given him to repent ; Whereon he picked this quarrel, bullied me And called me cheat : I thrashed him, who could help? He howled for mercy, prayed me on his knees To cut and run and save him from disgrace : 1520 I do so, and once off, he slanders me. An end of him! Begin elsewhere anew! Boston 's a hole, the herring-pond is wide, V-notes are something, liberty still more. Beside, is he the only fool in the world? 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. 404 THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. u 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. 2O 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. THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. 405 T was Easter Day : he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome. In the tiring-room close by The great outer gallery, co 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. 74 " 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. A DEATH IN THE DESERT. A DEATH IN THE DESERT. r ? [ QUPPOSED of Pamphylax the Antiochene : O It is a parchment, of my rolls the fifth, Hath three skins glued together, is all Greek, And goeth from Epsilon down to Mn : Lies second in the surnamed Chosen Chest, Stained and conserved with juice of terebinth, i o ft V Covered with cloth of hair, and lettered AY, From Xanthus. my wife's uncle, now at peace : Mu and Epsilon stand for my own name, I may not write it, but I make a cross 10 To show I wait His coming, with the rest, And leave off here : beginneth Pamphylax.] I said, "If one should wet his lips with wine, And slip the broadest plantain-leaf we find, Or else the lappet of a linen robe, Into the water-vessel, lay it right, And cool his forehead just above the eyes, The while a brother, kneeling either side, Should chafe each hand and try to make it warm, He is not so far gone but he might speak." 20 This did not happen in the outer cave, Nor in the secret chamber of the rock, Where, sixty days since the decree was out, We had him, bedded on a camel-skin, And waited for his dying all the while ; But in the midmost grotto : since noon's light Reached there a little, and we would not lose The last of what might happen on his face. I at the head, and Xanthus at the feet, With Valens and the Boy, had lifted him, 30 And brought him from the chamber in the depths, And laid him in the light where we might see : For certain smiles began about his mouth, And his lids moved, presageful of the end. Beyond, and half way up the mouth o' the cave, The Bactrian convert, having his desire, Kept watch, and made pretence to graze a goat That gave us milk, on rags of various herb, Plantain and quitch, the rocks' shade keeps alive : So that if any thief or soldier passed, 40 (Because the persecution was aware) A DEATH IN THE DESERT. 4O ; Yielding the goat up promptly with his life, Such man might pass on, joyful at a prize, Nor care to pry into the cool o' the cave. Outside was all noon and the burning blue. " Here is wine," answered Xanthus, dropped a drop ; I stooped and placed the lap of cloth aright, Then chafed his right hand, and the Boy his left : But Valens had bethought him, and produced And broke a ball of nard, and made perfume. 50 Only, he did not so much wake, as turn And smile a little, as a sleeper does If any dear one call him, touch his face And smiles and loves, but will not be disturbed. Then Xanthus said a prayer, but still he slept : It is the Xanthus that escaped to Rome, Was burned, and could not write the chronicle. Then the Boy sprang up from his knees, and ran, Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought, And fetched the seventh plate of graven lead 60 Out of the secret chamber, found a place, Pressing with finger on the deeper dints, And spoke, as 't were his mouth proclaiming first, " I am the Resurrection and the Life." Whereat he opened his eyes wide at once, And sat up of himself, and looked at us ; And thenceforth nobody pronounced a word : Only, outside, the Bactrian cried his cry Like the lone desert-bird that wears the ruff, As signal we were safe, from time to time. 7 First he said, " If a friend declared to me, ' This my son Valens, this my other son, Were James and Peter, nay, declared as well This lad was very John, I could believe! Could, for a moment, doubtlessly believe : ;" So is myself withdrawn- into my depths, The soul retreated from the perished brain Whence it was wont to feel and use the world Thro 1 these dull members, done with long ago. Yet I myself remain ; I feel myself: 80 And there is nothing lost. Let be, awhile! " [This is the doctrine he was wont to teach, How divers persons witness in each man, Three souls which make up one soul : first, to wit, 408 A DEATH IN THE DESERT. A soul of each and all the bodily parts, Seated therein, which works, and is what Does, And has the use of earth, and ends the man Downward : but tending upward for advice, Grows into, and again is grown into By the next soul, which, seated in the brain, 90 Useth the first with its collected use, And feeleth, thinketh, willeth, is what Knows: Which, duly tending upward in its turn, Grows into, and again is grown into By the last soul, that uses both the first, Subsisting whether they assist or no, And, constituting man's self, is what Is And leans upon the former, makes it play, As that played off the first : and, tending up, Holds, is upheld by, God, and ends the man loo Upward in that dread point of intercourse, Nor needs a place, for it returns to Him, What Does, what Knows, what Is ; three souls, one man. I give the glossa of Theotypas.] , And then, " A stick, once fire from end to end ; Now, ashes save the tip that holds a spark! Yet, blow the spark, it runs back, spreads itself A little where the fire was : thus I urge The soul that served me, till it task once more What ashes of my brain have kept their shape, no And these make effort on the last o' the flesh, Trying to taste again the truth of things (He smiled) " their very superficial truth ; As that ye are my sons, that it is long Since James and Peter had release by death, And I am only he, your brother John, Who saw and heard, and could remember all. . Remember all! It is not much to say. What if the truth broke on me from above As once and ofttimes? Such might hap again : 120 Doubtlessly He might stand in presence here, With head wool-white, eyes, flame, and feet like brass, The sword and the seven stars, as I have seen I who now shudder only and surmise ' How did your brother bear that sight and live ? ' " If I live yet, it is for good, more love Thro' me to men : be naught but ashes here That keep awhile my semblance, who was John, Still, when they scatter, there is left on earth No one alive who knew (consider this!) 130 A DEATH IN THE DESERT. Saw with his eyes and handled with his hands That which was from the first, the Word of Life. . How will it be when none more saith, I saw? 1 "Such ever was love's way : to rise, it stoops. Since I, whom Christ's mouth taught, was bidden teach, I went, for many years, about the world, Saying ' It was so ; so I heard and saw.' Speaking as the case asked : and men believed. Afterward came the message to myself In Patmos isle ; I was not bidden "teach, 140 But simply listen, take a book and write, Nor set down other than the given word, With nothing left to my arbitrament To choose or change : I wrote, and men believed. Then, for my time grew brief, no message more, No call to write again, I found a way, And, reasoning from my knowledge, merely taught Men should, for love's sake, in love's strength, believe ; Or I would pen a letter to a friend And urge the same as friend, nor less nor more : 150 Friends said I reasoned rightly, and believed. But at the last, why, I seemed left alive Like a sea-jelly weak on Patmos strand. To tell dry sea-beach gazers how I fared When there was mid-sea, and the mighty things; Left to repeat, < I saw, I heard, I knew,' And go all over the old ground again, With Antichrist already in the world, And many Antichrists, who answered prompt * Am I not Jasper as thyself art John? 160 Nay, young, whereas thro' age thou mayest forget : Wherefore, explain, or how shall we believe ? ' I never thought to call down fire on such, Or, as in wonderful and early days. Pick up the scorpion, tread the serpent dumb ; But patient stated much of the Lord's life Forgotten or misdelivered, and let it work : Since much that at the first, in deed and word, Lay simply and sufficiently exposed, Had grown (or else my soul was grown to match, 170 Fed thro' such years, familiar with such light, Guarded and guided still to see and speak) Of new significance and fresh result ; What first were guessed as points, I now knew stars, And named them in the Gospel I have writ. For men said, ' It is getting long ago : ' 'Where is the promise of His coming?' asked 4io A DEATH IN THE DESERT. These young ones in their strength, as loth to wait, Of me who, when their sires were born, was old. I, for I loved them, answered, joyfully, 180 Since I was there, and helpful in my age ; . And, in the main, I think such men believed. Finally, thus endeavouring, I fell sick, Ye brought me here, and 1 supposed the end, And went to sleep with one thought that, at least, Tho 1 the whole earth should lie in wickedness, We had the truth, might leave the rest to God. Yet now I wake in such decrepitude As I had slidden down and fallen afar, * Past even the presence of my former self, 190 Grasping the while for stay at facts which snap, Till I am found away from my own world, Feeling for foot-hold thro' a blank profound, Along with unborn people in strange lands, Who say I hear said or conceive they say 'Was John at all, and did he say he saw? Assure us, ere we ask what he might see! ' " And how shall I assure them ? Can they share They, who have flesh, a veil of youth and strength About each spirit, that needs must bide its time, 200 Living and learning still as years assist Which wear the thickness thin, and let man see With me who hardly am withheld at all, But shudderingly, scarce a shred between, Lie bare to the universal prick of light ? Is it for nothing we grow old and weak, We whom God loves? When pain ends, gain ends too. To me, that story ay, that Life and Death Of which I wrote ' it was ' to me, it is ; Is, here and now : I apprehend naught else. 210 Is not God now i' the world His power first made? \ Is not His love at issue still with sin, Visibly when a wrong is done on earth? Love, wrong, and pain, what see I else around? Yea, and the Resurrection and Uprise To the right hand of the throne what is it beside, When such truth, breaking bounds, o'erfloods my soul, And, as I saw the sin and death, even so See I the need yet transiency of both, The good and glory consummated thence? 22C I saw the Power ; I see the Love, once weak, Resume the Power : and in this word ' I see,' Lo, there is recognized the Spirit of both That moving o'er the spirit of man, unblinds A DEATH IN THE DESERT. 4II His eye and bids him look. These are, I see ; But ye, the children, His beloved ones too, Ye need, as I should use an optic glass I wondered at erewhile, somewhere i' the world, It had been given a crafty smith to make ; A tube, he turned on objects brought too close, 230 Lying confusedly insubordinate For the unassisted eye to master once : Look thro 1 his tube, at distance now they lay, Become succinct, distinct, so small, so clear! Just thus, ye needs must apprehend what truth I see, reduced to plain historic fact, Diminished into clearness, proved a point And far away : ye would withdraw your sense From out eternity, strain it upon time, Then stand before that fact, that Life and Death, 240 Stay there at gaze, till it dispart, dispread, As tho' a star should open out, all sides, Grow the world on you, as it is my world. " For life, with all it yields of joy and woe, And hope and fear, believe the aged friend, Is just our chance o' the prize of learning love, How love might be, hath been indeed, and is ; And that we hold thenceforth to the uttermost Such prize despite the envy of the world, And, having gained truth, keep truth : that is all. 250 But see the double way wherein we are led, How the soul learns diversely from the flesh! With flesh, that hath so little time to stay, And yields mere basement for the soul's emprise, Expect prompt teaching. Helpful was the light, And warmth was cherishing and food was choice To every man's flesh, thousand years ago, As now to yours and mine ; the body sprang At once to the height, and stayed : but the soul, no! Since sages who, this noontide, meditate 260 In Rome or Athens, may descry some point Of the eternal power, hid yestereve : And, as thereby the power's whole mass extends, So much extends the tether floating o'er The love that tops the might, the Christ in God. Then, as new lessons shall be learned in these Till earth's work stop and useless time run out, So duly, daily, needs provision be For keeping the soul's prowess possible, Building new barriers as the old decay, 270 Saving us from evasion of life's proof. 412 A DEATH IN THE DESERT. Putting the question ever, ' Does God love, And will ye hold that truth against the world?' Ye know there needs no second proof with good Gained for our flesh from any earthly source : We might go freezing, ages, give us fire, Thereafter we judge fire at its full worth, And guard it safe thro' every chance, ye know! That fable of Prometheus and his theft, How mortals gained Jove's fiery flower, grows old 280 (I have been used to hear the pagans own) And out of mind ; but fire, howe'er its birth, Here is it, precious to the sophist now Who laughs the myth of yEschylus to scorn, As precious to those satyrs of his play, Who touched it in gay wonder at the thing. While were it so with the soul, this gift of truth Once grasped, were this our soul's gain safe, and sure To prosper as the body's gain is wont, Why, man's probation would conclude, his earth 290 Crumble ; for he both reasons and decides, Weighs first, then chooses r will he give up fire For gold or purple once he knows its worth ? Could he give Christ up were His worth as plain? ; Therefore, I say, to test man, the proofs shift, Nor may he grasp that fact like other fact. And straightway in his life acknowledge it, As, say, the indubitable bliss of fire. Sigh ye, ' It had been easier once than now?' To give you answer I am left alive ; 300 Look at me who was present from the first! Ye know what things I saw ; then came a test, My first, befitting me who so had seen : ' Forsake the Christ thou sawest transfigured, Him Who trod the sea and brought the dead to life ? What should wring this from thee!' ye laugh and ask. What wrung it? Even a torchlight and a noise, The sudden Roman faces, violent hands, And fear of what the Jews might do! Just that, And it is written, ' I forsook and fled ; ' 310 There was my trial, and it ended thus. Ay, but my soul had gained its truth, could grow : \ Another year or two, what little child, What tender woman that had seen no least Of all my sights, but barely heard them told. Who did not clasp the cross with a light laugh, Or wrap the burning robe round, thanking God? Well, was truth safe for ever, then ? Not so, Already had begun the silent work A DEATH IN THE DESERT. Whereby truth, deadened of its absolute blaze, \ 320 Might need love's eye to pierce the o'erstretched doubtX Teachers were busy, whispering ' All is true As the aged ones report ; but youth can reach Where age gropes dimly, weak with stir and strain, And the full doctrine slumbers till to-day.' Thus, what the Roman's lowered spear was found, A bar to me who touched and handled truth, Now proved the glozing of some new shrewd tongue, This Ebion, this Cerinthus or their mates, Till imminent was the outcry ' Save 1 our Christ! ' 330 Whereon I stated much of the Lord's life Forgotten or misdelivered, and let it work. Such work done, as it will be, what comes next? What do I hear say, or conceive men say, 'Was John at all, and did he say he saw? Assure us, ere we ask what he might see!' " Is this indeed a burthen for late days, And may I help to bear it with you all, Using my weakness which becomes your stren^ For if a babe were born inside this grot, Grew to a boy here, heard us praise the sun, Yet had but yon sole glimmer in light's place, One loving him and wishful he should learn, Would much rejoice himself was blinded first Month by month here, so made to understand How eyes, born darkling, apprehend amiss : I think I could explain to such a child There was more glow outside than gleams he caught, Ay, nor need urge ' I saw it, so believe! ' It is a heavy burthen you shall bear 350 In latter days, new lands, or old grown strange, Left without me, which must be very soon. What is the doubt, my brothers? Quick with it! I see you stand conversing, each new face, Either in fields, of yellow summer eves, On islets yet unnamed amid the sea ; Or pace for shelter 'neath a portico Out of the crowd in some enormous town Where now the larks sing in a solitude ; Or muse upon blank heaps of stone and sand 360 Idly conjectured to be Ephesus ; And no one asks his fellow any more 'Where is the promise of His coming? ' but ' Was he revealed in any of His lives, As Power, as Love, as .Influencing Soul?' 414 A DEATH IN THE DESERT. " Quick, for time presses, tell the whole mind out, And let us ask and answer and be saved! My book speaks on, because it can not pass ; One listens quietly, nor scoffs but pleads ; Here is a tale of things done ages since ; 370 What truth was ever told the second day? Wonders, that would prove doctrine, go for naught. Remains the doctrine, love ; well, we must love, And what we love most, power and love in one, Let us acknowledge on the record here, Accepting these in Christ : must Christ then be? Has He been? Did not we ourselves make .Him? Our mind receives but~wRat Tt : rlol3s, no more. First of the love, then ; we acknowledge Christ A proof we comprehend His love, a proof 380 We had such love already in ourselves, Knew first what else we should not recognize. 'T is mere projection from man's inmost mind, And. what he loves, thus falls reflected back, Becomes accounted somewhat out of him ; He throws it up in air, it drops down earth's, W T ith shape, name, story added, man's old way. How prove you Christ came otherwise at least? Next try the power : He made and rules the world : Certes there is a world once made, now ruled, 390 Unless things have been ever as we see. Our sires declared a charioteer's yoked steeds Brought the sun up the east and down the west, Which only of itself now rises, sets, As if a hand impelled it and a will, Thus they long thought, they who had will and hands : But the new question's whisper is distinct, Wherefore must all force needs be like ourselves? We have the hands, the will ; what made and drives The sun is force, is law, is named, not known, 400 While will and love we do know ; marks of these, Eye-witnesses attest, so books declare As that, to punish or reward our race, The sun at undue times arose or set Or else stood still : what do not men affirm? Bui earth requires as urgently reward Or punishment to-day as years ago, And none expects the sun will interpose : Therefore it was mere passion and mistake, Or erring zeal for right, which changed the truth. 410 Go back, far, farther, to the birth of things ; Ever the will, the intelligence, the love, -^X^ Man's! which he gives, supposing he but finds, A DEATH IN THE DESERT. As late he gave head, body, hands and feet, To help these in what forms he called his gods. First, Jove's brow, Juno's eyes were swept away, But Jove's wrath, Juno's pride continued long! At last, will, power, and love discarded these, So law in turn discards power, love, and will. What proveth God is otherwise at least? 420 All else, projection from the mind of man!' " Nay, do not give me wine, for I am strong, But place my gospel where I put my hands. " I say that man was made to grow, not stop ; \ That help, he needed once, and needs no more, Having grown but an inch by, is withdrawn : For he hath new deeds, and new helps to these. This imports solely, man should mount on each New height in view ; the help whereby he mounts, The ladder-rung his foot has left, may fall, 430 Since all things suffer change save God the Truth. Man apprehends Him newly at each stage f Whereat earth's ladder drops, its service done ; And nothing shall prove twice what once was proved. You stick a garden-plot with ordered twigs To show inside lie germs of herbs unborn, And check the careless step would spoil their birth ; But when herbs wave, the guardian twigs may go, Since should ye doubt of virtues, question kinds, It is no longer for old twigs ye look, 440 Which proved once underneath lay store of seed, But to the herb's self, by what light ye boast, For what fruit's signs are. This book's fruit is plain, Nor miracles need prove it any more. Doth the fruit show? Then miracles bade 'ware At first of root and stem, saved both till now From trampling ox, rough boar and wanton goat. What ? Was man made a wheelwork to wind up, And be discharged, and straight wound up anew? No! grown, his growth lasts ; taught, he ne'er forgets 450 May learn a thousand things, not twice the same. " This might be pagan teaching : now hear mine. " I say, that as the babe, you feed awhile, Becomes a boy and fit to feed himself, So, minds at first must be spoon-fed with truth : When they can eat, babe's nurture is withdrawn. I fed the babe whether it would or no : I bid the boy or feed himself or starve. i 416 A DEATH IN THE DESERT. I cried once, 'That ye may believe in Christ, Behold this blind man shall receive his sight! ' 460 I cry now, ' Urgest thou,/0r I am shrewd And smile at stories how John's word could cure Repeat that miracle and take my faith f ' I say, that miracle was duly wrought When, save for it, no faith w ; as possible. Whether a change were wrought i' the shows o' the world, Whether the change came from our minds which see Of shows o' the world so much as and no more Than God wills for His purpose, (what do I See now, suppose you, there where you see rock 470 Round us?) I know not : such was the effect, So faith grew, making void more miracles Because too much : they would compel, not hel I say, the acknowledgment of God in Christ Accepted by thy reason, solves for thee All questions in the earth and out of it, And has so far advanced thee to be wise. Wouldst thou unprove this to re-prove the proved? In life's mere minute, with power to use that proof, Leave knowledge and revert to how it sprung? 480 Thou hast it ; use it and forthwith, or die ! % " For I say, this is death and the sole death. When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest : A lamp's death when, replete with oil. it chokes ; A stomach's when, surcharged with food, it starves. With ignorance was surety of a cure, When man. appalled at nature, questioned first ' What if there lurk a might behind this might ? ' 490 He needed satisfaction God could give. And did give, as ye have the written word : But when he finds might still redouble might, Yet asks, ' Since all is might, what use of will ? ' Will, the one source of might, he being man With a man's will and a man's might, to teach In little how the two combine in large, That man has turned round on himself and stands : Which in the course of nature is, to die. " And when man questioned, ' What if there be love \ 500 Behind the will and might, as real as they?' He needed satisfaction God could give, And did give, as ye have the written word : A DEATH IN THE DESERT. 417 But when, beholding that love everywhere, He reasons, ' Since such love is everywhere, And since ourselves can love and would be loved, We ourselves make the love, and Christ was not,' How shall ye help this man who knows himself, That he must love and would be loved again, Yet, owning his own love that proveth Christ, 510 Rejecteth Christ thro' very need of Him ? Trie lamp o'erswims with oil. the stomach flags Loaded with nurture, and that man's soul dies. " If he rejoin, ' But this was all the while A trick ; the fault was, first of all, in thee, Thy story of the places, names and dates, Where, when and how the ultimate truth had rise, Thy prior truth, at last discovered none, Whence now the second suffers detriment. What good of giving knowledge if, because 520 O 1 the manner of the gift, its profit fail ? And why refuse what modicum of help Had stopped the after-doubt, impossible I' the face of truth truth absolute, uniform? Why must I hit of this and miss of that, Distinguish just as I be weak or strong, And not ask of thee and have answer prompt, Was this once, was it not once ? then and now And evermore, plain truth from man to man. Is John's procedure just the heathen bard's? 530 Put question of his famous play again How for the ephemerals' sake, Jove's fire was filched, And carried in a cane and brought to earth : The fact is in the fable, cry the wise, ' Mortals obtained the boon, so much is fact, Tho' fire be spirit and produced on earth. As with the Titan's, so now with thy tale : Why breed in us perplexity, mistake, Nor tell the whole truth in the proper words? " I answer, Have ye yet to argue out 540 The very primal thesis, plainest law, Man is not God but hath God's end to serve, A master to obey, a course to take, Somewhat to cast off, somewhat to become ? Grant this, then man must pass from old to new, From vain to real, from mistake to fact, From what once seemed good, to what now proves best : How could man have progression otherwise? Before the point was mooted ' What is God?' 4 l 8 A DEATH IN THE DESERT. No savage man inquired 'What am myself?' 550 Much less replied, ' First, last, and best of things.' Man takes that title now if he believes Might can exist with neither will nor love, In God's case what he names now Nature's Law While in himself he recognizes love No less than might and will : and rightly takes. Since if man prove the sole existent thing Where these combine, whatever their degree, However weak the might or will or love, So they be found there, put in evidence, 560 He is as surely higher in the scale Than any might with neither love nor will, As life, apparent in the poorest midge, (When the faint dust-speck Hits, ye guess its wing) Is marvellous beyond dead Atlas' self Given to the nobler midge for resting-place! Thus, man proves best and highest God, in fine, And thus the victory leads but to defeat, The gain to loss, best rise to the worst fall, His life becomes impossible, which is death. 570 " But if, appealing thencj, he cower, avouch He is mere man, and in humility Nei.her may know God nor mistake himself; I point to the immediate consequence And say, by such confession straight he falls Into man's place, a thing nor God nor beast, Made to know that he can know and not more : Lower than God who knows all and can all. Higher than beasts which know and can so far As each beast's limit, perfect to an end, 580 Nor conscious that they know, nor craving more ; While man knows partly but conceives beside, Creeps ever on from fancies to the fact. And in this striving, this converting air Into a solid he mav grasp and use, Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beasts' : God is, they are. Man partly is and wholly hopes to be. Such progress could no more attend his soul Were all it struggles after found at first 590 And guesses changed to knowledge absolute, Than motion wait his body, were all else Than it the solid earth on every side, Where now thro' space he moves from rest to rest. Man, therefore, thus conditioned, must expect He could not, what he knows now, know at first ; A DEATH IN THE DESERT. 410 What he considers that he knows to-day, Come but to-morrow, he will find misknown ; Getting increase of knowledge, since he learns Because he lives, which is to be a man, goo Set to instruct himself by his past self: First, like the brute, obliged by facts to learn, Next, as man may, obliged by his own mind, Bent, habit, nature, knowledge turned to law. God's gift was that man should conceive of truth And yearn to gain it, catching at mistake, As midway help till he reach fact indeed. The statuary ere he mould a shape Boasts a like gift, the shape's idea, and next The aspiration to produce the same ; 610 So, taking clay, he calls his shape thereout, Cries ever, ' Now I have the thing I see : ' Yet all the while goes changing what was wrought, From falsehood like the truth, to truth itself. How were it had he cried ' I see no face, No breast, no feet i 1 the ineffectual clay ? ' Rather commend him that he clapped "his hands, And laughed ' It is my shape and lives again! ' Enjoyed the falsehood, touched it on to truth, Until yourselves applaud the flesh indeed 620 In what is still flesh-imitating clay. Right in you, right in him, such way be man's! God only makes the live shape at a jet. Will ye renounce this pact of creatureship ? The pattern on the Mount subsists no more, Seemed awhile, then returned to nothingness ; But copies, Moses strove to make thereby, Serve still and are replaced as time requires : By these, make newest vessels, reach the type! If ye demur, this judgment on your head, 630 Never to reach the ultimate, angels' law, Indulging every instinct of the soul There where law, life, joy, impulse are one thing! " Such is the burthen of the latest time. I have survived to hear it with my ears, Answer it with my lips : does this suffice? For if there be a further woe than such. Wherein my brothers struggling need a hand, So long as any pulse is left in mine, May I be absent even longer yet, 640 Plucking the blind ones back from the abyss, Tho' I should tarry a new hundred years ! " 420 A DEATH IN THE DESERT. But he was dead : 't was about noon, the day Somewhat declining : we five buried him That eve, and then, dividing, went five ways, And I, disguised, returned to Ephesus. By this, the cave's mouth must be filled with sand. Valens is lost, I know not of his trace ; The Bactrian was but a wild childish man, And could not write nor speak, but only loved : 650 So, lest the memory of this go quite, Seeing that I to-morrow fight the beasts, I tell the same to Phoebas, whom believe ! For many look again to find that face, Beloved John's to whom I ministered, Somewhere in life about the world ; they err : Either mistaking what was darkly spoke At ending of his book, as he relates, Or misconceiving somewhat of this speech Scattered from mouth to mouth, as I suppose. 660 Believe ye will not see him any more About the world with his divine regard! For all was as I say, and now the man Lies as he lay once, breast to breast with God. [Cerinthus read and mused ; one added this : " It Christ, as thou affirmest, be of men Mere man, the first and best but nothing more, Account Him, for reward of what He was, Now and forever, wretchedest of all. For see ; Himsalf conceived of life as love, 670 Conceived of love as what must enter in, Fill up, make one with His each soul He loved: Thus much for man's joy, all men's joy for Him. Well, He is gone, thou sayest, to fit reward. But by this time are many souls set free, And very many still retained alive : Nay, should His coming be delayed awhile, Say, ten years longer (twelve years, some compute) See if, for every finger of thy hands. There be not found, that day the world shall end, 680 Hundreds of souls, each holding by Christ's word That He will grow incorporate with all, With me as Pamphylax, with him as John, Groom for each bride! Can a mere man do this? Yet Christ saith, this He lived and died to do. FEARS AND SCRUPLES. 42I Call Christ, then, the illimitable God, // Or lost!" But 't was Cerinthus that is lost.] FEARS AND SCRUPLES. HERE'S my case. Of old I used to love him, This same unseen friend, before I knew : Dream there was none like him. none above him, - Wake to hope and trust my dream was true. II. Loved I not his letters full of beauty? Not his actions famous far and wide? Absent, he would know I vowed him duty, Present, he would find me at his side. Pleasant fancy! for I had but letters, Only knew of actions by hearsay : IP He himself was busied with my betters ; What of that ? My turn must come some day. IV. "Some day" proving no day! Here 's the puzzle. Passed and passed my turn is. Why complain? He 's so busied ! If I could but muzzle People's foolish mouths that give me pain! v. " Letters ? " (hear them !) " You a judge of writing? Ask the experts! How they shake the head O'er these characters, your tnend's inditing Call them forgery from A to Z! 20 VI. a Actions ? Where 1 s your certain proof" (they bother) " He, of all you find so great and good, He, he only, claims this, that, the other Action claimed by men, a multitude ? " 422 ARTEMIS PROLOGIZES. VII. I can simply wish I might refute you, Wish my friend would, by a word, a wink, Bid me stop that foolish mouth, you brute you! He keeps absent, why, I can not think. vm. Never mind! Tho' foolishness may flout me, One thing 's sure enough : \ is neither frost, 30 No, nor fire, shall freeze or burn from out me Thanks for truth tho' falsehood, gained tho 1 lost IX. All my days, I '11 go the softlier, sadlier, For that dream's sake! How forget the thrill Thro' and thro' me as I thought " The gladlier Lives my friend because I love him still! " x. Ah, but there 's a menace some one utters! "What and if your friend at home play tricks? Peep at hide-and-seek behind the shutters? Mean your eyes should pierce thro' solid bricks? 40 XI. " What and if he. frowning, wake you, dreamy? Lay on you the blame that bricks conceal? Say ' At least I saw ivho did not see me. Does see now, and presently shall feef f" XII. "Why, that makes your friend a monster! " say you: " Had his house no window ? At first nod, Would you not have hailed him?" Hush, I pray you! What if this friend happen to be God? ARTEMIS PROLOGIZES. I AM a goddess of the ambrosial courts, And save by Here, Queen of Pride, surpassed By none whose temples whiten this the world. Thro' heaven I roll my lucid moon along ; ARTEMIS PROLOGIZES. A ^-, 4^j 1 shed in hell o'er my pale people peace ; On earth I, caring for the creatures, guard Each pregnant yellow wolf and fox-bitch sleek, And every feathered mother's callow brood, And all that love green haunts and loneliness. )f men, the chaste adore me, hanging crowns 10 Of poppies red to blackness, bell and stem, Upon my image at Athenai here ; And this dead youth, Asclepios bends above, Was dearest to me. He, my buskined step To follow thro' the wild-wood leafy ways, And chase the panting stag, or swift with darts Stop the swift ounce, or lay the leopard low. Neglected homage to another god : Whence Aphrodite, by no midnight smoke Of tapers lulled, in jealousy despatched 20 A noisome lust that, as the gadbee stings, Possessed his stepdame Phaidra for himself The son of Theseus her great absent spouse. Hippolutos exclaiming in his rage Against the fury of the Queen, she judged Life insupportable ; and, pricked at heart An Amazonian stranger's race should dare To scorn her, perished by the murderous cord : Yet, ere she perished, blasted in a scroll The fame o\ him her swerving made not swerve. 30 And Theseus read, returning, and believed, And exiled, in the blindness of his wrath, The man without a crime who, last as first, Loyal, divulged not to his sire the truth. Now Theseus from Poseidon had obtained That of his wishes should be 1 granted three, And one he imprecated straight "Alive May ne'er Hippolutos reach other lands! " Poseidon heard, ai ai ! And scarce the prince Had stepped into the fixed boots of the car 40 That give the feet stay against the strength Of the Henetian horses, and around His body flung the rein, and urged their speed Along the rocks and shingles of the shore, When from the gaping wave a monster flung His obscene body in the coursers' path. These, mad with terror, as the sea-bull sprawled Wallowing about their feet, lost care of him That reared them ; and the master-chariot-pole Snapping beneath their plunges like a reed, 50 Hippolutos, whose feet were trammeled fast, Was yet dragged forward by the circling rein 424 ARTEMIS PROLOGIZES. Which either hand directed ; nor they quenched The frenzy of their flight before each trace, Wheel-spoke and splinter of the woeful car, Each boulder-stone, sharp stub and spiny shell, Huge fish-bone wrecked and wreathed amid the sands On that detested beach, was bright with blood And morsels of his flesh : then fell the steeds Head-foremost, crashing in their mooned fronts, 60 Shivering with sweat, each white eye horror-fixed. His people, who had witnessed all afar, Bore back the ruins of Hippolutos. But when his sire, too swoln with pride, rejoiced (Indomitable as a man foredoomed) That vast Poseidon had fulfilled his prayer, I, in a flood of glory visible, Stood o'er my dying votary and, deed By deed, revealed, as all took place, the truth. Then Theseus lay the woefullest of men, 70 And worthily ; but ere the death-veils hid His face, the murdered prince full pardon breathed To his rash sire. Whereat Athenai wails. So I, who ne'er forsake my votaries, Lest in the cross-way none the honey-cake Should tender, nor pour out the dog's hot life ; Lest at my fane the priests disconsolate Should dress my image with some faded poor Few crowns, made favours of, nor dare object Such slackness to my worshipers who turn 80 Elsewhere the trusting heart and loaded hand, As they had climbed Olumpos to report Of Artemis and nowhere found her throne I interposed : and, this eventful night, (While round the funeral pyre the populace Stood with fierce light on their black robes which bound Each sobbing head, while yet their hair they clipped O'er the dead body of their withered prince, And, in his palace, Theseus prostrated On the cold hearth, his brow cold as the slab 90 'T was bruised on, groaned away the heavy grief As the pyre fell, and down the cross-logs crashed Sending a crowd of sparkles thro' the night, And the gay fire, elate with mastery, Towered like a serpent o'er the clotted jars Of wine, dissolving oils and frankincense, And splendid gums like gold), my potency Conveyed the perished man to my retreat In the thrice-venerable forest here. PHEIDIPPWES. 4 2 5 And this white-bearded sage who squeezes now JO o The berried plant, is Phoibos 1 son of fame, Asclepios, whom my radiant brother taught The doctrine of each herb and flower and root, To know their secret'st virtue and express The saving soul of all : who so has soothed With lavers the torn brow and murdered cheeks, Composed the hair and brought its gloss again, And called the red bloom to the pale skin back, And laid the strips and jagged ends of flesh Even once more, and slacked the sinew's knot no Of every tortured limb that now he lies As if mere sleep possessed him underneath These interwoven oaks and pines. Oh cheer, Divine presenter of the healing rod, Thy snake, with ardent throat and lulling eye, Twines his lithe spires around ! I say, much cheer! Proceed thou with thy wisest pharmacies ! And ye, white crowd of woodland sister-nymphs, Ply as the sage directs, these buds and leaves That strew the turf around the twain! While I 120 Await, in fitting silence, the event. PHEIDIPPIDES. \aiptTf, VlKtofid'. FIRST I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honour to all! Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the aegis and spear! Also, ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer, Now, henceforth and forever, O latest to whom I upraise Hand and heart and voice! For Athens, leave pasture and flock! Present to help, potent to save, Pan patron i call! Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return! See, 't is myself here standing alive, no spectre that speaks! 10 Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you, " Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid! Persia has come, we are here, where is She?" Your command I obeyed, Ran and raced : like stubble, some field which a fire runs through, Was the space between city and city : two day.s, two nights did I burn Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks. 426 PHEIDIPPIDES. Into their midst I broke: breath served but for "Persia has come. Persia bids Athens proffer slaves'-tribute, water and earth ; Razed to the ground is Eretria but Athens, shall Athens sink, Drop into dust and die the flower of Hellas utterly die, 20 Die with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the stander-by ? Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o'er destruction's brink ? How, when? No care for my limbs! there 's lightning in all and some Fresh and fit your message to bear, once lips give it birth!" O my Athens Sparta love thee ? Did Sparta respond ? Every face of her leered in a furrow of envy, mistrust, Malice, each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate! Gravely they turned to take counsel, to cast for excuses. I stood Quivering, the limbs of me fretting as fire frets, an inch from dry wood : "Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate? 30 Thunder, thou Zeus! Athene, are Spartans a quarry beyond Swing of thy spear? Phoibos and Artemis, clang them ' Ye must '! " No bolt launched from Olumpos! Lo, their answer at last! " Has Persia come, does Athens ask aid, may Sparta befriend ? Nowise precipitate judgment too weighty the issue at stake! Count we no time lost time which lags thro' respect to the Gods ! Ponder that precept of old, ' No warfare, whatever the odds In your favour, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to take Full-circle her state in the sky ! ' Already she rounds to it fast : Athens must wait, patient as we who judgment suspend." 40 Athens, except for that sparkle, thy name, I had mouldered to ash! That sent a blaze thro' my blood ; off, off and away was I back, Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile ! Yet " O Gods of my land! " I cried, as each hillock and plain, Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again, " Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honours we paid you erewhile? Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack! " Oak and olive and bay, I bid you cease to emvreathe Brows made bold by your leaf ! Fade at the Persian's foot, 50 You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave! Rather I hail thee, Parnes, trust to thy wild waste tract! Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to cave No deity deigns to drape with verdure? at least I can breathe, Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute! " PHEIDIPPIDES. 427 Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Fames' ridge ; Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way. Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across : 60 " Where I could enter, there I depart by! Night in the fosse? Athens to aid? Tho 1 the dive were thro 1 Erebos, thus I obev- Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No bridge Better!" when ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that are? There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he majestical Pan ! Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof; All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly the curl Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortars'awe As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw. " Halt, Pheidippides ! '' halt I did, my brain of a whirl : 70 " Hither to me ! Why pale in my presence ? " he gracious began : " How is it, Athens, only in Hellas, holds, me aloof? "Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast! Wherefore ? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old ? Ay, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan, trust me! Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, 'The Goat-God saith : When Persia so much as strews not the soil is cast in the sea, Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least, Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the bold!' 80 " Say Pan saith : ' Let this, foreshowing the place, be the pledge!" 1 (Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear Fennel, I grasped it a-tremble with dew whatever it bode), "While, as for thee ..." But enough! He was gone. If I ran hitherto Be sure that the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew. Parnes to Athens earth no more, the air was my road ; Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's edge! Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare! Then spoke Miltiades. " And thee, best runner of Greece, Whose limbs did duty indeed, what gift is promised thyself? 90 Tell it us straightway, Athens the mother demands of her son!" Rosily blushed the youth : he paused : but, lifting at length His eyes from the 'ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of his strength 42$ THE PATRIOT. Into the utterance "Pan spoke thus : 'For what thou hast done Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee release From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf ! ' " I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my mind! Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may grow, Pound Pan helping us Persia to dust, and, under the deep, Whelm her away forever ; and then, no Athens to save, Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave, Hie to my house and home : and, when my children shall creep Close to my knees, recount how the God was awful yet kind. Promised their sire reward to the full rewarding him so! " Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day: So, when Persia was dust, all cried '-To Akropolis! Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due! 4 A "hens is saved, thank Pan, 1 go shout!" He flung down his shield, Ran like fire once more : and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through, 1 10 Till in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine thro' clay, Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died the bliss! So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute Is still "Rejoice!" his word which brought rejoicing indeed. So is Pheidippides happy forever, the noble strong man Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god loved so well, He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to tell Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began, So to end gloriously once to shout, thereafter be mute : "Athens is saved !" Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed. 120 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. POPULARITY. 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 in. Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun To give it my loving friends to keep! Naught man could do, have I left undone : And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run. 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. 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, T is God shall repay : I am safer so. POPULARITY. STAND still, true poet that you are ! I know you ; let me try and draw you. Some night you '11 fail us : when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star! POPULARITY. II. My star, God's glow-worm ! Why extend That loving hand of his which leads you, Yet locks you safe from end to end Of this dark world, unless he needs you, Just saves your light to spend ? 10 in. His clenched hand shall unclose at last, I know, and let out all the beauty : My poet holds the future fast, Accepts the coming ages' duty, Their present for this past. IV. That day, the earth's feast-master's brow Shall clear, to God the chalice raising ; "Others give best at first, but thou For ever set'st our table praising, Keep'st the good wine till now! " 20 v. Meantime, I '11 draw you as you stand, With few or none to watch and wonder : I '11 say a fisher, on the sand By Tyre the old, with ocean-plunder, A netful, brought to land. VI. Who has not heard how Tyrian shells Enclosed the blue, that dye of dyes Whereof one drop worked miracles, And coloured like Astarte's eyes Raw silk the merchant sells ? 30 VII. And each bystander of them all Could criticize, and quote tradition How depths of blue sublimed some pall To get which, pricked a king's ambition ; Worth sceptre, crown and bail. POPULARITY, VIII. Yet there 's the dye, in that rough mesh, The sea has only just o'er-whispered ! Live whelks, each lip's beard dripping fresh, As if they still the water's lisp heard Thro' foam the rock-weeds thresh. 40 IX. Enough to furnish Solomon Such hangings for his cedar-house, That, when gold-robed he took the throne In that abyss of blue, the Spouse Might swear his presence shone x. Most like the centre-spike of gold Which burns deep in the blue-bell's womb What time, with ardours manifold, The bee goes singing to her groom, Drunken and overbold. 50 XI. Mere conchs ! not fit for warp or woof ! Till cunning come to pound and squeeze And clarify, refine to proof The liquor filtered by degrees, While the world stands aloof. XII. And there 's the extract, flasked and fine, And priced and saleable at last! And Hobbs, Nobbs, Stokes and Nokes combine To paint the future from the past, Put blue into their line. 60 XIII. Hobbs hints blue, straight he turtle eats : Nobbs prints blue, claret crowns his cup : Nokes outdares Stokes in azure feats, Both gorge. Who fished the murex up? What porridge had John Keats? 432 PISGAH-SIGHTS. PISGAH-SIGHTS. I. I. OVER the ball of it, Peering and prying, How I see all of it, Life there, outlying! Roughness and smoothness, Shine and defilement, Grace and uncouthness ; One reconcilement. n. Orbed as appointed, Sister with brother jo Joins, ne'er disjointed One from the other. All 's lend-and-borrow ; Good, see, wants evil, Jcy demands sorrow, Angel weds devil ! m. "Which things must why be?" Vain our endeavour! So shall things aye be As they were ever. 30 "Such things should so be!" Sage our desistence ! Rough-smooth let globe be, Mixed man's existence! IV. Man wise and foolish, Lover and scorner, Docile and mulish Keep each his corner! Honey yet gall of it! There 's the life lying, 30 And I see all of it, Only, I 'm dying! PISGAH-SIGHTS. PISGAH-SIGHTS. 2. COULD I but live again, Twice my life over, Would I once strive again? Would not I cover Quietly all of it Greed and ambition So, from the pall of it, Pass to fruition ? H. "Soft!" Pd say, "Soul mine! Three-score and ten years, 10 Let the blind mole mine Digging out deniers! Let the dazed hawk soar, Claim the sun's rights too! Turf 't is thy walk 's o'er, Foliage thy flight 's to." in. Only a learner, Quick one or slow one> Just a discerner, I would teach no one. 2u I am earth's native : No re-arranging it! /be creative, Chopping and changing it? IV. March, men, my fellows! Those who, above me, (Distance so mellows) Fancy you love me : Those who, below me, (Distance makes great so) 30 Free to forego me, Fancy you hate so 99 434 PISGAH-SIGHTS. v. Praising, reviling, Worst head and best head, Past me defiling, Never arrested, Wanters, abounders, March, in gay mixture, Men, my surrounders! I am the fixture! 40 So shall I fear thee, Mightiness yonder! Mock-sun more near thee, What is to wonder? So shall I love thee, Down in the dark, lest Glowworm I prove thee, Star that now sparkiest! PISGAH-SIGHTS. 3. I. GOOD, to forgive : Best, to forget! Living, we fret ; Dying, we live. Fretless and free, Soul, clap thy pinion! Earth have dominion, Body, o'er thee! II. Wander at will, Dav after day, o Wander away, Wandering still Soul that canst soar! Body may slumber : Body shall cumber Soul-flight no more. AT THE "MERMAID" 435 in. Waft of soul's wing! What lies above ? Sunshine and Love, Skyblue and Spring! 2O Body hides where ? Ferns of all feather, Mosses and heather, Yours be the care! AT THE "MERMAID." The figure that them here seest . . Tut ! Was it for gentle Shakespeare put? B. JONSON. (Adapted.} I " NEXT Poet ? " No, my hearties, I nor am nor fain would be! Choose your chiefs and pick your parties, Not one soul revolt to me! I, forsooth, sow song-sedition? I, a schism in verse provoke? I, blown up by bard's ambition, Burst your bubble-king ? You joke. Come, be grave ! The sherris mantling Still about each mouth, mayhap, 10 Breeds you insight just a scantling Brings me truth out just a scrap. Look and tell me! Written, spoken, Here 's my life-long work : and where Where 's your warrant or my token I 'm the dead king's son and heir? ill. Here 's my work : does work discover What was rest from work my life ? Did I live man's hater, lover? Leave the world at peace, at strife? 20 436 AT THE "MERMAID." Call earth ugliness or beauty ? See things there in large or small? Use to pay its Lord my duty ? Use to own a lord at all ? rv. Blank of such a record, truly, Here 's the work I hand,- this scroll, Yours to take or leave ; as duly, Mine remains the unproffered soul. So much, no whit more, my debtors How should one like me lay claim 30 To that largess elders, betters Sell you cheap their souls for fame? v. Which of you did I enable Once to slip inside my breast, There to catalogue and label What I like least, what love best, Hope and fear, believe and doubt of, Seek and shun, respect deride? Who has right to make a rout of Rarities he found inside ? 4.0 VI. Rarities or, as he 'd rather, ' Rubbish such as stocks his own : Need and greed (O strange) the Father Fashioned not for him alone ! Whence the comfort set a-strutting, Whence the outcry " Haste, behold ! Bard's breast open wide, past shutting, Shows what brass we took for gold!-' VII. Friends, I doubt not he 'd display you Brass myself call orichalc, 50 Furnish much amusement ; pray you Therefore, be content I balk Him and you, and bar my portal! Here 's my work outside ; opine What 's inside me mean and mortal! Take your pleasure, leave me mine' AT THE "MERMAID." VIII. Which is not to buy your laurel As last king did, nothing loth. Tale adorned and pointed moral Gained him praise and pity both. 60 Out rushed sighs and groans' by dozens, Forth by scores oaths, curses flew : Proving you were cater-cousins, Kith and kindred, king and you! IX. Whereas do I ne'er so little (Thanks to sherris) leave ajar Bosom's gate no jot nor tittle Grow we nearer than we are. Sinning, sorrowing, despairing, Body-ruined, spirit-wrecked, 70 Should I give my woes an airing, Where 's one plague that claims respect? x. Have you found your life distasteful? My life did and does smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I '11 complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again. 80 XI. What, like you, he proved your Pilgrim This our world of wilderness, Earth still gray and heaven still grim, Not a hand there his might press, Not a heart his own might throb to, Men all rogues and women say, Dolls which boys' heads duck and bob to, Grown folk drop or throw away? xn. My experience being other, How should I contribute verse 90 Worthy of your king and brother? Balaam-like I bless, not curse. 438 AT THE "MERMAID? I find earth not gray but rosy, Heaven not grim but fair of hue. Do I stoop ? I pluck a posy. Do I stand and stare ? All 's blue. XIII. Doubtless I am pushed and shoved by Rogues and fools enough : the more Good luck mine, I love, am loved by Some few honest to the core. loo Scan the near high, scout the far low! " But the low come close : " what then ? Simpletons ? My match is Marlowe ; Sciolists? My mate is Ben. xrv. Womankind "the cat-like nature, False and fickle, vain and weak" What of this sad nomenclature Suits my tongue, if I must speak? Does the sex invite, repulse so, Tempt, betray, by fits and starts? iio So becalm but to convulse so, Decking heads and breaking hearts? xv. Well may you blaspheme at fortune! I "threw Venus" (Ben, expound!) Never did I need importune Her, of all the Olympian round. Blessings on my benefactress! Cursings suit for aught I know Those who twitched her by the back tress, Tugged and thought to turn her so! 120 XVI. Therefore, since no leg to stand on Thus I 'm left with, joy or grief Be the issue, I abandon Hope or care you name me Chief! Chief and king and Lord's anointed, I ? who never once have wished Death before the day appointed : Lived and liked, not poohed and pished! HOUSE. 439 XVII. u Ah, but so I shall not enter, Scroll in hand, the common heart 130 Stopped at surface : since at centre Song should reach Welt-schmerz, world sm?r*' " " Enter in the heart ? " Its shelly Cuirass guard mine, fore and aft! Such song " enters in the belly And is cast out in the draught." XVIII. Back then to our sherris-brewage! "Kingship" quotha? I shall wait Waive the present time : some new age . . . But let fools anticipate! 140 Meanwhile greet me " friend, good fellow, Gentle Will," my merry men! As for making Envy yellow With " Next Poet " (Manners, Ben!) HOUSE. I. OH ALL I sonnet-sing you about myself? O Do I live in a house you would like to see? Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf? ".Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key?" n. Invite the world, as my betters have done? " Take notice : this building remains on view, Its suites of reception every one, Its private apartment and bedroom too ; For a ticket, apply to the Publisher." No : thanking the public, I must decline. tc A peep thro 1 my window, if folk prefer ; But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine! 440 HOUSE. IV. I have mixed with a crowd and heard free talk In a foreign land where an earthquake chanced, And a house stood gaping, naught to balk Man's eye wherever he gazed or glanced. v. The whole of the frontage shaven sheer, The inside gaped : exposed to day, Right and wrong and common and queer, Bare, as the palm of your hand, it lay. 20 The owner? Oh, he had been crushed, no doubt " Odd tables and chairs for a man of wealth! What a parcel of musty old books about ! He smoked, no wonder he lost his health! VII. " I doubt if he bathed before he dressed. A brasier? the pagan, he burned perfumes! You see it is proved, what the neighbours guessed : His wife and himself had separate rooms." VIII. Friends, the goodman of the house at least Kept house to himself till an earthquake came : 30 'T is the fall of its frontage permits you feast On the inside arrangement you praise or blame. IX. Outside should suffice for evidence : And whoso desires to penetrate Deeper, must dive by the spirit-sense No optics like yours, at any rate! x. Hoity toity ! A street to explore. Your house the exception! ' With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart," 1 once more!" Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he! 40 SHOP. SHOP. SO, friend, your shop was all your house! Its front, astonishing the street, Invited view from man and mouse To what diversity of treat Behind its glass the single sheet! II. What gimcracks, genuine Japanese : Gape-jaw and goggle-eye, the frog ; Dragons, owls, monkeys, beetles, geese ; Some crush-nosed, human-hearted dog : Queer names, too, such a catalogue! v 10 in. I thought " And he who owns the wealth Which blocks the window's vastitude, Ah, could I peep at him by stealth Behind his ware, pass shop, intrude On house itself, what scenes were viewed! IV. If wide and showy thus the shop, What must the habitation prove? The true house with no name a-top The mansion, distant one remove, Once get him off his traffic groove! 2C Pictures he likes, or books perhaps ; And as for buying most and best. Commend me to these City chaps! Or else he 's social, takes his rest On Sundays, with a Lord for guest. VI. Some suburb-palace, parked about And gated grandly, built last year: The four-mile walk to keep off gout ; Or big seat sold by bankrupt peer : But then he takes the rail, that 's dear. 30 442 SHOP. VII. Or, stop! I wager, taste selects Some out o 1 the way, some all-unknown Retreat : the neighbourhood suspects Little that he who rambles lone Makes Rothschild tremble on his throne! VIII. Nowise! Nor Mayfair residence Fit to receive and entertain, Nor Hampstead villa's kind defence From noise and crowd, from dust and drain, Nor country-box was soul's domain! 40 Nowise! At back of all that spread Of merchandize, woe 's me, I find A hole i' the wall where, heels by head, The owner couched, his ware behind, In cupboard suited to his mind. x. For why? He saw no use of life But, while he drove a roaring trade, To chuckle " Customers are rife ! " To chafe " So much hard cash outlaid Yet zero in my profits made! 50 XI. " This novelty costs pains, but takes ? Cumbers my counter! Stock no more! This article, no such great shakes, Fizzes like wild fire ? Underscore The cheap thing thousands to the fore!" XII. 'T was lodging best to live most nigh (Cramp, coffinlike as crib might be) Receipt of Custom ; ear and eye Wanted no outworld : " Hear and see The bustle in the shop! " quoth he. 60 SHOP. AA ~ 443 XIII. My fancy of a merchant-prince Was different. Thro' his wares we groped Our darkling way to not to mince The matter no black den where moped The master if we interloped! XIV. Shop was shop only : household-stuff? What did he want with comforts there ? u Walls, ceiling, floor, stay blank and rough, So goods on sale show rich and rare! ' Sell and scud home,' be shop's affair! " 70 What might he deal in ? Gems, suppose! Since somehow business must be done At cost of trouble, see, he throws You choice of jewels, every one Good, better, best, star, moon and sun! XVI. Which lies within your power of purse? This ruby that would tip aright Solomon's sceptre? Oh, your nurse Wants simply coral, the delight Of teething baby, stuff to bite! 80 XVII. Howe'er your choice fell, straight you took Your purchase, prompt your money rang On counter, scarce the man forsook His study of the "Times," just swang Till-ward his hand that stopped the clang, xvm. Then off made buyer with a prize, Then seller to his "Times" returned, And so did day wear, wear, till eyes Brightened apace, for rest was earned : He locked door long ere candle burned. 90 444 A TALE. XIX. And whither went he ? Ask himself, Not me! To change of scene, I think. Once sold the ware and pursed the pelf, Chaffer was scarce his meat and drink, Nor all his music money-chink. Because a man has shop to mind In time and place, since flesh must live, Needs spirit lack all life behind, All stray thoughts, fancies fugitive, All loves except what trade can give? 100 I want to know a butcher paints, A baker rhymes for his pursuit, Candlestick-maker much acquaints His soul with song, or, haply mute, Blows out his brains upon the flute! XXII. But shop each day and all day long! Friend, your good angel slept, your star Suffered eclipse, fate did you wrong ! From where these sorts of treasures are, There should our hearts be Christ, how fart no A TALE. WHAT a pretty tale you told me Once upon a time Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) Was it prose or was it rhyme, Greek or Latin ? Greek, you said, While your shoulder propped my head. Anyhow there 's no forgetting This much if no more, A TALE. 445 That a poet (pray, no petting!) Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, 10 Went where suchlike used to go, Singing for a prize, you know. HI. Well, he had to sing, nor merely Sing but play the lyre ; Playing was important clearly Quite as singing : I desire, Sir, you keep the fact in mind For a purpose that 's behind. IV. There stood he, while deep attention Held the judges round, 20 Judges able, I should mention, To detect the slightest sound Sung or played amiss : such ears Had old judges, it appears! v. None the less he sang out boldly, Played in time and tune, Till the judges, weighing coldly Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon. Sure to smile " In vain one tries Picking faults out : take the prize! " 30 VI. When, a mischief! Were they seven Strings the lyre possessed? Oh, and afterwards eleven, Thank you! Well, sir, who had guessed Such ill luck in store? it happed One of those same seven strings snapped. VII. All was lost, then! No! a cricket (What "cicada" ? Pooh!) Some mad thing that left its thicket For mere love of music flew 4 With its little heart on fire, Lighted on the crippled lyre. 446 A TALE. VIII. So that when (Ah joy!) our singer For his truant string Feels with disconcerted finger, What does cricket else but fling Fiery heart forth, sound the note Wanted by the throbbing throat? IX. Ay and, ever to the ending, Cricket chirps at need, 50 Executes the hand's intending, Promptly, perfectly, indeed Saves the singer from defeat With her chirrup low and sweet. x. Till, at ending, all the judges Cry with one assent "Take the prize a prize who grudges Such a voice and instrument? Why, we took your lyre for harp, So it shrilled us forth F sharp!" 60 XI. Did the conqueror spurn the creature, Once its service done? That 's no such uncommon feature In the case when Music's son Finds his Lotte's power too spent For aiding soul-development. XII. No! This other, on returning Homeward, prize in hand, Satisfied his bosom's yearning : (Sir, I hope you understand!) 70 Said " Some record there must be Of this cricket's help to me!" XIII. So, he made himself a siatue : Marble stood, life-size ; A TALE. 447 On the lyre, he pointed at you, Perched his partner in the prize ; Never more apart you found Her, he throned, from him, she crowned. XIV. That's the tale: its application? Somebody I know 80 Hopes one day for reputation Thro' his poetry that 's Oh, All so learned and so wise And deserving of a prize! xv. If he gains one, will some ticket, When his statue 's built, Tell the gazer " 'T was a cricket Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt Sweet and low, when strength usurped Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? 90 XVI. For as victory was nighest, While I sang and played, With my lyre at lowest, highest, Right alike, one string that made Love ' sound soft was snapt in twain, Never to be heard again, XVII. Had not a kind cricket fluttered, Perched upon the place Vacant left, and duly uttered ' Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass Asked the treble to atone For its somewhat sombre drone. XVIII. But you don't know music ! Wherefore Keep on casting pearls To a poet? All I care for Is _ to tell him that a girl's "Love" comes aptly in when g" Grows his singing. (There, enough!) ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS FROM BROWN- ING'S LATEST WORKS, 1880-1889. ECHETLOS. HERE is a story shall stir you! Stand up, Greeks dead and gone, Who breasted, beat Barbarians, stemmed Persia rolling on, Did the deed and saved the world, for the day was Marathon! No man but did his manliest, kept rank and fought away In his tribe and file : up, back, out, down was the spear-arm play: Like a wind-whipt branchy wood, all spear-arms a-swing that day! But one man kept no rank, and his sole arm plied no spear, As a flashing came and went, and a form i' the van, the rear, Brightened the battle up, for he blazed now there, now here. Nor helmed nor shielded he! but, a goat-skin all his wear. 10 Like a tiller of the soil, with a clown's limbs broad and bare, Went he ploughing on and on : he pushed with a ploughman's share. Did the weak mid-line give way, as tunnies on whom the shark Precipitates his bulk? Did the right-wing halt when, stark On his heap of slain lay stretched Kallimachos Polemarch? Did the steady phalanx falter? To the rescue, at the need. The clown was ploughing'Persia, clearing Greek earth of weed, As he routed thro 1 the Sakian and rooted up the Mede. But the deed done, battle won, nowhere to be descried On the meadow, by the stream, at the marsh, look far and wide 20 From the foot of the mountain, no, to the last blood-plashed sea-side, Not anywhere on view blazed the large limbs thonged and brown, Shearing and clearing still with the share before which down To the dust went Persia's pomp, as he ploughed for Greece, that clown! 448 TOUCH HIM NE'ER SO LIGHTLY. How spake the Oracle ? " Care for no name at all ! Say but just this : ' We praise one helpful whom we call The Holder of the Ploughshare.' The great deed ne'er grows small." Not the great name! Sing woe for the great name Miltiade's And its end at Paros isle! Woe for Themistokles Satrap in Sardis court! Name not the clown like these ! 30 TOUCH HIM NE'ER SO LIGHTLY. SONG. ' r I XDUCH him ne'er so lightly, into song he broke: _L Soil so quick-receptive, not one feather-seed, Not one flower-dust fell but straight its fall awoke Vitalizing virtue : song would song succeed Sudden as spontaneous prove a poet-soul ! " Indeed? Rock's the song-soil rather, surface hard and bare : Sun and dew their mildness, storm and frost their rage Vainly both expend. few flowers awaken there : Quiet in its cleft broods what the after-age Knows and names a pine, a nation's heritage. 10 WANTING IS WHAT? WANTING is what? Summer redundant, Blueness abundant, Where is the blot? Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same, Framework which waits for a picture to frame : What of the leafage, what of the flower? Roses embowering with naught they embower! Come then, complete incompletion, O comer, Pant thro' the blueness, perfect the summer! 10 Breathe but one breath Rose-beauty above, And all that was death Grows life, grows love. Grows love! 2G 450 NEVER THE TIME AND THE PLACE. NEVER THE TIME AND THE PLACE. NEVER the time and the place And the loved one all together! This path how soft to pace! This May what magic weather! Where is the loved one's face? In a dream that loved one's face meets mine, But the house is narrow, the place is bleak Where, outside, rain and wind combine With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak, With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek, 10 With a malice that marks each word, each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine, Uncoil thee from the waking man! Do I hold the Past Thus firm and fast Yet doubt if the Future hold I can? This path so soft to pace shall lead Thro 1 the magic of May to herself indeed! Or narrow if needs the house must be, Outside are the storms and strangers : we 20 Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, I and she! ROUND US THE WILD CREATURES. ROUND us the wild creatures, overhead the trees, Underfoot the moss-tracks, life and love with these! I to wear a fawn-skin, thou to dress in flowers : All the long lone summer-day that greenwood life of ours! Rich-pavilioned, rather, still the world without, Inside gold-roofed silk-walled silence round about! Queen it thou on purple, I, at watch and ward Couched beneath the columns, gaze, thy slave, love's guard! So, for us no world? Let throngs press thee to me! Up and down amid men, heart by heart fare we! 10 Welcome squalid vesture, harsh voice, hateful face! God is soul, souls I and thou : with souls should souls have place. ASK NOT ONE LEAST WORD OF PRAISE. 45 r ASK NOT ONE LEAST WORD OF PRAISE. ASK not one least word of praise! Words declare your eyes are bright ? What then meant that summer day's Silence spent in one long gaze? Was my silence wrong or right ? Words of praise were all to seek! Face of you and form of you, Did they find the praise so weak When my lips just touched your cheek Touch which let my soul come through? lo EPILOGUE TO "FERISHTAH'S FANCIES." OH, Love no, Love! All the noise below. Love, Groanings all and moanings none of Life I lose! All of Life 's a cry just of weariness and woe, Love " Hear at least, thou happy one! " How can I, Love, but choose? Only, when I do hear, sudden circle round me Much as when the moon's might frees a space from cloud Iridescent splendours : gloom would else confound me Barriered off and banished far bright-edged the blackest shroud! Thronging through the cloud-rift, whose are they, the faces Faint revealed yet sure divined, the famous ones of old? 10 " What " they smile " our names, our deeds so soon erases Time upon his tablet where Life's glory lies enrolled ? " Was it for mere fool's-play, make-believe, and mumming, So we battled it like men, not boy-like sulked or whined? Each of us heard clang God's ' Come! ' and each was coming : Soldiers all, to forward-face, not sneaks to lag behind! " How of the field's fortune ? That concerned our Leader! Led, we struck our stroke nor cared for doings left and right : Each as on his sole head, failer or succeeder, Lay the blame or lit the praise : no care for cowards : fight! " Then the cloud-rift broadens, spanning earth that 's under, Wide our world displays its worth, man's strife, and strife's success : 452 THE NAMES. All the good and beauty, wonder crowning wonder, Till my heart and soul applaud perfection, nothing less. Only, at heart's utmost joy and triumph, terror Sudden turns the blood to ice : a chill wind disencharms All the late enchantment ! What if all be error If the halo irised round my head were, Love, thine arms ? Palazzo Giustinian-Recanati, VENICE, Dec. i, 1883. THE NAMES. OHAKESPEARE! to such name's sounding, what succeeds \J Fitly as silence? Falter forth the spell, Act follows word, the speaker knows full well. Nor tampers with its magic more than needs. Two names there are : That which the Hebrew reads With his soul only : if from lips it fell, Echo, back thundered by earth, heaven, and hell, Would own "Thou didst create us! " Naught impedes We voice the other name, man's most of might, Awesomely, lovingly : let awe and love 10 Mutely await their working, leave to sight All of the issue as below above Shakespeare's creation rises : one remove, Tho" dread this finite from that infinite, March 12, 1884. WHY I AM A LIBERAL. "IT 7HY?" Because all I haply can and do, V V All that I am now, all I hope to be, Whence comes it save from fortune setting free Body and soul the purpose to pursue, God traced for both ? If fetters, not a few, Of prejudice, convention, fall from me. These shall I bid men each in his degree Also God-guided bear, and gayly too ? But little do or can the best of us : That little is achieved thro' Liberty. lo Who then dares hold, emancipated thus, His fellow shall continue bound? not I, Who live, love, labour freely, nor discuss A brother's right to freedom. That is "Why." PROLOGUE TO ASOLANDO." 453 PROLOGUE TO "ASOLANDO." r "T l HE Poet's age is sad : for why? JL In youth, the natural world could show No common object but his eye At once involved with alien glow His own soul's iris-bow. u And now a flower is just a flower : Man, bird, beast are but beast, bird, man Simply themselves, uncinct by dower Of dyes which, when life's day began, Round each in glory ran." 10 Friend, did you need an optic glass, Which were your choice? A lens to drape In ruby, emerald, chrysopras, Each object or reveal its shape Clear outlined, past escape, The naked very thing? so clear That, when you had the chance to gaze, You found its inmost self appear Thro' outer seeming truth ablaze, Not falsehood's fancy-haze? How many a year, my Asolo, Since one step just from sea to land I found you, loved yet feared you so For natural objects seemed to stand Palpably fire-clothed ! No No mastery of mine o'er these! Terror with beauty, like the Bush Burning but unconsumed. Bend knees, Drop eyes to earthward ! Language ? Silence 't is awe decrees. And now ? The lambent flame is where ? Lost from the naked world : earth, sky, Hill, vale, tree, flower, Italia's rare O'er-running beauty crowds the eye- But flame? The Bush is bare. Hill, vale, tree, flower, - they stand distinct, Nature to know and name. What then 454 ROSNY. A Voice spoke thence which straight unlinked Fancy from fact : see, all 's in ken : Has once my eyelid winked ? 40 No, for the purged ear apprehends Earth's import, not the eye late dazed : The Voice said " Call my works thy friends! At Nature dost thou shrink amazed? God is it who transcends." ASOLO, Sept. 6, 1889. ROSNY. WOE, he went galloping into the war, Clara, Clara! Let us two dream : shall he 'scape with a scar? Scarcely disfigurement, rather a grace Making for manhood which nowise we mar : See, while I kiss it, the flush on his face Rosny, Rosny! Light does he laugh : " With your love in my soul " (Clara, Clara!) "How could I other than sound, safe and whole id Cleave who opposed me asunder, yet stand Scatheless beside you, as, touching love's goal, Who won the race kneels, craves reward at your hand Rosny, Rosny ? " Ay, but if certain who envied should see! Clara, Clara, Certain who simper : " The hero for me Hardly of life were so chary as miss Death death and fame that 's love's guerdon when she Boasts, proud bereaved one, her choice fell on this 20 Rosny, Rosny!" So, go on dreaming, he lies mid a heap (Clara, Clara,) Of the slain by his hand : what is death but a sleep ? Dead, with my portrait displayed on his breast : Love wrought his undoing : " No prudence could keep The love-maddened wretch from his fate." That is best, Rosny, Rosny! POETICS. POETICS. say the foolish! " Say the foolish so, Love? O " Flower she is, my rose " or else " My very swan is she" Or perhaps " Yon maid-moon, blessing earth below, Love, That art thou!" to them, belike: no such vain words from me. u Hush, rose, blush! no balm like breath," I chide it : " Bend thy neck its best, swan, hers the whiter curve! " Be the moon the moon : my Love I place beside it : What is she? Her human self, no lower word will serve. SUMMUM BONUM. ALL the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee : All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem : In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea : Breath and bloom, shade and shine, wonder, wealth, and how far above them Truth, that 's brighter than gem, Trust, that 's purer than pearl, Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe all were for me In the kiss of one girl. MUCKLE-MOUTH MEG. FROWNED the Laird on the Lord : " So, red-handed I catch thee? Death-doomed by our Law of the Border! We Ve a gallows outside and a chiel to dispatch thee : Who trespasses hangs : all 's in order." He met frown with smile, did the young English gallant : Then the Laird's dame: " Nay, Husband, I beg! He 's comely : be merciful! Grace for the callant If he marries our Muckle-mouth Meg! " " No mile-wide-mouthed monster of yours do I marry : Grant rather the gallows!" laughed he. " Foul fare kith and kin of you why do you tarry? " To tame your fierce temper! " quoth she. 456 EPILOGUE TO "ASOLANDO." " Shove him quick in the Hole, shut him fast for a week: Cold, darkness and hunger work wonders : Who lion-like roars now, mouse-fashion will squeak, And ' it rains ' soon succeed to ' it thunders.' " A week did he bide in the cold and the dark Not hunger: for duly at morning In flitted a lass, and a voice like a lark Chirped " Muckle-mouth Meg still ye 're scorning? 20 " Go hang, but here 's parritch to hearten ye first!" " Did Meg's muckle-mouth boast within some Such music as yours, mine should match it or burst : No frog-jaws! So tell folk, my Winsome!" Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set wide, Out he marched, and there waited the lassie : " Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride ! Consider! Sky 's blue and turf 's grassy : " Life 's sweet : shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg? " " Not I," quoth the stout heart : " too eerie 30 The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock's egg : Shall I let it munch mine? Never, Dearie! " "Not Muckle-mouth Meg? Wow, the obstinate man! Perhaps he would rather wed me! " " Ay, would he with just for a dowry your can ! " "I 'm Muckle-mouth Meg," chirruped she. " Then so so so so " as he kissed her apace " Will I widen thee out till thou turnest From Margaret Minnikin-mou', by God's grace, To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest ! " 40 ? . EPILOGUE TO "ASOLANDO." ^T' AT the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time, When you set your fancies free, Will they pass to where by death, fools think, imprisoned Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so, Pity me? 457 EPILOGUE TO "ASOLANDO." / Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken! What had I on earth to do With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly? Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel Being who? ^ IUOL_*WT ,4 One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break. Never dreamed, tho' right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake. No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time * Greet the unseen with a cheer! Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be, " Strive and thrive! " cry " Speed, jight on, fare ever . There as here!" 2C THE END. NOTES. P. i. My Star. A love lyric, showing how the soul of the loved one reveals itseli fully to the sympathetic insight of the lover alone, who, having this revelation, cares nothing if the choice of others be more distinguished. 4. Angled spar. A prism of Iceland spar has the property of polarizing or dividing a ray of light into two parts. Suppose this polarized ray be passed through a plate of Iceland spar, at a certain angle, and a second prism of Iceland spar be rotated in front of it, different colors will be given out, complementary tints being ninety degrees apart, and four times during the rotation the light will vanish completely. Some such experiment as this was probably in the poet's mind when he made the comparison with the angled spar. It is said that this poem refers to Mrs. Browning, and serves here as an inscription to her ; having been placed first by Browning himself in this volume of selections intended to accompany a like volume of selections from her poetry. (' Men and Women,' 1855. Set to music by Helen A. Clarke, in Poet-lore, July, 1889.) P. i. A Face. The poet, in sketching how he would like to have painted the portrait of a certain beautiful woman, gives a vivid likeness of her, though his descriptions are all indirect. 3. Tuscan's early art. The early Tuscan painters were still under the influence of the Byzantine school of painting, one of the marked features of which was the constant use of gold backgrounds. Cimabue, who was the first of the Tuscans to break away from the conventions of the Byzantine school, frequently used gold backgrounds. 14. Correggio loves to mass, etc. This is a true bit of criticism upon Correggio's style, which is espe- cially remarkable for its chiaroscuro. " He knew how to anatomize light and shade in endless gradation." His angels, grouped in brilliant depths of sky, might well wonder at the solitary head on the pale gold ground.. (' Dramatis Personas/ 1864.) P. 2. My Last Duchess puts in the mouth of a Duke of Ferrara, a typical hus- band 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, therefore, in his interview with the envoy for a new match, t^jng * ver y precaution to fill more acceptably. 3. Fra Pandolf. and ^Claui c' are entitle Di P \. Song from Pippa Passes. Sung by the little girl, Pippa. and founded upon a story- as the lines in the poem following the song explain -told 459 NOTES. Cornaro, how once a certain page pined for the love of her so far above him that it was entirely beyond his power to do her service. 6. Kate the Queen. Caterina, born in Venice about 1454, daughter of Marco Cornaro, a wealthy and noble citizen. She married James Lusignan, King of Cyprus, after having been adopted by the Venetian Senate as a daughter of the republic. After the King's death she became Queen of Cyprus, but her reign was much troubled by other claimants to the throne. Venice, at first giving her its protection, finally forced her to abdicate, and took possession of Cyprus. Her abdication was attended with great ceremony; and everywhere, on her journey from Cyprus to Venice, she was received with accla- mation. Upon her arrival at Venice, the Doge and Senate received her with great honor, and assigned her, for a dwelling, the Chateau-fort of Asolo, in the province of Trevise. At Asolo, Caterina formed a little court, " wielded her little sceptre for her people's good, and won their love by gentleness and grace." Died in Venice, 1510. See H. F. Brown, ' Venetian Studies.' (' Bells and Pomegranates,' No. i, 1841.) P. 4. Cristina expresses the eternal character of the love awakened by a look, and the lover's sense of the worth of love to the soul as the supreme gain of life. Though Cristina's half of the rapture be quenched in worldly honors, his remains forever blent with hers to his spiritual enrichment. Cristina, daughter of Francis i. of Naples, born 1806, was handsome and a coquette, married Ferdinand VII., King of Spain, 1829; became regent on his death, 1833, till her daughter Isabel II. took the throne, 1843. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics,' 1842. First appeared under the main title ' Queen Worship,' with ' Rudel and the Lady of Tripoli ' preceding it, 1842.) P. 5. 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 dis- honor 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 Syrr.ons has pointed out, the mediaeval atmosphere of chivalrous France. 124. Tercel, a male falcon. ('Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics,' 1842. See Notes, P. 2. P. 9. Eurydice to Orpheus gives speech to the yearning expressed in Eurydice's face, in the picture, which tempts them both to let the past go and to defy the future for the sake of the instant's satisfaction of their love. Orpheus descending to Hades so worked upon Persephone, Queen of the Dead, by the magic of his music, that she gave him his wife Eurydice on condition that he should not turn to look at her till they reached the upper world, else he would " all his long toils forfeit " for that look. (Royal Academy Catalogue, 1864. Included in ' Poetical Works,' Vol. VI. ' Dramatis Personae,' 1868.) P. 9. 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. NOTES. 46 The original story as told by Poullain de St. Croix in his Essais Historiques sur Pans ran thus: " One day whilst Francis I, amused himself with looking at a com- bat 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 re- models 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 Ron- sard (1524-1585), at one time page to Francis I., the most erudite and original of French mediaeval poets. 45. Clement Marat (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 ad- dressed to grandees, attesting his courtiership, and the paraphrase of forty-nine of the Psalms to which Ronsard alludes. 50. Ilium Juda, etc. That lion of the tribe of Judah. 89. Venienti, etc. Meet the coming disease; that is, if evil be antici- pated, 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. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845.) P. 14. Song reflects the mood of a lover who in his own infatuation imagines every one else must see his mistress as he sees her and praise her as he thinks she should be praised, though the intensity of his emotion prevents him from doing it himself. ('Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845. Set to music by E. C. Gregory. London: Novello, Ewer, and Co.) P. 14. A Serenade at the Villa reflects the mood of the speaker as he calls to mind the scene of his serenade the night before, when, in spite of the thunderous, sultry night, and the deadness of nature, he ventured to go forth and sing his devo- tion to his lady. He wonders whether the lady recognized that here was a friend who would serve her with the utmost devotion to life's end, or whether, as some- thing warns him, she considered the music merely an annoyance that only added to the discomfort of an already unbearable night an impression evidently due to the inhospitable blackness of her windows and to his excited imagination reflected in the unfriendliness of the grass in grudging him place to stand and the gate's grinding its teeth as he passed through. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 16. Youth and Art. In this half-humorous soliloquy a woman regrets the foolishness that made herself and a young artist choose worldly ease and comfort instead of confessing to each other their love and casting in their lot together, thus gaining the true happiness that only once was within their grasp. 8. Gibson, John 462 NOTES. (1790-1866), sculptor, well known by his 'Tinted Venus.' 12. Grisi, Giulietta (born in Milan, 1812), a celebrated opera singer. 58. bals-pares, dress balls. (' Dramatis Personse,' 1864.) P. 19. 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 medi- aeval 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 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!" (First nine sections, Hood's Magazine, April, 1845; whole in 'Bells and Pomegranates,' No. 7, 1845.) P. 39. Song from Pippa Passes. Little song sung by Pippa expressing trust in God because of the beautiful spring morning. (See Notes, P. 3.) P. 39. How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix describes the gallop of three horses with their riders from Ghent at midnight to Aix at midday. Two of the horses falling dead by the way, the good steed Roland is left alone to reach the goal and save Aix. In answer to inquiries Browning wrote : " There is no sort of historical founda- tion about ' Good News from Ghent.' I wrote it under the bulwark of a vessel off the African coast, after I had been at sea long enough to appreciate even the fancy of a gallop on the back of a certain good horse ' York,' then in my stable at home. It was written in pencil on the flyleaf of Bartoli's ' Simboli,' I remember." It has, however, been pointed out by several commentators that the poem may be said to have a sort of historical background, as such an incident might easily have grown out of the event of the " Pacification of Ghent," a treaty of union entered into by Holland, Zealand, and the southern Netherlands, headed by William of Orange, and directed against the tyrannical power of Philip II. of Spain. (See Motley's ' Rise of the United Netherlands," Vol. VIII.) " The ' horse without peer ' might possibly have galloped the ninety-odd miles between Ghent and Aix, but the feat would be a marvellous one. 10. Pique. The pommel of the saddle. We state this on authority of an army officer, although the meaning is in none of the dictionaries. 14. Lokeren. A town twelve miles from Ghent, in a direction a little north of east. 15. Boom. Sixteen miles due east from Lokeren. 16. Diiffeld, or Duffel, is about twelve miles east of Boom, and a few miles north of Mechlin. 17. Mecheln. The contracted form of Mechelen t the Flemish form of Mechlin (French, Af alines). The church steeple is the lofty (324 feet) though unfinished tower of the Cathedral of St. Rombold. Like many of the great Belgian churches, it is noted for its chimes. 18. Aerschot. All the eds. spell the name Aershot ; but the sch is pronounced like sk. The town is fifteen miles from Duffel. 31. Hasselt. The capital of the province of Limbourg. It is about twenty-four miles from Aerschot, and almost eighty from Ghent by the route described. Dirck had, indeed, 'galloped bravely.' 38. Looz. This town is seven or eight miles due south from Hasselt, and Tongres is also out of the direct road to Aix-la-Chapelle. We should expect the riders to take the route via Maastricht. By rail it is forty-one miles from Hasselt to Aix, and the highway NOTES. cannot be much less. 41. Dalhem. Apparently some village near Aix It can- not be the frontier-town Dalheim, for that lies too far to the north. The dome-spire is probably the cupola of the ' octagon ' of the cathedral, built by Charlemagne and containing his tomb." Rolfe and Hersey's Notes. ('Bells and Pomegranates. No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics. 1 1845. Set to Music by "Yolande," London: Boosey; and by Miss H. V. Ormerod' London : Forsyth Bros.) P. 41. Song from ' Paracelsus.' Sung by Paracelsus (Part IV.), half in mock- ery, of his dead dreams on their funeral pyre. (1835.) P. 42. Through the Metidja to Abd-el-Kadr describes the ride of an Arab in- surgent through the Algerian plain called the Metidja to rejoin his chief, Abd-el- Kadr. The leap of his blood quickens his insight, makes him proud of his loyalty to his leader, defiant of witnesses, exultant over the visions he has of the French who came boasting to the desert, to remain there slain, their dead bodies seeming to be uncovered by the shifting sands he leaves behind him as he rides past on his unspurred horse towards the fate he refuses to pry into, content to accept death when Mohammed pleases. Abd-el-Kadr ("servant of God"), born 1807, united the Arab tribes to resist the French invasions of their country, made himself recog- nized as the Emir of Mascara, and forced the French to offer terms of peace. War breaking out again, and the French being again defeated, a larger force was sent into Algeria. The incident of the poem follows the seizure of the emir's camp, in 1842, by the Due d'Aumale, when several thousand prisoners were taken, Abd-el-Kadr himself escaping with difficulty and collecting the Arabs for renewed resistance. He was forced later to give himself up, and was imprisoned at Pau until 1852, when Louis Napoleon freed him on condition that he did not return to Algeria. He died in 1883. 38. The Propket and the Bride. The prophet is of course Mohammed. ('Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics,' 1842.) P. 43. Incident of the French Camp. A story of modest heroism. The inci- dent 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. Rat'ubon (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 Napo- leon, 1809. ii. Lannes, Duke of Montebello, one of Napoleon's generals. ('Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics,' 1842. With 'Soliloquy in a Spanish Cloister,' under the title 'Camp and Cloister: I. Camp [French], II. Cloister [Spanish],' entitled as at present, ' Poems,' Vol. II.. 1849.) P. 44. The Lost Leader sings with undaunted spirit the sad desertion of the people's cause by one who had been one of its leaders. Asked if he referred to Wordsworth, Browning wrote, in 1875: " I can only answer, with something of shame and contrition, that I undoubtedly had Wordsworth in my mind but simply as a model ; you know an artist takes one or two striking traits in the features of his ' model," and uses them to start his fancy on a flight which may end far eneugh from the good man or woman who happens to be sitting for nose and eye. I thought of the great Poet's abandon- ment of liberalism at an unlucky juncture, and no repaying consequence that I could ever see. But, once call my fancy-portrait Wordsworth and how much more ought one to say ! " Wordsworth, liberal in his youth, grew conservative with advancing years, op- posed Catholic Emancipation, the Reform Bill, and educational progress. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845.) 464 NOTES. P. 45. 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. Guidecca, 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-ihee-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. Caste If ranco, 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. P. 51. A Lovers' Quarrel is a lover's protest against any severance of the union in whose endless pleasures his memory revels. His sudden word that unwittingly struck discord into their happy world must be too slight to blot out the love that amassed them such memories and experiences of each other. (' Nfen and Women,' 1855. Set to music by E. C. Gregory. London: Novello, Ewer, and Co.) 123. Minor third. See ' Toccata of Galuppi.' P. 56. Earth's Immortalities. A two-fold lyric singing Time's power over Fame and Love. The touch of Time upon a poet's grave symbolizes the one, his deafness to the human outcry against old age and the progress of the seasons typi- fies the other. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845. Appeared first as I. and II. without the sub-titles which were added in 1849.) P. 56. 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. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 59. Mesmerism. With a continuous tension of will, whose unbroken con- centration 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 tres- passing upon another's individuality. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 64. By the Fireside. A mature man's anticipated reminiscence in old age .of the scene and the crowning moment of a ripe and perfect love. The initial insight and force to seize the vital moment, fusing the physical and spiritual ele- ments of love and testing the soul and%xalting it to the highest potency, is attrib- uted to the " perfect wife," whose " great brow " and " spirit-small hand " clearly refer to Mrs. Browning and give the situation of the poem an autobiographical implication. The scene is placed in a little mountain gorge near the baths of Lucca, where the Brownings passed the summer in 1849 and in 1853. " We have taken a sort of eagle's nest in this place," writes Mrs. Browning, " the highest house of the highest of the three villages which are called the Bagni di Lucca, and which lie at the heart of a hundred mountains sung to continually by a rushing mountain 465 stream. The sound of the river and of the cicale is all the sound we hear The silence ,s full I o joy and consolation. ... I find myself able to climb the hills with Robert and help him to lose himself in the forests." ("Men and Women/ 1855 P. 72. Any Wife to any Husband. Another expression of the wife's superior perception of the unity of the physical and spiritual in love, and the psychical value Of constancy. Destined to die first she protests against the husband's wronging their genuine love and his own spiritual dignity by indulging in cheaper attractions he would only put up with in her absence, and she does not dare to prophesy his loyalty with unwavering trust. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 76. In a Year. A woman's lyric, unconsciously dramatizing her own and her fickle lovers character, and at last through a truer estimate of the worth of his heart getting her own glimpse of the Divine quality residing in constancy ( Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 79. Song from 'James Lee.' (See ' James Lee's Wife, 1 Notes, P. 288.) P. 79. A Woman's Last Word implies a dramatic situation, a resistance of soul and intellect against overmastery, and gives lyrical expression to the pathetic outcome of the struggle, the self-surrender of a fond heart. (' Men and Women, 1 1855. Set to music by Leslie Johnson. London : Browning Society.) P. 81. Meeting at Night and Parting at Morning. Supplementary pictures of a love-tryst, one giving the lover's impressions in turning at night towards isolation with the loved one, the other of the return to the larger needs and uses of the world at sunrise. Whether the man speaks throughout, or in the second part the woman speaks, are open questions. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845. Originally called ' Night ' and ' Morning.' Titled as at present in ' Poems," 1849.) P. 81. Women and Roses. A dreamy glimpse of the actual woman animating the past, present, and future ideals of woman which are typified in the poet's fancy by the three roses faded, blooming, and just budded, on a rose-tree sent by a friend to Mrs. Browning. He seeks in vain to appropriate the dearest of these ideals. His only hold upon them is through his knowledge of the real womanhood of the woman akin to them who is closest to him. They circle their particular rose on his real rose-tree. (Written in Paris, in 1852. ' Men and Women, 1 1855.) P. 83. Misconceptions sings the lover's flitting moment of joy in a love fully answering his own ere undeceived like the spray which the bird clung to, he learns that the queen, like the bird, had but casually used his help in order to pass on to a happiness beyond him. (' Men and Women, 1 1855. Set to music by E. C. Gregory. London : Novello, Ewer, and Co.) P. 83. A Pretty Woman is a light sketch of a typical pretty woman whose brains and heart are rudimentary, and of the typical treatment she receives from men, who make her their peculiar prize for .their cleverness or valor, "a word's sake or a sword's sake.' 1 The " Conclusion " to try is, why crush her for lack of qualities debarred her, or lavish devotion upon her fruitlessly. Rather appreciate her beauty by leaving it unsullied, as its own excuse for being. The Oriental treatment of pretty women is dexterously intimated in the craftsman's way to grace a rose. (' Men and Women, 1 1855.) P. 86. 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 him- self lighter than she ; his futile assumption of the god maneuvering souls makes 2H 466 NOTES. the whole story dramatically imply, in a way dear to Browning's heart, the sacred ness and worth of each individuality. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 88. Love in a Life, and Life in a Love are lyrical expressions, the first of the search for love as an uncertain, undiscovered ideal, the other of the pursuit of love as an ideal that is sure and discovered, the first consisting in the attempt to pain A love within a life, the other in the spending of a life in love's attainment. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 89. The Laboratory presents as an episode in the course of a ball the scene and agents of a jealous woman's preparation to poison her rival, the social and scientific conditions of the feudal period being illustrated by this glimpse of a laboratory dim with arsenic fumes, of the fierce, chattering little lady peering through her protecting glass mask, and the morose old alchemist including a kiss in his pay. (Hood's Magazine, June, 1844. ' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845, appearing with ' The Confessional' under the general title ' France and Spain.') P. 91. Gold Hair. A quizzical story playing with the pious naivetes of a guide- book legend. It tells how a reputed girl-saint of good family in Brittany valued the gold of this life spite of heaven and the grave, and, managing to hide her money in her beautiful gold hair before she died, remained in men's praise as a model of sanctity, and was only detected as a miser years afterwards when her skull was found in her coffin wedged in with her dear gold coins. The sophistical moral suggested is that such a marvellous and damning mixture of good and evil in the human heart as this story lays bare warrants flie doctrine of Original Sin and supplies a reason for sticking to the Christian faith, despite Bishop Colenso and the ' Essays and Reviews.' 143. Essays and Reviews. A collection of seven dis- sertations by Dr. Temple of Rugby, Professor Jowett of Oxford, and other English churchmen, on theological topics, all bearing on the advantage to religion and morality derivable from a freer scrutiny of the Bible, the character of its facts, and the nature of its authority as a sacred book. It was a shock to many and it ex- cited much discussion, initiating in England what is now known as the Higher Criticism of the Bible. 145. Colenso. Bishop of Natal, South Africa whose ex- amination of the Bible was instigated by the questions of a Zulu native published in 1862 the first volume of his work on the Pentateuch, which added fuel to the debate stirred up by the ' Essays and Reviews.' (Written in Normandy and printed as a leaflet. ' Dramatis Personse,' 1864.) P. 96. 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' Annuziata 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 ex- changing their first looks, through which they perceive the genuineness of their love; and the temporizing of each is presented, through which, for the sake oi 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 Annuziata, where the statue still stands. 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 ' Brown- NOTES. ing Guide Book' and Berdoe's 'Browning Cyclopedia' 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. 1 ) 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. 94. Arno bowers. The palace by the Arno, the river flowing through Florence! 95. Petraja, a Florentine suburb. 69. Robbia's craft. The Robbia family were skilled in shaping the bisque known as Delia 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, sculptor, 1524-1608. The statue is one of his finest works. 237. De te, fabulat Concerning thee, this fable ! (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 103. Love among the Ruins. A lover, meditating, draws a contrast show- ing how the ruined spot where he and the beloved one meet "The single little turret that remains on the plains " from which kings were once wont to look forth is more glorified by the perfect love existing between them than it has ever been in the past when the ancient city stood there with all its pomp of triumph and war, its folly and noise and sin. The poem was written in Rome in the winter of 1853- 54 when Robert and Mrs. Browning were staying there. 21. hundred-gated circuit of a -wall. The poet perhaps had in mind Homer's description of Thebes as the " hundred-gated " city. Rome never had more than twenty (or possibly a few over twenty) gates. Homer's epithet evidently applied to the gates of the temples, as Thebes was not a walled city. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 105. 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. (' Bells and Pome- granates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845.) P. 107. 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 468 NOTES. again above their horizon. i. 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 1842 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 Zea- land 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. / left his arm that night myself. Geo. 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 even- ing 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 informc ingens" a mon ster 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. 122. lambwhite 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, a cele- brated painter, born in Milan, 1492, went to Rome and was employed by Raphael to paint the friezes in the Vatican, 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 sick- ness, 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 dis- covery 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 NOTES. ancestors had been sextons for many years. They are now generally considered Chatterton's own. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics, 1 1842.) P. 113. Home Thoughts from Abroad. Expresses the longing for home of one who when spring comes remembers the joyous, dainty beauties of the English spring. The gaudy melon flower at hand, symbolic of the rankness of a southern spring, is dull in comparison with the gay buttercups that little children love, (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics, 1 1845.) P. 113. 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, n, 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 abdi- cation 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. Meiternich. The distinguished Austrian diplomatist and determined enemy of Austrian independence. 76. Tenebra, 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). ('Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845.) P. 117. The Englishman in Italy. A graphic, humorous picture of peasant life on the plain of Sorrento is here presented by an Englishman, who tells his memories of various scenes grown familiar to his foreign eyes in order to keep a little peasant girl amused during the gloom of Ihe bcirocco, just as he is pre- occupying himself in Italy, while in his own England another sort of tempest is abroad and men are actually debating in parliament the use of abolishing the gloom of a human Scirocco, namely, the misery caused by the corn-laws. 3. Scirocco. A fierce hot wind from Africa crossing the Mediterranean in autumn. loo. Isles of the Siren. The three islands off the coast, one and one half mile; from Crapolla, supposed to be those described in the Odyssey (Bk. xii. and xxiii.) where the sirens sang, and referred to by Virgil in ^Eneid v. 1125. 125. Feast o) the Rosary. The anniversary of the battle of Lepanto, where the Turkish fleet was destroyed by the Catholic powers of Europe, and for which victory our Lady of the Rosary receives annual thanks. 145. Corn-laws. In October, 1845, Sir Robert Peel, England's prime minister, asked his cabinet to concur with him in relieving 470 NOTES. the people from the duty on corn or grain-stuffs, repealing the law passed by the parliament of 1815 in the interest of land-holders. It excited the stormy opposition to which the poem refers, resulting, however, in the passing of Peel's bill in June, 1846. 186. Calvano. Browning is not sure he used the right name for the great mountain opposite Sorrento. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Ro- mances and Lyrics,' 1845.) P. 120. Up at a Villa Down in the City. A humorous portraiture of a pleasure-loving Italian nobleman who contrasts the boredom of life in the country with the excitements of town-life, and sighs over the expense of the city which condemns him to his rustic villa. 52. Seven Swords. Figurative of the Seven Sorrows of Our Lady, and contrasting naively with the pink gauze and spangles. 56. Tax on salt . . . oil pays passing the gate. Italy's system of revenue in- cluded a tax on salt, and the octroi, or town dues, must be paid on all provisions entering the city-gates. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 123. Pictor Ignotus is a reverie characteristic of a monastic painter of the Renaissance who recognizes, in the genius of a youth whose pictures are praised, a gift akin to his own, but which he has never so exercised, spite of the joy such free human expression and recognition of his power would have given him, because he could not bear to submit his art to worldly contact. So, he has chosen to sink his name in unknown service to the Church, and to devote his fancy to pure and beautiful, but cold and monotonous, repetitions of sacred themes. His gentle regret that his own pictures will moulder unvisited is half wonderment that the youth can endure the sullying of his work by secular fame. (' Bells and Pome- granates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845.) P. 124. Fra Lippo Lippi is a dramatic monologue which incidentally conveys the whole story of the occurrence the poem starts from the seizure of Fra Lippo by the City Guards, past midnight, in an equivocal neighborhood and the lively talk that arose thereupon ; outlines the character and past life of the artist-monk and the subordinate personalities of the group of officers ; and makes all this cohere towards the presentation of Fra Lippo as a type of the more realistic and secular artist of the Renaissance who valued flesh, and protested against the ascetic spirit which strove to isolate the soul. The poem's presentation of Fra Lippo (1412-1469) breathes life into the passages from Vasari's Lives which it fol- lows thus : Vasari : " The Carmelite Monk Fra Filippo di Tommaso Lippi was born in a bye street . . . behind the Convent." Browning: 7. " The Carmine's very Cloister." Vasari: " Cosimo de Medici, wishing him to execute a work in his own palace, shut him up, that he might not waste his time in running about; but having endured this confinement for two days he made ropes with the sheets of his bed ... let himself down from a window . . . and for several days gave himself up to his amusements." Brng. : 15. " Lodging with a friend . . . Cosimo of the Medici," etc. 47. "Three weeks shut within my mew, etc Into shreds it went," etc. [Browning apologizes a little for the Frate by making the confinement three weeks instead of two days, and giving him only one night's revelry.] Vasari: "By the death of his father he was left a friendless orphan at the age of two years . . . for some time under the care of Mona Lapaccia his aunt, who brought him up with very great difficulty till his eighth year, when, being no longer able to support the burden, she placed him in the Convent of the Carmelites . . . Placed with others under the care of a master to ... see what could be done with him ; in place of studying he never did anything but daub his books with caricatures, whereupon the prior determined to give him . . . opportunity for learning to draw. The chapel, then newly painted by Masaccio, NOTES. 471 ... he frequented, and practising there . . . surpassed all the others . . . while still very young painted a picture in the cloister . . . with others in fresco . . . among these John the Baptist." Brng. : 81. "I was a baby when my mother died," etc. ; 129. " I drew men's faces on my copy books," etc. ; 136. " Nay, quoth the Prior," etc.; 196. " Herodias I would say," etc. Vasari: "For the nuns of Sant' Ambrogio he painted a most beautiful picture." [The Virgin crowned with angels and saints, now in Florence at the Belle Arti. Vasari says by means of it he became known to Cosimo. Browning on the other hand crowns his poem with Lippo's description of this picture as an expiation for his pranks.] Brng. : 345. " I shall paint a piece . . . Something in Sant' Ambrogio's," etc. 23. pilchards, a kind of fish. 53. Flower o' the broom. Of the many varieties of folk- songs in Italy that which furnished Browning with a model for Lippo's songs is called a stornello. The name is variously derived. Some take it as merely short for ritornello, others derive it from a storno, to sing against each other, because the peasants sing them at their work, and as one ends a song, another caps it with a fresh one, and so on. These stornelli consist of three lines. The first usually con- tains the name of a flower which sets the rhyme, and is five syllables long. Then the love theme is told in two lines of eleven syllables each, agreeing by rhyme, assonance, or repetition with the first, " Flower of the fern ! Wherever you pass by, the grass springs green And blooms or ever summer doth return." The last two lines lose a syllable in the translation. The address to the flower usually has no connection with the sentiment ex- pressed in the lines following, a very evident example of which are these, " Flower of the broom bough ! If you want a husband make you one of dough, Dress him up and put him in the window for a show." In some cases, salt, pepper, lemons, and even cigars are used in the first line instead of flowers. The first line may be looked upon as a burden set at the beginning instead of, as is more familiar to us. at the end. There are also stornelli formed of three lines of eleven syllables without any burden. Browning has made Lippo's songs of only two lines, but he has strictly followed the rule of making the first line, containing the address to the flower, of five syllables. The Tuscany versions of two of the songs used by Browning are as follows : " Flower of the pine ! Call me not ever happy heart again, But call me heavy heart, O comrades mine." " Flower of the broom ! Unwed thy mother keeps thee not to lose ^ That flower from the window of the room." 68. Saint Laurence. The church of San Lorenzo, -xax. The Eight. The : magis- trates of Florence. - 130. antiphonary, the Roman Service-Book, containing a sung in the choir -the antiphones, responses, etc. ; it was compiled by Grego Grelt - 131. Joined arms and legs to the long munc-notes. The musical notat.on of Lippo's da/was entirely different from ours, the notes being square and < 472 NOTES. and rather less suited for arms and legs than the present rounded notes. 139. Camaldotese. Monks of Camaldoli. Preaching Friars. The Dominicans. 189. Giotto. The painter, sculptor, and architect (1266-1337). 235. Brother Angelica. Fra Angelico, Giovanni da Fiesole (1387-1455), of the monastic school, who was said to paint on his knees. 236. Brother Lorenzo. Lorenzo Monaca of the same school. 276. Guide. Tommaso Guidi, or Masaccio, nick- named "Hulking Tom" (1401-1429). [Vasari makes him Lippo's predecessor. Browning followed the best knowledge of his time in making him, instead, Lippo's pupil. Vasari is now thought to be right.] 323. A Saint Laurence at Prato. Near Florence, where Lippi painted many saints. [Vasari speaks of a St. Stephen painted there in the same realistic manner as Browning's St. Laurence, whose martyrdom of broiling to death on a gridiron affords Lippo's powers a livelier effect.] The legend of this saint makes his fortitude such that he bade his perse- cutors turn him over, as he was " done on one side." 346. Sanf Ambrogio. St. Ambrose Church in Florence. 377. Iste perfecit opus. This one completed the work. (Written at Rome in the winter of 1853-1854. ' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 133. Andrea del Sarto. The interaction and interdependence of Andrea del Sarto's own nature upon his choice of a wife and the character of his art are revealed in this monologue, along with the personalities of both Andrea and Lucrezia, the degrading influence of their relationship, and the main incidents ol their lives, the whole serving to illustrate the picture on which the poem is based. The gray tone that silvers the picture pervades the poem with an air of helpless, resigned melancholy, and sets forth the fatal quality of facile craftsmanship joined with a flaccid spirit. Mr. John Kenyon, Mrs. Browning's cousin, asked Browning to get him a copy of the picture of Andrea and his wife in the Pitti Palace. Brown- ing, being unable to find one, wrote this poem describing it, instead. Andrea, (1486-1531), because his father was a tailor, was called del Sarto, also, il pittore senza errori, " the faultless painter." Vasari's Life of him supplied the poet with material as follows : Brng. : I. " Do not let us quarrel any more," etc. Vasari : " He destroyed his own peace and estranged his friends by marrying Lucrezia di Baccio del Fede, a cap-maker's widow who ensnared him before her husband's death, and who delighted in trapping the hearts of men ... he soon became jealous and found that he had fallen into the hands of an artful woman who made him do as she pleased in all things . . . but although Andrea lived in ... torment he yet accounted it a high pleasure." Brng. : 60. " I can do with my pencil . . . easily, too, . . . what many dream of," etc. 82. " This low-pulsed forthright crafts- man's hand," etc. Vasari : " Art and nature combined to show all that may be done in painting when design, coloring, and invention unite in the same person. Had this master possessed a somewhat bolder and more elevated mind ... he would have been without an equal. But there was a certain timidity of mind, a sort of diffidence and want offeree in his nature, which rendered it impossible that . . . ardor and animation, which are proper to the more exalted character, should ever appear in him . . . His figures are well drawn . . . free from errors . . . the coloring exquisite." Brng. : 98. " All is silver gray, placid and perfect," etc. Vasari : " Andrea understood the management of light and shade most perfectly, causing the objects depicted to take their due degree of prominence or to retire within the shadows." Brng. : 76. " Some one says." 184. " Said Agnolo ... to Raphael." 189. " Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub," etc. Vasari : " If he had remained in Rome when he went thither to see the works of Raffaello and Michelagnolo . . . would eventually have attained the power of imparting a more elevated character and increased force to his figures . . . nay, there are not wanting 473 those who affirm he would . . . have surpassed all the artists of his time Raffaello and other young artists whom he perceived to possess great power deprived Andrea, timid as he was, of courage to make trial of himself." Michael Angelo's remark to Raphael is given thus by Bocchi, ' Bellezze di Firenze ' " There is a bit of a mannikin in Florence who, if he chanced to be employed' in great undertakings as you have happened to be, would compel you to look well about you." Brng. : 149. " That Francis . . . that long festal year at Fontainebleau " etc. Vasari : " Two pictures he had sent into France, obtaining much admiration from King Francis . . . that monarch was told he might prevail upon Andrea to visit France ... the king therefore gave orders that a sum of money should be paid to Andrea for the expenses of the journey ... his arrival was marked by proofs of liberality and courtesy ... his labors rendering him so acceptable to the king and the whole court, his departure from his native country appeared to have conducted him from wretchedness to felicity . . . But one day . . . came to him certain letters from Florence written to him by his wife . . . with bitter complaints . . . Moved by all this he resolved to resume his chain . . . Taking the money which the king confided to him for the purchase of pictures and statues ... he set off ... having sworn on the gospels to return in a few months. Arrived in Florence, he lived joyously with his wife for some time, making presents tD her father and sisters, but doing nothing for his own parents, who died in poverty and misery. When the period specified by the king had come ... he found himself at the end not only of his own money but ... of that of the king . . . remained in Florence, therefore, procuring a livelihood ... as he best might." (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 138. The Bishop Orders his Tomb. This half-delirious pleading of the dying prelate for a tomb which shall gratify his luxurious artistic tastes and per- sonal rivalries, in presenting dramatically the special scene of the worldly old bishop's petulant struggle against his failing power, and his collapse, finally, beneath the will of his so-called nephews, also sets forth to the life a characteristic gross form of the Renaissance spirit encumbered with Pagan survivals, fleshly appetites, and selfish monopolizings which hampered its development. " It is nearly all that I said of the Central Renaissance, its worldliness, inconsistency, pride, hypocrisy, ignorance of itself, love of art, of luxury, and of good Latin in thirty pages of the ' Stones of Venice, 1 put into as many lines, Browning's being also the antecedent work." (Ruskin.) The church of St. Praxed was rich in mosaics, its chapel St. Zeno being called Orto del Paradiso, or the Garden of Paradise, and so, although the bishop and his tomb there are entirely imaginations of Browning, it sup- plies an appropriate setting for the poetic scene. 31. Onion stone. For the Italian cipollino, a kind of greenish-white marble splitting into coats like an onion, cipolla, hence so called. 41. Olive-frail, a basket made of rushes, used for packing olives. 42. Lapis lazuli, a bright blue stone. 48. God the father's globe. In the group of the Trinity adorning the altar of St. Ignatius at the church of II Gcsu in Rome. 58. Some tripod, thyrsus. The first an emblem of the Delphic oracle, the second, of Bacchic orgy. 77. Tally's. Marcus Tullius Cicero. 79. Ulpian. A Roman jurist (170-228 A.D.). 99. Elucescebat. Wrongly formed from the verb eluceo, eluxi, elucere, to be illustrious. 102. Else I give the Pope my villas. Per- haps a threat founded on the custom of Julius II. and other popes, according to Burckhardt, of enlarging their power " by making themselves heirs of the cardinals and clergy '. . . Hence the splendor of the tombs of the prelates ... a part ol the plunder being in this way saved from the hands of the Pope." 108. A Visor and a Term. A mask, and a bust springing from a square pillar, representing the 474 NOTES. Roman god Term who presided over boundaries. {Hood's Magazine, March, 1845, as ' The Tomb at St. Praxed's,' so also in ' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics.' Classed under ' Men and Women,' and entitled as at present, in ' Poetical Works,' 1863. P. 141. A Toccata of Galuppi's. Here is shown the power of musk to call up a vision of the times which gave it birth. It has lost all possibility of direct per- sonal appeal, because it is not the outcome of an age marked by deep and universal feeling, and its very coldness makes more vivid the picture of soulless frivolity of the Venice of the composer's day. To his contemporaries it spoke only of death, and so to the poet it not only reflects its own age, but is in its deadness a lasting monument of the "dust and ashes " into which the shallow life of Venice vanished. I. Galuppi Baldassare (1706-1785). An Italian musician, famous in his day, an industrious composer of whose seventy operas none have survived. He lived and worked in London from 1741 to 1744 ; also in Russia at the court of the Empress Catherine II. till 1768, when he left Russia and became organist of St. Mark's, Venice. When he died he left fifty thousand lire to the poor of that city. 6. St. Mark's. The great cathedral of Venice named for St. Mark, because it is said that the body of that evangelist was brought to Venice and enshrined there. Where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings. " The ceremony of wedding the Adriatic was instituted in 1174 by Pope Alexander III., who gave the Doge a gold ring from his own finger in token of the victory achieved by the Venetian fleet at Istria over Frederick Barbarossa, in defense of the Pope's quarrel. When his Holiness gave the ring, he desired the Doge to throw a similar Ring into the sea annually, in commemoration of the event" (Brewer). 8. Shylock's bridge. Prob- ably the Rialto bridge, by which they show Shylock's house. 18. Toccatas, The name toccata is derived from the Italian toccari, to touch. It is a piece in which a certain passage or figure is repeated over and over again either in the strict or the free style. Clavichord, a keyed and stringed instrument, one of the forerunners of the modern piano. The technical musical allusions in the poem are all to be found in the 7th, 8th, and gth stanzas. The lesser thirds (10) are minor thirds (intervals containing three semitones), and are of common occurrence, but the diminished sixth (10) is an interval rarely used. Ordinarily a diminished sixth (seven semitones), exactly the same interval as a perfect fifth, instead of giving a plaintive, mournful, or minor impression, would suggest a feeling of rest and satis- faction. There is one way, however, in which it can be used, as a suspension, in which the root of the chord on the lowered super-tonic of the scale is suspended from above into the chord with added seventh on the super-tonic, making a diminished sixth between the root of the first and the third of the second chord. The effect of this progression is most dismal, and possibly Browning had it in mind. Suspensions (19) are notes which are held over from one chord into another, and must be made according to certain strict musical rules. This holding over of a note always produces a dissonance, and must be followed by a concord, in other words, a solution. Sevenths are very important dissonances in music, and a commiserating seventh (20) is most likely the variety called a minor seventh. Being a somewhat less mournful interval than the lesser thirds and the diminished sixths, whether real or imaginary, yet not so final as " those solutions " which seem to put an end to all uncertainty, and therefore to life, they arouse in the listeners to Galuppi's playing a hope that life may last, although in a sort of dissonantal, Wag- nerian fashion. The "commiserating sevenths" are closely connected with the "dominant's persistence" (24). The dominant chord in music is the chord written on the fifth degree of the scale, and it almost always has a seventh added to it. am) NOTES. 475 in a large percentage of cases is followed by the tonic, the chord on the first degree of the scale. Now, in fugue form a theme is first presented in the tonic key. then the same theme is repeated in the dominant key, the latter being called the answer; after some development of the theme the fugue comes to what is called an episode, after which the theme is presented first, in the dominant. " Hark ! the dominant's persistence " alludes to this musical fact ; but according to rule this dominant must be answered in the tonic an octave above the first presentation of the theme, and " So an octave struck the answer." Thus the inexorable solution comes in 'after the dominant's persistence. Although life seemed possible with commiserating sevenths, the tonic, a resistless fate, strikes the answer that all must end. The use of these terms belonging to the fugue form indicate that this particular Toccata was strict rather than free in form. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 143. How it Strikes a Contemporary is a portrait of the Poet as the unpo- etic gossiping public of his day see him. It is humorously colored in every detail by the alien point of view of one who suspects without understanding either the greatness of the poet's spiritual personality and mission, nor the nature of his life, which is withdrawn from that of the commonalty yet spent in clear-sighted universal sympathies and kindly mediation between Humanity and its God. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 146. 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. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 147. Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. After wrestling with the unmanageable difficulties of a mountainous fugue, likening it to a wordy quarrel over a simple proposition and seeking for the soul of meaning that inspired Master Hugues when he wrote it, the organist finally decides to regard it as a symbol of life which, with its play and interplay of human action and thought, ends by obscuring God's truth. Though Hugues may have had no discoverable moral in writing his fugue, the organist draws the moral that truth shines ever above though it is not always grasped. 2. Hvgues, an imaginary person. 4. Mountainous fugues. A fugue is a composition in parts, the construction of which requires great skill, for it is necessary to start with a theme in the first part that can be repeated in all the other parts and yet harmonize with itself. First the theme or subject is presented in a single part in the tonic key, and is repeated in the second part a fifth higher while the first part continues in counterpoint against it. Then the subject is repeated again at the octave, and then at the fifth and so on. As the fugue pro- gresses, the themes are developed and the intertwisting of parts grows more and more complex. The laws which govern the harmonizing of the parts together are called laws of counterpoint and form one ot the most difficult branches of the art of composition (see note on ' A Toccata ') . The fugue described in this poem would seem to be one of those mathematical productions of the fifteenth and sixteen centuries, when music in the hands of the learned musicians had become li more than an affair of the head. Only with the advent of John Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) did the fugue become a thing of beauty. The fact that the p made Hugues from Saxe-Gotha has led to the conclusion that a Bach fugue meant, because Bach was born in Saxe-Gotha, but the turning of the organist t< Palestrina (140) as a relief from the gorgon counterpoint of Hugues, would indicate that the poet was thinking of the fugues that preceded Palestrina rather than th of Bach, which belong about a hundred years later than Palestrina (1524-1594). 4/6 NOTES. when German music had come under the influence of the Italian style, founded by Palestrina, who freed music from the excesses of the current contrapuntal complica- tions. 26. Aloys and Jurien and Just. Sacristan's assistants. 39. Claviers. The keyboard of the organ. 44. two great breves. The longest note in music, formerly square in shape. 80. O Danaides, O Sieve! The Danaides were the daughters of Danaus, who were condemned for their crimes to pour water forever through a sieve. 88. Escobar, of Mendoza, a Spanish casuist, the general tend- ency of whose writings was to find excuses for human frailties (Dr. Berdoe). 86. Est fuga, volvitur rota = it is a flight, the wheel rolls itself round. 92. Rispost- ing. A term in fencing equivalent here to making a repartee. 100. Ticken, ticking. 136. Mea poena, at my risk of punishment. 140. Mode Palestrina, in the style of Palestrina. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 152. Abt Vogler (after he has been extemporizing upon the musical instru- ment of his invention). The musician rises into a state of exaltation through the wonder of his own musical gift, the outcome of which seems to him more entirely creative than that of any other art, because the form is evolved from the subjective consciousness and not imitated from nature, as it is, more or less, in the other arts. While they are obedient to laws, the composer's inspiration is a revelation of the divine will, and being such is eternal in its essence. From this he reasons that all good is of the same nature, and, though only partial now, is destined to persist and form a perfect whole in the future. Evil is simply the discord that enhances the beauty of the coming concord, and is destined to be resolved in it, is, indeed, the evidence in its aspect of failure that perfection is assured in the future. Abt Vogler. George Joseph Vogler, born Wiirzburg, Bavaria, June 15, 1749 ; educated for the church, but his musical talent, which showed itself at an early age, was also developed; ordained priest in Rome, 1773, and opened a school of music in Mannheim, 1775. At Stockholm, founded a second school of music, and became famous for his performances on an instrument which he had invented, called the Orchestrion, a compact organ, in which, four keyboards of five octaves each, and a pedal board of thirty-six keys, with swell complete, were packed into a cube of nine feet ; travelled all over Europe with his organ, his performances being received with enthusiasm ; opened a third school of music at Darmstadt, where Weber and Meyerbeer became his pupils. Here he died May 6, 1814. His " Missa Pasto- ricia " is performed every Christmas at the Hof Kapelle, Vienna. (See Grove's ' Dictionary of Music and Musicians.') Solomon willed. Jewish and Moslem legends gave Solomon sovereignty over the demons and powers of nature which he owed to the possession of a seal on which the " most great name of God was engraved" (Lane, 'Arabian Nights'). 7. ineffable name, the unspeakable name of God. Mysterious names of the deity occur in other religions besides the Jewish. 23. Rome's dome. It has been customary to illuminate the dome of St. Peter's on Easter Sunday and other important festivals. 35. Protoplast. The thing first modelled from which copies are imitated. 52. Out of three sounds he frames not a fourth sound but a star, etc. If you were to mix three colors together the result would be a fourth color in which the individuality of the first three colors would be sunk, but if you mix three sounds together in a chord the result will not be a fourth sound, but a wonderful harmony of all three, partaking of the individuality of each, and this is done by combining tones chosen from nature's chaos of sounds through the creative power of the artist. 91. common chord, con- sists of the fundamental, with a major (four semitones), or minor (three semi- tones) third, and a perfect fifth (seven semitones) over it. 93. ninth, if major, con- tains an octave and two semitones ; if minor, an octave and one semitone. These NOTES. 477 last lines of the poem, stripped of their symbolic meaning, may be taken as an exact explanation of a simple harmonic modulation. Suppose Abt Vogler when he " feels for the common chord " to have struck the chord of C major in its first inversion, i.e. the third, E, in the bass, the fifth, G, at the top ; now, " sliding by semitones," that is, playing in succession chords with the upper note a semitone lower, he would come to the chord A, E, C, which is the (minor) tonic chord of the scale of A, the relative minor of C, and so he would thus " sink to the minor." Now he blunts the fifth of this chord E, to Eb, which thus becomes a minor ninth over the root D, the whole chord being D, F|, A, C, Eb, and, as he explains, he stands on alien ground because he has modulated away from the key of C, but, instead of following this dominant by its natural solution, its own tonic, which would be G, B, D, he treats it as if it were what is called a supertonic harmony. So, after pausing on this chord to survey a while the heights he rolled from into the deep, he suddenly modulates back to C. He has dared and done, his resting place is found the C major of this life. This is the progression : " Sliding by semitones." " alien ground." " C major of this Life." I (' Dramatis Persona",' 1864.) P. 155. Two in the Campagna. A sense of elusiveness pervades this poem. The perpetual failure of the mind to realize thought, of the heart to realize the ideal in an earthly passion, leads the yearning human soul towards an infinite which transcends finite power. The Campagna, " Rome's Ghost," comprises an area round Rome nearly co-extensive with ancient Latium. It is populous with ruined cities and crumbling tombs; a malarial desert in summer; in May, the time of the poem, a rich unbroken pasturage. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 157. "De Gustibus " for tastes "De Gustibus non disputandum"- there is no accounting. Illustrative of likings inherent in each person, perhaps persistent in each ghost ; for the tree-lover, rusticity, and a congenial train of Eng- lish sights and sounds and scenes of youthful love-making, from which the ghostly self must stay in shadow; for the speaker, if he gets loose from his grave, scenes rich in complex human associations. Italy, the old-world life, the sea, and the stir of civic events. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P 158 The Guardian Angel describes Guercino's picture through the fi it awakens in the poet -the craving to take the child's place in it and be nurturec of the angel in the serenity of prayer. The poet, however, would not look heaven as the child does, but gaze contentedly upon the gracious guardian face and view '.he world again afterwards, too, but with new eyes. So he now links will his translation of the picture into song thoughts of his own angel (his i friend Alfred (Domett), and the artist's fame.-" A Picture at Pano. LA Custode in the church of St. Augustine by the Bolognese artist G.ovanm trances 478 NOTES. Barbieri, called Guercino (1590-1666)." 55. "Wairoa." A river in New Zea- land, the country Domett went to. See ' Waring.' (Written at Ancona, 1847. ' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 160. Evelyn Hope expresses a lover's faith in the potency of love to reward love, overcoming Death and Time, and making itself understood, at last, by the young girl who dies unconscious of the secret he shuts within the keeping of her cold hand. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 162. Memorabilia renders homage to Shelley by signalizing the moment when an unappreciative person's remembrance of him was made known, like a moor blank of interest save for the space where the sign of an eagle's flight was found and prized. "The eagle feather," says Professor Corson, "causes an iso- lated flash of association with the poet of the atmosphere, the winds, and the clouds, ' The meteoric poet of air and sea.' " (Written on the Campagna, winter of 1853-1854. ' Men and Women," 1855.) P. 162. Apparent Failure saves the Morgue in a double sense ; for it was written to preserve the famous little building from destruction, and it seeks to make Ks gloomy purpose less hopeless, retrieving three poor wretches whose death and doom seemed sealed there from the imputation of utter failure. Seven years since : In the summer of 1856 Browning was in Paris. The Bap- tism of your Prince : Louis Napoleon, only child of Napoleon III. and Empress Eugenie, born March 16, 1856. The Congress : The Paris Congress of the Euro- pean Powers on Italy's unity and freedom, Prince Gortschakoff representing Russia, Count Cavour, then prime minister of Piedmont, speaking for Italy, Count Buol, Austrian foreign minister, 1852-1859, objecting. Petrarch's Vaucluse : a fountain in Vaucluse, in southern France, the source of the Sorgues. In the village of Vaucluse Petrarch lived tor a time. (' Dramatis Personas,' 1864.) P. 164. Prospice, meaning " look forward," anticipates Death as the climax and fruition of Life, the best and last occasion for the assertion of the spirit's mastery, the gateway to the rapture of the Soul's reunion with its supplementary Soul. (Written in the autumn following Mrs. Browning's death, 1861. ' Dramatis Personse,' 1864. Set to music by C. V. Stanford. London : Stanley, Lucas & Webber.) P. 165. 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 Brown- ing Society Papers, Part iii., p. 21, and Poet-lore, Aug.-Sept., 1892. (Written at Paris in one day, Jan. 3, 1852. ' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 171. 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 inter- spersed with parenthetical directions to them, while they all bear the body of their NOTES. 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. Hotl, the Greek particle 'On, conjunction, that. 130. Oun, Greek particle Oi5v, then, now then. 131. Enclitic de. Greek A*, 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 >'' which with all deference to Mr. Browning, in point of fact, does not exist. 1 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). 1 That this is not to be confounded with the accentuated 'De, meaning but, 1 was the ' Doctrine ' which the Grammarian bequeathed to those capable of receiving it." (' Men and Women," 1855.) P. 174. Cleon expresses the approach of Greek thought at the time of Christ towards the idea of immortality as made known by Cleon, a Greek poet writing in reply to a Greek patron whose princely gifts and letter asking comment on the philosophical significance of death have just reached him. The important con- clusions reached by Cleon in his answer are that the composite mind is greater than the minds of the past, because it is capable of accomplishing much in many lines of activity, and of sympathizing with each of those simple great minds that had reached the highest possible perfection " at one point." It is, indeed, the necessary next step in development, though all classes of mind fit into the perfected mosaic of life, no one achievement blotting out any other. This soul and mind development he deduces from the physical development he sees about him. But since with the growth of human consciousness and the increase of knowledge comes greater capability to the soul for joy while the failure of physical powers shuts off the possibility of realizing joy, it would have been better had man been left with nothing higher than mere sense like the brutes. Dismissing the idea of im- mortality through one's works as unsatisfactory to the individual, he finally con- cludes that a long and happy life is all there is to be hoped for, since, had the future life which he has sometimes dared to hope for been possible, Zeus would long before have revealed it. He dismisses the preaching of one Paulus as un- tenable. As certain of your own poets also have said (Acts xvii. 28) . Cleon is supposed to be one of the Greek poets or thinkers to whom St. Paul alludes in this line. (Mrs. Orr.) i. Sprinkled isles, probably the Sporades, so named because they were scat- tered, and in opposition to the Cyclades which formed a circle around Delos. 51. phare, light-house. The French authority, Allard, says that though there is no men- tion in classical writings of any light-house in Greece proper, it is probable that there was one at the port of Athens as well as at other points in Greece. There were certainly several along both shores of the Hellespont, besides the famous father of all light-houses, on the island of Pharos, near Alexandria. Hence the French name for light-house, phare. 53. Pascile. The portico at Athens painted with battle pictures by Polygnotus the Thasian. Combined the moods. In Greek music the scales were called moods or modes, and were subject to great variation in the arrangement of tones and semitones. 340. To one called Paulus; we have heard his fame. Paul in his mission to the Gentiles touched at several of the islands ol the ^Egean Sea. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P 182. Instans Tyrannus is a despot's confession of one of his own expe- riences which showed him the inviolability of the weakest man who is in the right 480 NOTES. 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 tenaccm proposti virum, 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.] (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 184. An Epistle gives the observations and opinions of Karshish, the Arab physician, writing to Abib his master upon meeting with Lazarus after he has been raised from the dead. Well versed in Eastern medical lore, he tries to explain the extraordinary phenomenon according to his knowledge. He attributes Lazarus' version of the miracle to mania induced by trance, and the means used by the Nazarene physician to awaken him, and strengthens his view by describing the strange state of mind in which he finds Lazarus like a child with no appreciation of the relative values of things. Through his renewal of life he had caught a glimpse of it from the infinite point of view, and lives now only with the desire to please God. His sole active quality is a great love for all humanity ; his impatience manifests itself only at sin and ignorance, and is quickly curbed. Karshish, not able to realize this new plane of vision in which had been revealed to Lazarus the equal worth of all things in the divine plan, is incapable of understanding Lazarus, but in spite of his attempt to make light of the case, he is deeply impressed by the character of Lazarus, and has besides a hardly acknowledged desire to believe in this revelation, told of by Lazarus, of God as Love. Professor Corson says of this poem, " It may be said to polarize the idea, so often presented in Browning's poetry, that doubt is a condition of the vitality of faith." 17. Snake-stone, a nanv: given to any substance used as a remedy for snake-bites, for example, some are of chalk, some of animal charcoal, and some of vegetable substances. 45. There 's a spider here. Dr. H. C. McCook, a specialist on spiders, says in regard to this : " The habits of the aranead here described point very clearly to some one of the Wandering group, which stalk their prey in the open field or in divers lurking places, and are distinguished by this habit from the other great group, known as the Sedentary spiders, because they sit or hang upon their webs and capture their prey by means of silken snares. The next line is not determinative of the species, for there is a great number of spiders, any one of which might be described as ' Sprinkled with mottles on an ash-gray back.' We have a little Saltigrade or Jumping spider, known as the Zebra spider (Epiblemum scenicum), which is found in Europe, and I believe also in Syria. One often sees this species and its con- geners upon the ledges of rocks, the edges of tombstones, the walls of buildings, and like situations, hunting their prey, which they secure by jumping upon them. So common is the Zebra spider, that I might think that Browning referred to it, if I were not in doubt whether he would express the stripes of white upon its ash-gray abdomen by the word ' mottles.' However, there are other spiders belonging to the same tribe (Saltigrades) that really are mottled. " There are also spiders, known as the Lycosids or Wolf spiders or Ground spiders, which are often of an ash-gray color, and marked with little whitish spots after the manner of Browning's Syrian species. Perhaps the poet had one of these in mind, at least he accurately describes their manner of seeking prey. The next line is an interrupted one, ' Take five and drop them. . . .' Take five what ? Five of these ash-gray mottled spiders ? Certainly. But what can be meant by the NOTES. expression, ' drop them ' ? This opens up to us a strange chapter in human super- stiuon. It was long a prevalent idea that the spider in various forms possessed some occult power of healing, and men administered it internally or applied it ex- ternally as a cure for many diseases. Pliny gives a number of such remedies A certain spider applied in a piece of cloth, or another one ('a white spider with very elongated thin legs ') beaten up in oil, is said by this ancient writer upon Natural History to form an ointment for the eyes. Similarly, ' the thick pulp of a spider's body, mixed with the oil of roses, is used for the ears.' Sir Matthew Lister, who was indeed the father of English araneology, is quoted in Dr. James's Medical Dictionary as using the distilled water of boiled black spiders as an excellent cure for wounds." (In Poet-lore, Nov., 1889.) 55. gum-tragacanth, yielded by the leguminous shrub, Astragalus tragacantha. 60. Zoar, the only one that was spared of the five cities of the plain (Gen. xiv. 2). 177. Greek fire, used by the Byzantine Greeks in warfare, first against the Saracens at the siege of Constanti- nople in 673 A.D. Therefore an anachronism in this poem. Liquid fire was, how- ever, known to the ancients, as Assyrian bas-reliefs testify. Greek fire was made possibly of naphtha, saltpetre, and sulphur, and was thrown upon the enemy from copper tubes; or pledgets of tow were dipped in it and attached to arrows. 281. Blue-flowering borage (Borago officinalis). The ancients deemed this plant one of the four " cordial flowers," for cheering the spirits, the others being the rose, violet, and alkanet. Pliny says it produces very exhilarating effects. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 191. Caliban upon Setebos gives the ruminations of a typical undeveloped mind as to the nature of God, which is influenced by his observations of the capriciousness of nature, his fear of its threatening aspects, his hatred of his master's cruelty to him, and his own undeveloped nature. Yet even at this low stage of development a reaching toward something better is evidenced in Caliban's supposition that behind Setebos is a power which he calls the Quiet, indifferent to the affairs of man, but so far superior to Setebos as not to be actively antagonistic to man. Browning has taken Shakespeare's Caliban as a fit subject out of which to evolve the sort of anthropomorphic reasoning he wished to portray. Shake- speare possibly got his hint for Caliban from an old book of travels, ' Purchas his Pilgrimage,' in which a strange brute-man is described (see also Dr. Furness* Variorum 'Tempest'). 4. While he kicks. The third person used by Caliban is characteristic of an early phase in language development 24. Setebos. In Eden's ' History of Travayle ' there is a description of giants that inhabited Patagonia, two of whom were captured by Captain Magellan, and finding themselves caught " cryed upon theye greate deuyll Setebos to helpe them." (See Variorum ' Tempest '). (' Dramatis Personse,' 1864.) P. 198. Saul founded on the passage in i Samuel xvi. 14-23, where Saul is described as being troubled with an evil spirit which David drives away by play- ing the harp puts into David's mouth the account of his ministry to Saul's great need by means of his music which, working upon the memory and emotions of Saul, at last arouses him from his lethargy. First, he sings to him the simpler tunes to the Brutes, then the help-tunes for great epochs in human life. Leading up to the tunes of human aspiration, he sings first of the great joysjof life, and then centres his song upon the greatness of Saul's life especially. Seeing that Saul is now fully aroused but not comforted, David sings another song showing that Saul's true greatness does not lie in his mortal life, but in the far-reaching effect of his great deeds. Then, through the intense and self-sacrificing love with which David is inspired for Saul, the prophetic revelation of God as an incarnation of love in 21 482 NOTES. Christ is borne in upon him. Yearning to give Saul greater comfort, even the assurance of a future resurrection of life, the Truth comes to him. In nature God has been revealed to him as the Almighty ; in his own love God is revealed to him as love, infinitely strong in his power to love and able to accomplish what David only desires to accomplish, but infinitely weak in his power to be loved, through which weakness he shall become incarnate and be the salvation of mankind. i. Abner, the son of Ner, captain of Saul's host (i Samuel xxvi. 5). 36. "And 1 first played the tune." Prof. Albert S. Cook suggests that Browning obtained his hints for these tunes from Longus's romance of ' Daphnis and Chloe.' The first is found on pp. 303-4 (Smith's Translation, Bohn Ed.) , " He ran through all variations of pastoral melody, he played the tune which the oxen obey, and which attracts the goats, that in which the sheep delight," etc.; pp. 332-4, "... standing under the shade of a beech-tree, he took his pipe from his scrip and breathed into it very gently. The goats stood still, merely lifting up their heads. Next he played the pasture tune, upon which they all put down their heads and began to graze. Now he produced some notes soft and sweet in tone ; at once his herd lay down. After this he piped in a sharp key, and they ran off to the wood, as if a wolf were in sight." In answer to the question as to whether there is any historical foundation for David's songs, Rabbi Charles Fleischer of Boston replied in a letter to the editors : " I believe that David's songs in Browning's poem ' Saul ' are the inspired melodies of our nineteenth century David rather than the songs of Isra- el's poetic shepherd-king. . . . While, then, I believe that these melodies in 'Saul' were not current among the Jews of old, I know that they would serve well to express beliefs and ideals characteristic of the best minds among the Jews of to-day." 45. Jerboa, a small jumping rodent, called also a jumping hare. 65. male-sapphires, superior. The ancient sapphire was the same as our lapis-lazuli. 203. Hebron, the most southern of the three cities of refuge west of Jordan. 204. Kidron, a brook in Jerusalem. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845, the first nine stanzas. ' Men and Women,' 1855, the completed poem.) P. 207. Rabbi Ben Ezra gives expression to a religious philosophy which recog- nizes the perfectness of the divine plan in which love plays an equal part with power. Therefore, doubts and rebuffs are welcomed as the divine means for perfecting the soul's growth and shaping it for the glorification of the divine. The very failure of man in the flesh showing his infinite possibilities of growth removes him forever from the brute, perfect on its plane, and gives assurance both of God, and of man's tendency Godwards, from which follows the certainty of God and the enduring- ness of the human soul. Old age is joyously accepted as the vantage ground from which life can be viewed and the truth in regard to its struggles discerned. Rabbi Ben Ezra, or Ibn Ezra, was a mediaeval Jewish writer and thinker, born in Toledo near the end of the eleventh century. His real name is said to be Abraham ben Meir ben Ezra. He was poor, but studied hard and travelled in Africa, the Holy Land, Persia, India, Italy, France, and England, but during all his wanderings he kept busy writing and gained much fame as a theologian, philoso- pher, physician, astronomer, mathematician, and poet. Dr. Berdoe quotes Mr. A. J. Campbell to the effect that the distinctive features of the Rabbi of the poem and the philosophy put into his mouth are drawn from the writings of the real Rabbi. Dr. M. Friedlander has written five volumes of exposition on the writings of Ibn Ezra, published for the Society of Hebrew Literature by Triibner and Co. (Died 1167 or 1168.) 26. Potter's wheel, borrowed from Isaiah Ixiv. 8, and Jeremiah xviii. 2-6. (' Dramatis Personse,' 1864.) NOTES. P. 213. Epilogue. First Speaker, as David, gives symbolically the point of view of one who believes in special revelation of religious truths. Second Speaker as Renan, shows disillusionment as to special revelation along with regret for the lost ideal and hopelessness in consequence of it. Third Speaker, the poet, restores the lost ideal, not through the reinstating of a special revelation but through the recognition of the revelation that comes to every human being in feeling and knowledge. i. " On the first of the Feast of Feasts" refers of course to the dedication of Solomon's Temple, i Kings viii. and ix. ; 2 Chronicles v. and vi. Renan born at Treguier, Cotes-du-Nord, France, 1823. Distinguished for his ' Life of Christ, 1 from which he banished all supernatural elements. (' Dramatis Personse,' 1864.)' P. 217. A Wall expresses the speaker's pleasure in looking at a dead wall clothed with vines, and makes the impression it presents of mysterious life pulsating over an inert surface symbolical of spiritual force stirring behind matter, and of the special kindred soul whose indwelling spirit has power to transfuse the external shows of life that bar him away from her, rallying his faith in " the subtle thing that's spirit " and calling him to a reunion despite material obstacles and worldly interventions. This lyric seems to have been chosen by Browning to stand as the Prologue of his Second Series of Selections (1880), as ' My Star' was of the First Series, because it refers to Mrs. Browning, and would serve as a sort of dedicatory verse. (Prologue to ' Pacchiarotto,' 1876, first titled 'A Wall ' in present Selections, 1880.) P. 218. Apparitions symbolizes in three different poetical figures the power of love to change the whole aspect of life, with the added thought in the last stanza that love is a revelation of the divine. (Proem to ' Two Poets of Croisic,' with ' La Saisiaz,' 1878. Set to music by F. Tetaldi ; pub. by London Browning Society ; by E. C. Gregory, London: Novello, Ewer and Co.; by Helen A. Clarke, in Poet-lore, May, 1890, Boston: Poet-lore Co.) P. 218 and 219. ' Natural Magic ' and Magical Nature are supplementary lyrics, both emblematical of the power of spirit over fact, but, the first, expressive more particularly of the inexplicable power of one personality over another's life and circumstances, and the second of the equally wonderful power of a soul over the conditions of its own existence. ('Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 219. Garden Fancies. I. ' The Flower's Name ' gives the reveries of a would-be lover as he walks through a garden he had lately visited, recalling every little act of the girl who accompanied him and feeling the subtle influence of her presence in the flower she pointed out to him, especially the one with the soft meandering Spanish name which he would have stay forever as it was when she touched it. II. 'Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis ' shows how different the mood induced by a pedantic old book from that by a charming girl. She glorifies nature, but nature's only use in this poem is to bury out of sight the tiresome old pedant and torment him with its romping and frisking, while the hero of the occasion for- gets both in ministering to his material welfare, and to his frivolous mental mood with Rabelais. In a sober moment he repents of his unkindness to the pedant, and gives him at least space on his book-shelf if not his admiration. 10. Arbute, probably arbutus, an ornamental shrub of the Heath family, often planted in gardens. Laurustine, Viburnum Tinus, an evergreen shrub of the Honeysuckle family. - 19. Pont-levis, drawbridge. 38. De profundis accentlbus latis cantate, sing from the depths with joyful tones. (Hoofs Magazine, July, 1844, ' Bells and Pome- granates, No. 7," 1845.) P 223. In Three Days is a lover's song of expectant joy in reunion ; hi ness that makes the three days seem long contends with his anticipation of happi- 484 NOTES. ness that makes the three days seem short ; and fear of change and chance is but a trifle that his perfect faith over-rides. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 224. The Lost Mistress is the farewell of a lover who seeks, with a good grace, to suppress his love to the level of that mere friendship whose privileges he must resign, but whose tenderness he transcends. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,' 1845.) P. 225. One way of Love is a " way " so pure and unselfish that though the lover's passion is unrequited he can still see others win heaven without feeling envy. (' Men and Women," 1855.) P. 225. Rudel to the Lady of Tripoli. Rudel symbolizes his love as the aspiration of the sunflower that longs only to become like the sun, so losing a flower's true grace, while the sun does not even perceive the flower. He imagines himself as a pilgrim revealing to the Lady of Tripoli by means of this symbol the entire sinking of self in his love for her. Even men's praise of his songs are no more to him than the bees which bask on a sunflower are to it. Rudel was a Proven?al troubadour, and lived in the twelfth century. The Cru- saders, returning from the East, spread abroad wonderful reports of the beauty, learning, and wit of the Countess of Tripoli, a small duchy on the Mediterranean, north of Palestine. Rudel, although never having seen her, fell in love with her and composed songs in honor of her beauty, and finally set out to the East in pil- grim's garb. On his way he was taken ill, but lived to reach the port of Tripoli. The countess, being told of his arrival, went on board the vessel. When Rudel heard she was coming he revived, said she had restored him to life by her coming, and that he was willing to die, having seen her. He died in her arms ; she gave him a rich and honorable burial in a sepulchre of porphyry on which were en- graved verses in Arabic. ('Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics,' 1842; appeared as I. under the general title of ' Queen Worship,' 'Cristina' being II.) P. 226. Numpholeptos is an expression of womanhood as ideally conceived and actually restricted by man. Under the image of a man caught by a nymph (Numpho-leptos) and ensnared to undertake a series of quests colored by the un- natural broken light emanating from this unreal feminity, in the vain hope of gain- ing a genuine human love from her in return, an implication is given of what ideal womanhood is for man and what actual womanhood could be. The symbol is, therefore, not explicable completely by any one or all ideals of womanhood as re- lated to man. The type presented is complex, unreal, and yet historical, implying associations with the Pagan notions of the nymphs from whom the poem derives its name the primitive Zeus-begotten daughters of nature; with the passive woman of the Renaissance or of Chivalry, who called on men for ceaseless love and service ; with the exalted woman-visions, more or less founded on actual Beatrices and Lauras by the Dantes and Petrarchs ; with the divination of what woman has it actually in herself to be when she possesses knowledge and purity as a natural "consequence of free individual life, obtaining them not by inheritance and imagi- nation but by achievement. Replying to an inquiry as to the purport of ' Numpho- feptos ' Browning wrote : " An allegory of an impossible ideal object of love, accepted conventionally as Such by a man, who, all the while, cannot quite blind himself to the demonstrable fact that the possessor of knowledge and purity obtained without the natural con- sequences of obtaining them by achievement not inheritance, such a being is imaginary, not real, a nymph and no woman : and only such an one would be igno- rant of and surprised at the results of a lover's endeavour to emulate the qualities NOTES. 485 which the beloved is entitled to consider as pre-existent to earthly experience and independent of its inevitable results. " I had no particular woman in my mind ; certainly never intended to personify wisdom, philosophy, or any other abstraction ; and the orb, raying colour out of whiteness, was altogether a fancy of my own. The ' seven-spirits ' are in the Apoc- alypse, also in Coleridge and Byron : a common image." (' Pacchiarotto,' 1876.) P. 230. Appearances symbolizes by means of two illustrative incidents how unimportant externals are in comparison with the life beneath them. (' Pacchia- rotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 230. The worst of it is addressed mentally by a husband to a wife who has been false to him after having given him a year's perfect happiness. Love of her has been so much to him that staunch apology for her rights of choice, and loyal resentment of the imputation of evil she will suffer in the world through hav- ing broken his bonds, contend with his own pain, and his secret fear that her womanhood must sustain some real taint, without in the least marring the quality of his own fidelity or altering his obedient renunciation of any right over her. (' Dramatis Personas,' 1864.) P. 234. Too Late presents a series of moods of a man who first realizes the full force of his love when the woman he loved is dead. He blames himself now for not having been more determined in his suit. He waited to tell his love until she should sufficiently encourage him with a glance ; when she marries some one else, he blames no one, but calmly thinks that Time will give her to him. Either his love will reach out toward her round the obstacle of her husband, or else a miracle will sweep the obstruction entirely away. Now Edith is dead there is no hope. It isn't worth while to vent his rage on the past, nor upon the husband whom he represents as a person very inferior to himself, a poet, who rhymed rubbish that nobody read and incapable of loving Edith. All that is left to him is to get what satisfaction he can by living with his back to the world, kneeling in the imagined presence of Edith, and perfecting in spirit the courtship once planned. 138. Sum- mits Jus, utmost justice. (' Dramatis Personae,' 1864.) P. 237. Bifurcation presents a case of conflict between love and duty, in the guise of two epitaphs imagined by the lover, which sum up two life-histories : the one of the woman who chooses for herself the smoother and safer path of duty, con- tenting her heart with bidding her lover to be constant, and to await with her the pleasure of a future life where they need not make a choice between good things, but have both easily ; the other of the man, left perforce by her decision upon the rougher road, to proceed against ceaseless pains and hindrances, content only in a faith that does not dissever love from duty nor count the cost of enduring actual imperfection for its sake ; both lives, thus set forth, calling for a nice decision as to which person was sinner, which was saint. (' Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 238. A Likeness, in giving two instances of the unsympathetic regard which the uninitiated will bestow upon a likeness deeply cherished by its owner, and a third instance in which a friend being too appreciative, the possessor of the likeness feels it no longer peculiarly his own, and half pleased, half vexed, would as soon toss it to his friend as only a duplicate after all, illustrates : first, how the person to whose sympathies an object has especially appealed, is secretly grieved by others- lack of appreciation ; and second, the irritation aroused through the loss of the sense of peculiar possession occasioned by the full appreciation of anoth 19. Tipton Slasher. An English boxer. 20. Rarey. The famous horse tame whose method of subduing the most vicious brutes consisted in firmness and gen- 486 NOTES. lleness. 22. Sayers. The English prize-fighting champion. 55. Festina lentl, hasten slowly. 61. Volpato. An eminent designer and engraver, born at Bassano in 1738 ; died 1803. (' Dramatis Personae/ 1864.) P. 240. May and Death. A natural outbreak of irritation at the return of May, with its renewed joys and poignant memories of old associations cut short by Death, the first pang of it, starting the wish that all Spring's joys had died with the friend, softening, for the sake of other such pairs of friends, to the longing to reserve as sacred to the dead merely one little plant whose red-splashed leaf seems to betoken his own bleeding sorrow. The " poem was a personal utterance," Mrs. Orr says, incited by the death of a dearly loved relative. 13. One plant. The Spotted Per- sicaria or Polygonum Persicaria, whose leaves have purple stains varying in size and brightness according to the nature of the soil where it grows. (' The Keep- sake,' 1857, included in ' Dramatis Personae,' 1864.) P. 241. A Forgiveness presents a conflict between two proud souls, who love each other, but who do not fully understand each other's natures, resulting in crime and repentance on the woman's part, and in self-justified crime on the man's part. The incidents of the story come out in the husband's confession to a priest. The wife, jealous of her husband's attention to state affairs, thinks to teach him her worth in arousing his jealousy by an intrigue with another man, whom she avows to her husband she loves. Scorn at her utter contemptibleness is the result, and though all sympathy is over between them, everything appears to go on smoothly in the eyes of the world. At the end of three years the wife feels that unless she confesses to her husband the truth, that she had loved him and him alone, she will die, and gain the peace she does not deserve. She chooses, therefore, to live, and confessing to him, asks only that she may be allowed to go and burn her life out to ashes. In learning the truth, the husband's scorn is raised to hate. He requires her to write down her confession. She evidently fearing that this change in his attitude means that he now thinks her, according to his code, worthy of death, hopes that her blood for ink will suffice, to which he acquiesces equivocally, while handing her the poisoned weapon that kills her. In her death he tells her, hate is quenched in vengeance, and that dead he pardons her. The final stanza unex- pectedly increases the dramatic intensity of the scene by revealing the fact that the confession has been made to the man with whom his wife had intrigued, and who can no longer escape the husband's vengeance. Mary Wilson says of this poem, " Nothing could more effectively express the stoic Spaniard, his code and ideal, than the measured punctiliousness, the gradation from contempt to hatred, the self- command, the unhasting, unresting vindictiveness, and the exquisite torture devised for his enemy." 99. Which changed for me a barber's basin straight into Mambrino's helm. Mambrino was a Moorish king, in the romantic poems of Bojardo and Ariosto, who was the possessor of an enchanted golden helmet, which rendered the wearer invulnerable. The allusion is to an episode in the ' Advent- ures of Don Quixote,' when the crazy knight thought he had found the golden helmet in what proved to be nothing but a copper basin, highly polished, which a barber on his way to bleed a patient had put on his head to protect a new hat dur- ing a shower. Don Quixote exclaims to Sancho, " Seest thou not yon knight com- ing toward us on a dapple-grey steed with a helmet of gold on his head ? . . . If I mistake not there cometh one toward us who carries on his head Mambrino's helmet, concerning which thou mayest remember I swore the oath " (chap. xxi.). 201. arquebus or harquebus, the earliest form of hand gun, resembling the modern musket, first used about 1476. 249. Arms of Eastern workmanship. Browning had in his possession just such a collection of arms. (' Pacchiarotto,' 1876.) NOTES. 487 P. 251. Cenciaja is a note throwing light on the passage in Shelley's tragedy ol 'The Cenci,' act v. sc. 4, wherein Cardinal Camillo reports the Pope's decision that Beatrice and her brother must die. Browning's poetic commentary on this supplies an account of the historic occurrences connected with Paolo Santa Croce's matricide which determined the Pope's decision in the then pending Cenci case, and incidentally reveals the secret motives which instigated Cardinal Aldobran- dini and Judge Taverna to secure the condemnation of Paolo's innocent brother Onofrio ; the whole serving in Browning's hands to reinforce Shelley's picture of the time and to illustrate with grim irony how unerring " God's justice " has been when left in men's hands. Of the historic basis of the poem, Browning writes: " I got the facts from a contemporaneous account I found in a MS. volume containing the ' Relations ' of the Cenci affair with other memorials of Italian crime lent me by Sir J. Simeon; who published the Cenci Narrative, with notes, in the series of the Philobiblon Society. It was a better copy of the ' Relation ' than that used by Shelley, differing at least in a few particulars. I believe I have seen somewhere that the translation was made by Mrs. Shelley the note appended to an omitted passage seems a womanly performance." Of the Title and Motto he writes : " ' Aia ' is generally an accumulative yet depreciative termination: 'Cenciaja' a bundle of rags a trifle. The proverb means ' every poor creature will be pressing into the company of his betters, ' and I used it to deprecate the notion that I intended anything of the kind." (' Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 257. 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 inti- mated 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 Badness. 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. (Fox's Monthly Repository, over the signature "Z." 1836. Reprinted as II. 'Madhouse Cells.' ' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics, 1842.') P. 259. Filippo Baldinucci is an old man's racy account of an incident of the seventeenth century, recalled to mind by his relish of his nephew's disorderliness in pelting Jews. The boy's prejudices, appearing as a faint reflex of the Christian trick his uncle narrates, are thus dramatically shown to be a heritage from an elder generation and already growing out of date. The religious tolerance embodied in current laws, on the other hand, falling in line with the larger view of all religions evinced in the sequel of the old man's story, by the burly young Jew. serves to vindicate and avenge the persecuted and to set forth in a humorous, satirical light the childishness of the piety of the persecutors. The first part of the old man s story is giten, as an actual occurrence in the life of the painter Lodovicc (1624-1696) in a passage in Filippo Baldinucci's ' Notices of Painters {"***' dei Professori del Disegno da Cimabue in qua', 162^-1670, published x68i-i; The Rabbi who remonstrated is there told: "'Your bargain has been fulfill the letter and what else do you want ? It is my opinion that you are very pi sumptuous, that with your sordid money you wished to buy my patrons 1 The story then closes, thus : " Then the Rabbis dispersed discontentedly, but tacitly 4 88 NOTES. acknowledging they were wrong. They said no more about it and no longer tried with their ill-gotten riches to control the piety of good Christians." The sequel, as told in stanzas xxxvii to Ivi, is of Browning's own devising, and of course is not to be found in Baldinucci's book, so the poet cleverly accounts for this in stanza xxxvi by making Filippo declare, " plague o' me if I record it in my book ! " The initial situation of the boy and his uncle is, also, Browning's own dramatic setting of the occurrence. 176. Esaias: " stiff-necked Jews" Isaiah xlviii. 4 : " Thy neck is an iron sinew." 397. Leda, Ganymede, Antiope, refers to three of the many loves of Jupiter for whom he abandoned his godlike aspect and assumed for the sake of Leda, the wife of Tyndarus, King of Sparta, the form of a swan ; for Ganymede, the fair Trojan boy, the form of an eagle ; for Antiope, the daughter of Asopus, the river-god, the form of a satyr. 402. Titian. The great Venetian painter, 1477- 1576. (' Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 272. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister gives the ill-natured attitude of mind of a monk, jealous of a brother monk, whom he hates because of his genial nature and goodness, his simple interest in natural life, and his neglect of those narrow- minded superstitious forms upon the observance of which the ill-natured monk especially congratulates himself. 10. Salve tibi. Hail to thee. 39. Arian. One who adheres to the doctrines of Arius, a presbyter of the Church in the fourth cen- tury, who held Christ to be a created being, inferior to God the Father in nature and dignity, though the first and noblest of created beings. 49. There's a great text in Galatians. Dr. Berdoe writes : " The great text I take to be the tenth verse of the third chapter: ' For as many as are of the works of the law are under the curse : for it is written, " Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them." ' ' It is written,' that is to say in the Book of Deuteronomy, xxviii. 15-68, wherein are set forth at length the curses for disobedience. Those arithmetically minded commentators on this poem, who have been disappointed in finding only some seventeen works of the flesh in Gala- tians v. 19-21, will find an abundant opportunity for their discrimination in the chapter of Deuteronomy to which I refer. The question to settle is ' the twenty- nine distinct damnations.' St. James says in his epist'e (ii. 10) that ' he who offends against the law in one point is guilty of all.' Ii, therefore, the envious monk could induce his brother to trust to his works instead of to his faith, he would fall under the condemnation of the law, as explained by St. Paul in his epis- tle." 56. Manichee, a follower of Manes, a Persian, who tried to combine the Oriental philosophy with Christianity, and maintained that there are two supreme principles light, the author of all good, and darkness, the author of all evil. 71. Plene gratia, Ave, Virgo ! Full of grace, Hail, Virgin. Evidently a slight change of Ave Maria gratia plena, demanded by the exigencies of rhyme and metre. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics,' 1842. See Notes, P. 43.) P. 275. 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 Templars, 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 progres- sion of chords in which the sub-dominant or chord on the fourth degree of the NOTES. 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 authen- tic 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. clavlcithern, a cithern with keys like a harpsichord. 35. Sing "Laudes." Sing the seven Psalms of praise making up the service of the church called Lauds. 47. Salv&, etc. The bidding to greet here with a reverence, according to cus- tom, the Host, or Christ's flesh, which had been mentioned. 59. Sharon's rose. Solomon's Song ii. i. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 278. Holy-Cross Day reflects the attitude of the corrupt mediaeval Chrisiians 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 ser- mon, 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 con- versions 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 St. Helen inaugurated the festival, celebrated both by Latins and Greeks as early as the fifth or sixth centuries, 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 his- torical, 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. Cor so, a street in Rome. 67. Rabbi Ben Ezra. See Notes, P. 207. in. Ghetto, the Jew's quar- ter. Pope Paul IV. first shut the Jews up in the Ghetto and prohibited them from leaving it after sunset. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 282. Amphibian is a fancy suggested by the contrast between a creature whose realm is merely the air and man whose realm of earth can be exchanged at times, as in swimming, for an amphibious life, dependent partly on water, partly on air, and which images a similar contrast between the life of a man on earth and that of an unbodied soul beyond death, whose spiritual realm is approached by the man through his ability to disport himself in the corresponding realm of thought and passion, which is poetry. (Prologue to ' Fifine at the Fair.' 1873.) P. 285. St. Martin's Summer argues that old loves though buried come fc in ghostly shape to haunt the new love, and remind it that it may not be enduring; therefore it is better not to protest too much, not to consider it as durable masonry, which tempts destruction, but rather as a light trellis that may either bend with cii cumstances, or else fall flat without causing much dismay. But even this cone sion to the ghosts fails to reduce their interference to " faint march-music. 1 the new love is congratulating itself upon having found a safe basis, th assert themselves, proving that they are more real than the new love which, in 490 NOTES. fact, receives all its glamour through the interfusion of their spirit, and the conclu- sion is that tears and clamor are the sole portion of the new love, and in the dis- covery of this the lover is even bereft of the comfort of ghosts of old love. St. Martin's Summer. From October 9 to November n. Also called Mar- tinmas and Martelmas, because the feast of St. Martin is kept on November n. The feast of St. Luke being on October 18, it is also called St. Luke's Summer. It corresponds with our Indian Summer. 71. When Penelope and Ulysses meet after their long separation, in the last book of the ' Odyssey,' she, as soon as she is convinced that it is indeed her husband, throws her arms about his neck and weeps. (' Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 288. James Lee's Wife. A cycle of love-lyrics, each representing a scene in the growth of a husband's estrangement as reflected in the mood of the constant wife. In I., which represents her as having turned to look out upon the world, descrying in the face of nature a change ominous to her of a change in their love, the mood is one of vague dread and forecast. In II., seated by the fireside, whose security and cheer kindle sinister suggestions of wreck by sea and land, the mood is one of poignant foreboding. In III., the outer world again calling her attention to the stormy and decrepit aspects of the waning year, the mood is one of remon- strance against the overpowering of the light of the inner life by the law of change which masters the external world. In IV., the home being left behind, the walk and talk along the beach reveal husband and wife on the brink of alienation. Alike irksome to him are her loving, idealization and criticism of him, and the mood which here leads her to anatomize his love, is one of clear recognition of the estrangement. In V., on the cliff, left alone and aloft, her mood is one of brooding over the meaning of love, finding appropriate images for her thoughts and feelings in dry turf and cold rock, dreary in spite of sunshine, but which the cricket and butterfly visit with color, even as love with its resplendent grace dowers the low mind with a sudden winged glory. In VI., turning for distraction to a book, she reads a fanciful poem of the wind as a voice of human woes. Her impatience with the young poet for his easy assumption of defeat by imagination instead of experi- ence, leads her to put her own actual experience into imaginative shape, transitori- ness, she typifies in the flitting beauty of the dawn, making its perpetual call upon the spiritual faculty of man, and urging him onward ceaselessly. Then recognizing this insight into the use of change as a step further on, her mood turns again to the contemplation of the human piteousness of perpetual change. In VII., at the sea's edge, among its rocks, the mood that finds expression is one of spiritual aspiration as the fruit of suffering. The autumn of the "brown old earth" diffusing cheer, though weighted with experience, seems to her fancy the embodiment of her insight that the love which is disappointed of its satisfaction on the natural plane of life must seek through that disappointment a finer spiritual fruition. In VIII., beside the drawing-board, pursuing in art the impulse she has just received to seek the significance of love on a higher impersonal plane, the hand whose beauty she is learning, through her faulty drawing, to love becomes to her one of God's many exemplifications of love in skill or in power. Her perception of its beauty as beyond the human power, even of a Da Vinci to outvie, leads her to understand a Da Vinci's interest in the actual as well as in the beautiful. The crude peasant hand in its structure and uses, showing God's power, is as worthy of study as the perfect hand that shows God's skill. The mood expressed is one of rapid insight through analogies of art and experience, which imply that her bemoaning her love for lack of the ideal perfection she craved is like her scorn of the peasant hand for lack of the beauty of the cast. The use that survives the beauty, and the use that NOTES. 49I survives the failure of her ideal, remain. In IX., on deck, taking her way in the world apart from her husband, the estrangement fully grown to the separation she accepts, the final mood is one of utter belief in the power of love. Had his love been as supreme as hers no fault in look or thought would have mattered. (The young poet's poem, in part VI., was printed as ' Lines, 1 signed " Z." in the Monthly Repository, 1836. As ' James Lee,' ' Dramatis Persona;,' 1864, entitled as at present in ' Poetical Works,' 1868. Set to music by E. C. Gregory, London : Novello. Ewer, and Co. Part I., ' Oh, Love but a Day ! ' by C6cile Hartog, London : Boosey and Co., and under title of ' Wilt thou change too ? ' by Ethel Harraden, London : C. Jeffreys.) P. 300. Respectability. Two lovers wandering in Paris at night declare that had they belonged to respectable society, many months and years would have been wasted before they found out the hollowness of social conventions and dared to break them, and enjoy the pleasure of personal freedom. An illustration of the falseness of convention is furnished by their coming upon the Institute where Guizot, hating Montalembert because of their opposite views, will yet receive him with pretended courtesy, and they in the flare of the lights must also make a pretence of respecta- bility. 22. Guizot, the celebrated French writer and politician. He adopted the principles of the Constitutional Royalists. (Born at Nimes, 1787 ; died 1874.) Montalembert, also celebrated as a writer and politician, and a champion of Catholicism united to democracy. (Born in London, 1810, his mother being a Scotch lady and his father, a peer of France ; died 1870.) (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 301. Dis Aliter Visum. A woman's arraignment of a man's worldly-wise de- cision against yielding to the impulse to express the love he felt for her. Her keen recollection of their last meeting, and her ironical reproach of him, because their present meeting reveals each entangled in a degrading companionship, find outlet in the shape of an undercurrent of thought addressed to him under cover of an apparently light manner, suited to a casual meeting of friends. The situation before and after the ten dividing years that have passed is made clear ; and not less so her conclusion, that his wise caution was unwise and cowardly from the larger point of view, thwarting to their soul-development thenceforth, and involving two others, moreover, in their spiritual blight. The double title emphasizes the moral motive of the poem : Dis Aliter Visum, " The gods see otherwise," words used by Virgil, '^Eneid,' ii. 579, after describing the last vain resistance of the Greeks by the Trojans. Le Byron de nos jours. "The modern Byron," that is, the lover who excites passion, but does not indulge love. Schumann, Robert, musical composer and critic, 1810-1856. Ingres, Jean August, painter, 1780-1867. Heine, Heinrich, lyrical poet, 1800-1856. Votive frigate. The model of a vessel hang- ing in the church, the pious (votive) offering, presumably, of one whom the saints had aided to make a safe voyage. Sure of the fortiftk spare arm-chair. Sure of being elected to fill the first vacancy in membership of forty of the French Academy. (' Dramatis Personae,' 1864.) P. 306. Confessions. A dying man confessing to a priest refuses to be over- come by a sense of the world's badness, but dwells instead upon the sweetness of love as he tells of his stolen interviews with a girl he loved, illustrating with his medicine bottles and the curtain, which from their arrangement call up a vision in all its details of the scene where the lovers used to meet. (' Dramatis Personae,' 1864.) P. 307. The Householder is a symbolical poem, humorously and dramatically prefiguring a scene of re-union between any husband, dominant in his house of flesh and marriage custom, who has had enough of the experimentation accorded husbands, and any wife, whose less fleshly and more protected experience has not 492 NOTES. been less wearing than his. The wife sums up the outcome of the discipline that has developed both, with the statement of the Ideal that has been their guiding star in the evolution of a better marriage, " Love is all and Death is nought." (Epilogue to ' Fifine at the Fair,' 1872.) P. 308. Tray. The speaker, thirsting for a sbng of heroism to stir his soul, dismisses those offered by two Bards, one of the heroism of war, the other of moral heroism, and gives the preference to the story of a brave dog who rescued a beggar child from drowning. With graphic touches, the scene of the rescue is placed before the reader, while the teller of the story hints that the instinct of the dog to save life, without regard to persons or consequences, is more worthy of admiration than the human reason which calculates so much upon consequences that it "does nothing, and is even so blind to the moral aspect of the dog's act that it thinks by vivisection to discover the cause of the instinct. (' Dramatic Idyls,' 1879.) P. 310. Cavalier Tunes. Three rousing songs rendering to the life the stalwart and confident temper of the uprising for King Charles against the Parliament. 7. Pym, John (1584-1643), leader of the Parliament party in every important movement, from the impeachments of Buckingham and Strafford, to the proceed- ings against their Royal Master himself. 14. Hampdcn, John (1594-1643), advocate for the people against the king's right to exact the ship-money tax. He took up arms in the civil war, falling in the engagement of Chalgrove Field against Prince Rupert. 15. Hazelrig, Sir Arthur, introduced Pym's bill of attainder against Strafford, and was one of the five members Charles tried to impeach in 1642. Died in the Tower, 1661. Fiennes, Nathaniel (1608-1669), a rigid Presby- terian and leading member of Parliament, in special favor with Cromwell. Young Harry, son of the Secretary of State to Charles I., Sir Henry Vane the elder, held views opposed to his father's, and distinguished himself as a Liberal. Be- headed i,n 1662 on a charge of high treason. 16. Rupert, Prince Robert, of Bavaria (1619-1682), son of Elizabeth, daughter of James I. He embraced the cause of his uncle, Charles I., and went to England at the beginning of the civil war, proving himself a brave but imprudent soldier. II. 16. Notts damned troopers. Oliver Cromwell's own company of horse, noted for their discipline and valot. (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics," 1842, III., originally entitled, ' My Wife Gertrude,' as now in ' Poems,' 1849. Set to music by C. V. Stanford.) P. 312. Before and After. ' Before ' is an argument on the part of a third person in favor of two men fighting out a quarrel, on the grounds that the one in the wrong will never acknowledge his guilt, and the wronged one will not forgive as long as there is wrong to be resisted ; while if the guilty man lives, life with its ever recurrent reminders of his deed will be constant torment for him, and thus he will be fitly punished, and if the guiltless man dies, he will but have borne one stroke more in the cause of truth and will win heaven. ' After ' reflects the feelings of the man who survives after the quarrel the wronged man, who realizes when it is too late, that death avails nought to erase either offence or disgrace. If only their old days of friendship could be recalled how easily all might be borne. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 314. Herve Riel. A ballad of the Breton hero who piloted the French ships into harbor and saved them from the English, and being urged to name his own reward asked leave to go and see his wife. " Written in 1867, published 1871, in the Cornhill, because Browning desired to give a subscription to the Fund on behalf of the French after the siege of Paris by the Germans in 1870-71. He sent the ;ioo given by Mr. Smith for the poem to that fund. When the poem 493 appeared, the facts of the story were denied at St. Malo; but on the reports to the French Admiralty of the time being looked up, they were found to be correct. Browning was mistaken, however, in stating that Herve Riel was granted but one day's holiday in which to see his wife, " La Belle Aurore," that is. if the Notes sur le Croisic (par Caillo Jeune) are correct : " Ce brave homme ne demanda pour recompense d'un service aussi signale, qu'un conge absolu pour rejoindre sa femme, qu'il nommait la Belle Aurore." This fact was brought to the poet's notice by Dr. Furnivall, to whom he writes : " Where do you find that the holiday of Herv6 Riel was for more than a day his whole life-time ? If it is to be found, I have strangely overlooked it." That he had " overlooked it " is evident from the following letter : "... You are undoubtedly right, and I have mistaken the meaning of the phrase I suppose through thinking that, if the coasting-pilot's business ended with reaching land, he might claim as a right to be let go : otherwise, an absolute discharge seems to approach in importance a substantial reward. Still truth above all things." (Poet-lore, Feb. 1896.) i. at the Hague. " Cap la Hougue." 2. The English, etc. Louis XIV. had sent an expedition against England to restore James II. to the throne, when the English and Dutch fleets fell upon them and the French retired. 5. St. Malo. An island in the mouth of the Ranee River. 30. Plymouth Sound. The harbor of the Devonshire English naval station. 43. Tourville. The French naval leader. 46. Malouins. Inhabitants of St. Malo. 50. Greve. The dangerous sands left bare by the ebbing tide. 53. Solidor. The fort defending the bay of St. Michel. (' Pacchiarotto with other Poems,' 1876.) P. 318. In a Balcony presents in three dramatic scenes a crisis in the lives of three human beings, ending tragically for two of them. The dramatic motive is the conflict between truth on the part of Norbert, and dissembling policy on the part of Constance, who winning her way loses all she thought to have gained and more, while had Norbert's straightforward course been followed, all would have been gained for both. As it is, Constance, misunderstanding the true nature, both of the Queen and of Norbert, tries to convince Norbert that if he should now ask her hand of the Queen, from whom he has just won such high favor on account of his services, that he might aspire to ask of her anything, even to the sharing of her crown the revulsion of feeling will be so great upon the discovery that all was for the sake of Constance and not primarily for her, that not only will she not grant his request, but his own future prospects will be ruined. Rather than this, Constance would have their love remain unannounced, but he will not consent to anything less than a frank avowal to all the world of his love, and is ready to rely on the justice of the Queen to grant him the reward he chooses. Against his better judgment, he finally submits to follow the advice of Constance so far as to flatter the Queen by insinuating that he asks for Constance, because she is as near as he dare approach to the Queen. When Constance learns that the Queen has mis- taken Norbert's dissembling for an avowal of love to herself, that she is over- whelmed with joy, and how great her sufferings have been through the starving of her affections, with sympathies roused and with fears for the consequences if the Queen finds out the mistake, she tries to force Norbert, whose character she still fails fully to comprehend, into actually giving himself to the Queen. Norbert now shows himself the champion of truth at any cost, but too late. The Queen is undeceived, but cannot forgive the deception. Constance, at last, learns to know Norbert as he really is, and her love reaches a height worthy of his. 130. Kubens (1577-1640), the greatest of the Flemish school of painters. (' Men and Women, 1 18S50 494 NOTES. P- 339- Old Pictures in Florence is a plea for the catholic appreciation of all exponents and schools of art as related parts in the whole plan of man's soul- growth, and, especially, for the due praise of those early painters whose decaying work is still unapprehended, yet who were the pioneers in the development of the perfected art of the great Italian Masters. This is expressed in the course of the spontaneous soliloquy of a genuine art-critic whose picture-collecting is a labor of love. His delight in Giotto's bell-tower, aspiring above the beauty of Florence on a certain warm March morning, provokes these thoughts, also the reproaches he sportively addresses to the ghosts of the artists he is so alone in understanding that they have not helped him to ferret out their lost art treasures. Even his adored, great Giotto has let another discover a " certain precious little tablet " he will not yet give up hoping to secure, and in anticipation of which he closes his musings with a prophecy of Florence freed from the Austrian yoke, celebrating her liberty by no noisy demonstration, but by sympathetically correlating the historic evolutions of art and life, attributing the fruitful periods to the Republic, the sterile to Monarchy, and carrying on the unfinished work of Giotto to a new pinnacle of glory. 15. Bell-tower Giotto raised. The Campanile of Santa Maria in Florence, founded 1334, from designs and models of Giotto's which were his last public work. 64. Da Vincis derive from Delias. Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519) representing the fullest scope of artistic power; Niccolo Dello, who painted cas- soni, in the style of the bird-painter Uccelli, with careful perspective, representing the power of art in little. 69. Stefano, a pupil of Giotto's, called the " Ape of Nature" for his improved color and softness. 97. Sit like Theseus. As repre- sented in the sculptures from the Parthenon now in the British Museum. 98. Son of Priam. The Paris (A the ^Egina sculptures, kneeling and drawing a bow, now in the Munich Glyptothek. TOT. Slay your snake like Apollo. See Brown- ing's own note. 102. Niobe's the grander. The sculptured Niobe mourning for her children, now in the Uffizi, Florence. 103. Racers' frieze. From the Parthe- non. 104. Dying Alexander. The sculptured head, so called, now in Florence. 134. Thy one work . . . done at a stroke. When the envoy of Benedict IX., visiting Giotto, asked for a drawing to carry as a proof of his skill to that Pope, Giotto took a sheet of paper and a brushful of red paint, and resting his elbow on his hip, to form a sort of compass, with one turn of his hand drew a circle so per- fect that it was a marvel to behold, whence the proverb " rounder than the O of Giotto." 179. Nicolo (1207-1278) and Cimabue (1240-1302), Giotto's teacher, pioneers both of a more natural art. 182. Ghiberti, Lorenzo (1381-1455), and Ghirlandajo or Domenico Bigordi, the great Bigordi, line 201 (1449-1494). 198. Dree. Endure, Anglo Saxon dreogan. 202. Sandro. Filipepi or Botticelli, 1457-1515. 203. Lippino (1460-1505), son of Fra Lippo Lippi, " wronged " be- cause his work was credited to others. 203. Angelica (1387-1455), greatest of monastic painters. 204. Gaddi (1300-1366), Giotto's pupil who carried out his plans for erecting the bell-tower. 205. intonaco. Rough plaster cast. 207. Monaco (about 1410), a monastic painter. 210. Pollajolo (1430-1498), first artist to study anatomy. 215. Baldovinetti (1422-1499), distinguished for his minuteness. 217. Margheritone (1236-1313), among the first to show some de- parture from the Byzantine manner. Crucifix painting was his specialty. His sour expression refers to mixed disdain and despair excited in him by Giotto's inno- vations, which made him take to his death-bed in vexation. The epithet " poll- clawed parrot " applied to him by Browning seems to be a reminiscence from Shakespeare: 2 Henry IV. ii. 4, 282. The pictures described in stanzas twenty- seven and twenty-eight, Browning possessed. 230. Calm as Zeno. The first stoic NOTES. 495 philosopher. 232. Carlino, Carlo Dolci (1616-1686) .whose pictures were smoothed into lifelessness. 236. A certain tablet. This, Browning wrote Dr. Corson, " was a famous 'Last Supper' mentioned by Vasari, gone astray long ago from the Church of S. Spirito : it turned up, according to report, in some obscure corner, while I was in Florence, and was at once acquired by some stranger. I saw it, genuine or no, a work of great beauty." 242. Ognissantl. All Saints Church. 244. Detur Amanti. Let it be given to the loving one. 245. Kohinoor. The celebrated diamond, " Mountain of light," presented to Queen Victoria in 1850; the Jewel of Giamschid, its only rival, belonging to the king of Persia. 249. A certain dotard. Joseph Wenzel Radetzky (1766-1858), governor of Italy for the Austrians. For the allusions in stanza thirty-three, see, as Browning suggests, Mrs. Browning's ' Casa Guidi Windows,' Part I. 260. Quod -videos ante, " which you may have seen before." 264. Orgagna, Andrea (1315-1376), an artist who derived from Giotto yet without imitation. 271. Chimcera. A three-headed monster, " one indeed," says Hesiod, " of a grim-visaged lion, one of a goat, and another of a serpent," an unnatural birth. 275. Half-told tale. Chaucer's unfinished story of Cambuscan in the ' Squire's Tale.' 277. Beccaccia. Wood- cock. 279. Fifty braccia, etc. The Campanile, as Giotto planned it, was to have been crowned by a spire fifty braccia (cubits) high. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 347. Bishop Blougram's Apology is made over the wine after dinner, to defend himself from the criticisms of a doubting young literary man, who despises him because he considers that he cannot be true to his convictions in conforming to the doctrines of the Catholic Church. He builds up his defence from the prop- osition that the problem of life is not to conceive ideals which cannot be realized, but to find what is and make it as fair as possible. The bishop admits his unbelief, but being free to choose either belief or unbelief, since neither can be proved wholly true, chooses belief as his guiding principle, because he finds it the best for making his own life and that of others happy and comfortable in this world. Once having chosen faith on this ground, the more absolute the form of faith, the more potent the results ; besides, the bishop has that desire of domination in his nature, which the authorization of the Church makes safer for him. To Gigadibs' objec- tion that were his nature nobler, he would not count this success, he replies he is as God made him, and can but make the best of himself as he is. To the objection that he addresses himself to grosser estimators than he ought, he replies that all the world is interested in the fact that a man of his sense and learning, too, still believes at this late hour. He points out the impossibility of his following an ideal like Napoleon's, for conceding the merest chance that doubt may be wrong, and judgment to follow this life, he would not dare to slaughter men as Napoleon had for such slight ends. As for Shakespeare's ideal, he can't write plays like his if he wanted to, but he has realized things in his life which Shakespeare only imagined, and which he presumes Shakespeare would not have scorned to have realized in his life, judging from his fulfilled ambition to be a gentleman of property at Strat- ford. He admits, however, that enthusiasm in belief, such as Luther's, would be far preferable to his own way of living, and after this, enthusiasm in unbelief, which he might have if it were not for that plaguy chance that doubt may be wrong. Gigadibs interposes that the risk is as great for cool indifference as for bold doubt Blougram disputes that point by declaring that doubts prove faith, and that man's free will preferring to have faith true to having doubt true tips the balance in favor of faith and shows that man's instinct or aspiration is toward belief, that unques tioning belief, such as that of the Past, has no moral effect on man, but f; which knows itself through doubt is a moral spur. Thus the arguments from 496 NOTES. expediency, instinct, and consciousness, all bear on the side of faith and convince the bishop that it is safer to keep his faith intact from his doubts. He then proves that Gigadibs, with all his assumption of superiority in his frankness of unbelief, is in about the same position as himself, since the moral law which he follows has no surer foundation than the religious law the bishop follows, both founded upon instinct. The bishop closes as he began, with the consciousness that rewards for his way of living are of a substantial nature, while Gigadibs has nothing to show for his frankness, and does not hesitate to say that Gigadibs will consider his con- versation with the bishop the greatest honor ever conferred upon him. The poet adds some lines, somewhat apologetic for the bishop, intimating that his arguments were suited to the calibre of his critic, and that with a profounder critic he would have made a more serious defence. Speaking of a review of this poem by Cardinal Wiseman, Browning says in a letter to a friend, printed in Poet-lore, May, 1896, " The most curious notice I ever had was from Cardinal Wiseman on Blougram i.e., himself. It was in the Rambler, a Catholic journal of those days, and certified to be his by Father Prout, who said nobody else would have dared put it in." This review praises the poem for its " fertility of illustration and felicity of argument," and says that " though utterly mistaken in the very ground- work of religion, though starting from the most unworthy notions of the work of a Catholic bishop, and defending a self-indulgence every honest man must feel to be disgraceful, [it] is yet in its way triumphant." 10. Brother Pugin (1810-1852), an eminent English architect, who, becoming a Catholic, designed many cathedrals for the Catholic Church. 34. Corpus Chrlsti Day, Thursday after Trinity Sunday, when the Feast of the Sacrament of the Altar is celebrated. 45. Che, what. 54. Count D' Orsay (1798-1852), a clever Frenchman, distinguished as a man of fashion, and for his drawings of horses. 113. Parma's pride, the Jerome ; 114. Correggio ; 117. Modenese. In the Ducal academy at Parma, one of the most important paintings is the St. Jerome by Correggio. He was born in the territory of Modena, Italy. 184. A chorus-ending from Euripides. The Greek dramatist, Euripides (480 B.C.-4O6 B.C.) , frequently ended his choruses with this thought sometimes with slight variations in expression : " The Gods perform many things contrary to our expectations, and those things which we looked for are not accomplished; but God hath brought to pass things unthought of." 316. Hildebrand (Gregory VII., 1073-85) , claimed the temporal power of the Popes and the authority of the Papacy over sovereigns. 411. Schilling, distinguished German philosopher (1775-1854). 516. Giulio Romano (1492-1546), Italian painter, referred to in 'Winter's Tale,' v. ii. Dowland, English musician, praised for his lute playing in a sonnet in 'The Passionate Pilgrim,' attributed to Shakespeare. 588. Strauss (1808-74), one of the Tubingen philosophers, author of a Rationalistic 'Life of Jesus." 715. King Bomba, means King Puffcheek, King Liar, King Knave, a sobriquet given to Ferdinand II., late king of the Two Sicilies. Lazzaroni, Naples beggars, named from Lazarus. 716. Antonelli, Cardinal, secretary of Pope Pius IX. 728. Naples liquefaction. The supposed miracle of the liquefaction of the blood of St. Janu- arius the Martyr. A small quantity of it is preserved in a crystal reliquary in the great church at Naples, and when brought into the presence of the head of the saint it melts. 744. Fichte (1762-1814), celebrated German metaphysician. He defined God as the " moral order of the universe." 877. Pastor est tui Dominus, the Lord is your shepherd. 915. Anacreon, Greek lyric poet of the sixth century B.C. 972. Inpartibus, Episcopus, etc. " In countries where the Roman Catholic faith is not regularly established, as it was not in England before the time of Cardinal Wiseman, there were no bishops of sees in the kingdom itself, but they took their titles from heathen lands" 'Dr. Berdoe). (' Men and Women,' 1855.) NOTES. P. 369. Mr. Sludge -the Medium is a humorous monologue conveying an American medium's defence to his patron who has caught him in cheating fol- lowed by a short soliloquy conveying his unequivocal self-exposure The whole presents dramatically the conditions and nature, both of spiritualism and the belief in spiritualism, current in the middle part of the nineteenth century illustrating the credulity of the public and the self-deception of the medium. Hawthorne in his ' French and Italian Note-books,' June 9, 1858, writes : " Browning and his wife had both been present at a spiritual session held by Mr. Home [the American medium David U. Home], and had seen and felt the unearthly hands, one of which had placed a laurel wreath on Mrs. Browning's head. Browning, however, avowed his belief that these hands were affixed to the feet of Mr. Home, who lay extended in his chair, with his legs stretched far under the table. The marvellousness melted strangely away in his hearty gripe, and at the sharp touch of his logic." 168. Parson, Richard (1759-1808), the celebrated sc 1 olar, professor of Greek and librarian of the London Institution. 346. Hymn in G with natural F, etc. Impos- sible music, of course, since the scale of G requires F sharp, and a piece set in consecutive fourths would be cacophony. 788. Pasiphce. Wife of Minos, and ac- cording to the Greek myth enamoured of a bull. 921. Charles's Wain. The con- stellation of the Great Bear. 1140. Bridge-water Book. The Bridgewater treatises were written to meet the thesis set by the Earl of Bridgewater, " On the Power, Wis- dom, and Goodness of God as manifested in Creation," for which purpose he bequeathed 8000, in 1829, to the Royal Society. (' Dramatis Personse,' 1864.) P. 403. The Boy and the Angel. An imaginary legend illustrating me 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. (Hood's Magazine, August, 1844, rewritten with five new couplets added in ' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 7 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics, 1 1845. In the ' Poetical Works ' of 1868, a fresh verse was added.) P. 406. A Death in the Desert is a supposed MS. account of St. John's dying testimony to the truth of the revelation of God made man through Christ. John's own spiritual faith transcends the idea of evidence as dependent upon wit- ness or memory of signs and wonders. He has been nourished on such external evidence to the end that his faith now rests upon internal evidence, has become one with the desires and aspirations of his soul. Foreseeing future scrutiny of the superficial truth of fact, he meets these doubts by declaring that there must be development in the nature of the evidence which shall appeal to developing man ; and that man's progress is dependent on his finding a developing internal warrant for faith in Absolute Love and Power, the good for man of proof, consisting merely in its capacity to educe his faith, not to enable him to dispense with the need of it. So, when man can perceive will and love in man, before assumed to be alto- gether God's, instead of requiring conviction from ihe sort of proof that satisfied less developed man? Jet him exert his faith in the essential truth, acknowledging its action as a result of old processes outgrown because assimilated, and not disproved because in essence true. Pamphylax, Xanthus, Valeus, Theotypas, and narrative and gloss are all imagined by Browning, the Revelation and Gospel of St. John being the main sources feeding the inspiration of the poem. 6. Terebinth. The turpentine tree. 23. The decree. Some decree ordering the persecution of the Christians, perhaps Domitian's. 50. Ball of nard. Spikenard, giving an aro- matic odor. 279. Prometheus. The Titan .who stole fire from Olympos and brought it to man, defying Zeus who had refused it. ^Eschylus founded his ' Prometheus Bound ' upon the myth, and possibly in the two other parts of this 498 NOTES. Trilogy which have not come down to us, his satyrs may have touched it in gay wonder as Browning imagines. 329. This Ebion, this Cerinthus. Ebion is said to have been a pupil of Cerinthus, but may not have been a real person. Cerinthus was a contemporary of John, or nearly so, who held the Ebionite heresy that the Christ part only resided in Jesus, who was merely human, and that this divine part was not crucified, having flown away before. (' Dramatis Personas,' 1864.) P. 421. Fears and Scruples gives expression to the doubts which beset one who formerly believed implicitly in God (symbolized as an Unseen Friend), but whose belief has been shaken by the criticisms of others, whom he wishes he might refute with a word ; but God makes no direct revelations to him, so he con- cludes that though his belief is not capable of absolute proof he will be thankful for the truth manifest in the ideal. Even this position is assaulted by a menace from some one who suggests that perhaps God is simply trying man's faith by not revealing himself, and will blame man for not gaining a knowledge of him through all obstructions. But that God would be a monster, who refused to accept love because it had not attained perfect knowledge of him, for is not man ready to love him fully revealed as he already loves his manifestations? The only answer to this is that God is God something higher not lower than man. In a letter to Mr. Wm. G. Kingsland, Browning thus interpreted the poem : " I think that the point I wanted to illustrate in the poem you mention was this : Where there is a genuine love of the ' letters ' and ' actions ' of the invisible ' friend,' however these may be disadvantaged by an inability to meet the objections to their authenticity or historical value urged by ' experts ' who assume the privilege of learning over ignorance, it would indeed be a wrong to the wisdom and good- ness of the ' friend ' if he were supposed capable of overlooking the actual ' love ' and only considering the ' ignorance ' which, failing to in any degree affect ' love ' is really the highest evidence that ' love ' exists. So I meant, whether the result be clear or no. . . ." (' Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 422. Artemis Prologizes represents the goddess Artemis awaiting the revival of the youth Hippolytus, whom she has carried to her woods an'd given to Asclepios to heal. It is a fragment meant to introduce an unwritten work and carry on the story related by Euripides in ' Hippolytus.' (' Bells and Pomegranates, No. 3 Dramatic Lyrics,' 1842.) P. 425. Pheidippides is founded on a historical legend told by the Greek historian Herodotus, the dry bones of which Browning has clothed with life. Instead of a sketch of bare events, Pheidippides himself is made to relate to the archons of Athens his own experiences and emotions as he went on his errand to Sparta for aid to Athens, and on his way back met the great god Pan, who promised Athens aid. The incident of Pan's offering him a worthy reward, and of his last run to Athens to announce the victory of Marathon, is added by the poet. "And first, before they left the city, the generals sent off to Sparta a herald, one Pheidippides, who was by birth an Athenian, and by birth and practice a trained runner. This man, according to the account which he gave to the Athenians on his return, when he was near Mount Parthenium, above Tegea, fell in with the god Pan, who called him by his name, and bade him ask the Athenians ' wherefore they neglected him so entirely, when he was kindly disposed towards them, and had often helped them in times past, and would do so again in time to come ?' The Athenians, entirely believing in the truth of this report, as soon as their affairs were once more in good order, set up a temple to Pan under the Acropolis, and, in return for the message which I have recorded, established in his honor yearly sacrifices and a torch-race. " On the occasion of which we speak, when Pheidippides was sent by the NOTES. 499 Athenian generals, and, according to his own account saw Pan on his journey he reached Sparta on the very next day after quitting the city of Athens. Upon his arrival he went before the rulers, and said to them : " ' Men of Lacedaemon, the Athenians beseech you to hasten to their aid and not allow that state, which is the most ancient in all Greece, to be enslaved by the barbarians. Eretria, look you, is already carried away captive, and Greece weakened by the loss of no mean city.' " Thus did Pheidippides deliver the message committed to him. And the Spartans wished to help the Athenians, but were unable to give them any present succor, as they did not like to break their established law. It was the ninth day of the first decade, and they could not march out of Sparta on the ninth, when the moon had not reached the full. So thfy waited for the full of the moon." (Herodotus, translated by Rawlinson VI.) Xat'pere viK&ufv. Rejoice ; we conquer! 4. Her of the agis and spear/ Athene (Minerva), who was represented with a shield and spear. 5. Ye of the bow, etc. Artemis (Diana). 8. Pan, the god of woods and fields, of flocks and shepherds. He dwelt in caves, wandered on the mountains and in valleys, played with nymphs, and so on. He was represented as having the horns and hoofs of a goat, which caused many to be frightened at his appearance, hence the word ' panic.' It is said he won the fight at Marathon by causing a panic among the Persians. 9. Tettix, a grasshopper. Golden grasshoppers were worn by the Athenians to signify that they were the descendants of the original inhabitants of the country, these insects being supposed to spring from the ground. 18. Persia bids Athens proffer slaves' -tribute. Darius (493 B.C.) sent heralds into all parts of Greece to require, according to the custom of the Persians when they wished to exact submission, earth and water. 19. Eretria was one of the principal cities of the Island of Eubcea. 20. Hellas, Greece. 31. Phoibos, an epithet of Apollo. 33. Olumpos, Greek spelling of Olympus, the home of the gods. 47. Filetted victim. It was the custom to adorn sacrificial victims with ribbons and wreaths. Fulsome, rich, liberal. 52. Parnes, an error, these mountains being in the north of Attica, outside the route of Pheidippides. 62. Erebos, the mysteri- ous darkness under earth. 89. Miltiades (died 489), the Greek general who com- manded the Athenians at the battle of Marathon, fought 490 B.C. 106. Akropolis, the citadel of Athens. 109. Fennel field, in Greek, Marathon; and Pan meant when he gave Pheidippides the bunch of fennel to signify the place where the victory would be won. (' Dramatic Idyls,' First Series, 1879.) P. 428. The Patriot is a hero's story of the reward and punishment dealt him for his services by his people within one year. To act regardless of praise or blame, save God's, seems safer. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 429. Popularity draws in symbolical language the portrait of a poet whose genius the world has not yet recognized, but who holds in his hands the apprecia- tion of the future ; a poet whose inspirations come direct from his own soul, like the fisherman catching fresh netfuls of Tyrian shells. The critics, learned in the poetic inspirations of the past, do not recognize the same thing when it is caught afresh though there is enough of the marvellous blue dye (poetic inspiration) to furnish forth beauties never before imagined. " Mere genius in the rough ! they say not fit to be called art until refined and extracted to but a semblance of its original force by the crowd of imitating poets, who straightway become popular, while who was their inspiration probably died of starvation. - 24 .Tyre, ancient city ol Phoenicia, with great harbors and splendid buildings. - 26. Tyrian shells genera Mure* and Purfura have a gland called the "adrectal gland which secretes a colorless liquid. It turns purple upon exposure to the atmosphere, and 500 NOTES. was discovered first by the Phoenicians and used as a dye. 42. Solomon ; 43. Cedar House, i Kings vii. 64. What porridge had John Keats, refers, of course, to the lack of contemporary appreciation from which Keats suffered. (' Men and Women,' 1855.) P. 432. Pisgah Sights. Views over the whole of life from the heights of ripe experience. I. Perceives the reconciliation and relation of all its elements,-- unity. II. Perceives the value of imperfection, the uselessness of reformation,-- relativity. III. Is a fancy of the soul, disengaged by death from the body, disport- ing itself in freedom, while the body finds pleasures native to it on earth. At the close of the life of Moses, the Lord caused him to view the land he was not t& enter, from "the top of Pisgah." Deut. xxxiv. (I. and II. in ' Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876. III. the Prologue to ' La Saisiaz,' 1878, placed by Browning as the third ' Pisgah Sight ' in these ' Selections,' 1880.) P. 435. At the Mermaid puts into the mouth of Shakespeare the refutation of the supposition that his life is to be discovered in his plays. He disclaims any desire to be considered " next Poet " on the ground that he has revealed his soul to the public. Such a poet he depicts in contrast to himself one, a pessimist, seeing no good in the world, with a mind self-centred upon his own woes ; the other, the optimist, seeing good everywhere in the world, regarding his personal woes of no account. The world will object that unless he lays bare his own soul, he cannot hope to touch the heart of humanity. Very well, he will wait for recognition in the future, in the meantime content to be friend and good fellow. The Mermaid, a tavern in Cheapside, the favorite resort of the great Elizabethan dramatists and poets. The motto of the poem is adapted from Ben Jonson's lines : " To the Reader," opposite the portrait of Shakespeare, in the First Folio edition : " This figure that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut." 50. Orichalc, a mixed metal, something like bronze. 114. Threw Venus, the most successful throw of the dice, double sixes, was called "Venus" by the Romans. (' Pacchia- rotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 439. House deprecates the assumption of the public, that the private and personal affairs of a poet be open to it. The indelicacy is illustrated by an acci- dental exposure of a house-interior, and the comments of the curious crowd. As to Shakespeare's high example, as alleged in his sonnets, it is doubtful, since he must then have abandoned his characteristic dramatic bent. 38. With this same key, etc. A quotation from Wordsworth's Sonnet, beginning, "Scorn not the Sonnet." (' Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 441. Shop is a picturesque presentation of the thought that one's life should not be lived merely for the sake of worldly success, and that if sordid interests are nec- essary to ensure the existence of the body, the mind and soul should not be allowed to suffer for want of spiritual food. (' Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems,' 1876.) P. 444. A Tale illustrates the power of love to round out the broken harmonies of life and art, by a Greek tale supposed to be told to a poet by a young girl of a Greek poet, whose lyre-string, snapping at a critical moment, was supplied to per- fection by the voice of a cricket, which lighted on the crippled lyre " for mere love of music." 4. Was it prose or was it rhyme? The tale appears in the Greek Anthology in both prose and verse, and is quoted by Strabo from Timseus, and by others. The version Browning used is given in Mackail's ' Select Epigrams from Greek Anthology,' as follows : " The strife was of the lyre, and Parthis stood up against me ; but when the Locrian shell sounded under the plectrum, a lyre-string rang and snapped jarringly ; but ere ever the tune halted in its fair harmonies, a delicate trilling grasshopper seated itself on the lyre and took up the note of the last string, and turned the NOTES. 50I rustic sound that till then was vocal in the groves to the strain of our touch upon the lyre ; and, therefore, Eunomus does honor, blessed son of Leto, to thy grass- hopper, seating the singer in brass upon his harp." 65. His Lotte's power too spent, etc. An allusion to Goethe's elusive manner with young women when affairs pushed him to a choice between marriage and a career, as in Fredrika's case. Charlotte Buff, on whom the Lotte of ' Werther ' was modelled, was not really one of these, but, as Goethe says, he bestowed on this Lotte " the qualities of several lovely women." (Epilogue to ' The Two Poets of Croisic, 1 1878.) P. 448. Echetlos illustrates the superior worth of a great deed, in contrast with that of a great name, since a deed can never grow less, while a great name may, as in the case of Miltiades and Themistocles. The poem is developed from a legend of the battle of Marathon told in Pausanias' ' Description of Greece ' (Book I., Chap. 32) , as follows : " And it chanced, as they say in the battle, that a man of rustic appearance and dress appeared, who slew many of the Persians with a ploughshare, and vanished after the fight : and when the Athenians made enquiry of the oracle, the god gave no other answer, but bade them honor the god Echet- ICBUS," that is, the wielder of the ploughshare. 3. Marathon, see Notes, P. 425. 12. Kallimachos , Polemarch. Polemarch was the name given to the archon (or ruler, of which there were nine in Athens) who had charge of military affairs; Kallimichos held that office at the time of the battle of Marathon, and was among the brave Greeks who fell. 18. Sakian. The Sakce were Scythian tribes border- ing on the Bactrians and Sogdians.of the East, a part of whom had submitted to pay tribute to Persia. 28. Woe for the great name Miltiades. After the battle of Marathon, Miltiades incurred the displeasure of the Athenians by the failure of his siege of the Island of Paros, which, it was found, he had undertaken in order to avenge a personal spite. He was indicted and sentenced to pay a fine, but died shortly afterwards of a hurt received at Paros. 29. Themistocles (about 514 B.C. to 449 B.C.), chief archon of Athens. Long prominent for his services both in war and peace, he was at last accused of bribery and ostracized ; later, of treason, when he fled from Greece to Artaxerxes, in Persia, who treated him with much favor. (' Dramatic Idyls,' Second Series, 1880.) P. 449. Touch him ne'er so lightly. A lyrical picture of the contrast between the popular notion of the poet's work, as quick-rooted and easy growing, like an annual in a flower garden, and its actual nature, strenuous and persistent in char- acter and nurtured by obstacle, like a slow-growing pine tree. How truly Brown- ing rated the popular opinion of a poet was shown by the criticism that greeted this song, as if he had drawn a contrast between all other poets and himself. ^ In copying the poem in the autograph album of a young American girl in Venice, October, 1880, he added the following comment, which explains his intention : " Thus I wrote in London, musing on my betters, Poets dead and gone; and lo, the critics cried, ' Out on such a boast ! ' as if I dreamed that fetters Binding Dante bind up me ! as if true pride Were not also humble ! So I smiled and sighed As I oped your book in Venice this bright morning, Sweet new friend of mine ! and felt the clay or sand, Whatso'er my soil be, break for praise or scorning - Out in grateful fancies weeds ; but weeds expand Almost into flowers, held by such a kindly hand." (Epilogue to ' Dramatic Idyls,' Second Series, 1880.) 502 NOTES. P. 449. Wanting is What? may simply express that no beauty is perfect without its complement, love; or it may refer more particularly to Divine love, without which life is incomplete. The latter interpretation is rendered probable on account of the use of the term, " O comer," line 9, which the Rev. J. Sharpe points out is one of the titles of the Messiah in the New Testament. " 6 epxofitvos," the Future One, He who shall come (Mat. xi. 3; xxi. 9; Luke vii. 19, 20; John xii. 13; vi. 14; xi. 27). (Prologue to ' Jocoseria,' 1883.) P. 450. Never the Time and the Place. A song of longing for a loved Pres- ence, lacking under friendly conditions of time and place, and only to be supplied now under unfriendly conditions in a dream and within the grave, yet towards which the love whose power the lover's Past has known shall be able to guide his Future. (' Jocoseria,' 1883.) P. 450. Round us the Wild Creatures. A lyric illustrating the thought that two who love each other should let their love expand into a love for humanity, and should live in and for the world, not selfishly for each other alone. (' Ferishtah's Fancies,' 1884.) P. 451. Ask not one least word of praise, sings the inadequacy of speech and the intelligence of sense to impart the emotions of the soul. (' Ferishtah's Fancies,' 1884.) P. 451. Epilogue to Ferishtah's Fancies expresses a doubt as to whether an optimistic view of life is not after all but the illumination shed over it by love. (1884.) P. 452. The Names. This sonnet, contrasting the potency mixed with love associated with Shakespeare's name, as representing the utmost of finite creative might, with the unmixed awe associated with the name of the Infinite Creator, is based upon the fact that the Hebrews regard the Sacred Name as unspeakable, substituting Adonai for Jahwe in reading. (Written for the book of the Shake- sperian Show, held in London, May 29-31, 1884, to pay off the debt on the Woman's Hospital.) P. 452. Why I am a Liberal? Because, answers the poet, freedom is the neces- sary condition for development. Therefore, he wishes for all others the same opportunities as he himself has had for that development. This poem was written in answer to the question, Why I am a Liberal ? sent out by Cassell and Co. to English men of letters. It was published by them, together with the other replies, in a volume edited by Andrew Reid in 1885. P. 453. Prologue to ' Asolando ' exalts the clear sobriety of sight that comes with age to the poet, divesting nature of the alien, falsifying vari-color that made her seem divine, and reporting her works truly as akin to man, God alone trans- cending both nature and humanity. (' Asolando,' published Dec. 12, 1889, the day of the poet's death : date given on the title-page, however, is 1890.) P. 454. Rosny. A girl, whose lover has gone to the war, holds dreamy converse with herself, her mind divided between a mood in which she pictures her pride in him, returned with an honorable scar on his face, while he declares that with her love in his soul he could not do other than conquer his foes and return to her safe ; and a mood in which she pictures him dead on the battlefield, driven to his fate by her love, and finds it better that it should be so, since certain envious ones might sneer that they would hardly be proud of a hero who returned from the war safe. 2. Clara, Clara. This refrain throughout the poem makes it particularly difficult of interpretation. It has been suggested that Clara is a rival whom the speaker ad- dresses. It seems rather to the editors of the present volume to be the speaker's grief-stricken address to herself, showing the conflict between her love and ambi- NOTES. 503 tion, and the realization that if her lover falls it will be because her ideal of heroism has driven him to his fate. (' Asolando, 1 1889.) P. 455. Poetics illustrates the deficiency of metaphors conventionally drawn from the inanimate, or the lower animal world, to celebrate fitly the beauty of human love. (' Asolando,' 1889.) P. 455. Summum Bonum. In a moment of love, which is the highest good, is contained all the beauty and truth of the universe. (' Asolando,' 1889.) P. 455. Mucklemouth Meg. A lively ballad describing an actual foray over the border of a young English lord, William Scott of the House of Harden ; his seizure by the Scotch laird, Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank; the intervention of the Dame should he marry wide-mouthed Meg ; his contumacy, confinement, and happy release by the misnamed Meg. (' Asolando,' 1889.) P. 456. Epilogue to ' Asolando ' deprecates the thought that those who love the poet should pity him in death, and so, mistake the whole tenor of his life with its strenuous hopefulness in the face of all difficulties, and its joyous faith in a future of soul development. (' Asolando,' 1889.) BIBLIOGRAPHY. 1833. Pauline : A Fragment of a Con- 1844. fession. 1835. Paracelsus. 1837. Strafford : A Historical Tragedy. 1845. 1840. Sordello. 1841. Bells and Pomegranates. No. I. Pippa Passes. 1842. Bells and Pomegranates. No. II. King Victor and King Charles. 1842. Bells and Pomegranates. No. III. Dramatic Lyrics. CONTENTS. Cavalier Tunes: (1) Marching Along. (2) Give a Rouse. (3) My Wife Gertrude. Italy and France. Camp and Cloister. In a Gondola. Artemis Prologizes. Waring. Queen-Worship : (1) Rudel and the Lady of Tripoli. (2) Cristina. Madhouse Cells. Through the Metidja to Abd-el- Kadr. 1842. The Pied Piper of Hamelin. 1643. Bells and Pomegranates. No. IV. The Return of the Druses. A Tragedy in Five Acts. 1843. Bells and Pomegranates. No. V. A Blot in the 'Scutcheon. A Tragedy in Three Acts. 504 Bells and Pomegranates. No. VI. Colombo's Birthday. A Play in Five Acts. Bells and Pomegranates. No. VII. Dramatic Romances and Lyrics. CONTENTS. " How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix." Pictor Ignotus. Italy in England. England in Italy. The Lost Leader. The Lost Mistress. Home Thoughts from Abroad. The Tomb at St. Praxed's. Garden Fancies : (1) The Flower's Name. (2) Sibrandus Schafnaburgen- sis. France and Spain : (1) The Laboratory. (2) The Confessional. The Flight of the Duchess. Earth's Immortalities. Song : " Nay, but you, who d not love her." The Boy and the Angel. Night and Morning. Claret and Tokay. Saul. Time's Revenges. The Glove. BIBLIOGRAPHY. 505 1846. Bells and Pomegranates. No. VIII. and last. Luria: and A Soul's Tragedy. 1849. Poems : A New Edition in Two Volumes. 1850. Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day. 1852. Letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley. With an Introductory Essay by Robert Browning. ^854. Two Poems by Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning. [The Twins.] 1855. Cleon. 1855. The Statue and the Bust. 1855. Men and Women. In two vols. CONTENTS. I. Love among the Ruins. A Lovers' Quarrel. Evelyn Hope. Up at a Villa Down in the City. (As Distinguished by an Italian Person of Quality.) A Woman's Last Word. Fra Lippo Lippi. A Toccata of Galuppi's. By the Fireside. Any Wife to Any Husband. An Epistle containing the Strange Medical Experience of Kar- shish, the Arab Physician. Mesmerism. A Serenade at the Villa. My Star. Instans Tyrannus. A Pretty Woman. "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came." Respectability. A Light Woman. The Statue and the Bust Love Jr t a Life. Life in a Love. How it strikes a Contemporary. The Last Ride Together. The Patriot An Old Story. Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. Bishop Blougram's Apology. Memorabilia. CONTENTS. II. 1855. Andrea del Sarto. (Called " The Faultless Painter.") Before. After. In Three Days. In a Year. Old Pictures in Florence. In a Balcony. First Part. In a Balcony. Second Part. In a Balcony. Third Part Saul. " De Gustibus " Women and Roses. Protus. Holy-Cross Day. (On which the Jews were forced to attend an Annual Christian Sermon in Rome.) The Guardian-Angel: A Picture at Fano. Cleon. The Twins. Popularity. The Heretic's Tragedy : A Mid- dle-Age Interlude. Two in the Campagna. A Grammarian's Funeral. One Way of Love. Another Way of Love. " Transcendentalism : " A Poem in Twelve Books. Misconceptions. One Word More. To E. B. B. 1863. The Poetical Works of Robert Browning. Third Edition. 1863. Selections from the Poetical Works of Robert Browning. Three volumes. 1864. Gold Hair : A Legend of Pornic. 1864. Dramatis Personae. CONTENTS. James Lee. Gold Hair : A Legend of Pornic. The Worst of it. Dts Aliter Visum ; or, Le Byron de Nos Jours. 5 o6 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 1864. Too Late. Abt Vogler. Rabbi ben Ezra. A Death in the Desert. Caliban upon Setebos ; or Natural Theology in the Island. Confessions. May and Death. Prospice. Youth and Art. A Face. A Likeness. Mr. Sludge, " The Medium." Apparent Failure. Epilogue. 1865. A Selection from the Works of Robert Browning. 1868. The Poetical Works of Robert Browning. Six volumes. 1868. The Ring and the Book. 1871. Balaustion's Adventure : Includ- ing a Transcript from Euripides. 1871. Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society. 1872. Fifine at the Fair. 1872. Selections from the Poetical Works. 1873. Red Cotton Night-Cap Country; or, Turf and Towers. 1875. Aristophanes' Apology: Includ- ing a Transcript from Euripides, being the Last Adventure of Balaustion. 1875. The Inn Album. 1876. Pacchiarotto, and how he worked in Distemper: with Other Poems. CONTENTS. Prologue. Of Pacchiarotto, and how he worked in Distemper. At the " Mermaid." House. Shop. Pisgah-Sights (i). Pisgah-Sights (2). Fears and Scruples. Natural Magic. 1876. Magical Nature. Bifurcation. Numpholeptos. Appearances. St. Martin's Summer. Herve Riel. A Forgiveness. Cenciaja. Filippo Baldinucci on the Privi lege of Burial. Epilogue. 1877. The Agamemnon of ^Eschylus. 1878. La Saisiaz. 1878. The Two Poets of Croisic. 1879. Dramatic Idyls. CONTENTS, Martin Relph. Pheidippides. Halbert and Hob. Ivan Ivanovitch. Tray. Ned Bratts. 1880. Dramatic Idyls : Second Series. CONTENTS. Proem. Echetlos. Clive. Muleykeh. Pietro of Abano. Doctor . Pan and Luna. Epilogue. 1880. Selections from the Poetical Works of Robert Browning : Second Series. 1883. Jocoseria. CONTENTS. Wanting is what ? Donald. Solomon and Balkis. Cristina and Monaldeschi. Mary Wollstonecraft and Fuseli, Adam, Lilith, and Eve. Ixion. Jochanan Hakkadosh. Never the Time and the Place. BIBLIOGRAPHY. 507 1883. 1884. Pambo. Ferishtah's Fancies. CONTENTS. Prologue. The Eagle. The Melon-Seller. Shah Abbas. The Family. The Sun. Mihrab Shah. A Camel-Driver. Two Camels. Cherries. Plot-Culture. A Pillar at Sebzevar. A Bean-Stripe : Also Apple-Eat- ing. Epilogue. 1887. Parleyings with Certain People of Importance in their Day, to wit : Bernard de Mandeville, Daniel Bartoli, Christopher Smart, George Bubb Dodington, Fran- cis Furini, Gerard de Lairesse, and Charles Avison. Intro- duced by a Dialogue between Apollo and the Fates; con- cluded by another between John Fust and his Friends. 1888-9. Th e Poetical Works of Robert Browning. Sixteen volumes. 1890 [1889]. Asolando: Fancies and Facts. CONTENTS. 1890. Prologue. Rosny. Dubiety. Now. Humility. Poetics. Summum Bonurrv A Pearl, a GirU Speculative. White Witchcraft. Bad Dreams, I. Bad Dreams, II. Bad Dreams, III. Bad Dreams, IV. Inapprehensiveness. Which? The Cardinal and the Dog. The Pope and the Net. The Bean-Feast. Muckle-mouth Meg. Arcades Ambo. The Lady and the Painter. Ponte dell' Angelo, Venice. Beatrice Signorini. Flute Music, with an Accompani- ment. " Imperante Auguslo natusest " Development. Rephan. Reverie. Epilogue. INDEX TO POEMS. PACK Poems Notes Abt Vogler 152 47 6 After , ., .- 3M 492 Amphibian ..... 282 489 Andrea del Sarto .... 133 472 Any Wife to Any Hnsband . . 72 465 Apparent Failure . . . .162 478 Apparitions 218 483 Appearances 230 485 Artemis Prologizes . . . 422 498 Ask not One Least Word of Praise 451 502 " Asolando," Epilogue to . . 456 503 " Asolando," Prologue to . . 453 502 Balcony, In a . . . . 318 493 Before 312 492 Bifurcation 237 485 Bishop Blougram's Apology . 347 495 Bishop orders his Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church, The . . 138 473 Boy and the Angel, The . . 403 497 Caliban upon Setebos . . . 191 481 Cavalier Tunes .... 310 492 Cenciaja 251 487 "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came " . . . . 165 478 Cleon 174 479 Confessions 306 491 Count Gismond .... 5 460 Cristina ...... 4 460 Death in the Desert, A . . 407 497 " De Gustibus - " . . 157 477 Dis Aliter Visum; or, Le Byron de Nos Jours . . . .301 491 Earth's Immortalities . . .56 464 Echetlos 448 501 Englishman in Italy, The . . 117 469 | Epilogue 213 483 Epilogue to " Asolando " . . 456 503 Epilogue to " Ferishtah's Fancies "451 502 Epistle, An 184 480 Eurydice to Orpheus ... 9 460 Evelyn Hope . . . . 160 478 Face, A i 459 Fears and Scruples . -421 49 " Ferishtah's Fancies," Epilogue to 451 5< rflippo Baldinucci on the Privilege of Burial 259 487 241 '-4 4.J 219 5 Fireside, By the . Flight of the Duchess, The . Forgiveness, A ... Fra Lippp Lippi . French Camp, Incident of the Garden Fancies , Gismond, Count . . Glove, The ....." 9 Gold Hair 91 Gondola, In a . . . .45 Grammarian's Funeral, A . .171 Guardian-Angel, The . . .158 Heretic's Tragedy, The . 27? Herv<< Riel 314 Holy-Cross Day .... 278 Home Thoughts from Abroad . 113 House 439 Householder, The . . . 307 How it strikes a Contemporary . 143 " How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix " . 39 In a Gondola . . . .45 Instans Tyrannus . . 182 Italian in England, The . .113 " James Lee's Wife," Song from . 79 James Lee's Wife . . . .288 Laboratory, The .... 89 Last Ride together, The . . 56 Liberal, Why I am a . . .452 Life in a Love .... 88 Light Woman, A . . . .86 Likeness, A 238 [.ost Trader, The. . . .44 Lost Mistress, The . . .224 Love among the Ruins . . 103 Love in a Life . ... 88 Lovers' Quarrel, A . . .51 Magical Nature .... 219 Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha . 147 May and Death .... 240 Meeting at Night . . . .81 Memorabilia 161 " Mermaid," At the ... 435 Mesmerism 59 Metidja to Abd-cl-Kadr, Through the 42 Misconceptions .... 83 PAGE Poems Notes 64 464 '9 462 486 47 463 483 460 460 466 464 478 477 488 492 489 469 500 49 475 462 464 479 469 465 49 466 464 502 466 465 485 4$3 484 467 466 464 483 4*5 47 Sf> 464 463 465 509 5io INDEX TO POEMS. PAGE Poems Notes Mr. Sludge, " The Medium" . 369 497 Muckle-Mouth Meg . . . 455 503 My Last Duchess .... 2 459 My Star . ... . i 459 Names, The . . . . . 452 502 Natural Magic . . . .218 483 Never the Time and the Place . 450 502 Numpholeptos .... 226 484 Old Pictures in Florence . . 339 494 One Way of Love . . . 225 484 " Paracelsus," Song from . .41 463 Parting at Morning . . .81 465 Patriot, The 428 499 Pictor Ignotus . . . .123 470 " Pippa Passes," Song from 3, 39, 459, 462 Pisgah Sights, i ... 432 500 Pisgah Sights. 2 .... 433 500 Pisgah Sights. 3 . . . .434 500 Pheidippides ..... 425 498 Poetics 455 503 Popularity 429 499 Porphyria's Lover . . . 257 487 Pretty Woman, A ... 83 465 Privilege of Burial, Filippo Baldi- nucci on the .... 259 487 Prologue to "Asolando " . . 453 502 Prospice 164 478 Protus 146 475 Rabbi Ben Ezra .... 207 482 Respectability .... 300 491 Rosny 454 502 Round us the Wild Creatures . 450 502 PAGE Poems Notes Rudel to the Lady of Tripoli . 225 484 Saul 198 481 Serenade at the Villa, A -14 461 Shop ...... 441 500 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister . 272 488 Song 14 461 Song from " James Lee's Wife " . 79 465 Song from " Paracelsus " . . 41 463 Song from " Pippa Passes " 3, 39, 459, 462 Spanish Cloister, Soliloquy of the 272 488 Statue and the Bust, The . . 96 466 St. Martin's Summer . . . 285 489 Summum Bonum .... 455 503 Tale, A . . . . . . 444 500 Three Days, In .... 223 483 Time's Revenges .... 105 467 Toccata of Galuppi's, A . . 141 474 Too Late 234 485 Touch him ne'er so Lightly . . 449 501 Tra y 39 49 2 Two in the Campagna . . . 155 477 Up at a Villa Down in the City. 120 470 Wall, A . . . . .217 483 Wanting is What? . . . 449 502 Waring ...... 107 467 Why I am a Liberal . . , 452 502 Woman's Last Word, A . .79 465 Women and Roses . . .Si 465 Worst of it, The .... 230 485 Year, In a . . . . 76 465 Youth and Art .... 17 461 INDEX TO FIRST LINES. PAGE Ah, did you once see Shelley plain . . 162 Ah, Love, but a day .... 288 All I believed is true . . . .59 All I can say is I saw it ... 218 All June I bound the rose in sheaves . 225 All s over, then: does truth sound bitter. 224 All that I know i All the health and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee .... 455 Among these latter busts we count by scores 146 And so you found that poor room dull . 230 As I ride, as I ride 42 Ask not one least word of praise . . 451 At the midnight in the silence of the sleep- time 456 Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead . . 160 But do not let us quarrel any more . . 133 But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow ...... 9 Christ God who savest man, save most . 5 Cleon the poet, (from the sprinkled isles. 174 Could I but live again .... 433 Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave . . . . . . .158 Dear, had the world in its caprice . . 300 Escape me . . . ^ . .88 Fear death? to feel the fog in my throat . 164 Fee, faw, fum ! bubble and squeak . . 278 First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock ...... 425 Flower I never fancied, jewel I pro- fess you 2'9 Fortu, Fortu, my beloved one, sit here by my side "7 Frowned the Laird on the Lord: " So red-handed I catch thee . . .455 Give her but a least excuse to love Good to forgive _ Grow old along with me . Gr-r-r there go, my heart's abhorrence Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare . . . _ Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes " Heigho," yawned one day King Francis Here is a story shall stir you! Stand up, Greeks dead and gone . Here's my case. Of old I used to love him 434 207 272 120 41 9 44 8 421 PAGE Here 's the garden she walked across . 219 Here was I with my arm and heart . . 234 Hist, but a word, fair and soft . . . 149 How well I know what I mean to do . 64 I am a goddess of the ambrosial courts . 422 I am indeed the personage you know . 241 I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave . 124 I could have painted pictures like that youth's 123 I dream of a red-rose tree . . .81 If one could have that little head of hers I know a Mount, the gracious Sun per- 225 I "next Poet?" No, my hearties -435 I only knew one poet in my life . . 143 I said Then, dearest, since 'tis so -56 I send my heart up to thee, all my heart . 45 I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he 30 It once might have been, once only . . 16 It was roses, roses, all the way . . 428 I 've a Friend, over the sea ... 105 I wish that when you died last May . 240 I wonder do you feel to-day . . .155 Just for a handful of silver he left us . 44 Karshish, the picker-up of learning's crumbs 184 Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King . 310 Let 's contend no more, Love . _ . -79 Let them fight it out, friend ! things have gone too far . . . _ . . . 312 Let us begin and carry up this corpse . 171 May I pnnt, Shelley, how it came to pass 251 Morning, evening, noon, and night . 403 My first thought was, he lied in every word 165 My love, this is the bitterest, that thou 72 Nay but you, who do not love her . . 14 Never any more . . . -7" Never the time and the place . . . 45 No, boy, we must not (so began . . 959 No, for I '11 save it ! Seven years since 162 No more wine! then we'll push back chairs and talk 347 No protesting, dearest .... 285 Now 38 Now, don't, sir! Don't expose me! Just this once 3^9 Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly 89 Of the million or two, more or less . . i8 5" 512 INDEX TO FIRST LINES. PAGE Oh, Galuppi, Baldassare, this is very sad to find 141 Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth 79 Oh, Love no, Love! All the noise be- low, Love 451 Oh, the beautiful girl, too white . . 91 Oh, to be in England now that April 's there .113 Oh, what a dawn of day . . . . 51 On the first of the Feast of Feasts . . 213 On the sea, and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two .... 314 O the old wall here! How could I pass 217 Over the ball of it 432 Room after room 88 Round the cape of a sudden came the sea 81 Round us the wild creatures, overhead the trees 450 Said Abner, "At last thou art come! Ere I tell, ere thou speak .... 198 Savage I was sitting in my house, late, lone ....... 307 See, as the prettiest graves will do in time 56 Shakespeare ! to such name's sounding what succeeds ..... 452 Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself . 439 She should never have looked at me if she meant I should not love her . . 4 Sing me a hero. Quench my thirst . 308 So far as our story approaches the end . 86 So, friend, your shop was all your house 441 So I shall see her in three days . . 223 Some people hang portraits up . . 238 " So say the foolish ! " Say the foolish so, Love 455 Stand still, true poet that you are . . 429 Still you stand, still you listen, still you smile ....... 226 PAGE Stop, let me have the truth of that . 301 Such a starved bank of moss . . . 218 [Supposed of Pamphylax the Antiochene 406 Take the cloak from his face and at first 314 That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers . 83 That second time they hunted me . .113 That's my last Duchess painted on the wall 2 That was I, you heard last night . . 14 The fancy I had to-day .... 282 The gray sea and the long black land . 81 The Lord we look to once for all . . 275 The morn when first it thunders in March 339 The Poet's age is sad: for why . . 453 The rain set early in to-night . . . 257 There 's a palace in Florence, the world knows well 96 The year's at the spring . . . .39 This is a spray the Bird clung to -83 Touch him ne'er so lightly, into song he broke Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity . . 138 Wanting is What ..... 449 We were two lovers ; let me lie by her . 237 What a pretty tale you told me . . 444 What is he buzzing in my ears . . 306 What 's become of Waring . . . 107 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles 103 " Why?" Because all I haply can and do 452 ['Will sprawl, now that the heat of day is best 191 Woe, he went galloping into the war . 454 Would it were I had been false, not you . 230 Would that the structure brave, the mani- fold music I build ..... 152 Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees 157 You know, we French stormed Ratisbon 43 You "re my friend . . 19 - , t ' y -^ J //^-1 - / X x ' -^**^ , # ^v 7 UC SOUTHERN REGONA A 000110182 3