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 3 1924 013 443 050 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013443050 
 
PAULINE. 
 
Of this book 
 Fowr hundred cojjies have been printed. 
 
PAULINE; 
 
 A FEAGMENT OF A CONF^ISSION. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 A REPRINT OF THE ORIGINAL EDITION OF 1833. 
 
 EDITED 
 
 BY THOMAS J. WISE. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY EICHARD CLAY AND SONS. 
 
 1886. 
 
PREFATOEY NOTE. 
 
PREFATOEY NOTE. 
 
 So long ago as 1833 was first published the 
 little volume of which the present is a close 
 ■ page-for-page reprint. The poet was then in 
 his twenty-first year, and Pauline was — as ' all 
 the world ' now knows — his maiden work. This 
 fact alone would be a sufficient reason to adduce 
 in justification of the production to-day of a 
 ' fac-simile ' reprint of it. But considering also 
 that the little volume has now become so scarce 
 that very few of the numerous collectors of 
 Browning Ana can ever hope to possess a copy, 
 the need for its reproduction is beyond question. 
 Of course the poem is ■ to be found in Mr. 
 Browning's collected Works (vol. i. pp. 1—41), 
 where all who will may read it; but to myself, 
 and doubtless to many of my fellow-members of 
 the Browning Society, there is a sentiment attach- 
 ing to the very form in which a book of this 
 description first appeared which is entirely 
 
X PREFATOET NOTE. 
 
 wanting if the same work is perused in another 
 dress ; and therefore, failing the original, we 
 are only too glad of the opportunity of providing 
 ourselves with a good likeness of it. It is in 
 this sentiment that the true book-lover finds his 
 pleasure, and not in the mere massing together 
 of many volumes, simply because they are ' curious ' 
 or ' scarce,' as persons who are not collectors 
 frequently suppose. 
 
 Pauline is a large old-fashioned duodecimo 
 volume of three sheets, its pages measuring — 
 when 'uncut' — 7f x 4| inches. In all respects 
 save the paper, which it has been found absolutely 
 impossible to match exactly, the present reprint 
 may be considered a very good and precise repre- 
 sentation of it. 
 
 When inserting the poem in his collected Works, 
 Mr. Browning recast entirely the whole of the 
 punctuation, a, change which rendered clear and 
 siniple several passages which had before seemed 
 somewhat involved. The minute and careful man- 
 ner in which this was done will be readily seen 
 if a close comparison between the two versions 
 be made, for the variations in the pointing number 
 at least two or three in every line. Beyond the 
 correction of one or two printers' errors, however, 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. xi 
 
 the text was allowed to remain almost intact, only- 
 two fresh readings being introduced. The first of 
 these is on page 30, where the asterisks are removed, 
 and their place supplied by the following : — 
 
 " And my choice fell 
 Not so mucli on a system as a man " 
 
 The second change will be found on page 33, 
 where the last line (" Well I remember * * * * ") 
 is quietly dropped. 
 
 It is from Mr. Browning's own copy of the 
 original edition of Pauline that this reprint has 
 been executed, and I have to return to him my 
 warmest thanks for his ready kindness in lending 
 us the little book. In addition to this, the 
 gratitude of every reader is due to him for his 
 prompt and courteous consent to the volume 
 being reproduced at all. 
 
 Thomas J. Wise. 
 
PAULINE; 
 
 FRAGMENT OE A CONEESSION, 
 
 Plus ue suis ce que j'ai ete, 
 Et ne lo SQaurois jamais etre. 
 
 Mabot. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STEEET. 
 
 1833. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY SJ REET, STRAND. 
 
NoN dubito, quin titulus libri nostri raritate suS quamplu- 
 rimos alliciat ad legendum : inter quos nonnulli obliqure 
 opinionis, mente languidi, multi etiam maligni, et in iuge- 
 nium nostrum ingrati aocedent, qui temerariS sua ignorantia, 
 vix conspecto titulo clamabunt : Nos vetita docere, haere- 
 sium semina jacere : piis auribus offendiculo, prseclaris ingeniia 
 soandalo esse : . . . . adeo conscientise suae consulentes, ut 
 nee Apollo, neo Musse omnes, neque Angelus de ccelo me ab 
 illorum exedratione vindicare queant : quibus et ego nunc 
 consulo, ne scripta nostra legant, nee intelligant, nee memi- 
 nerint : nam noxia sunt, venenosa sunt : Acherontis OBtium 
 est in hoc libro, lapides loquitur, caveant, ne cerebrum illis 
 exoutiat. Vos autem, qui sequS. mente ad legendum venitis, 
 si tantam prudentise discretionem adliibueritis, quantam in 
 melle legendo apes, jam seouri legite. Puto namque vos et 
 utUitatis baud parum et voluptatis plurimiim accepturos. 
 Quod si qua repereritis, quse vobis non placeant, mittite ilia, 
 neo utimini. Nam et ego vobis illa non Pkobo, sed 
 
 Narko. C»tera tamen propterea non respuite 
 
 Ideo, si- quid iiberius dictum sit, ignoscite adolescentise nos- 
 trse, qui minor quam adolescens hoc opus composui. — H. Cor 
 Agrippa, De Occult. Phil. 
 
 London, January, 1833. 
 r. A. XX. 
 
PAULINE. 
 
 Pauline, mine own, bend o'er me — thy soft breast 
 Shall pant to mine — bend o'er me — thy sweet eyes, 
 And loosened hair, and breathing lips, and arms 
 Drawing me to thee — these build up a screen 
 To shut me in with thee, and from all fear, 
 So that I might unlock the sleepless-brood- 
 Of fancies from my soul, their lurking place, 
 Nor doubt that each would pass, ne'er to return 
 
6 PAULINE. 
 
 To one so watched, so loved, and so secured. 
 But what can guard thee but thy naked love ? 
 Ah, dearest ! whoso sucks a poisoned wound 
 Envenoms his own veins, — thou art so good. 
 So calm — if thou should'st wear a brow less light 
 For some wild thought which, but for me, were kept 
 From out thy soul, as from a sacred star. 
 Yet till I have unlocked them it were vain 
 To hope to sing ; some woe would light on me ; 
 Nature would point at one, whose quiveri^Jip 
 Was bathed in her enchantments — whose brow burned 
 Beneath the crown, to which her secrets knelt ; 
 Who learned the spell which can caU up the dead, 
 And then departed, smiling like a fiend 
 Who has deceived God. If such one should seek 
 Again her altars, and stand robed and crowned 
 Amid the faithful : sad confession first. 
 
PAULINE. 7 
 
 Remorse and pardon, and old claims renewed, 
 Ere I can be — as I shall be no more. 
 
 I had been spared this shame, if I had sate 
 By thee for ever, from the first, in place 
 Of my wild dreams of beauty and of good, 
 Or with them, as an earnest of their truth. 
 No thought nor hope, having been shut from thee. 
 No vague wish unexplained — no wandering aim 
 Sent back to bind on Fancy's wings, and seek 
 Some strange fair world, where it might be a law ; 
 But doubting nothing, had been led by thee, 
 Thro' youth, and saved, as oTie at length awaked. 
 Who has slept thro' a peril. Ah ! vain, vain ! 
 
 Thou lovest me — the past is in its grave, 
 
 Tho' its ghost haunts us — still this much is ours. 
 
8 PAULINE. 
 
 To cast away restraint, lest a worse thing 
 Wait for us in the darkness. Thou lovest me, 
 And thou art to receive not love, but faith, 
 For which thou wilt be mine, and smile, and take 
 All shapes, and shames, and veil without a fear 
 That form which music follows like a slave ; 
 And I look to thee, and I trust in thee. 
 As in a Northern night one looks alway 
 Unto the East for mom, and spring and joy. 
 Thou seest then my aimless, hopeless state. 
 And resting on some few old feelings, won 
 Back by thy beauty, would'st that I essay 
 The task, which was to me what now thou art : 
 And why should I conceal one weakness more ? 
 
 Thou wilt remember one warm morn, when Winter 
 Crept aged from the earth, and Spring's first breath 
 
PAULINE. 9 
 
 Blew soft from the moist hills — the black-thorn 
 
 boughs, 
 So dark in the bare wood ; when glistening 
 In the sunshine were white with coming buds, 
 Like the bright side of a sorrow — and the banks 
 Had violets opening from sleep like eyes — 
 I walked with thee, who knew not a deep shame 
 Lurked beneath smiles and careless words, which 
 
 sought 
 To hide it — till they wandered and were mute ; 
 As we stood listening on a sunny mound 
 To the wind murmuring in the damp copse, 
 Like heavy breathings of some hidden thing 
 Betrayed by sleep — until the feeling rushed 
 That I was low indeed, yet not so low 
 As to endure the calmness of thine eyes ; 
 And so I told thee all, while the cool breast 
 
 A 5 
 
10 PAULINE. 
 
 I leaned on altered not its quiet beating ; 
 
 And long ere words, like a hurt bird's complaint, 
 
 Bade me look up and be what I had been, 
 
 I felt despair could never live by thee. 
 
 Thou wilt remember : — ^thou art not more dear 
 
 Than song was once to me ; and I ne'er sung 
 
 But as one entering bright halls, where all 
 
 Will rise and shout for him. Sure I must own 
 
 That I am fallen — ^having chosen gifts 
 
 Distinct from theirs — that I am sad — and fain 
 
 Would give up aU to be but where I was ; 
 
 Not high as I had been, if faithfal found — 
 
 But low and weak, yet full of hope, and sure 
 
 Of goodness as of life — that I would lose 
 
 All this gay mastery of mind, to sit 
 
 Once more with them, trusting in truth and love, 
 
 And with an aim — not being what I am. 
 
PAULINE. ' 11 
 
 Oh, Pauline ! I am ruined ! who believed 
 
 That tho' my soul had floated from its sphere 
 
 Of wide dominion into the dim orb 
 
 Of self — that it was strong and free as ever : — 
 
 It has conformed itself to that dim orb, 
 
 Keflecting all its shades and shapes, and now 
 
 Must stay where it alone can be adored. 
 
 I have felt this in dreams — in dreams in which 
 
 I seemed the fate from which I fled ; I felt 
 
 A strange delight in causing my decay ; 
 
 I was a fiend, in darkness chained for ever 
 
 Within some ocean-cave ; and ages rolled, 
 
 Till thro' the cleft rock, like a moonbeam, came 
 
 A white swan to remain with me ; and ages 
 
 EoUed, yet I tired not of my first joy 
 
 In gazing on the peace of its pure wings. 
 
 And then I said, " It is most fair to me, 
 
12 PAULINE. 
 
 " Yet its soft wings must sure have suffered change 
 " From the thick darkness — sure its eyes are dim — 
 " Its silver pinions must be cramped and numbed 
 " With sleeping ages here ; it cannot leave me, 
 " For it would seem, in light, beside its kind, 
 " Withered — ^tho' here to me most beautiful." 
 And then I was a young witch, whose blue eyes, 
 As she stood naked by the river springs. 
 Drew down a god — I watched his radiant form 
 Growing less radiant — and it gladdened me ; 
 Tin one mom, as he sat in the sunshine 
 Upon my knees, «inging to me of heaven, 
 He turned to look at me, ere I could lose 
 The grin with which I viewed his perishing. 
 And he shrieked and departed, and sat long 
 By his deserted throne — but sunk at last. 
 Murmuring, as I kissed his lips and curled 
 
PAULINE. 13 
 
 Around him, " I am still a god — to thee." 
 Still I can lay my soul bare in its fall, 
 For all the wandering and aU the weakness 
 Will be a saddest comment on the song. 
 And if, that done, I can be young again, 
 I will give up aU gained as willingly 
 As one gives up a charm which shuts him out 
 From hope, or part, or care, in human kind. 
 As life wanes, all its cares, and strife, and toil. 
 Seem strangely valueless, while the old trees 
 Which grew by our youth's home — the waving 
 
 mass 
 Of climbing plants, heavy with bloom and dew — 
 The morning swallows with their songs like words, — 
 All these seem clear and only worth our thoughts. 
 
 So aught connected with my early life 
 
 My rude songs or my wild imaginings, 
 
14 PAULINE. 
 
 How I look on them — most distinct amid 
 The fever and the stir of after years ! 
 
 I ne'er had ventured e'en to hope for this, 
 Had not the glow I felt at His award, 
 Assured me all was not extinct within. 
 Him whom all honor — whose renown springs up 
 Like sunlight which will visit all the world ; 
 So that e'en they who sneered at him at first, 
 Come out to it, as some dark spider crawls 
 From his foul nets, which some lit torch invades. 
 Yet spinning still new films for his retreat. — 
 Thou didst smile, poet, — but, can we forgive ? 
 
 x^ Sun-treader — life and light be thine for ever ; 
 
 ^ Thou art gone from us — ^years go by — and spring 
 
 Gladdens, and the young earth is beautiful. 
 
PAULINE. 15 
 
 Yet thy songs come not — other bards arise, 
 But none like thee — they stand — thy majesties, 
 Like mighty works which tell some Spirit there 
 Hath sat regardless of neglect and scorn, 
 TiU, its long task completed, it hath risen 
 And left us, never to return : and all 
 Rush in to peer and praise when all in vain. 
 The air seems bright with thy past presence yet, 
 But thou art still for me, as thou hast been 
 When I have stood with thee, as on a throne 
 With all thy dim creations gathered round 
 Like mountains, — and I felt of mould like them, 
 And creatures of my own were mixed with them, 
 Like things half-lived, catching and giving life. 
 But thou art still for me, who have adored, 
 Tho' single, panting but to hear thy name. 
 Which I believed a spell to me alone, 
 
16 PAULINE, 
 
 Scarce deeming thou wert as a star to men— 
 
 As one should worship long a sacred spring 
 
 Scarce worth a moth's flitting, which long grasses 
 
 cross. 
 And pne small tree embowers droopingly. 
 Joying to see some wandering insect won. 
 To live in its few rushes — or some locust 
 To pasture on its boughs — or some wild bird 
 Stoop for its freshness from the trackless air, 
 And then should find it but the fountain-head. 
 Long lost, of some great river — washing towns 
 And towers, and seeing old woods which will live 
 But by its banks, untrod of human foot. 
 Which, when the great sun sinks, lie quivering 
 In light as some thing lieth half of life 
 Before God's foot — waiting a wondrous change 
 — Then girt with rocks which seek to turn or stay 
 
PAULINE. 17 
 
 Its course in vain, for it does ever spread 
 Like a sea's arm as it goes rolling on, 
 Being the pulse of some great country — so 
 Wert thou to me — and art thou to the world. 
 And I, perchance, half feel a strange regret, 
 That I am not what I have been to thee : 
 Like a girl one has loved long silently, 
 In her first loveliness, in some retreat. 
 When first emerged, all gaze and glow to view 
 Her fresh eyes, and soft hair, and lips which bleed 
 Like a mountain berry. Doubtless it is sweet 
 To see her thus adored — ^but there have been 
 Moments, when all the world was in his praise. 
 Sweeter than all the pride of after hours. 
 Yet, Sun-treader, all hail ! — from my heart's heart 
 I bid thee bail ! — e'en in my wildest dreams, 
 I am proud to feel I would have thrown up all 
 
] 8 PAULINE. 
 
 The wreathes of fame which seemed o'erhanging me, 
 To have seen thee, for a moment, as thou art. 
 
 And if thou livest — if thou lovest, spirit ! 
 
 Remember me, who set this final seal 
 
 To wanderingjthought — that one so pure as thou 
 
 Could never die. Remember me, who flung 
 
 All honor from my soul — yet paused and said, 
 
 " There is one spark of love remaining yet, 
 
 " For I have nought in common with him — shapes 
 
 " Which followed him avoid me, and foul forms 
 
 " Seek me, which ne'er could fasten on his mind ; 
 
 " And tho' I feel how low I am to him, 
 
 " Yet I aim not even to catch a tone 
 
 " Of all the harmonies which he called up, 
 
 " So one gleam still remains, altho' the last." 
 
 Remember me — who praise thee e'en with tears. 
 
PAULINE. 19 
 
 For never more shall I walk calm with thee ; 
 Thy sweet imaginings are as an air, 
 A melody, some wond'rous singer sings. 
 Which, though it haunt men oft in the still eve. 
 They dream not to essay ; yet it no less. 
 But more is honored. I was thine in shame. 
 And now when all thy proud renown is out, 
 I am a watcher, whose eyes have grown dim 
 With looking for some star — which breaks on him, 
 Altered, and worn, and weak, and full of tears. 
 
 Autumn has come — like Spring returned to us. 
 Won from her girlishness — like one returned 
 A friend that was a lover — nor forgets 
 The first warm love, but full of sober thoughts 
 Of fading years ; whose soft mouth quivers yet 
 With the old smile — but yet so changed and still ! 
 
20 PAULINE. 
 
 And here am I the scoffer, who have probed 
 
 Life's vanity, won by a word again 
 
 Into my old life — for one little word 
 
 Of this sweet friend, who lives in loving me. 
 
 Lives strangely on my thoughts, and looks, and words, 
 
 As fathoms down some nameless ocean thing 
 
 Its silent course of quietness and joy. 
 
 dearest, if, indeed, I tell the past, 
 May'st thou forget it as a sad. sick dream ; 
 Or if it linger — my lost soul too soon 
 Sinks to itself, and whispers, we shaU be 
 
 But closer linked — two creatures whom the earth 
 Bears singly— with strange feelings; unrevealed 
 But to each other ; or two lonely things 
 Created by some Power, whose reign is done. 
 Having no part in God, or his bright world, 
 
 1 am to sing ; whilst ebbing day dies soft, 
 
PAULINE. 21 
 
 As a lean scholar dies, worn o'er his book, 
 And in the heayen stars steal out one by one. 
 As hunted men steal to their mountain watch. 
 I must not think — lest this new impulse die 
 In which I trust. I have no confidencOy 
 I So I wiU sing on — fast as fancies come 
 \ Rudely — the verse being as the mood it paints. 
 
 I strip my mind bare^whose first elements 
 I shall unveil — not as they struggled forth 
 In infancy, nor as they now exist. 
 That' I am grown above them, and can rule them, 
 But in that middle stage, when they were full. 
 Yet ere I had disposed them to my will ; 
 And then I shall show how these elements 
 Produced my present state, and what it is. 
 
22 PAULINE. 
 
 1 am made up of an intensest life, 
 
 I 
 
 Of a most clear idea of consciousness 
 
 Of self — distinct from all its qualities. 
 
 From all affections, passions, feelings, powers; 
 
 And thus far it exists, if tracked in all. 
 
 But linked in me, to self-supremacy. 
 
 Existing as a centre to all things, 
 
 Most potent to create, and rule, and caU 
 
 Upon all things to minister to it ; 
 
 And to a principle of restlessness 
 
 Which would be all, have, see, know, taste, feel, all- 
 
 This is myself;' and I should thus have been, 
 
 Though gifted lower than the meanest soul. 
 
 And of 'my powers, one springs up to save 
 From utter death a soul with such desires 
 Confined to clay— which is the only one 
 
PAULINE. 23 
 
 Which marks me — an im agination w hich 
 Has been an angel to me — coming not 
 In fitful visions, but beside me ever, 
 And never failing me; so tho' my mind 
 Forgets not — not a shred of life forgets — 
 Yet I can take a secret pride in calling 
 The dark past up — to quell it regally., 
 
 A mind like this must dissipate itself, 
 But I have always had one lode-star ; now. 
 As I look back, I see that I have wasted, 
 Or progressed as I looked toward that star — 
 A need, a trust, a yearning after God, 
 A feeling I have analysed but late. 
 But it existed, and was reconciled 
 With a neglect of all I deemed his laws. 
 Which yet, when seen in others, I abhorred. 
 
24 PAULINE. 
 
 I felt as one beloved, and so sHut in 
 
 From fear — and thence I date my trust in signs 
 
 And omens — for I saw God every where ; 
 
 And I can only lay it to the fruit 
 
 Of a sad after-time that I could doubt 
 
 Even his being — having always felt 
 
 His presence — never acting from myself, 
 
 Still trusting in a hand that leads me through 
 
 All danger ; and this feeling still has fought 
 
 Against my weakest reason and resolves. 
 
 And I can love nothing — and this dull truth 
 Has come the, last — but sense supplies a love 
 Encircling me and mingling with my life. 
 
 These make myself — for I have sought in vain 
 To trace how they were formed by circumstance, 
 
PAULINE. 25 
 
 For I still find them — turning my wild youth 
 Where they alone displayed themselves, converting 
 All objects to their use — now see their course 1 
 
 They came to me in my first dawn of life, 
 Which passed alone with wisest ancient books. 
 All Ealo-girt with fancies of my own. 
 And I myself went with the tale — a god, 
 Wandering after beauty — or a giant, 
 Standing vast in the sunset — an old hunter, 
 Talking with gods — or a high-crested chief. 
 Sailing with troops of friends to Tenedos ; — 
 I tell you, nought has ever been so clear 
 As the place, the time, the fashion of those lives. 
 I had not seen a work of lofty art. 
 Nor woman's beauty, nor sweet nature's face. 
 Yet, I say, never morn broke clear as those 
 
 B 
 
26 PAULINE. 
 
 On the dim clustered isles in the blue sea : 
 
 The deep groves, and white temples, and wet caves— 
 
 And nothing ever wiU surprise me now — 
 
 Who stood beside the naked Swift-footed, 
 
 Who bound my forehead with Proserpine's hair. 
 
 An' strange it is, that I who could so dream, 
 
 Should e'er have stooped to aim at aught beneath — 
 
 Aught low, or painful, but I never doubted ; 
 
 So as I grew, I rudely shaped my life 
 
 To my immediate wants, yet strong beneath 
 
 Was a vague sense of powers folded up — 
 
 A sense that tho' those shadowy times were past, 
 
 Their spirit dwelt in me, and I should rule. 
 
 Then came a pause, and long restraint chained 
 down 
 
PAULINE. 27 
 
 My soul, till it was changed. I lost myself, 
 And were it not that I so loathe that time, 
 I could recall how first I learned to turn 
 My mind against itself; and the effects, 
 In deeds for which remorse were vain, as for 
 The wanderings of delirious dream ; yet thence 
 Came cunning, envy, falsehood, which so long 
 Have spotted me — at length I was restored, 
 Yet long the influence remained ; and nought 
 But the still life I led, apart from all, 
 Which left my soul to seek its old delights, 
 Could e'er have brought me thus far back to peace. 
 As peace returned, I sought out some pursuit : 
 And song rose — no new impulse — but the one 
 With which all others best could be combined. 
 My life has not been that of those whose heaven 
 Was lampless, save where poesy shone out ; 
 
 B 2 
 
28 PAULINE. 
 
 But as a clime, where glittering mountain-tops, 
 And glancing sea, and forests steeped in light. 
 Give back reflected the far-flashing sun ; 
 [For music, (which is earnest of a heaven, 
 Seeing we know emotions strange by it. 
 Not else to be revealed,) is as a voice, 
 A low voice calling Fancy, as a friend, 
 To the green woods in the gay summer time. 
 And she fiUs all the way with dancing shapes, 
 Which have made painters pale ; and they go on 
 While stars look at them, and winds call to them, 
 As they leave life's path for the twilight world. 
 Where the dead gather. This was not at first. 
 For I scarce knew what I would do. I had 
 No wish to paint, no yearning — but I sang. 
 
 And first I sang, as I in dream have seen. 
 
PAULINE. 29 
 
 Mtisic wait on a lyrist for some thought, " 
 Yet singing to herself until it came. 
 I turned to those old times and scenes, where all 
 That's beautiful had birth for me, and made 
 Rude verses on them all ; and then I paused^r 
 I had done nothing, so I sought to know 
 What mind had yet achieved. No fear was mine 
 A& I gazed on the works of mighty bards. 
 In the first joy at finding my own thoughts 
 Recorded, and my powers exemplified. 
 And feeling their aspirings were my own. 
 And then, I first explored passion and niind ; 
 And I began afiresh ; I rather sought 
 To rival what I wondered at, than form 
 Creations of my own ; so much was light 
 Lent back by others, yet much was my own. 
 
30 PAULINK 
 
 I paused again — a change was coming on, 
 I was no more a boy — the past was breaking 
 Before the coming, and like fever worked. 
 I first thoiight on myself — and here my powers 
 Burst out. I dreamed not of restraint, but gazed 
 On all things : schemes and systems went and came. 
 And I was proud (being vainest of the weak), 
 In wandering o'er them, to seek out some one 
 To be my own ; as one should wander o'er 
 The white way for a star. 
 
 * # » * 
 
 On one, whom praise of mine would not offend, 
 
 Who was as calm as beauty — being such 
 
 Unto mankind as thou to me, Pauline, 
 
 Believing in them, and devoting all 
 
 His soul's strength to their winning back to peace ; 
 
 Who sent forth hopes and longings for their sake, 
 
PAULINE. 31 
 
 Clottied in all passion's melodies, which first 
 
 Caught me, and set me, as to a sweet task, 
 
 To gather every breathing of his songs. 
 
 And woven with them there were words, which seemed 
 
 A key to a new world ; the muttering 
 
 Of angels, of some thing unguessed by man. 
 
 How my heart beat, as I went on, and found 
 
 Much there ! I felt my own mind had conceived, 
 
 But there living and burning ; soon the whole 
 
 Of his conceptions dawned on me ; their praise 
 
 Is in the tongues of men ; men's brows are high 
 
 When his name means a triumph and a pride ; 
 
 So my weak hands may well forbear to dim 
 
 What then seemed my bright fate : I threw myself 
 
 To meet it. I was vowed to liberty. 
 
 Men were to be as gods, and earth as heaven. 
 
 And I — ah I what a life was mine to be. 
 
32 PAULINE. 
 
 My whole soul rose to meet it. Now, Pauline, 
 
 I shall go mad, if I recall that time. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 O let me look back, e'er I leave for ever 
 The time, which was an hour, that one waits 
 For a fair girl, that comes a withered hag. 
 And I was lonely, — far from woods and fields, 
 And amid dullest sights, who should be loose 
 As a stag — yet I was full of joy — who lived 
 With Plato — and who had the key to life. 
 And I had dimly shaped my first attempt, 
 And many a thought did I build up on thought, 
 As the wild bee hangs cell to cell — in-vain ; 
 For I must still go on : my mind rests not. 
 
 'Twas in my plan to look on real life. 
 Which was all new to me ; my theories 
 
PAULINE. 33 
 
 Were firm, so I left them, to look upon 
 Men, and their cares, and hopes, and fears, and joys ; 
 And, as I pondered on them all, I sought 
 How best life's end might be attained — an end 
 Comprising every joy. I deeply mused. 
 
 And suddenly, without heart-wreck, I awoke 
 
 As from a dream— I said, 'twas beautiful, 
 
 Tjpt but a dream ; and so adieu to it. 
 
 As some world-wanderer sees in a far meadow 
 
 Strange towers, and -walled gardens, thick with trees, 
 
 Where singing goes on, and delicious mirth, 
 
 And laughing fairy creatures peeping over, 
 
 And on the morrow, when he comes to live 
 
 For ever by those springs, and trees, fruit-flushed 
 
 And fairy bowers — all his search is vain. 
 
 Well I remember * * * * 
 
 B 5 
 
34 PAULINE. 
 
 First went my hopes of perfecting mankind, 
 
 And faith in them — then freedom in itself, 
 
 And virtue in itself — and then my motives' ends, 
 
 And powers and loves ; and human love went last. 
 
 I felt this no decay, because new powers 
 
 Rose as old feelings left — wit, mockery. 
 
 And happiness ; for I had oft been sad. 
 
 Mistrusting my resolves : but now I cast 
 
 Hope joyously away — I laughed and said, 
 
 " No more of this " — I must not think ; at length 
 
 I look'd again to see how all went on. 
 
 My powers were greater — as some temple seemed 
 My soul, where nought is changed, and incense rolls 
 Around the altar — only God is gone. 
 And some dark spirit sitteth in his seat 1 
 So I passed through the temple ] and to me 
 
PAULINE. 35 
 
 Knelt troops of shadows; and they cried, " Hail, king ! 
 " We serve thee now, and thou shalt serve no more ! 
 " Call on us, prove us, let us worship thee ! " 
 And I said, " Are ye strong — let fancy bear me 
 " Far from the past." — And I was borne away 
 As Arab birds float sleeping in the wind, 
 O'er deserts, towers, and forests, I being calm ; 
 And I said, " I have nursed up energies, 
 " They will prey on me." And a band knelt low. 
 And cried, " Lord, we are here, and we will make 
 "A way for thee — in thine appointed life 
 " look on us ! " And I said, " Ye will worship 
 " Me ; but my heart must worship too." They shouted, 
 " Thyself — thou art our king ! " So I stood there 
 Smiling ****** 
 
 And buoyant and rejoicing was the spirit 
 
36 PAULINE. 
 
 With which I looked out how to end my days; 
 
 I felt once more myself— my powers were mine; 
 
 I found that youth or health so lifted me, 
 
 That, spite of aU life's vanity, no grief 
 
 Came nigh me — I must ever be light-hearted ;• 
 
 And that this feeling was the only veil 
 
 Betwixt me and despair : so if age came, 
 
 I should be as a wreck linked to a soul 
 
 Yet fluttering, or mind -broken, and aware 
 
 Of my decay. So a long summer morn 
 
 Found me ; and e'er noon came, I had resolved 
 
 No age should come on me, ere youth's hopes went, 
 
 For I would wear myself out — like that mom 
 
 Which wasted not a sunbeam — every joy 
 
 I would make mine, and die ; and thus I sought 
 
 To chain my spirit down, which I had fed 
 
 With thoughts of fame. I said, the troubled life 
 
PAULINE. 37 
 
 Of genius seen so bright when working forth 
 Some trusted end, seems sad, when all in vain — 
 Most sad, wiien men have parted with all joy 
 For their wild fancy's sake, which waited first, 
 As an obedient spirit, when delight 
 Came not with her alone, but alters soon, 
 Coming darkened, seldom, hasting to depart, 
 Leaving a heavy darkness and warm tears. 
 
 But I shall never lose her ; she will live 
 
 Brighter for such seclusion — I but catch 
 
 A hue, a glance of what I sing, so pain 
 
 Is linked with pleasure, for I ne'er may tell 
 
 The radiant sights which dazzle me .; but now 
 
 They shall be all my own, and let them fade 
 
 Untold — others shall rise as fair, as fast. 
 
 And whenall's done, the few dim gleams transferred, — 
 
3» PAULINE. 
 
 (For a new thought sprung up — that it were well 
 
 To leave all shado wy hop es, and weave such lays 
 
 As would encircle me with praise and love ; 
 
 So I should not die utterly — I should bring 
 
 One branch from the gold forest, like the knight 
 
 Of old tales, witnessing I had been there,) — 
 
 And when all's done, how vain seems e'en success, 
 
 And aU the influence poets have o'er men ! 
 
 'Tis a fine thing that one, weak as myself. 
 
 Should sit in his lone room, knowing the words . 
 
 He utters in his solitude shall move 
 
 Men like a swift wind — that tho' he be forgotten. 
 
 Fair eyes shall glisten when his beauteous dreams 
 
 Of love come true in happier frames than his. 
 
 Ay, the still night brought thoughts like these, but 
 
 morn 
 Came, and the mockery again laughed out 
 
PAULINE. 89 
 
 At hollow praises, and smiles, almost sneers ; 
 
 And my soul's idol seemed to whisper me 
 
 To dwell with him and his unhonoured name — 
 
 And I well knew my spirit, that would he 
 
 First in the struggle, and again would make 
 
 All bow to it ; and I would sink again. 
 
 * * at * * 
 
 And then know that this curse wiU come on us, 
 
 To see our idols perish — we may wither, 
 
 Kor marvel — we are clay ; but our low fate 
 
 Should not extend them, whom trustingly 
 
 We sent before into Time's yawning gulf. 
 
 To face what e'er may lurk in darkness there — 
 
 To see the painters' glory pass, and feel 
 
 Sweet music move us not as once, or worst, 
 
 To see decaying wits ere the frail body 
 
 Decays. Nought makes me trust in love so really, 
 
40 PAULINK 
 
 As the delight of the contented lowness 
 
 With which I gaze on souls I'd keep for ever 
 
 In beauty — I'd be sad to equal them ; 
 
 I'd feed their fame e'en from my heart's best blood. 
 
 Withering unseen, that they might flourish stiU. 
 * * * ' * « 
 
 Pauline, my sweet friend, thou dost not forget 
 
 How this mood swayed me, when thou first wert mine, 
 
 When I had set myself to live this life, 
 
 Defying all opinion. Ere thou earnest 
 
 I was most happy, sweet, for old delights 
 
 Had come like birds again ; music, my life, 
 
 I nourished more than ever, and old lore 
 
 Loved for itself, and all it shows — the kin? 
 
 Treading the purple calmly to his death, 
 
 — While round him, like the clouds of eve, all dusk. 
 
 The giant shades of fate, silently flitting. 
 
PAULINE. 41 
 
 Pile the dim outline of the coming doom, 
 
 — And him sitting alone in blood, while friends 
 
 Are hunting far in the sunshine ; and the boy, 
 
 With his white breast and brow and clustering curls 
 
 Streaked with his mother's blood, and striving hard 
 
 To tell his story ere his reason goes. 
 
 And when I loved thee, as I've loved so oft, 
 
 Thou lovedst me, and I wondered, and looked in 
 
 My heart to find some feeling like such love, 
 
 Believing I was still what I had been ; 
 
 And soon I found all faith had gone from me. 
 
 And the late glow of life — changing like clouds, 
 
 'Twas not the mom-blush widening into day, 
 
 But evening, coloured by the dying sun 
 
 While darkness is quick hastening : — I will tell 
 
 My state as though 'twere none of mine — despair 
 
 Cannot come near me — thus it is with me. 
 
42 PAULINE. 
 
 Souls alter not, aad mine must progress still ; 
 
 And this I knew not when I flung away 
 
 My youth's chief aims. I ne'er supposed the loss 
 
 Of what few I retained ; for no resource 
 
 Awaits me — now behold the change of all. 
 
 I cannot chain my soul,: it will not rest 
 
 In its clay prison ; this most narrow sphere — 
 
 It has strange powers, and feelings, and desires. 
 
 Which I cannot account for, nor explain. 
 
 But which I stifle not, being bound to trust 
 
 AH feelings equally — to hear all sides : 
 
 Yet I cannot indulge them, and they live, 
 
 Referring to some state or life unknown. .^ . 
 
 My selfishness is satiated not. 
 
 It wears me like a flame ; my hunger for 
 
 All pleasui-e, howsoe'er minute, is pain ; 
 
PAULINE. 43 
 
 I envy — liow I envy him whose mind 
 Turns with its energies to some one end 1 
 To elevate a sect, or a pursuit. 
 However mean — so my stUl baffled hopes 
 Seek out abstractions ; I would have but one 
 Delight on earth, so it were wholly mine ; 
 One rapture all my soul could fill- — and this 
 Wild feeling places me in dream afar, 
 In some wide country, where the eye can see 
 No end to the far hills and dales bestrewn 
 With shining towers and dwellings. I grow mad 
 Well-nigh, to know not one abode but holds 
 Some pleasure — for my soul could grasp them all, 
 But must jemain with this vile form. I look 
 With hope to age at lastj which quencMng much. 
 May let me concentrate the sparks it spares. 
 
44 PAULINE. 
 
 This restlessness of passion meets in me 
 A craving after knowledge : the sole proof 
 Of a commanding will is in that power 
 Eepressed ; for I beheld it in its dawn. 
 That sleepless harpy, with its budding wings, 
 And I considered whether I should yield 
 All hopes and fears, to live alone with it. 
 Finding a recompence in its wild eyes ; 
 And when I' found that I should perish so, 
 I bade its wild eyes close from me for ever ; — 
 And I am left alone with my delights, — 
 So it lies in me a chained thing — still ready 
 To serve me, if I loose its slightest bond — 
 I cannot but be proud of my bright slave. 
 
 And thus I know this earth is not my sphere. 
 For I cannot so narrow me, but that 
 
PAULINE. 45 
 
 I still exceed it ; in their elements 
 My love would pass my reason — but since here 
 Love must receive its objects from this earth, 
 While reason will be chainless, the few truths 
 Caught from its wanderings have sufficed to quell 
 All love below ; — then what must be that love 
 Which, with the object it demands, would quell 
 Reason, tho' it soared with the seraphim ? 
 No — what I feel may pass all- human love, 
 Yet fall far short of what my love should be ; 
 And yet I seem more warped in this than aught 
 For here myself stands out more hideously. 
 I can forget myself in friendship, fame. 
 
 Or liberty, or love of mighty souls. 
 
 * • « * 
 
 But I begin to know what thing hate is — 
 To sicken, and to quiver, and grow white. 
 
4<6 PAULINE. 
 
 And I myself have fumislied its first prey. 
 All my sad weaknesses, this wavering will. 
 This selfishness, this still decaying frame . . . 
 But I must never grieve while I can pass 
 Far from such thoughts — as now — Andromeda 1 
 And she is with me — years roll, I shall change. 
 But change can touch her not — so beautiful 
 With her dark eyes, earnest and still, and hair 
 Lifted and spread by the salt-sweeping breeze ; 
 And one red-beam, aU the storm leaves in heaven, 
 Besting upon her eyes and face and hair. 
 As she awaits the snake on the wet beach. 
 By the dark rock, and the white wave just breaking 
 At her feet ; quite naked and alone, — a thing 
 You doubt not, nor fear for, secure that God 
 Will come in thunder from the stars to save her. 
 Let it pass — I will call another change. 
 
PAULINE. 47 
 
 I will be gifted with a wondrous soul. 
 Yet sunk by error to men's sympathy, 
 And in the wane of life ; yet only so 
 As to call up their fears, and there shall come 
 A time requiring youth's best energies ; 
 And strait I fling age, sorrow, sickness off. 
 
 And I rise triumphing over my decay. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 And thus it is that I supply the chasm 
 'Twixt what I am and all that I would be. 
 But then to know nothing — to hope for nothing — 
 To seize on life's dull joys from a strange fear. 
 
 Lest, losing them, all's lost, and nought remains. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 There's some vile juggle with my reason here — 
 
 I feel I but explain to my own loss 
 
 These impulses — they live no less the same. 
 
48 PAULINE. 
 
 Liberty ! what though I despair — my blood 
 Eose not at a slave's name proudlier than now, 
 And sympathy obscured by sophistries. 
 Why have not I sought refuge in myself. 
 But for the woes I saw and could not stay — 
 
 And love ! — do I not love thee, my Pauline ? 
 
 * .* • « 
 
 I cherish prejudice, lest I be left 
 
 Utterly loveless — witness this belief 
 
 In poets, tho' sad change has come there too ; 
 
 No more I leave myself to follow them : 
 
 Unconsciously I measure me by them. 
 
 Let me forget it ; and I cherish most 
 
 My love of England — how her name — a word 
 
 Of her's in a strange tongue makes my heart beat ! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Pauline, I could do any thing — not now — 
 
PAULINE. 49 
 
 All's fever — but when calm shall come again — 
 I am prepared — I have made life my own — 
 I would not be content with all the change 
 One frame should feel — but I have gone in thought 
 Thro' all conjuncture — I have lived all life 
 When it is most alive — where strangest fate 
 New shapes it past surmise — the tales of m^n 
 Bit by some curse — or in the grasps of doom 
 Half-visible and still increasing round. 
 
 Or crowning their wide being's general aim. . . . 
 * « * * 
 
 These are wild fancies, but I feel, sweet friend. 
 As one breathing his weakness to the ear 
 Of pitying angel — dear as a winter flower ; 
 A slight flower growing alone, and offering 
 Its frail cup of three leaves to the cold sun, 
 Yet joyous and confiding, like the triumph 
 
50 PAULINE. 
 
 Of a child — and why am I not worthy thee I 
 * « * * 
 
 I can live all the life of plants, and gaze 
 
 Drowsily on the bees that flit and play, 
 
 Or bare my breast for sunbeams which will kill, 
 
 Or open in the night of sounds, to look 
 
 For the dim stars ; I can mount with the bird. 
 
 Leaping airily his pyramid of leaves 
 
 And twisted boughs of some tall mountain tree, 
 
 Or rise cheerfully springing to the heavens — 
 
 Or like a fish breathe in the morning air 
 
 In the misty sun-warm water — or with flowers 
 
 And trees can smile in light at the sinking sun, 
 
 Just as the storm comes — as a girl would look 
 
 On a departing lover — most serene. 
 
 Pauline, come with me — see how I could build 
 
PAULINE. 51 
 
 A home for us, out of the world ; in thought^ 
 I am inspired — come with me, Pauline ! 
 
 Night, and one single ridge of narrow path 
 Between the sullen river and the woods 
 Waving and muttering — for the moonless night 
 Has shaped them into images of life, 
 Like the upraising of the giant-ghosts, 
 Looking on earth to know how their sons fare. 
 Thou art so close by me, the roughest swell 
 Of wind in the tree-tops hides not the panting 
 Of thy soft breasts ; no — we will pass to morning — 
 . Morning — the rocks, and vallies, and old woods. 
 How the sun brightens in the mist, and here, — 
 Half in the air, like creatures of the place, 
 Tmsting the element — Kving on high boughs 
 That swing in the wind — look at the golden spray, 
 
 c 2 
 
52 PAULINE. 
 
 Plung from the foam-slieet of the cataract, 
 Amid the broken rocks — shall we stay here 
 With the wild hawks ? — no, ere the hot noon come 
 Dive we down — safe ; — see this our new retreat 
 Walled in with a sloped mound of matted shxubs, 
 Dark, tangled, old and green — still sloping down 
 To a small pool whose waters lie asleep 
 Amid the trailing boughs turned water-plants 
 And tall trees over-arch to keep us in, 
 Breaking the sunbeams into emerald shafts, 
 And in the dreamy water one small group 
 Of two ©r three strange trees are got together, 
 Wondering at all around — as strange beasts herd 
 Together far from their own land — all wildness — 
 No turf nor moss, for boughs and plants pave aU, 
 And tongues of bank go shelving in the waters. 
 Where the pale-throated snake reclines his head. 
 
PAULINE. 53 
 
 And old grey stones lie making eddies there ; 
 The wild mice cross them dry-shod — deeper in — 
 Shut thy soft eyes — now look — still deeper in : 
 This is the very heart of the woods — all round, 
 Mountain-like, heaped above us ; yet even here 
 One pond of water gleams — far off the river 
 Sweeps like a sea, barred out from land ; but one — 
 One thin clear sheet has over-leaped and wound 
 Into this sUent depth, which gained, it lies 
 Still, as but let by sufferance ; the trees bend 
 O'er it as wild men watch a sleeping girl. 
 And thro' their roots long creeping plants stretch out 
 Their twined hair, steeped and sparkling ; farther on, 
 Tall rushes and thick flag-knots have combined 
 To narrow it ; so, at length, a silver thread 
 It winds, aU noiselessly, thro' the deep wood, 
 Till thro' a cleft way, thro' the moss and stone, 
 
54 PAULINE. 
 
 It joins its parent-river with a shout. 
 
 Up for the glowing day — leave the old woods : 
 
 See, they part, like a ruined arch, the sky ! 
 
 Nothing but sky appears, so close the root 
 
 And grass of the hill-top level with the air — 
 
 Blue sunny air, where a great cloud floats, laden 
 
 With light,- like a dead whale that white birds pick, 
 
 Floating away in the sun in some north sea. 
 
 Air, air — afresh life-blood — thin and searching air — 
 
 The clear, dear breath of God, that loveth us : 
 
 Where small birds reel and winds take their delight 
 
 Water i-s beatiful, but not like air. 
 
 See, where the solid azure waters lie, 
 
 Made as of thickened air, and down below. 
 
 The fem-ranks, like a forest spread themselves. 
 
 As tho' each pore could feel the element ; 
 
 Where the quick glancing serpent winds his way — ■ 
 
 Float with me there, Pauline, but not like air. 
 
PAULINE. 55 
 
 Down the hill — stop — a clump of trees, see, set 
 On a heap of rocks, which look o'er the far plains. 
 And envious climbing shrubs would mount to rest, 
 And peer from their spread boughs. There they 
 
 wave, looking 
 At the muleteers, who whistle as they go 
 To the merry chime of their morning bells, and all 
 The little smoking cots, and fields, and banks, 
 And copses, bright in the sun ; my spirit wanders. 
 Hedge-rows for me — still, living, hedge-rows, where 
 The bushes close, and clasp above, and keep 
 Thought in — I am concentrated — I feel ; — 
 But my soul saddens when it looks beyond ; 
 I cannot be immortal, nor taste all. 
 God ! where does this tend — these struggling aims ! * 
 
 * Je crams bien que mon pauvre ami ne soit pas toujours 
 parfaitement compris dans ce qui reste a lire de cet strange 
 
56 PAULINE. 
 
 What would I have ? what is this " sleep," which 
 
 seems 
 To bound all ? can there be a " waking " point 
 
 fragment — maia il est moins propre que tout autre k delaircir 
 ce qui de sa nature ne peut jamais etre que songe et confu- 
 sion. D'ailleurs je ne sais trop si en cherohant h mieux co- 
 ordonuer certaines parties I'on ne courrait pas le risque de 
 nuire an seul merite auquel une production si singuliere peut 
 prdtendre— celui de donner une idee assez precise du genre 
 qu'elle n'a fait que'6baucher. — Ce d^but sans pretention, ce 
 remuement des passions qui va d'abord en acoroiesant et 
 puis s'appaise par degr6s, ces 61ans de Fame, ce retour sou- 
 dain sur soi-m6me. — Et par dessus tout, la tournure d'esprit 
 toute parlioulifere de mon ami rendent les changemens presque 
 impossibles. Les raisons qu'U fait valoir ailleurs, et .d'autres 
 encore plus puissantes, ont fait trouver gr&oe k mea yeux pour 
 cet 6crit qu' autrement je lui eusse conseilld de jeter au feu — 
 Je n.''en crois pas moins au grand principe de toute composition 
 — k ce principe de Shakspeare, de Raffaelle, de Beethoven, 
 d'oii il suit que lai concentration des idtes est dlie bien plus 4 
 leur conception, qu'i leur mise en execution . . . j'ai tout lieu 
 de craindre que la premifere d& ces qualitds ne soit encore 
 
PAULINE. 57 
 
 Of crowning life ? The soul would never rule — 
 It would be first in all things — it would have 
 Its utmost pleasure filled, — but that complete 
 Commanding for commanding sickens it. 
 The last point that I can trace is, rest beneath 
 Some better essence than itself — in weakness ; 
 This is " myself " — not what I think should be. 
 And what is that I hunger for but God ? 
 
 ^trangfere k mon ami — et je doute fort qu'un redoublement de 
 travail lui fasse acqu6rir la seconde. Le mieux serait de 
 bruler ceci ; maia que faired 
 
 Je crois que dans ce qui suit il fait allusion a un certain 
 examen qu'il fit autrefois de I'dme ou plutot de son fime, 
 pour ddcouvrir la suite des objets auxquels il lui serait pos- 
 sible d'attfeMre, et dont chacun une fois obtenu devait former 
 une espfeoe de plateau d'oii I'on pouvait apergevoir d'autres 
 buts, d'autres projets, d'autres jouissances qui, k leur tour, 
 devaient etre surmontds. II en r^sultait que I'oubli et le 
 sommeil devaient tout terminer. Cette id^e que je ne saisis 
 pas parfaitement lui est peutetre aussi intelligible qn'k moi. 
 
 PAULINE. 
 C 5 
 
58 PAULINE. 
 
 My God, my God ! let me for once look on thee 
 As tho' nought else existed : we alone. 
 And as creation crumbles, my soul's spark 
 Expands till I can say, " Even from myself 
 " I need thee, and I feel thee, and I love thee ; 
 " I do not plead my rapture in thy works 
 " For love of thee — or that I feel as one 
 " Who cannot die — but there is that in me 
 " Which turns to thee, which loves, or which should 
 love." 
 
 Why have I girt myseK with this hell-dress ? 
 Why have I laboured to put out my life ? 
 ' Is it not in my nature to adore. 
 And e'en for all my reason do I not 
 Feel him, and thank him, and pray to him ? — Now. 
 Can I forego the trtrst that he loves me ? 
 
PAULINE. 59 
 
 Do I not feel a love which only one 
 
 thou pale form, so dimly seen, deep-eyed, 
 
 1 have denied thee calmly — do I not 
 
 Pant when I read of thy consummate deeds, 
 And burn to see thy calm, pure truths out-flash 
 The brightest gleams of earth's philosophy ? 
 Do I not shake to hear aught question thee ? . . . . 
 
 If I am erring save me, madden me. 
 
 Take from me powers, and pleasures — let me die 
 
 Ages, so I see thee : I am knit round 
 
 As with a charm, by sin and lust and pride, 
 
 Yet tho' my wandering dreams have seen all shapes 
 
 Of strange delight, oft have I stood by thee — 
 
 Have I been keeping lonely watch with thee, 
 
 In the damp night by weeping Olivet, 
 
 Or leaning on thy bosom, proudly less — • 
 
60 PAULINE. 
 
 Or dying witli thee on the lonely cross — 
 Or witnessing thy bursting from the tomb ! 
 
 A mortal, sin's familiar friend doth here 
 Avow that he will give all earth's reward, 
 But to believe and humbly teach the faith, 
 In suffering, and poverty, and shame, 
 Only believing he is not unloved .... 
 
 And now, my Pauline, I am thine for ever ! 
 I feel the spirit which has buoyed me up 
 Deserting me : and old shades gathering on ; 
 Yet while its last light waits, I would say much, 
 And chiefly, I am glad that I have said 
 That love which I have ever felt for thee, 
 But seldom told ; our hearts so beat together. 
 That speech is mockery, but when dark hours come ; 
 
PAULINE. 61 
 
 And I feel sad ; and thou, sweet, deetn'st it strange ; 
 A sorrow moves me, thou canst not remove. 
 Look on this lay I dedicate to thee, 
 Which thro' thee I began, and which I end. 
 Collecting the last gleams to strive to tell 
 That I am thine, and more than ever now — 
 That I am sinking fast — yet tho' I sink. 
 No less I feel that thou hast brought me bliss. 
 And that I stiU may hope to win it back. ' 
 Thou know'st, dear friend, I could not think all calm. 
 For wild dreams followed me, and bore me off, 
 And all was indistinct. Ere one was caught 
 Another glanced : so dazzled by my wealth. 
 Knowing not which to leave nor which to choose. 
 For all my thoughts so floated, nought was fixed— 
 And then thou said'st a perfect bard was one 
 Who shadowed out the stages of all life. 
 
62 PAULINE. 
 
 And so thou badest me tell this my first stage ; — 
 'Tis done : and even now I feel all dim the shift 
 Of thought. These are my last thoughts ; I discern 
 Faintly immortal life, and truth, and good. 
 And why thou must be mine is, that e'en now, 
 In the dim hush of night — that I have done — 
 With fears and sad forebodings : I look thro' 
 And say, " E'en at the last I have her still, 
 
 I " With her delicious eyes as clear as heaven, 
 " When rain in a quick shower has beat down mist, 
 
 ; " And clouds float white in the sun like broods of 
 swans." 
 How the blood lies upon her cheek, all spread 
 As"thinned by kisses ; only in her Hps- 
 It wells and pulses like a living thing. 
 And her neck looks, like marble misted o'er 
 With love-breath, a dear thing to kiss and love. 
 
PAULINE. 63 
 
 Standing beneath me — looking out to me, 
 As I might kill her and be loved for it. 
 
 Love me — love me, Pauline, love nought but me ; 
 Leave me not. All these words are wild and weak, 
 Believe them not, Pauline. I stooped so low 
 But to behold thee purer by my side, 
 To show thou art my breath — my life — a last 
 Resource — an extreme want : never believe 
 Aught better could so look to thee, nor seek 
 Again the world of good thoughts left for me. 
 There were bright troops of undiscovered suns, 
 Each equal in their radiant course. There were 
 Clusters of far fair isles, which ocean kept 
 For his own joy, and his waves broke on them 
 Without a choice. And there was a dim crowd 
 Of visions, each a part of the dim whole. 
 
64 PAULINE. 
 
 And a star left his peers and came with peace 
 Upon a storm, and all eyes pined for him. 
 And one isle harboured a sea-beaten ship, 
 And the crew wandered in its bowers, and plucked 
 Its fruits, and gave up all their hopes for home. 
 And one dream came to a pale poet's sleep. 
 And he said, " I am singled out by God, 
 " No sin must touch me.^' I am very weak. 
 But what I would express is,^— Leave me not, 
 Still sit by me — with beating breast, and hair 
 Loosened — watching earnest by my side, 
 Turning my books, or kissing me when I 
 Look up — like summer wind. Be still to me 
 A key to music's mystery, when mind fails, 
 A reason, a solution and a clue. 
 You see I have thrown off my prescribed rules : 
 I hope in myself — and hope, and pant, and love — 
 
PAULINE. 65 
 
 You'll find me better — know me more than when 
 You loved me as I was. Smile not ; I have 
 Much yet to gladden you — to dawn on y6u. 
 
 No more of the past — I'll look within no more — 
 
 I have too trusted to my own wild wants — 
 
 Too trusted to myself — to intuition. 
 
 Draining the wine alone in the still night, 
 
 And seeing how — as gathering films arose. 
 
 As by an inspiration life seemed bare 
 
 And grinning in its vanity, and ends 
 
 Hard to be dreamed of, stared at me as fixed, 
 
 And others suddenly became all foul. 
 
 As a fair witch turned an old hag at night. 
 
 No more of this — we will go hand in hand, 
 
 I will go with thee, even as a child. 
 
 Looking no further than thy sweet commands. 
 
66 PAULINE. 
 
 And thou hast chosen where this life shall be — 
 The land which gave me thee shall be our home, 
 Where nature lies all wild amid her lakes 
 And snow-swathed mountains, and vast pines all 
 
 girt 
 With ropes of snow^where nature lies all bare, 
 Suffering none to view her but a race 
 Most stinted and deformed — like the mute dwarfs 
 Which wait upon a naked Indian queen. 
 And there (the time being when the heavens are 
 
 thick 
 With storms) I'll sit with thee while thou dost 
 
 sing 
 Thy native songs, gay as a desert bird 
 Who crieth as he flies for perfect joy. 
 Or telling me old stories of dead knights. 
 Or I -will read old lays to thee — how she, 
 
PAULINE. 67 
 
 The fair pale sister, went to her chill grave 
 With power to love, and to be loved, and live. 
 Or we will go together, like twin gods 
 Of the infernal world, with scented lamp 
 Over the dead — to call and to awake — 
 Over the unshaped images which lie 
 Within my mind's cave — only leaving all 
 That tells of the past doubts. So when spring 
 
 comes, 
 And sunshine comes again like an old smile, 
 And the fresh waters, and awakened birds. 
 And budding woods await us — I shall be 
 Prepared, and we will go and think a.gain, 
 And all old loves shall come to us — but changed 
 As some sweet thought which harsh words veiled 
 
 before ; 
 Feeling God loves us, and that all that errs, 
 
68 . PAULINE. 
 
 Is a strange dream wHcli death will dissipate ; 
 
 And then when I am firm we'll seek again 
 
 My own land, and again I wiU approach 
 
 My old designs, and calmly look on all 
 
 The works of my past weakness, as one views 
 
 Some scene where danger met him long before. 
 
 Ah ! that such pleasant life should be but dreamed ! 
 
 But whate'er come of it — and tho' it fade, 
 
 And tho' ere the cold morning all be gone 
 
 As it will be ; — tho' music wait for me. 
 
 And fair eyes and bright wine, laughing like sin. 
 
 Which steals back softly on a soul half saved ; 
 
 And I be first to deny all, and despise 
 
 This verse, and these intents which seem so fair ; 
 
 Still this is all my own, this moment's pride, 
 
 No less I make an end in perfect joy. 
 
PAULINE. 69 
 
 E'en in my briglitest time, a lurking fear 
 Possessed me. I well knew my weak resolves, 
 I felt the witchery that makes mind sleep 
 Over its treasures — as one half afraid 
 To make his riches definite — hut now 
 These feeKngs shall not utterly be lost, 
 I shall not know again that nameless care^ 
 Lest leaving all undone in youth, some new 
 And undreamed end reveal itself too late : 
 For this song shall remain to tell for ever, 
 That when I lost all hope of such a change, 
 Suddenly Beauty rose on me again. 
 No less I make an end in perfect joy, 
 For I, having thus again been visited, 
 Shall doubt not many another bliss awaits, 
 And tho' this weak soul sink, and darkness come, 
 Some little word shall light it up again) 
 
70 PAULINE. 
 
 And I shall see all clearer and love better ; 
 I shall again go o'er the tracts of thought. 
 As one who has a right ; and I shall live 
 With poets — calmer — purer still each time, 
 And beauteous shapes will come to me again. 
 And unknown secrets will be trusted me. 
 Which were not mine when wavering — but now 
 I shall be priest and lover, as of old. 
 
 Sun-treader, I believe in God, and truth, 
 And love ; and as one just escaped from death- 
 Would bind himself in bands of friends to feel 
 He lives indeed — so, I would lean on thee ; 
 Thou must be ever with me — most in gloom 
 When such shall come — but chiefly when I die, 
 For I seem dying, as one going in the dark 
 To fight a giant — and live thou for ever. 
 
PAULINE. 71 
 
 And be to all what thou hast been to me — 
 All in whom this wakes pleasant thoughts of me, 
 Know my last state is happy: — free from doubt. 
 Or touch of fear. Love me and wish me well 1 
 
 ElCHMOND, 
 OdoUr 22, 1832. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 IB0T30N AOT PALMEE, PBINTEE3, SATOT STREET, STRAOT. 
 
Zondon : 
 
 Eeprinhd by Eichard Clay & Sobs, Bread Street HiU. 
 
 November, 18S6,