SELECTED POEM 
 
ftoss 1p j V 
 
 Book ____.Ul|„ 
 
 *'\. 
 
 COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
STAND ABI) LITFAlATUllE SERIES 
 
 SELECT POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 EGBERT T3ROW]^ING 
 
 AND 
 
 ELIZABETH Bx^RRETT BROWNING 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 EMMA F. LOWD, A.B. 
 
 AND 
 
 MAIIY C. CRAIG. M.A. 
 
 DErAUrMENT OF ENGLISH, WASHINGTON IRVING HIGH SCHOOL, 
 NEW YOUK CITY 
 
 1007 
 
 UNIVEUSITY PUIiLISIIING COMPANY 
 
 NE\y YORK BOSTON NEW ORLEANS 
 
UlfiHARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Cooles Received 
 
 AUG 24 'SOr 
 
 Cooyrifrht Entry 
 
 CLAS^/J XXC, No. 
 
 COPY 0. 
 
 COPYIUGHT, 1907 
 BY 
 
 UNIVERSITY PUBUSIIING COISIPAKY 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introductory Note 7 
 
 Biographical Skp:tcii 7 
 
 TiiF. Writings of Browning 10 
 
 Poetic Form 18 
 
 Appreciations 22 
 
 Chronological List of Browning's Woijks . , , ,24 
 
 Bibliography 26 
 
 Dramatic Monologues : 
 
 Incident of the French Camp . ...... 27 
 
 How They Buougut the Good News from Ghent to Aix . . 28 
 
 Hervj Kiel, . . . . . , . . . .31 
 
 rnEiiJii'PiDEs : ••Rkjoice, We Conquer" ..... 37 
 
 Cava I, IKK Tunes : 
 
 IMarciiinc. Along ......... 43 
 
 Give a Rouse .......... 45 
 
 Boot and Saddle . . . . , . . . .45 
 
 V 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Boy and the Angel . 
 
 Home Thouchits, fuom Abroad 
 
 Home Thoughts, from the Sea 
 
 The Lost Leader 
 
 Evelyn Hope . 
 
 One Word More 
 
 The Pied Piper of Habielin 
 
 PiABBi Ben E/ra 
 
 Songs from Pippa Passes 
 
 Saul .... 
 
 James Lee's Wife 
 
 My Last Duchess 
 
 The Last Bide Together 
 
 Through the Metidja to Abd-el-Kadr 
 
 A Grammarian's Funeral 
 
 46 
 49 
 50 
 51 
 52 
 54 
 63 
 71 
 77 
 78 
 92 
 93 
 94 
 98 
 99 
 
 POEMS BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 Biographical Sketch .'..•...... 104 
 
 The Dead Pan 105 
 
 Psyche and Pan . . . . . . • • • .113 
 
 The Cry of the Children . . • . . • • .114 
 The Forced Recruit . . . . . . • • .119 
 
 Sonnets from the Portuguese . . • • . . .121 
 
 A Selec!tion from Casa Guidi Windows . . . . . .123 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 In the study of poetry, appreciation is of first importance. 
 This cannot be gained if the pupil must continually interrupt 
 his reading to turn to a dictionary. With this in mind, the 
 introduction to each poem has been carefully prepared to 
 present the situation; and the text has been freely annotated 
 in order to furnish a miniature dictionary ready to the hand 
 of the pupil. 
 
 Many pupils have no dictionaries at home, and have little, 
 if any, time for study in school. For these reasons words are 
 explained in the notes that would otherwise have been omitted. 
 
 The following simple plan of study is suggested : 
 
 1. Eead the introduction to a poem. 
 
 2. Study the notes carefully. 
 
 3. Read the poem. 
 
 4. Re-read the poem. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 A DISTINGUISHED contemporary of Browning, William 
 Morris, once said, "For my part I think any biography of men 
 engaged in art and literature is absolutely worthless; their 
 works are their biography." Nevertheless, the leading facts of 
 an author's life help a young student to appreciate the reality 
 and the individuality of a writer, so that whether he studies 
 first the works, or the author behind the works, his in- 
 terest is the stronger for his acquaintance with the man as well 
 as the author. 
 
 Browning's father was a man of the middle classes and in 
 good circumstances. For many years he was employed in the 
 Bank of England. By religion he was a Dissenter. He was 
 fond of music and poetry, and diligent study filled his mind 
 
 7 
 
8 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 with the hest and the richest thoughts that the world of hooks 
 could oflFer. Besides heing a lover of poetry, Mr. Browning 
 wrote poetry of no mean order. The iieroic couplet was his 
 favorite form, and Pope was his favorite poet. The poet's 
 mother was a sensitive, refined woman. Carlyle caHed lier a 
 type of the true Scotch gentlewoman. She was both intellect- 
 ual and artistic, as great a lover of music as her husl)and was 
 of poetry. She had, however, a taste for poetry, but her taste 
 was for tlie Komanticists. Her strong religious nature and 
 her devotion to her church work were tempered by a broad 
 charity which ])revented her becoming narrow and bigoted. 
 
 From such parents, in Camberwell, London, ]\Iay 9, 181:3, 
 Robert Browning was born. Browning's childhood was a 
 ha]ipy one. Everything went well with him. He was fond of 
 strange pets, and had a large collection of animals. As a very 
 young child he ap])eared very sensitive to musical impressions. 
 The following anecdote is illustrative of this characteristic: 
 "One afternoon his mother was playing to herself in the twi- 
 light. She was startled to hear a sound behind her. Glancing 
 round, she beheld a little white iigure distinct against an oak 
 bookcase, and could just discern two large wistful eyes look- 
 ing earnestly at her. The next moment the child had s])rung 
 into her arms, sobbing passionately at he knew not what, but, 
 as his parox3'Sni of emotion subsided, whispering over and 
 over with shy urgency, 'Play! ])lay !' " His love of nature 
 was early show^n by his long raml)les in the woods and fields. 
 As he grew older, he was fond of evening rambles. This 
 habit may have helped to develop that mysticism which was 
 later to l)ecomc such a marked characteristic. Yet he was 
 always in good spirits, though never self-assertive. In the boy 
 were the sauie lio])efulness and confidence that marked tlie 
 man. He owed much of his cheerful, healthy view of life to 
 his robust health which never failed him. 
 
 Browning was sent to school for a time, but the best of his 
 education was obtained from his parents, from tutors, and 
 from the great fields of nature and of literature where he 
 browsed at wilL l^'or two years he studied at tin* T^niver- 
 sity of lx)ndoii, and read at the British IMiiseuiu, but he ni'ver 
 received a university degree. He studied music and ai't. and 
 at different times thought of devoting himself to each of these 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 
 
 pursuits in turn. His nioniory of liis mother's music made 
 him feel that he wished to hecome a musician ; he recollected 
 his father's drawings, and certain seductive landscapes and 
 seascapes hy painters wliom he liad lieard called ''the Norwich 
 men," and he wished to he an artist : then reminiscences of 
 the Homeric lines he loved, of haunting verse melodies, moved 
 him most of all. To his mental training were added all kinds 
 of |)hysical exercises. He learned to ride, to dance, to hox, and 
 to fence. 
 
 'rh rough a mutual friend. Browning met P^lizaheth Barrett, 
 whom he afterward nuirried. They were much interested in 
 each other long hefore their first meeting. Browning once 
 wiote to her, "i love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss 
 Barrett." She replied, "Sympathy is dear — very dear to me; 
 hut the sympathy of a poet, and of such a poet, is the quintes- 
 sence of sympathy !" 
 
 Miss Barrett was a great invalid and it was some time ])e- 
 fore she was ahle to receive Mr. Browning. ^Fheir first meet- 
 ing took place in May, 18-15. Their strong admiration for 
 each other quickly grew into a warm friendship, and that as 
 (juickly develojKMl into deep and lasting love. No sweeter, 
 stronger love story has ever heen written than that of Elizaheth 
 Barrett and liol)ert Browning. They were marr'ed Septem- 
 her 12, 184G. 
 
 Mr. Barrett hitterly opposed his daughter's marriage. The 
 result was that the ceremony took place privately, and the 
 couple were beyond the reach of criticism when the announce- 
 ment was received by their friends. They went to Florence, 
 Italy, where they remained till Mrs. Browning's death in 1861. 
 
 Two children were born to them, both sons. Only one of 
 them lived. The surviving son, Bobert Barrett Browning, a 
 sculptor and ])ainter, has given to the world the valuable corre- 
 spondence of his ])oet ]iarents. 
 
 After the death of his wife Browning returned to London, 
 where he spent most of the remaining years of his life, varied 
 by occasional visits to Italy and southern Fiance. He never 
 went back to Floi'cnce. 
 
 Of the last years of his life William Sharp says: "Every- 
 body wished him to come and dine; and he did his best to 
 gratify Everybody. He saw everything; read all the notable 
 
10 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 books; kept himself acquainted witli the leading contents of 
 the journals and nuigazines; conducted a large correspond- 
 ence; read new French, German, and Italian books of mark; 
 read and translated Euripides and iEschylus; knew all the 
 gossip of the literary clubs, salons, and the studios; was a 
 frequenter of afternoon tea-parties; and then, over and above 
 it, he was Browning : the most profoundly subtle mind that 
 has exercised itself in poetry since Shakspere." 
 
 In 1889, while arranging for the purchase of a villa at 
 Asolo, he was taken ill, and died at his son's home in Venice, 
 December 12, 1889. He was carried to England and buried 
 in Westminster Abbey. Italy, also, honored him. Mr. Sharp 
 says : "It is fitting to know that Venice has never in modern 
 times afforded a more impressive sight, than those craped pro- 
 cessional gondolas following the high, flower-strewn funeral- 
 barge through the thronged water-ways and out across the 
 lagoon to the desolate Isle of the Dead." And on the walls of 
 the Palace in which he died, is a memorial tablet upon which 
 is the inscription : 
 
 "Open my heart and you will see 
 Graved inside of it, 'Italy.' " 
 
 THE WRITINGS OF BROWNING. 
 
 While Browning was a very young boy, he came under the 
 influence of Byron's poetry. Before he was twelve years old he 
 had written a great many verses, but none were pul)lishod. He 
 was not quite fourteen when he ])egan to read Slielley and 
 Keats. At tliat time these poets had not won their po])ularity. 
 Their influence upon him was very strong, and caused a com- 
 plete revision of his poetic standards. 
 
 In 1833, "Pauline, a Fragment of a Confession," was pul)- 
 lished anonymously. It attracted little attention, but thinkers 
 like John Stuart Mill and Dante Gabriel Rossetti recognized 
 the strong note of a siiiger in the work. 
 
 Many of our greatest ])oets liave shown their genius in spite 
 of circumstances; but with Browning as with Milton, natural 
 gifts were aided from the beginning by the sympathy and 
 ambition of family and friends. As there was but one other 
 
THE WRITINGS OF BROWNING. 11 
 
 child, a daughter, Browning's parents were amply able to 
 furnish him with the means to devote himself to his chosen 
 work. He resolved to spend his life in study and travel. 
 After a long stay in St. Petersburg he went to Italy, where he 
 began the study of history and literature, which were to exert 
 such a strong influence on his thought. 
 
 On his return to England, he finished "Paracelsus." The 
 recognition accorded to this poem gave the author much en- 
 couragement. Other poems, both lyric and dramatic, followed 
 in rapid succession. Between his pure lyrics and his dramas 
 stand his dramatic monologues, in which the real excellence 
 and natural versatility of his powers are found. 
 
 Browning's readers must have an active dramatic imagina- 
 tion. They must visualize and realize the scene, the speaker, 
 the gestures, the speech. They must identify themselves with 
 the speaker, as in "^ly Last Duchess," "An Incident of the 
 French Camp," and other similar poems. 
 
 "Strafford," his first play, an historical tragedy, was pre- 
 pared for the stage at the instance of the actor Macready, who 
 himself took the leading part. "A Blot in the 'Scutcheon" 
 appeared five years later. "Pippa Passes" is the simplest of 
 his plays. Pippa is a young silk-winder, who has but one 
 holiday in the year. When the morning dawns, she names 
 over the "Four Happiest" in the town and says, 
 
 "I will pass each and see their happiness 
 And envy none." 
 
 She passes first by the house in which one of the "Happiest" 
 lives, but she does not know that this one and her lover have 
 just committed a murder. As Pippa passes she sings, 
 
 "God's in his heaven 
 All's right with the world." 
 
 They hear her and the horror of their crime comes over them, 
 and they repent. So Pippa's songs touch the heart of each 
 one of the "Happiest" and influence each to a better life; yet 
 the child goes to sleep wondering whether she ever could come 
 near enough to the lives of tlie great to 
 
 "Do good or evil to them some slight way:" 
 
12 • ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 After liis marriage and hefore Die deatli of liis wife, he 
 ])iil)lislied "Christinas Vac and J^^astei- Dav/' and ''Men and 
 Women." In 18(iS-l) he jmhlislied "The IJing and tlie Book." 
 It is a story of an lialian mnrder rehited hy a nnndjer of 
 different persons. It met with a hearty reeeption, first, beeanse 
 it was a fine poem, then, because it was a wonderful picture 
 of the impressions made by one act upon several different 
 persons, and last, because after thirty-five years, the poet's 
 audience was ready for him. His last poem was "Asolando," 
 written the year of his death. 
 
 The best way to read Browning's poetry is not to struggle 
 with some obscure and unimportant difficulty of phrase or of 
 thought, but to read what one likes best and find little by 
 little what he has said that belongs to one personally. l?ead 
 some of the shorter lyrics in this way. The last two lines of 
 "^'Eabbi Ben Ezra" are the keynote of Browning's inspiration, 
 his cheerfulness in looking at life, and his rolmst confidence 
 in the blessedness of the life to come : 
 
 "Grow old along with me ! 
 The best is yet to be." 
 
 BROWNING AS A REPRESENTATIVE POET. 
 
 The age to which Browning belonged was one peculiarly 
 favorable to the development of a writer's individuality. It 
 often happens, as in the time of Pope, that one particular 
 mood, or attitude toward life, prevails so strongly that any 
 poet who is not in sympathy with that view finds his genius 
 stifled. A marked characteristic of the Victorian era was its 
 universality. If Tennyson represents its conservatism, and 
 Swinburne and Morris its hopelessness, Browning as truly 
 represents its revolt against the merely conventional and its 
 delight in the investigation of the phenomena of the soul. 
 
 GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF BROWNING'S POETRY. 
 
 While the theme which a writer chooses is determined by 
 his temperament, his method of expression is determined by 
 the nuMital condition of the age in which ho lives. It has been 
 said that had Browning lived some centuries earlier, he would 
 
THE WRITINGS OF BROWNING. -l^ 
 
 have been one of the greatest of dramatists. He has certainly 
 two of the essentials of a dramatist : a taste for the objective 
 presentation of human life, and a keen instinct for a dramatic 
 situation. Still, in spite of several attempts, he never wrote 
 a successful play; probably because, in accordance with 
 nu^di'rn tendency, he interested himself much less in the ex- 
 ternal manifestations of character than in the inner drama of 
 the souL This drama he studies with all the interest and 
 minuteness of a scientist. He loves, so to speak, to put a 
 cross-section of tlie human mind under his microscope and 
 examine it. He endeavors to have the individual studied 
 speak for himself, whether in the passionate cry of the lyric, 
 tJie lonely brooding of the soliloquy, or the self-justification 
 of the dramatic monologue. In all his poetry, however, we 
 are aware of his own personality; the mask may be that of 
 Pippa or of Cleon, but the voice is the voice of Browning. 
 Even his lyrics are in this sense dramatic ; not a personal cry 
 of feeling in which the writer loses his own identity. 
 
 The form which suits him best is the dramatic monologue. 
 In the monologue a speaker lays bare his mind to a second 
 person, and the dramatic nature of the presentation is in- 
 creased by hints as to scenery, action, and the impression made 
 on the mind of the hearer. Sometimes, as in "My Last 
 Duchess," the speaker reveals to us not only his own nature, 
 but that of someone else. 
 
 THE DIFFICULTY OF READING BROWNING. 
 
 Subject-matter such as Browning's and a treatment such 
 as he iias chosen necessarily demand an unusual alertness of 
 intellect on the part of the reader. In most of the dramatic 
 monologues we are in the position of listening to someone 
 telling his own side of a story to another who is already 
 familiar with the facts of the case, or what have been accepted 
 as the facts. We grope blindly for a clew, and often it is not 
 until the end of the poem is reached that we are able to grasp 
 the general situation, much less the connection of thought 
 with thought. 
 
 To this source of difficulty must be added Brownings con- 
 densed method of expression and the violence he often does to 
 
14 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 the language in the matter of syntax and the collocation of 
 words. 
 
 Some of his peculiarities of diction are : 
 
 1. The suppression of the relative pronoun in both the 
 nominative and the accusative. 
 
 2. The use of the infinitive without the sign to. 
 
 3. The use of the dative, or indirect object, without to or 
 for carried farther than the custom of the language warrants. 
 
 -i. The frequent use of the possessive case with nouns of 
 neuter gender. 
 
 5. Inverted constructions. 
 
 6. The abrupt breaking off of a sentence to admit a long 
 interpolation before the main idea is completed. 
 
 A good example of the difficulties w4th which readers of 
 Browning's dramatic monologues have to contend, is to be 
 found in "My Last Duchess," given on page 93. 
 
 The laws of orderly arrangement and plot development 
 are disregarded in order that the Duke, who is represented 
 as speaking, may with more apparent naturalness reveal his 
 own inmost nature and the strongly contrasted nature of her 
 W'ho was once his wife. It is not until very near the close 
 of this monologue, that we learn the circumstances under 
 which it is uttered. The Duke, a man perfect in outAvard 
 breeding, but the incarnation of cold and selfish pride, is 
 negotiating for a new marriage. He is a connoisseur in art, 
 and vain of the many artistic treasures he possesses. One of 
 these he dis]^lays to the ambassador of his prospective father- 
 in-law. It is a masterpiece, indeed, the ]ucture of his "Last 
 Duchess." We are left to imagine the look of delighted won- 
 der in the eyes of the ambassador, which impels the Duke to 
 give utterance to his old discontent at the very sweetness of 
 his wife, her innocent delight in life, and her frank response 
 to every claim upon her sympathy. How impossil)le to remould 
 such a nature into the cold, indifferent reserve that would 
 have seemed to the Duke most fitting in liis Duchess! He 
 tells witli cruel compUicency of the "commands" by which, 
 with mediaeval rutldessness, he doomed tlie offending lady's 
 smiles to extinction by death or by tlie gi-im walls of a convent. 
 Then, dropping the curtain with which he jealously guards 
 the picture, he returns to the subject of the dowry for which 
 
THE WRITINGS OF BROWNING. 15 
 
 he had heen l)argaining. The two men descend the staircase, 
 to rejoin the company below; the Duke putting aside with 
 courtly politeness the ambassador's motion to give him the 
 precedence due his rank. As they pass a window, his eye 
 is caught by a bronze group in the courtyard, and he calls 
 the ambassador's attention to it with precisely the same vanity 
 he has shown in displaying the picture of his wife. 
 
 Here, in the short space of fifty-six lines, the poet has 
 contrived to give the outlines of the lady's tragic story, a 
 vivid impression of her beauty and charm, an unforgetable 
 picture of the two characters, and, incidentally, more informa- 
 tion about the Italy of the Renaissance than Avould furnish 
 forth a historical lecture. No wonder if the mind pauses, 
 gasps puzzled and groping, before such a wealth of material 
 so compacted. 
 
 Even the following poem, simple narrative as it is, will serve 
 to illustrate the claim Browning makes on the reader's imagi- 
 nation, and the abruptness and condensation so frequently 
 characteristic of his work. 
 
 TEAY. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 "The sin-scathed brow" (quoth Bard the second), 
 "That eye wide ope as tho' Fate l)eckoned 
 My hero to some sleep, beneath 
 Wliich precipice smiled tempting Death , . ." 
 You too without your host have reckoned ! 
 
 "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. 
 
16 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 "Bystanders reason, think of wives 
 And children ere they risk their lives. 
 Over the balustrade has bounced 
 A mere instinctive dog, and j^onnced 
 Plumb on the prize. 'How well he dives! 
 
 " Tip he comes with the child, see, tight 
 In mouth, alive too, clutched from quite 
 A d('[)th of ten feet — twelve, T bet ! 
 Good dog ! What, off again? There's 3^et 
 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 ! 
 
 " ^Here he comes, holds in mouth this time 
 
 — What may the thing be? Well, that's prime! 
 
 Now, did you ever? Eeason reigns 
 
 In man alone, since all Tray's ])ains 
 
 Have fished — the child's doll from the slime.' 
 
 "And so, amid the laughter gay. 
 Trotted my hero off, — ohl Tray, — 
 Till somebody, prerogatived 
 With reason, reasoned: 'IVhy he dived. 
 His brain would show us, I should say. 
 
 " Mohn, go and catch — or, if needs be, 
 
 l^urchase that animal for me ! 
 
 By vivisection, at expense 
 
 Of half-an-hour and eighteen pence. 
 
 How brain secretes dog's soul, we'll see!" 
 
 Here we have, first, the three hards and th.e auditor whom 
 they attempt to ])lease with their tales, merely a preliminary 
 statement in dramatic form of the kind of heroism Browning 
 thinks most worthy a poet's attention. The first bard begins, 
 after the manner of the mediaeval romances, a story of an 
 
THE WRITINGS OF 1?T^0WNTXG. IT 
 
 adventurous kuiolU. II(> is eonteniptuously stopped. That 
 is not the sort of liero desired. The second hard hegins a 
 description of the grand, gh)\ving, sin-stained liero sueli as 
 Byi'on h)ved to picture, lie, too, is stopped ahruptly. The 
 third hard l)egins, "heggar-child," and is allowed to proceed. 
 It is as though Browning said, — "Let us take lieroisni in its 
 siiHjjlest form, freed from all grandeur of circumstance." 
 
 From this point the story proceeds in orderly fashion 
 enough, hut with haste and hrevity. The reader's imagination 
 must supply all detail of the lounging crowd of selfish or in- 
 different human spectators, who excuse their cowardice by 
 pleading the duty they owe to their families. The reader must 
 picture, too, for himself the eager dog, who leaps at once to 
 the rescue, his mere instinct not serving to provide him with 
 excuses for neglecting an obvious duty. The rescue is made, 
 and the dog leaps again, risking his life to restore to the child 
 her treasured toy. He reappears with the doll in his mouth 
 and the bystanders laugh with good-natured contempt, that he 
 should have ventured so bravely for what seems to them such 
 a trifle. 
 
 So the story might end, but does not. At the last Brown- 
 ing has prepared a shock of surprise and horror with which to 
 enforce his moral, the wickedness of vivisection. 
 
 browning's philosophy. 
 
 It is the substance, more than the form, of Browning's work 
 that has won him a nol)le place in literature. He regarded 
 himself as one who had discovered new truth about life and 
 considered it his mission as ])oet to inter])ret that truth to 
 other men. Like Moses, he "smote the rock and gave the 
 water"; the awkwardness or gracefulness of the gesture with 
 which he did it mattered little. 
 
 It is therefore advisable that the student should have some 
 idea of what may be called Browning's philosophy. 
 
 First, then, as has already been said. Browning regards 
 man as the crown of creation and considers the development 
 of num's soul as the ])ur])ose of life. Second, he believes that 
 the |)ur]3ose is l)eing fulfilled. But right here comes in a difh- 
 cultv. Everv individual life seems to end in defeat. Protus, 
 
18 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 the King, who represents what we consider success in the outer 
 life, and Cleon, tlie sage, who represents what we call success 
 in the inner life, l)oth acknowledge that life has proved un- 
 satisfactory, unable to fulfill the infinite desire for joy that 
 man feels within him. What is the solution? Browning 
 answers: immortality. And one reason for his strong faith in 
 the Christian religion is the assurance which that faith gives 
 of a life after death. But Browning assumes more than 
 Christianity teaches in regard to the nature of our immor- 
 tality. The soul, he believes, must go on struggling and 
 attaining through a series of existences until it shall reach 
 perfection of power and bliss. Evil is merely imperfection, 
 '^good in the making." "The evil is null, is nought, is silence 
 implying sound." In the meantime, contentment is ignoble. 
 Apparent perfection means that the ideal striven for is not 
 high enough, else it would be unattainable. "A man's reach 
 should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for ?" Andrea del 
 Sarto, called the perfect painter, sadly concedes that the faulty 
 work of his less gifted competitors is greater than his because 
 inspired by a higher ideal. 
 
 It is Browning's strenuous inculcation of the necessity for 
 a high ideal and for heroic struggle to attain that ideal, which 
 has made his work such an influence upon the life of his time 
 and which has prompted his admirers to such words as these : 
 
 "Among the whole English speaking people, in proportion 
 as they grow in thought and in spirituality and in the love of 
 men and women, the recognition and the praise of the main 
 Ijody of Browning's poetry will also grow into a power the 
 result of which we cannot as yet conceive." 
 
 Stopford Brooke, 
 Contemporary Review^ January, 1890. 
 
 POETIC FOEM. 
 
 RHYTHM. 
 
 Ehythmtcal expression is the earliest as well as the most 
 natural form of ex))ression. The oldest existing piece of liter- 
 ature in every language, so far as is known, is in metrical 
 form. All sounds in nature are rhythmical; these sounds 
 
POETIC FORM. 
 
 19 
 
 appealed to primeval man, and the rhythm of nature was im- 
 itated in the first vocalized expressions of human thought. 
 
 Ehythm may be defined as the regular rise and fall of 
 sound, the recurrence, at stated intervals, of emphasized syl- 
 lables in poetry. The beat of the waves on the seashore, the 
 accenting of notes in music, all such regular repetitions of 
 stress, follow the law of rhythm. In the Anglo-Saxon poetry, 
 this stress always fell on the words expressing the most im- 
 portant ideas in the verse. There were two of these words in 
 the first half of the verse and one in the last half. In modern 
 English poetry, while the important words are accented, the 
 stress frequently falls on the least important words as well. 
 
 These emphasized syllables form natural divisions in a line 
 or verse of poetry. Combined Avith the lighter syllables im- 
 mediately preceding or following, they form groups of sylla- 
 bles known as feet or measures. Hence the word metre, which ^^ 
 means measure. So we call "metrical" in literature whatever 
 can be measured by such groups of syllables. To read a line 
 so as to show the number and kind of these groups, is to scan ||| 
 the line. 
 
 The most common kinds of metrical feet are the iambus, 
 the trochee, 'the anapest, the dactyl, and the spondee. The 
 spondee, however, is not so frequent nor so easily distinguished 
 in English verse as in Latin and Greek verse. 
 
 The iambus consists of two syllables, the first unaccented, 
 the second^accented. It may be indicated as follows : v^ - 1 -^ -. 
 
 "All ser I vice ranks | the same | with God" | k 
 
 The trochee consists of two syllables, the first of which is f 
 
 accented, and the second unaccented : - ^ | - ^. ^ 
 
 "Give her | but a | leist ex | cdse to | love me" | 
 The anapest is a foot of three syllables, the first two un- 
 accented, and the third accented '^^^-\^'^-\^^ -. j 
 
 "Then the time | fOr which quails | on the corn | land will 
 each I leave his mate" | 
 The dactyl has three syllables, the first accented, the second 
 and third unaccented: -^^ i-^.^-^ l-^^. 
 
 "Jnst for a I handful of | silver he | left us" | 
 The spondee has two long syllables with the accent on the 
 first : - -. This measure is always found with some other 
 kind of foot, generally with the dactyl. 
 
20 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Metre is named from the numl)er as well as the kind of 
 feet in a line. A line of two feet is called dimeter; of three 
 feet, trimeter ; of four, tetrameter ; of five, pentameter ; of six, 
 hexameter. Hence the full description of the metre of any 
 poem includes the name of the number, and the name of the 
 kind of feet, as — iambic pentameter, trochaic tetrameter, or 
 dactylic hexameter, and so on. 
 
 The contrast between Tennyson's love of order and Brown- 
 ing's disregard of disorder is nowhere more marked than in 
 their rhythm. The almost flawless regularity of Tennyson's 
 rhythm makes us wonder, at first reading, whether what 
 Browning has written is always poetry. 
 
 Browning's versification has a quality of its own. His 
 rhythm is often irregular and halting. It is sometimes neces- 
 sary to read and re-read, and grasp the whole idea before we 
 can fall into the swing of the verse. It of tens jars and Jangles. 
 
 In "Pheidippides," trochee, anapest, and iambus are indis- 
 criminately mingled, with an extra syllable at the beginning 
 or at the end of a line. 
 
 There are also sudden changes of form, as the thought or 
 the emotion of the poet changes. 
 
 The following lines from "The Eing and the Book" are a 
 good example of Browning's strength and ruggedness : 
 
 "Sirs, how should I lie quiet in my grave 
 Unless you suffer me wTing, drop by drop, 
 My brain dry, make a riddance of the drench 
 Of minutes with a memory in each?" 
 
 Harsh and dissonant lines are found even in "Rabbi Ben 
 Ezra," 
 
 "Irks can^ ilie (-ro]vrull bird? 
 Frets doubt Ibe maw-crammed beast?" 
 
 In "Sordello" are ibe following: 
 
 "The troubadour who sung 
 
 Hundin^ls of sonuN. forgot, its trick of tongue, 
 
 Its craft of brain." 
 
POETIC FORM. 21 
 
 On t]io other hand tliere is much real music and perfect 
 rliytliui in Browning's poetry. Notice the regular dactyl of 
 I he "Lost Leader," with the trochee or the spondee at the end 
 of alternate lines; the regular cadence and Inllowlike rhytlini 
 of the anapest in ''Saul''; and the following lines from ''Aht 
 A'ogler" : 
 
 "Tlici'e shall never be lost one good! 
 A\'hat\vas, shall live as before; 
 
 'riie evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound; 
 Vriiat was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good 
 
 more ; 
 On the earth the broken arcs ; in heaven, a perfect round." 
 
 In descriptions of riding and rapid movement, as in ^'llow 
 They Brought the Good News from Ghent," there is the regu- 
 lar beat; sound and sense are identical. The horses' hoofs 
 strike in perfect time. One reads himself out of breath trying 
 to keep up with the riders. 
 
 The smoothness and music of the songs and the love poems 
 have never been surpassed. The expression of his deepest and 
 tenderest emotions proves to us that Browning is a poet. 
 
 Contrast the ''Cavalier Tunes" with 'Tlome Thoughts from 
 AI)road,'^ and with the perfect time of "Home Thoughts from 
 the Sea." The first came from his dramatic imagination; the 
 other two from his heart. "Evelyn Hope," "One Word More," 
 and countless others are heart poems. "One AA^ord More" is 
 almost perfect trochaic pentameter. 
 
 BLANK VERSE AND RHYME. 
 
 Browning's blank verse is often as perfect as Tennyson's. 
 But his rhymes are his own. They can be compared with no 
 others. He had a most wonderful faculty for all kinds of 
 rhyme, double and triple, grotesque and jocular. 
 
 "Blessed was he whose back ached with the jerkin 
 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." 
 
2^ ROBERT BROWNiitG^. 
 
 Forced rhyme is frequent : 
 
 "Fancy the fabric 
 Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz, 
 Ere mortar dab brick." 
 
 "Heaven's success 
 Found, or earth's failure : 
 
 Hence with life's pale lure." 
 
 But what can be finer than these lines, and after all what 
 does it matter whether the rhyme be perfect or imperfect if 
 the thought that is meant for us is there? 
 
 "No, indeed ! for God above 
 
 Is great to grant, as mighty to make. 
 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. 
 
 Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few : 
 Much is to learn, much to forget 
 
 Ere the time be come for taking you." 
 
 APPRECIATIONS. 
 
 Shakespeare is not our poet, Init the world's. 
 
 Therefore, on him no speech ! and brief for thee. 
 
 Browning ! Since Chaucer was alive and hale 
 
 No man has walked along our roads with step 
 
 So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue 
 
 So varied in discourse. But warmer climes 
 
 Give brigiitcr plumage, stronger wing : tbe breeze 
 
 Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on 
 
 Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where 
 
 The Siren waits thee, singing song for song. 
 
 — Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 Tennyson has a vivid feeling of tlie dignity and potency of 
 law. . . . Browning vividly feels the importance, the great- 
 ness and beauty of passions and entliusiasm. and his imagina- 
 tion is comparatively unimpressed by the presence of law and 
 
POETIC FORM. 23 
 
 its operations. ... It is not the order and regularity in 
 the processes of the natural world which chiefly delight 
 Browning's imagination, but the streaming forth of power, 
 and will, and love from the whole face of the visible 
 universe. . . . 
 
 Tennyson considers the chief instruments of human prog- 
 ress to be a vast increase of knowledge and political organ- 
 ization. Browning makes that progress dependent on the 
 production of higher passions and aspirations — hopes, and 
 joys, and sorrows; Tennyson finds the evidence of the truth 
 of the doctrine of progress in the universal presence of a self- 
 evolving law. Browning obtains his assurance of its truth 
 from inward presages and prophecies of the soul, from antici- 
 pations, types, and symbols of higher greatness in store for 
 man, which even now reside with him, a creature ever un- 
 satisfied, ever yearning upward in thought, feeling, and 
 endeavor. 
 
 . . . Hence, it is not obedience, it is not submission to 
 the law of duty, which points out to us our true path of life, 
 but rather infinite desire and endless aspiration. Browning's 
 ideal of manhood in this world always recognizes the fact that 
 it is the ideal of a creature who never can be perfected on 
 earth, a creature whom other and higher lives await in an 
 endless hereafter. . . . 
 
 The gleams of knowledge which we possess are of chief value 
 because they "sting with hunger for full light." The goal of 
 knowledge, as of love, is God Himself. Its most precious 
 part is that which is least positive — those momentary in- 
 tuitions of things which eye hath not seen nor ear heard. The 
 needs of the highest parts of our humanity cannot be supplied 
 by ascertained truth, in which we might rest, or which we 
 might put to use for definite ends; rather by ventures of 
 faith, which test the courage of the soul, we ascend from sur- 
 mise to assurance, and so again to higher surmise. — Condensed 
 from Edward Do^vden, "Studies in Literature/' 
 
 Now dumb is he who waked the world to speak, 
 And voiceless hangs the world beside his bier, 
 Our words are sobs, our cry or praise a tear : 
 We are the smitten mortal, we the weak. 
 
24 ROIJI'KT DROWNING. 
 
 Wc sec a spirit on cartli's loftio.-t peak 
 
 Shine, and wing- lience the way lie makes more clcai-: 
 
 See a great Tree of l^jfc iliat nevei- sere 
 
 Dropped lea!' for anght tliat age or storms might wie;ik; 
 
 Sueh ending is not death; sneh living sliows 
 
 What wide illumination hrightness sheds 
 
 From one hig lieai't, — to conquer man's old foes: 
 
 The coward, and the tyrant, and the force 
 
 Of all those weedy monsters raising heads 
 
 When Song is muck from springs of turhid source. 
 
 — GEOijai'] Mekkditii. 
 
 There, ohedient to her ])laying, did I read aloud the poems 
 Made to Tuscan flutes, or instruments more various of our 
 
 own ; 
 Eead the pastoral ])arts of Spenser, or the sul)tle interflowings 
 Found in Petrarch's sonnets — here's the 1)ook, the leaf is folded 
 
 down ! 
 
 Or at times a modern volume, Wordsworth's solemn-thoiighted 
 
 idyl, 
 Ilowitfs hallad-verse, or Tennyson's enchanted revery. 
 Or from Browning some "Pomegranate," which, if cut deep 
 
 down the middle. 
 Shows a heart within hlood-tinctured, of a veined humanity. 
 — From '"Lady GcraldinG's Courtship'' 
 By Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 CIIPtONOLOGICAL LIST OF BROWNINGS WORKS. 
 
 1833. Paulino. 1842. Tl.-ily niid Fnince. 
 
 1835. Panux'lsiis. C'ain]i and Cloister. 
 
 1837. StralTonl (A Tniiivdy). Jii a (Jondola. 
 
 1840. Sordcllo. ' .Ailciiiis Prolo^i/cs. 
 
 1841. Hells and l^)lne,l;•I•anatos, W.iiinii- 
 
 No. I.. Pippa Passes Queen Woisliip. 
 
 1842. Bells and Pome,<;T!inales, Madhouse Cells. 
 
 No. II., Kini; Victor Jiiui Tlirou.<i,li tlie ]\lelidja. 
 
 Kinn; Ciiarles. - ^Plie Pied T^ijier of Ilnniclin. 
 
 1842. Bells mid Poniojiraiiafcs, 1843. Bells and Poniegran.-iles. 
 
 No. Ill . Drnmntic Lyrics. No. IV., The Return of 
 
 Cavalier Tunes. the Druses (A Tragedy), 
 
POETIC FORM. 
 
 20 
 
 184o. Bells and Poine^raiuiles, 
 No. v., A Blof ill the 
 '8cutcli('()n (A 'i'raiiedy). 
 1844. J3eils aiul Poim'i2,raiKi(es, 
 No. VI., Colombo's Birth- 
 day (A Play). 
 1815. Bells and Pomegranates, 
 No. VII.: 
 
 " How They Brouuiit the 
 Good News from Ghent to 
 Aix." 
 
 Pietor Ii^notus. 
 
 The Italian in England. 
 
 Tlie Eni;lishnien in Italy. 
 
 The liOSt Leader. 
 
 The Lost Mistress. 
 
 Home Thoughts from 
 Abroad. 
 
 The Bishop Orders His 
 Tomb. 
 
 Garden Fancies. 
 
 The Laboratory. 
 
 The Goiifcssional. 
 
 The Flight of the Duchess. 
 
 Earth's Immortalities. 
 
 Song : " Nay, but You Who 
 do not Love Her." 
 
 The Bo}^ and the Angel. 
 
 Night and Morning. 
 
 Claret and Tokay. 
 
 Saul. 
 
 Time's Revenges. 
 
 The Glove. 
 1846. Bells and Pomegranates, 
 No. VIII., Luria. and A 
 Soul's Tragedy. 
 1850. Christmas Eve and Easter- 
 day. 
 1853. Introductory Essay to Shel- 
 ley's Letters. 
 1855. Men and Women. 
 
 Volume I. 
 
 Love among the Ruins. 
 A Lover's Quarrel. 
 Evelyn Hope. 
 Up at a Villa— Down in the 
 
 City. 
 A ^Voman's Last Word. 
 Fra Lippo Lippi. 
 A Toccata of Galuppi's. 
 
 By the Fireside. 
 
 Any Wife to Any Husband 
 
 An Epistle (KarshisJij. 
 
 JMesmerism. 
 
 A Serenade at the Villa. 
 
 My Star. 
 
 Installs Tyrannus. 
 
 A Pretty "Woman. 
 
 " Childe Roland to the Dark 
 
 Tower Cnme." 
 Respectability. 
 A Light Woman. 
 The Statue and the Bust. 
 Love in a Life. 
 Life in a Love. 
 How it Strikes a Contem- 
 
 porar3^ 
 The Last Ride Together. 
 The Patriot. 
 Master Ungues of Saxe- 
 
 Gotha. 
 Bishop Blougram's Apology. 
 3Iemorabilia.. 
 
 Volume II. 
 
 Andrea del Sarto. 
 
 Before and After 
 
 In Three Days. 
 
 In a Year. 
 
 Old Pictures iiv Florence. 
 
 In a Balcony. 
 
 Saul. 
 
 " De Gustibus ." 
 
 Women and Roses. 
 
 Protus. 
 
 Holy- Cross Day. 
 
 The Guardian Angel. 
 
 Cleon. 
 
 The Twins. 
 
 Popularity. 
 
 The lieretic'.s Tragedy. 
 
 Two in the f'amjiagna. 
 
 A Grammarian's Funeral. 
 
 One AVay of Love. 
 
 Another Wa.y of Love. 
 
 " Transcendentalism." 
 
 ]\Iisconceptions. 
 
 One Word More. 
 
 1864. Dramatis Pcrsonae. 
 James Lee. 
 Gold Hair. 
 
26 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 1864. The Worst of It. 
 
 1871 
 
 Dis Aliter Visum. 
 
 
 Too Late 
 
 1872 
 
 Abt Vogier. 
 
 1873 
 
 Rabbi Ben Ezra. 
 
 
 A Death in the Desert. 
 
 1875, 
 
 Caliban upon Setebos. 
 
 1875 
 
 Confessions. 
 
 1876 
 
 May and Death. 
 
 
 Prospice. 
 
 
 Youth and Art. 
 
 1877, 
 
 A Face. 
 
 
 A Likeness. 
 
 1878. 
 
 Mistress Sludge, "The Me- 
 
 
 dium." 
 
 1879- 
 
 Apparent Failure. 
 
 1883. 
 
 Epilogue. 
 
 1884. 
 
 1868-69 The Ring and the 
 
 1887 
 
 Book 
 
 
 1871. Balaustion's Adventure. 
 
 1890. 
 
 Prince Hohenstiel-Schwan- 
 gau. 
 
 Fitine at the Fair. 
 
 Red Cotton Night-Cap Coun- 
 try. 
 
 Aristophanes' Apology. 
 
 The Inn Album. 
 
 Pacchiarotto, and other 
 Poems (including Natural 
 Magic and Ilerve Riel). 
 
 The Agamemnon of yEschy- 
 lus. 
 
 La Saisias, and The Two 
 Poets of Croysic. 
 -80. Dramatic Idyls. 
 
 Jocoseria, 
 
 Ferishtali's Fancies. 
 
 Parleyings with Certain 
 People. 
 
 Asolando. 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Alexander. — Iiitrodiictioii to the Poetry of Robert Browning. 
 
 Berdoe, Edward. — Broioning Cyclojmlia. 
 
 Browning Society Papers. 
 
 C!oRSON, IIiKA.M. — Introduction to Broicning. 
 
 Corson, Hiram. — Poetics. 
 
 DowDEN, Edward. — Studies in Literature. 
 
 GuMMERE, Francis B. — Handbook of Poetics. 
 
 Lanier, Sidney. — Metrical Forms. 
 
 Letters <f Robert Browning and of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 Orr, Mrs. Sutherland. — Life of Browning. 
 
 Saintsbury, G — English Prosody. 
 
 Sharp, William. — Life of Broicning. 
 
 Stedman, Edmund C. — The Nature of Poetry. 
 
 Symons — Study of Browning. 
 
DRAMATIC MONOLOGUES. 
 
 I. 
 
 INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.^ 
 
 You know^ we French stormed Eatisbon : - 
 
 A mile or so away, 
 On a little mound, Napoleon 
 
 Stood on our storming-da}'' ; 
 With neck out-thrust/ — you fancy how — 5 
 
 Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
 As if to balance the prone ^ brow 
 
 Oppressive with its mind. 
 
 Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans 
 
 That soar, to earth may fall, 10 
 
 Let once my army-leader Lannes ^ 
 
 Waver at yonder wall" — 
 
 1 One of the "Dramatic I-yrics," published in "BeHs and Pomegranates," 
 Vol. III., 1S42. Ratisbon, the scene of the incident, has been besieged 
 seventeen times since the tenth century, and has suffered several bom- 
 bardments, the last of which, in April, 1809, was under Napoleon. It 
 is said that the hero of the poem was a man, not a boy ; otherwise 
 the story is true : As the Emperor was watching the storming, a 
 rider came from the city at full gallop. Saluting the Emperor, he told 
 him how the French had taken the city. Napoleon's eye flashed with 
 triumph, then saddened as he looked intently at the messenger. "You 
 are wounded," he said. The rider replied, "Nay, Sire, I'm killed," and 
 fell dead at the Emperor's feet. 
 
 Imagine a company of French veterans discussing their campaigns 
 with Napoleon, the "Little General," and one of them telling this 
 story. 
 
 '^Ratisbon. — German Regenshtirr/ , — a city of Bavaria on the south bank 
 of the Danube. It is famous for its mediivval buildings. 
 
 ^ See portraits for the characteristic posture described in these lines. 
 
 * (Lat. pronus) bending forward with face downward. 
 
 ^ Jean Lannes, Due de Montebello, a celebrated Marshal of France 
 under Napoleon. He was mortally wounded at Aspen, May, 1809. 
 
 27 
 
28 liOP.EKT BKOWNING- 
 
 Out 'twixt tlio battery-smokes tliere i\eW 
 
 A rider, bound on bound 
 Full galloping; nor bridle diew 15 
 
 Tntil be reaebed Ibe iiioiiiul. 
 
 Tben oil' tbere flung in smiling jo}-. 
 
 And beld bimself ereet 
 B}^ just bis borse's mane, a boy: 
 
 ^'oii bai'dly could suspect — 20 
 
 (So tigbt be kept bis lips compressed, 
 
 Scarce any blood came tbi'ougb) 
 You looked twice ere you saw bis lu-east 
 
 Was all but shot in two. 
 
 "^Yell," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 25 
 
 We'\'e got you Eatisbon ! 
 The JMarsbaFs in the Market-place, 
 
 And you'll be there anon 
 To see your Hag-bird ^ flaj) his vans "^ 
 
 AVhere I, to heart's desire, 30 
 
 Perched him !" The chief's eye flashed ; his plans 
 
 Soared up again like fire. 
 
 The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 
 
 Softened itself, as sheathes 
 A film the mother-eagle's eye 35 
 
 Wlien her bruised eaglet breathes. 
 "You're wounded !" "Nay," the soldier's pride 
 
 Touched to the quick, he said : 
 "I'm killed. Sire !" And his chief beside, 
 
 Smiling, the boy fell dead. 40 
 
 II. 
 
 now TIIF.Y BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GIIENT TO AIX.* 
 
 1 sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; 
 
 I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; 
 
 « flag-bird — the figure of a bird on the top of the staff to which the flag 
 is attached. See the eagle on the staff of the American fla;^. 
 ' Wings. Derived from the old French cunne, meaning a wing. 
 ^ This poem was published in "Dra-natic Romances and Lj'rics" in 1845. 
 
]TOW TIIEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEW -5 FROM GHENT TO AIX. 29 
 
 "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gatc-1)olts undrew; 
 ^■Spoed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; 
 Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 5 
 
 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 
 
 Xot a word to each other; we kept the great pace 
 
 Xeek by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; 
 
 1 turned in my saddle and made the girths tight. 
 
 Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique - right, 10 
 
 Eebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, 
 
 Nor galloped less steadily Eoland a whit. 
 
 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near 
 
 Lokeren.^ the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; 
 
 At Boom,'* a great yellow star came out to see; 15 
 
 At Duffel d •'^ 'twas morning as plain as could be; 
 
 And from Mecheln ^ church-steeple we heard the half -chime/ 
 
 So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time !" 
 
 At Aershot.'^ \\p leaped of a sudden the sun. 
 
 And against him the cattle stood black every one 20 
 
 There is no basis in history for the story, but it wna not an improbable 
 occurrence in such a country as the Netherlands. 
 
 Of the origin of the poem. Browning, himself, says : "There is no sort 
 of historical foundation about 'Good News from Ghent," I wrote it under 
 the liulwark 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." 
 
 01)serve the perfect rhythm of the poem. The steady beat of hoofs is 
 heard in every line. Recall other poems in which a horse is the hero. 
 Ghent, the capital of the province of East Flanders, Belgium. Aix, a city 
 about 100 miles S. E, of Ghent in a direct line, in the Rhine Province, 
 Prussia ; celebrated for its Cathelral and Rathhaus. It is of importance, 
 historically and politically, because of the famous treaties that have l;een 
 signed there. 
 
 -pique — sharp peak or i)oint. Of what? 
 
 ^ Lokcren — about 12 miles N. E. of Ghent. Trace the couise of the ride 
 on a map. 
 
 * nooiii — m))ouI 1(> miles S. E. of Lokeren. 
 
 ^ Diiffchl or Diiffcl is about (> miles east of Boom. 
 
 '• Mrchlcii or MccJiIiii — a city once noted for its lace manufactures; it is 
 situated about 8 miles south of DiifTeld. oti lie River Dyle. 
 
 ~ Italf-cJiiiiir — bell or clock sounding the half hour, 
 
 ^ Acmliot — ir> miles S, E. of Mechlen, 
 
30 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 To stare through the mist at us galloping past, 
 And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, 
 With resolute shoulders, each l)utting ^ away 
 The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray : 
 
 And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 25 
 
 For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; 
 
 And one e3^e's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
 
 O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ! ^^ 
 
 And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon 
 
 His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 30 
 
 By Hasselt,^^ Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, "Stay spur ! 
 Your Eoos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her. 
 We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick wheeze 
 Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and stags^ering knees. 
 And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 35 
 
 As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 
 
 So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
 
 Past Looz ^- and past Tongrcs, no cloud in the sky; 
 
 The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 
 
 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; 40 
 
 Till over by Dalhem ^^ a dome-spire sprang white. 
 
 And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" 
 
 "How they'll greet us !" — and all in a moment his roan 
 
 Eolled neck and croup ^* over, lay dead as a stone; 
 
 And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 45 
 
 Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
 
 With his nostrils like pits full of l)lood to the brim. 
 
 And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 
 
 ° buttitifj — pushing. 
 
 ^^ askance — sidewise, out of the corner of the eye. 
 " Hassclt — 25 miles S. K. of Aershot. 
 
 ^^ Looz — 10 miles south of Ilasselt. Ton<jrcs — about 5 miles east of 
 Looz. 
 
 " Dalhem. — l)etween Looz and Aix, very near Aix. 
 '^* croup — bacli. 
 
HERVE KIEL. 31 
 
 Then I cast loose my buff-coat/^ each holster let fall, 
 Shook off both my jack-boots/*' let go belt aiul all, 50 
 
 Stood up in the stirrnp, leaned, patted his ear. 
 Called my Koland his pet-name, my horse without peer; 
 Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, 
 Till at length into Aix Koland galloped and stood. 
 
 And all I remember is, — friends flocking ronnd 55 
 
 As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; 
 And no voice but was praising this Eoland of mine. 
 As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, 
 Which (the burgesses ^" voted by common consent) 
 Was no more than his due who brought good news from 
 Ghent. 00 
 
 III. 
 
 HERVE RIEL.i 
 
 On the sea and at the Hogue,- sixteen hundred ninety-two. 
 Did the English fight the French, — woe to France! 
 
 ^^ buff-coat — a military coat made of buff leather, a thick leather made 
 originally of buffalo skin. This coat replaced the 1)uff-.ierkin as the steel 
 armor became less common. It was so thick and unyielding as to be proof 
 against the sword, and even against a pistol ball except at short range. 
 
 1" jack-hootfi — large, heavy boots reaching up over the knee, and serving 
 as defensive armor for the leg ; introduced in the seventeenth century. 
 
 '' citizens. 
 
 1 "Herve Riel" was published in the Cornhill Mofjazinc, March, 1871. 
 
 Browning wrote this poem as a tribute to French heroism. He received 
 £100 for it, which he contributed to the relief of the starving people of 
 Paris after the siege in 1871. The poem was written at Le Croisic, a 
 little fishing village at the mouth of the Loire, where the hero of the poem 
 had lived. 
 
 Some authorities make the story strictly historical. Dr. Furnivall says 
 that the facts were established by the reports of the French Admiralty. 
 Herve Riel, a Breton sailor of Le Croisic. after the naval battle of La 
 Hogue, in 1602, saved the remains of the French fleet l)y piloting the sliips 
 through the shallows of the Ranee, thus preventing their capture by the 
 English. , He was permitted to ask any reward he desired, and he asked 
 merely for one day's holiday to visit his wife. 
 
 Compare this poem with Tennyson's "Revenge." 
 
 Stanza I is a marked example of Browning's inverted construction. Re- 
 write in prose order and note the effect. 
 
 - Hogue or Harjuc — a promontory on the N. W. coast of France, project- 
 ing into the English Channel. 
 
32 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 x\nd, the thirty-lir.st of May, iR'lter-.skelter thro' the blue, 
 Like a crowd of frightened porpoises •' a shoal of sharks 
 pursue. 
 Came crowding ship on ship to St. J\lah) ^ on th(^ liance,"' 5 
 With the English licet in view. 
 
 'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; 
 First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfre- 
 ville;« 
 Close on him fled, great and small. 
 
 Twenty-two good ships in all; 10 
 
 And they signaled to the place 
 "Help the winners of a race! 
 
 Get us guidance,'^ give us harbor, take us quick — or, quicker 
 
 still, 
 Here's the English can and will !" 
 
 Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on 
 
 board ; 1 5 
 
 "Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" 
 
 laughed they : 
 
 "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and 
 
 scored. 
 Shall the ^Formidable' ^ here, with her twelve and eighty 
 guns 
 Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, 
 Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 20 
 And with flow at full beside? 
 Xow 'tis slackest ebb of tide. 
 Eeach the mooring? Rather say, 
 A\niile rock stands or water runs. 
 Not a shi]) will leave the bay!" 25 
 
 Then was called a council straight.' 
 Brief and bitter the debate: 
 
 " Supply "which" after "porpoises." 
 
 *A strong fortress and important commercial city on the north coast of 
 the department Ille et Vilaine in Brittany, France. 
 
 ^ Rancc — a river of Brittany that empties into the English Channel at 
 St. Malo. '• commander of one of the ships. 
 
 ' fiiiidancc — a pilot. Harbor — protection, shelter. Cot ns into the 
 harbor. ** the Oag-ship, the Admiral's vessel. 
 
IIERVE RIEL. 33 
 
 "Here's the Englisli at our heels; woiikl you have them take 
 
 in tow 
 All that's left us of the fleet, liuked togetlu^r stern and l)ow, 
 For a prize to riymouth Sound ? ^ 30 
 
 Better run the ships aground !" 
 
 (Ended Damfreville his speeeli). 
 Not a minute more to wait ! 
 
 "T^et the Captains all and each 
 
 Shove asliore, tlien Idow u]), 1)urn the vessels on the 
 heaeh. 35 
 
 France must undergo her fate. 
 
 "Give the word !" But no such word 
 Was ever spoke or heard ; 
 
 For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these 
 
 — A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate — first, second, 
 
 third? ^0 
 
 No such man of mark, and meet 
 
 With his hetters to compete! 
 
 But a simple Breton ^'^ sailor pressed hy Tourville for the 
 fleet, 
 A poor coasting-pilot he, Herve Kiel the Croisickese.^^ 
 
 And, "Wliat mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve 
 
 Kiel : 45 
 
 "Are you mad, you Malouins ? ^- Are you cowards, fools, 
 
 or rogues? 
 
 Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, 
 
 tell 1^ 
 On my fingers every l)ank, every sliallow, every swell 
 
 ^Twixt the offing ^^ here and Greve where the river disem- 
 bogues ? 
 
 ^Plymouth f^nntul — off llip southern coast of En:::;lnn(l. N. W. of La 
 riog:ne. 
 
 ^'^ Breton — a nativo of Rrittnny. Frowsted — forced to enler the service of 
 the navy. Tnurrillr — the Freucli Admiral. 
 
 ^^ a native of Le Troisic. 
 
 ^-natives of St. Malo. 
 
 '^ count, enumerate. 
 
 ^^ofpnfj — t)i:)t i)iii-t of* the onen visihle sea remote from the shore. 
 G/r/T — sands round Mont St. Michel. See note on 1. 52. Disembogues — 
 flows into the sea. 
 
34 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Are you bought by English gold ? Is it love the lying's for ? 50 
 Morn and eve, night and day, 
 Have I piloted your l)ay,^'' 
 Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.^*^ 
 
 Burn the tieet and ruin France? That were worse than 
 fifty Hogues ! 
 Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, believe me 
 there's a way ! 55 
 
 Only let me lead the line, 
 
 Have the biggest ship to steer, 
 Get this ^Formidable' clear. 
 Make the others follow mine. 
 
 And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, GO 
 Eight to Solidor past Greve, 
 
 And there lay them safe and sound; 
 And if one ship misbehave, 
 
 — Keel so much as grate the ground, 
 Why, I've nothing but my life, — here's my head !" cries Herve 
 Kiel. . 65 
 
 Xot a minute more to wait. 
 
 "Steer us in then, small and great! 
 
 Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron !" cried its 
 chief. 
 Captains, give the sailor place ! 
 
 He is Admiral, in brief. 70 
 
 Still the north-wind, by God's grace! 
 See the noble fellow's face 
 As the big ship, with a bound, 
 Clears the entry like a hound. 
 
 Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's pro- 
 found !^^ 75 
 
 See, safe thro' shoal and rock. 
 
 How they follow in a flock. 
 Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, 
 
 Not a spar that comes to grief ! 
 
 ^' Bay of St. Michel, N. W. coast of France, east of the mouth of the 
 Ranee. 
 
 1* Soliflor — an old fortress on the mainland. 
 " profound — immeasurable space, expanse. 
 
HERVE KIEL. 35 
 
 The peril, see, is past, 80 
 
 All are harbored to the last, 
 
 And just as Herve Kiel hollas "Anchor !" — sure as fate 
 Up the English come, too late ! 
 
 So the storm subsides to calm : 
 
 They see the green trees wave 85 
 
 On the heights overlooking Greve. 
 Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.^^ 
 "Just our rapture to enhance. 
 
 Let the English rake ^^ the bay, 
 Gnash their teeth and glare askance 90 
 
 As they cannonade away ! 
 'Neath rampired -^ Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee !" 
 How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance ! 
 Out burst all with one accord. 
 
 "This is Paradise for Hell! 95 
 
 Let France, let France's King 
 Thank the man that did the thing !" 
 What a shout, and all one word, 
 
 "Herve Eiel !" 
 As he stepped in front once more, 100 
 
 Not a symptom of surprise 
 
 In the frank blue Breton eyes, 
 Just the same man as before. 
 
 Then said Damfreville, "My friend, 
 
 I must speak out at the end, 105 
 
 Tho' I find the speaking hard. 
 Praise is deeper than the lips : 
 You have saved the King his ships, 
 
 You must name your own reward. 
 'Faith our sun w^as near eclipse ! -^ 110 
 
 Demand whate'er you will, 
 France remains your debtor still. 
 
 Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfre- 
 ville." 
 
 18 stanched tcith balm — soothed ; balm is an ointment or anytliing that 
 soothes. 
 
 1" search. -" ramparted, fortified. 
 
 21 'faith — in faith. See the figure of speech in the line. 
 
36 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Tlien a beam of fun outbroke 
 
 On the heai'dt'd niouili that spoke, 115 
 
 As the honest heart hiiighed tlirough 
 
 Those frank eyes of Breton blue : 
 
 "Since 1 needs must say my say, 
 
 Since on board the duty's done, 
 
 And from Malo Eoads -- to' Croisic Point, what is it but 
 a run?— 120 
 
 Since 'tis ask and liave, I may — 
 
 Since the others go ashore — 
 Come ! A good whole holiday ! 
 
 Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Auroi-e !" 
 That he asked and that he got, — nothing more. 125 
 
 Name and deed alike are lost : 
 Not a pillar nor a post 
 
 In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell ; 
 Not a head in white and black 
 
 On a single fishing-smack, 130 
 
 In memory of the man l)ut for whom had gone to wrack --^ 
 
 All that France saved from the fight whence England bore 
 the bell.--^ 
 Go to Paris: rank on rank 
 
 Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
 On the Louvre,-^ face and flank ! 135 
 
 You shall look long enough ere you come to Ilerve Riel. 
 So for Ix'tter and for worse, 
 Herve Riel, accept my verse ! 
 In my verse, Ilerve l^iel, do thou once more 
 Save the s(|uadron, lionor France, love thy wife the Belle 
 Aurore ! 140 
 
 " Main Roads — place of anchorage off the const of St. ]Malo. A road 
 differs from a harbor in that it is not sheltered. Croisia Point — a prom- 
 ontory near the month of the Loire, on the west coast of France. 
 
 1. 120 — head — figure-head on a boat. 
 
 -•■' ruin. 
 
 -* bore the bell — was the first or leader, bore the victory. 
 
 -^ The great palace, art-gallery, and museum in Paris. 
 
PHEiDirriDEs: "muorcK, wr conquer." 37 
 
 IV. 
 
 i(. 
 
 PIIElDI]»riDKS : "REJOICE, WE CONQTTer. ' 
 
 First I salute this soil of the hlessed, river and roek ! 
 
 Gods of my birthplace, daemons - and heroes, honor 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 l)ow and the buskin,® praised be your peer, 5 
 Now henceforth and forever, — 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 ! 
 
 1 After the failure of the First Persian Invasion, Darius immediately 
 began preparations for another invasion. Meanwhile he sent heralds to 
 Greece to demand earth and water, the usual I'ersian tokens of submission, 
 from the various states. All the islands and some of the land states sul)- 
 mitted. The Athenians threw the herald into a pit used for criminals, 
 called the Barathrum, bidding him get earth thence for himself, while the 
 Sjiartans flung him into a well for the water. The Persians captured 
 Eretria, and marched toward Athens. No state had sent any assistance to 
 Athens; even those who had refused earth and water seemed too much 
 concerned about tlie.r own safety. When the news of the fall of Eretria 
 came, the Athenians sent a runner named Pheidii)pides to Sparta, who is 
 said to have covered the distance of over 150 miles of mountainous country 
 in two days. The Spartans promised to send their army, but said that they 
 were prevented by religious custom from starting till the ivW moon, it 
 then being tlie ninth day. 
 
 - (houons — among the (Jreeks a class of ministering spirits. 
 
 ^ See "Pan" in 1. 8 to complete the construction. 
 
 *7jCus — the chief god of the Greeks. 
 
 ^ "Ilcr of Ihr <r<jis (iiul sprar" — Athene or Minerva, the goddess of 
 wisdom and war. She is reiiresented as wearing a helmet and carrying a 
 shield ((TEf//s) and a spear. 
 
 •5 "v/c of Ihc hnir aiul ihr hustl-in" — Apollo, god of the sun and the hunt; 
 Diana, goddess of the moon and of hunting. The l)uskin was a half boot or 
 higji shoe strapped or laced to the ankle and lower part of the leg. 
 
 ^ potent — powerful. Pan — the Greek god of nature who presided over 
 fields, forests, and flocks. lie was represented with head and upper part 
 of the body like an elderly man ; the lower part like a goat. Sometimes 
 he had the horns and ears of a goat. lie was fond of mnsic and dancing. 
 At noonday he was sleeiw. His voice and appearance frightened those 
 who saw him ; hence, possibly, our word "panic." See Mrs. Browning's 
 "The Dead Pan." 
 
38 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Archons ^ of Athens, topped ^ l)y the tettix/" see, I return ! 
 See, ^tis myself here standing alive, no specter that speaks ! 10 
 Crowned with the myrtle,^ ^ did you command me, Athens and 
 
 ^'Eun, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid ! 
 Persia^- has come, we are here, where is She?"^^ Your 
 
 command I oheyed. 
 Ran and raced : like stubble, some field which a fire runs 
 
 til rough. 
 Was the space between city and city: two days, two nights 
 
 did I burn 15 
 
 Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks. 
 
 Into their midst I broke : breath served but for "Persia has 
 
 come ! 
 Persia bids Athens proffer slave-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? Xo care for my limbs! — there's lightning in 
 
 all and some — 
 Fresh and fit your message to 1)ear, once lips give it birth!" 
 
 ^ arehnn.s — chief magistrates in the Greek states, especially in Athens. 
 
 " topped — wearing;- on the head. 
 
 ^'^ tctti.r — the si'asshopijer, the symbol of old aue. The Athenians some- 
 times wore the golden grasshoppers in their hair, as badges of honor, be- 
 cause these insects are supposed to spring from the ground, and thus they 
 indicated that the people who wore them were sprung from the original 
 inhabitants of the country. Read Tennyson's "Tit bonus." 
 
 " Inversion. Myrtle — worn by the hero or patriot. 
 
 12 "pcvftui Jian come!" — Figure. 
 
 ^^Shc — Sparta. 
 
 ^*^yater and earth — "Darius (». c. 40.'i) sent heralds into all parts of 
 Greece to require earth and water in his name. This was the form used 
 by the Persians when they exacted submission." Rollins' "Ancient His- 
 tory," Vol. II., p. 207. 
 
 15 fjrctria — one of the principal cities of Eubo^a, the largest island in 
 the .l^gean Sea, now called Negroponte. 
 
 1. 20— II ell as — Greece. 
 
PHEIDIPPIDES : "rejoice, WE CONQUER." 39 
 
 my Athens — Sparta love thee? Did Sparta respond? 25 
 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 of 
 
 dry wood : 
 "Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate ? 30 
 Thunder, thou Zeus ! x\thene, are Spartans a quarry beyond 
 Swing of thy spear? Phoibos and Artemis,^'^ clang them ^Ye 
 
 must !' " 
 
 No bolt launched from Olumpus ! '^^ Lo, their answer at last ! 
 
 "Has Persia come, — does Athens ask aid, — nuiy Sparta be- 
 friend ? 
 
 Nowise precipitate judgment — too weighty the issue at 
 stake ! 35 
 
 Count we not time lost time which lags thro' respect to the 
 Gods ! 
 
 Ponder that precept of old, 'No warfare, ^^ whatever the odds 
 
 In your favor, 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 judgiuent suspend." 40 
 
 Athens, — except for that sparkle, — thy name, I had moldered 
 
 to ash ! 
 That sent a 1)1 aze thro' my l)lood ; off. off and away was I l)ack, 
 — Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the 
 
 vile ! 
 Yet "0 Gods of my land !" I cried, as each liillock and plain, 
 Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them 
 
 again, 45 
 
 i<i pjrrri/ face — every ei/e — the Senators. 
 
 ^'' Phoihus or PJmhiis — Apollo. See 1. 5. Artemis — Diana. 
 
 1** Oliimpuyt or Clumpxs — A mountain in Greece supposed to be the home 
 of the Rods. 
 
 " A Greek superstition. The Spartans would not undertake anything 
 serious before the full of the moon. 
 
40 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 "Have ye kept faith^ proved mincirul oi honors we paid you 
 
 ere while ? 
 Vain was tlie filleted-" victim, tlu' rulsoini' lihationl 'I'oo 
 
 rash 
 Love in its clioitc, paid you so largely service so slack! 
 
 "Oak and olive and Ijay, — I bid you cease to enwreathe -^ 
 Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian's foot, TjO 
 You that, our patrons were pledged, sliould never adorn a 
 
 slave ! 
 lialher 1 hail thee, Parnes,-- — trust to thy wild waste tract! 
 'J'reeless, 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 T can 
 
 breathe, 55 
 
 Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute!" 
 
 Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; 
 (hdly and gap I claml)ered and cleared till, sudden, a bar 
 Jutted, a sto])page of stone against me, blocking the way. 
 Eight! for I minded the bollow to travei'se, the fissure 
 
 across : ()0 
 
 "Where I could ent(u\ there I d<'])n rt by! Night in the 
 
 fosse? -^ 
 Athens to aid? 'i'lio' tlie dive were (hi-o' Erebos,-'* thus I 
 
 obey- — 
 Out of ibe day dive, into the day as bravely arisc^! No bi-idge 
 Better!" — when — ha! what was it 1 camt^ on, oi' wonders that 
 
 are? 
 
 -"filleted victims — The fiUet was a band of ribbon worn on the head; 
 sometimes, also, a wreath of flowers. The filleted or sacrificial victims 
 were generally decked with ribbons and wreaths. Sometimes the cattle 
 had their horns gilded. Fulsome — rich, liberal. Lihation — any offering of 
 oil or wine jioured on the ground in honor of the deity. 
 
 -' or/A" — a symbol of honor. Olire — saci-ed to AIIhmis. In r.rcece. the 
 syml)ol of the highest distinct ion foi' a citi'/cn who liad deserved well of his 
 counlry. fUii/ — sign of vlcloiy. 
 
 -- J'iiriK s a mountain between Aliica and lid-oda now caUed (>/ia. 
 According (o Ileroilolus, the Ihmu iiu'I (be god on M(. i\irt lieniiim in 
 Arcadia. The original seal of llic worsbij) of ran was in Arcadia. 
 
 -■' fnssc — ditch, fissure. 
 
 ^* Erchus — The lower world, the realm of night and the dead. 
 
PHEIDIPPIDES : "rejoice, WE CONQUER." 41 
 
 There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he — majestical Pan ! 65 
 
 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 hearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe 
 As, under the liuinan trunk, the goat-thiohs grand I saw. 
 "Halt, Plieidippides!'' — halt 1 did, my hrain of a whirl: 70 
 "Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?" he gracious 
 
 hcgan : 
 "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 ! 75 
 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 into the 
 
 sea. 
 Then praise Pan who fouglit 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 !' " 
 (Say, 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. 8'"^ 
 
 25 j,-^ — symbol of immortality. Wanton — cnvclossly. 
 
 -^' gravc-kin<Uv — Note the use of the double ei)itbet. 
 
 " carved— Si metjiplior. '* /-f/jfc— temple. 
 
 ■I'i fennel — plant of southern Europe and the east, used in medicine ; has 
 yellow flower, sweet aromatic taste, hodc — forbode ; prophesied, foretold, 
 meant. 
 
42 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Panics 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 thy- 
 self? 90 
 Tell it us straightway, — Athens the mother demands of her 
 
 son !" 
 Eosily blushed the youth : he paused : but, lifting at lentrth 
 His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest 
 
 of his strength 
 Into the utterance — "Pan spoke thus: '^For what thou hast 
 
 done 
 Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee re- 
 lease 95 
 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, — 100 
 
 Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave, — 
 Hie to my house and home : and, when my cliildren 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 : ^* 105 
 
 So, when Persia was dust, all cried "To Akropolis ! ^^ 
 Run, Pheidippides, one race more ! the meed is thy due ! 
 
 30 on the razor's cdfje — in a critical situation. 
 
 31 guerdon— reward ; prize. 
 
 32 MUtiades — Tlie Greeli general who defeated the Persian army at 
 Marathon, a plain in Attica, Greece, 18 miles N. E. of Athens. 
 
 33 whelm away — suhmerge. 
 
 ^* Marathon day — day of the hattle of Marathon, b. c. Sept., 490. This 
 victory preserved the liberties of Greece. 
 35 Akropolis — the citadel of Athens. 
 
MARCHING ALONG. ' 48 
 
 'Athens is saved, thank Pan/ 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, 110 
 
 Till in he broke : "Eejoice, 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 115 
 Wlio 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. 1^0 
 
 CAVALIER TUNES. 
 I. 
 
 MARCHING ALONG.^ 
 
 Kentish ^ Sir Byng stood for the King, 
 Bidding the crop-headed ^ Parliament swing : 
 
 ^Fennel-field — Marathon meant fennel- (field). 
 
 3T ''Rejoice, we conquer!" — the sub-title of the poem. 
 
 1 rublished in "Bells and romegrauates" in 1S42. Set to music by 
 Willieas Stamford. 
 
 Browning's most successful songs are not truly lyrical but dramatic. 
 He does not express his own feelings but conceives how some other mind 
 would have expressed itself under a given mood. We enjoy the poem 
 when we have caught the dramatic conception rather than, as in the true 
 lyric, when we have caught the mood. The Cavalier Tunes are marked 
 examples of this characteristic. They represent two of Browning's most 
 conspicuous traits, unconnuerable confidence, and courage. 
 
 The singers are Royalists who sided with Charles I. in the Civil War. 
 
 "^ Kentish — of Kent in southeastern part of England. Sir Byng — a type 
 of the country gentleman, loyal to Charles I. 
 
 ^crop-headed — reference to the short, closely cut hair of the Roundheads. 
 Swing — hang. 
 
44 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 And, pressing * a troop unable to stoop 
 And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, 
 Marched them along, fifty-score ^' strong, 5 
 
 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 i^asty ^ nor l)ite take nor sup 10 
 
 Till you're— 
 
 Chorus. — Marching along, fifty-score strong. 
 
 Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. 
 
 Hampden ^^ to hell and his obsequies' knell. 
 Serve Hazelrig,^^ Fiennes, and young Harry as well ! 15 
 England, good cheer! Eupert ^- is near! 
 Kentish and loyalists, keej) we not here, 
 Clio. — Marching along, fifty-score strong, 
 
 Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song ! 
 
 Then, God for King Charles ! Pym and his snarls 20 
 
 To the devil that pricks on such pestilent carles! 
 Hold by the right, you double your might; 
 So, onward to Nottingham,^^ fresh for the figlit, 
 Clio. — IMarch we along, fifty-score strong. 
 
 Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song! 25 
 
 * prp.s.s/nr/— ursins on or impressing. 
 
 ■'■' fifty-ficorc — a score is twenty. 
 
 •"• fjrntlcmcn — Royalists. 
 
 "^ Pym — .John Pym, one of the leaders of the Commojis in the i-ei.cn of 
 Charles I. Carlcf} — rude, rustic men ; churls. 
 
 ** paries — talks ; conversation. 
 
 ^ pasfi/ — meat pie. 
 
 ^'^ Hanipdru — .Tohn Hampden; associated witli Pym. See note on 1. 7. 
 
 " Hozclrif/ — with Pym and Iliunpden in (he House of ronimons. Firn- 
 nra — prominent in the political sti-uycjles of the time. Yoiinn Unvrii — 
 Harry Vane, a Puritan, comptroller of the housohohl of Charles I. ; he was 
 beheaded in London, .Tune 14, 1002. 
 
 ^-Rupert — Prince Rupert, nephew of Cliarles I. 
 
 1^ 'Soti Ingham — southern part of Nottinghamshire, gathering-place of the 
 army of Charles I. 
 
BOOT AND SADDLE. 45 
 
 II. 
 
 GIVE A KOUSE.^ 
 
 King Charles^ and wlioll do him rioht now? 
 King Charles, and who's ripe - for light now ? 
 Give a rouse : ^ here's, in hell's despite now, 
 King; Charles ! 
 
 '& 
 
 Who gave me the goods that went since? 5 
 
 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'll do him right now? 
 
 King Charles, and who's ripe for figiit now? 10 
 Give a rouse ; here's, in hell's despite now. 
 Kino; Charles ! 
 
 'O 
 
 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, 15 
 
 While Noll's* damned troopers shot him? 
 
 Cho. — King Charles, and who'll do him right now? 
 King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? 
 Give a rouse : here's, in hell's despite now, 
 Kinsr Charles ! 20 
 
 III. 
 
 BOOT AND SADDLE. 
 
 Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! 
 Eescue my castle before the hot day 
 Brightens to 1)lue its silvery gray. 
 
 Chorus. — Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! 
 
 1 The speaker is a typical cavalier of tlie time of Charles \. Scene — a 
 banqueting hall ; the song — a toast to King Charles. The rhyme is forced. 
 - rlitc — ready. 
 
 3 rouse — a toast, or health. Despite — scorn ; /. c, in scorn of hell. 
 *Noll — nickname of Oliver Cromwell. 
 
46 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Eide past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; 5 
 
 Many's the friend there, will listen and pray 
 "God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay" — 
 Clio. — Boot, saddle, to horse, and away !" 
 
 Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,^ 
 Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Koundheads' - array : 10 
 Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,^ 
 Cho. — Boot, saddle, to horse, and away !" 
 
 Who? My wife Gertrude, that, honest and gay, 
 Laughs when you talk of surrendering : "Nay ! 
 IVe better counselors; what counsel they? 15 
 
 Cho. — Boot, saddle, to horse, and away !" 
 
 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 labored, long and well; 5 
 
 O'er his work the boy's curls fell. 
 
 But ever at each period. 
 
 He stopped and sang, "Praise God !" 
 
 1 at bfii/ — facing the enomy when escape is impossihle. 
 
 - If ound heads — the raiiiamentary party. The name was applied in 
 derision to people who wore closely cropped hair. 
 
 3 1)1/ mil fay — I)y my faith. 
 
 1 Published in Tfood'.s Magazine, Vol. II., 1844, pp. 140-142. Reprinted 
 and revised in "Dramatic Romances and Lyrics," 1845, VII., "Bells and 
 Pomegranates." Another edition in 180.3 has an additional couplet, 11. 
 37, 38; 11. .^»r), .50, inserted in 184.5. 
 
 There are three kinds of praise, human, ceremonial, angelic ; God wants 
 His praise from the meek and lowly. Observe the contrasting of Gabriel's 
 humility and Theocrite's ambition. 
 
 Read "King Robert of Sicily" (Longfellow). Perhaps both poems are 
 based on a legend of kindred meaning. 
 
 See Hazlitt's "Early Popular Poetry," Vol. I. 
 
THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. 47 
 
 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, mj son : 
 
 "As well as if thy voice to-day 
 
 Were praising God, the Pope's great way. 
 
 "This Easter Day, the Pope at Pome 15 
 
 Praises God from Peter's dome." ^ 
 
 Said Theocrite, "Would God that I 
 Might praise him in that way, and die !" 
 
 Night passed, day shone. 
 
 And Theocrite was gone. 20 
 
 With God a day endures alway; 
 A thousand years are but a day. 
 
 God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night 
 Now brings the voice of my delight." 
 
 Then Gabriel,^ like a rainbow's birth, 25 
 
 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: 
 
 '^ Peter's dome — St. Peter's at Rome. ^ Oabriel — the angel. 
 
 * stripling — youth. 
 
48 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 And ever o'er the trade he bent 35 
 
 And ever lived on earth content. 
 
 (He did God's will; to him. all one 
 If on the earth or in the snn.) 
 
 God said, "A praise is in mine ear; 
 
 There is no doubt in it, no fear : 40 
 
 "So sing all 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 45 
 
 The Hesh disguise, remained the cell. 
 
 'Twas Easter Day : he flew to Eome, 
 And paused al)ove Saint Peter's dome. 
 
 Into the tiring-room close by 
 
 The great outer galler}^, 50 
 
 With his holy vestments dight," 
 Stood the new Pope, ThiM^crite : 
 
 And all his past career 
 Came back upon him clear, 
 
 Since, when, a boy, he plied his trade 55 
 
 Till on his life the sickness weighed; 
 
 And in his cell, Avhen death drew near, 
 An angel in a dream brought cheer : 
 
 And rising from the sickness drear. 
 
 He grew a priest, and now stood here. GO 
 
 ^ an :illiisioii lo tlio music of the splieres. 
 '^diyltl — ^clothed, dressed. 
 
HOME-TIIOUGIITS, FrvO]\r ABROAD. 49 
 
 To tlie East with praise he turned. 
 And on his sight the angel burned. 
 
 "I l)ore tliee from th}^ craftsman's cell, 
 xA.nd set thee here; I did not well. 
 
 "Vainly I left my angel-sphere; G5 
 
 Vain was thy dream of many a year. 
 
 "Thy voice's praise seemed weak; dropped — 
 Creation's chorus " stopped ! 
 
 "Go back and praise again 
 
 The early way, while I remain. 70 
 
 "With that weak voice of our disdain, 
 Take up creation's pausing strain. 
 
 "Back to the cell and poor employ : 
 Resume the craftsman and the boy!" 
 
 Theocrite grew old at home ; 75 
 
 A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome. 
 
 One vanishe(] as the other died: 
 They sought God side by side. 
 
 HOME-THOUGHTS^ FROM ABROAD.^ 
 
 Oh, to be in England 
 Now tliat April's there; 
 And whoever wakes in England 
 Sees, some morning, unaware, 
 
 '' Creatioi'fi cIioiks — See 1. -11. 
 
 1 Published in "Bells and I'omesrnnates," Vol. VII., lS-1.5. 
 
 This poem expresses the poet's love for his native land. The descrip- 
 tion of the English Spring — April and Maj' — is perhaps the most beauti- 
 ful description in all Browning's poetry. 
 
 Note the different songbirds mentioned. 
 
50 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf 5 
 
 Eound the ehn-tree bole - are in tiny leaf, 
 While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 
 In England — now ! 
 
 And after x\pril, when May follows, 
 
 And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows ! 10 
 
 Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge 
 
 Leans to the field and scatters on the clover 
 
 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 15 
 
 The first fine rapture ! 
 
 And though 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 ! ^ 20 
 
 HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA.^ 
 
 Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent - to the Northwest died 
 
 away ; 
 Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay ; ^ 
 Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar * lay ; 
 
 - bole — trunk. 
 
 ^ melon-floirrr — the briUiant flower of a tropical climate, but not to be 
 compared in the poet's mind with the modest buttercup of his own 
 Enf?land. 
 
 ^ One of the "Dramatic Romances and Lyrics" pu1)lislied in "Bells and 
 Pomegranates." Vol. VII.. 1845. 
 
 A pa'an inspired by the sight from the sea of Cape Trafalgar and 
 Gibraltar, the one associated with the naval victory gained by the English 
 fleet under Nelson, over the coml)ined French and Spanish fleets ; the 
 other, England's greatest stronghold. The patriot, remembering what Eng- 
 land through her heroes has done for him. asks himself, "How can I help 
 England?" Not England's beauty, but the valor of her heroes, is celebrated 
 in this poem. 
 
 The first four verses make a characteristic Turner picture. 
 
 - Capr a9^. Tiiiccnt — Southwest extremity of Portugal. 
 ^ Cadiz Bay — East of Gape St. Vincent. 
 
 * Trnfiihjar — a promontory on the southern coast of Spain, between 
 Cadiz and Gibraltar. 
 
THE LOST LEADER. 51 
 
 In the dimmest Northeast distance dawned Gibraltar ^ grand 
 and gray; 
 
 "Here and here did England help me : how can I help Eng- 
 land ?" ^ — say, . 5 
 
 Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and 
 pray, 
 
 While Jove's planet ^ rises yonder, silent over Africa. 
 
 'THE LOST LEADER.^ 
 
 Just for a handful of silver he left us. 
 
 Just for a riband to stick in his coat — 
 Found 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 ; 5 
 
 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, honored him. 
 
 Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, 10 
 
 Learned his great language,^ caught his clear accents, 
 
 Made him our pattern to live and to die! 
 
 ^Gibraltar — a town and fortified promontory on the southern coast of 
 Spain. It guards the entrance to the Mediterranean. 
 
 8 Expresses the patriot's gratitude to his country. 
 
 'Jove's planet — the planet Jupiter. 
 
 1 This poem first appeared in '-Bells and Pomegranates," Vol. VII., in 
 1845. It was afterwards reprinted in "Dramatic Lyrics" in 1888. 
 
 There is an undoubted reference to Wordsworth in this poem. Yet it 
 applied also to Southey. Charles Kingsley. and others, who were Radicals 
 in their youth and Conservatives in old age. Browning, in a letter to Mr. 
 Grosart, says : "I did in my hasty youth presume to use the great and 
 venerated personality of Wordsworth as a sort of painter's model ; one 
 from which this or the other particular feature may be selected and turned 
 to account ; had I intended more, above all, such a boldness as portraying 
 the entire man. I should not have talked about 'handfuls of silver and 
 bits of ribbon.' These never influenced the change of politics in the great 
 poet." 
 
 A great leader has deserted the cause and fallen away from early ideals. 
 His disciples are sorrowful not for their own loss, so much as for the 
 moral deterioration he has suffered. 
 
 ^purple — representing rank. 
 
 ^ great language — an allusion to Wordsworth's power of interpretation. 
 
52 ROBERT BROAVNING. 
 
 Shakespeare * was of us, Milton was for us. 
 
 Burns, 81 1 el ley, w^re with us, — they watch from their 
 graves ! ^ 
 He alone lireaks from the van and the freemen 15 
 
 — He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves ! 
 
 We shall march prospering, — not through his presence; 
 
 Songs may inspirit us, — not from his lyre; 
 Deeds will be done, — while he boasts his quiesi^ence. 
 
 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 devils'-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! 25 
 
 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 ! 
 
 EVELYN HOPE.^ 
 
 Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! 
 
 Sit and watch l)y 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; 5 
 
 Little has yet been changed, T think: 
 The shutters are shut, no light may pass 
 
 Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. 
 
 ^ This reference to Shakespeare has been criticised as a misrepresenta- 
 tion of Shal<espeare's position. 
 
 ^ Note the connection of INIilton, Burns, and Shelley witli Lil)eral move- 
 ments. 
 
 ^ rul)lislied in "Men and Women" in ISn.l. Kepriniod in "Dramatic 
 Lyrics" in LSn3, and a.i^ain in LSGS. 
 
 Tliis is a poem of the tenderness and love felt by a mun of middle a-J^e 
 for a. youuji girl who has died at sixteen. She \vixs not aware of his love, 
 
EVELYN HOPE. 53 
 
 Sixteen years old wlieii slie died ! 
 
 Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; 10 
 
 It was not her time to love; beside. 
 
 Tier life liad many a hope and aim. 
 Duties enongh and little cares. 
 
 And now was (|uiet, now astir. 
 Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — 15 
 
 And the sweet white brow is all of liei. 
 
 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 old 
 
 And our paths in the world diverged so wide, 
 Each was naught to each, must I be told? 
 
 We were fellow mortals, naught beside? 
 
 No, indeed! for God above 25 
 
 Is great to grant, as mighty to make, 
 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. 
 
 Through worlds 1 shall traverse, not a few: 30 
 
 Much is to learn, much to forget 
 
 Ere the time be come for taking 3'ou. 
 
 and was too young to be conscious of any need for love in her own life. 
 The man, whom we may believe an intimate friend of the girl's family, is 
 sitting in the room w^here the girl lies dead. As he looks at all her little 
 possessions and grieves for the bright young being taken away from her 
 happiness amid her little pleasures and cares, he consoles himself with 
 the belief on which Browning so constantly insists, of the immortality of 
 the soul and of love. The love God has put into his soul for her must in 
 some future life awake an adequate response. He plucks a leaf from her 
 geranium and folds it into her hand that she may "wake and remember, 
 and understand." 
 
 ~ stars — a reference to the belief that each one's destiny is ruled by a 
 star. The horoscope is the view of one's life. The meeting or crossing of 
 the stars as seen in the horoscope indicates the touching of two lives. 
 
 ^ The ancients believed the body to be composed of the four original 
 elements: fire, air (spirit), earth, and water. 
 
54 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 But the time will come, — at last it will, 
 
 AAHien, Evel}-!! Hope, what meant (I shall say) 
 In the lower earth, in the long ^^ears still, 35 
 
 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 
 
 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, 45 
 
 Either I missed or itself missed me : 
 And I want and find you Evelyn Hope ! 
 
 What is the issue ? let us see ! 
 
 I loved you, Evelyn, all the Avhile! 
 
 My heart seemed full as it could hold; 50 
 
 There was place and tx) 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 ! 55 
 
 You will wake and remember, and understand. 
 
 ONE WORD MORE.^ 
 
 I. 
 
 There they are, my fifty men and women 
 Naming me the fifty ])oems finished ! 
 Take them. Love, the book and me together: 
 Where the heart lies, let tlie brain lie also. 
 
 ^ This poem was orifjinally appended to the collection "Men and Women." 
 The poem was written in return for Mrs. Rrowninjj;'s volume of "Sonnets 
 
 from the Portuguese." in which she expressed hor love for Air. Browning. 
 
 Browning departs from his chosen objective methods and, speaking in his 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 55 
 
 II. 
 
 Rafael ^ made a century of sonnets, 5 
 
 Made and wrote them in a certain volume 
 
 Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil 
 
 Else he only used to draw Madonnas : 
 
 These, the world might view — but one, the volume. 
 
 Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you. 10 
 
 Did she live and love it all her lifetime? 
 
 Did she drop, his lady of the sonnets,^ 
 
 Die and let it drop beside her pillow 
 
 Where it lay in place of Eafael's glory, 
 
 Rafael's cheek so duteous and so loving — 15 
 
 Cheek, the world was wont to hail a painter's, 
 
 Rafael's cheek, her love had turned a poet's? 
 
 III. 
 
 You and I would rather read that volume, 
 
 (Taken to his beating bosom by it) 
 
 Lean and list the bosom-beats of Rafael, 20 
 
 Would we not ? than w^onder at Madonnas — 
 
 Her, San Sisto ^ names, and Her, Foligno, 
 
 Her that visits Florence in a vision,^ 
 
 own person, dedicates to his wife his "fifty men and women," meaning 
 the dramatic monologues of which the volume was composed. He depicts 
 the need which all great artists must have felt of finding a special method 
 of expression for their love, not the method by which they have brought 
 truth or comfort to a public who have ungratefully criticised theit" work. 
 Then he expresses his love for his wife with a passionate tenderness and 
 sincerity which have seldom, if ever, been surpassed in literature. 
 
 -Rafael, the painter (1483-1520). He wrote a few sonnets. Those 
 that remain are scrawled on various sketches for the "Disputa," the 
 famous painting of the Vatican. One is in the British Museum. Four 
 sonnets on the back of some studies for wall paper. 
 
 3 "lachj of the sonnets" — Margherita, the baker's daughter, with whom 
 Rafael was in love. Little is positively known of her. 
 
 See Mrs. Jameson's "Legends of the Madonnas." 
 
 * 11. 21-24 — References to Rafael's Madonnas. There were about fifty. 
 
 5 The San Sisto, or Sistine Madonna, so called because of the representa- 
 tion of St. Sixtus and St. Barbara in the lower part of the picture, is in 
 the Dresden gallery. The Foligno is in the Vatican. A view of the city 
 of Foligno is in the background of the picture. 
 
 ^ Probably the Madonna del Granduca. now in the Pitti gallery in 
 Florence. Rafael represents her as appearing to a votary in a vision. 
 
56 ROBEET BROWNING. 
 
 Her, that's left witli lilies in the Ijouvre ^ — 
 
 Seen by us and all the world in circle. 25 
 
 IV. . 
 
 You and J will never read that volume. 
 
 (liuido l\eni,'^ like his own e3'e's apple 
 
 Guarded long' the treasure-hook and loved it. 
 
 Guido Heni dyin*;-, all Bologna '' ^*^ 
 
 Cried, and all the worhl cried too, ^'Ours the treasure!" 30 
 
 Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished. 
 
 V. 
 
 Dante *^ once prepared to paint an angel : 
 
 Whom to phrase? You whisjxM' ''l)('atricc." ^- 
 
 While he mused and traced it and I'eti'accd it, 
 
 (Perad venture with a pen corroded ^■' 35 
 
 Still by drops of that hot ink hc^ dipped for. 
 
 When, his left-hand i' the haii' o' the wicked/* 
 
 ^ This may be "La IJello Jardiniere" fi-om tlie fact tliat the Virf-in is 
 represented in a garden wltli lilies among the flowers of it. II is a group 
 of three, mother, child, and S(. .Tolin. 
 
 ^ GuUlo Rent — a noted painter of Bologna (ir>7r»-]r>42). "That volume" 
 (1. 20) was a hook of designs which l)el()nged to Kafael. IJi/e'-s apple — 
 the pupil, the most precious part. 
 
 " Bolocjna — in Italy at the foot of the Apennines. 
 
 ^•^ Gnido Reni purchased this hook in Rome. It contained 100 designs 
 drawn by his hand, and this l)00k Reni left to his heir. 
 
 " /)rn(/c— the greatest Italian poet ( 1LM;.")-1;jl'1) . He was a skilful 
 draughtsman and at tlie death of Beatrice drew an angel on a tablet. 
 
 *- lUatficc — Beatrice Portinari was Dante's first and only love. Tra- 
 dition says that he was hut nine years old when he met her, and that he 
 loved her faithfully the rest of his life. She died at the age of twenty-four. 
 Ilis love for her is celebrated in his "La Vita Nuova" and in the "Divine 
 Comedy." Perhaps no woman has ever been celelirated with a more per- 
 fect affection thnn Dante gave to Beatrice. Yet it is hard to say how 
 much is real and how much is the idealization of the poet. 
 
 ^^"pcn corroded" — refers to the manner in which Dante punished in his 
 great poem those who were his personal enemies. Browning, however, 
 does not seem to think that Dante did this from personal spite as he has 
 been accused of doing. 
 
 "Cf. "Inferno," Canto 32. 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 57 
 
 Back he held the hrow and pricked its stigma/^ 
 
 Bit into the live man's flesh for parchment/'' 
 
 Loosed liim, lau^lied to sec the writing rankle, 40 
 
 Let the wretch, go festering through Florence) — 
 
 Dante, who loved well hecanse he hated, 
 
 Hated wickedness that hinders loving, 
 
 Dante standing, studying his angel, — 
 
 In there broke the folk of his Inferno.^^ 45 
 
 Says he — "Certain peo^^le of importance" 
 
 (Such he gave his daily dreadful line to) 
 
 "Entered and would seize, forsooth, the poet." 
 
 Says the poet — "Then I stopped my painting." 
 
 VI. 
 
 You and I would rather see that angel, 50 
 
 Painted by the tenderness of Dante, 
 
 Would we not? — than read a fresh Inferno. 
 
 VII. 
 
 You and I will never see that ])icture. 
 
 XAHiile he mused on love and Beatrice, 
 
 While he softened o'er his outlined angel, 55 
 
 In they broke, those "people of importance": 
 
 We and Bice ^^ bear the loss together. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 What of Eafael's sonnets, Dante's picture? 
 
 This : no artist lives and loves, that longs not 
 
 Once, and only once, and for one only, 60 
 
 (Ah, the prize!) to iind his love a language 
 
 Fit and fair and simple and sufficient — 
 
 Using nature that's an art to others. 
 
 Not, this one time, art that's turned his nature. 
 
 ^^ Hiifima — a brand, especiaUy one of disgrace. 
 
 >« refers to no special incident eitlier in liio writings or in the life of 
 
 Dante. 
 
 IT "Inferno" — A portion of Dante's greatest work, "The Divine Comedy." 
 " Bice — a tender diminutive of Beatrice. 
 
58 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Ay, of all the artists living, loving, 65 
 
 None l)ut would forego his proper dowry — 
 
 Does he paint ? he fain would write a poem, — 
 
 Does he write? he fain would paint a picture, 
 
 Put to proof art alien to the artist's, 
 
 Once and only once, and for one only, 70 
 
 So to be the man and leave the artist, 
 
 Gain the man's joy, miss the artist's sorrow. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Wherefore ? Heaven's gift takes earth's abatement ! ^^ 
 
 He who smites the rock and spreads the water,^^ 
 
 Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him 75 
 
 Even he, the minute makes immortal. 
 
 Proves perchance, but mortal in the minute, 
 
 Desecrates, belike, the deed in doing. 
 
 While he smites, how can he but remember, 
 So he smote before, in such a peril, 80 
 
 When they stood and mocked — "Shall smiting help us?" 
 When they drank and sneered — "A stroke is easy !" 
 When they wiped their mouths and went their journey. 
 Throwing him for thanks — "Rut drought was pleasant." 
 Thus old memories mar the actual triumph; 85 
 
 Thus the doing savors of disrelish; 
 Thus achievement lacks a gracious somewhat; 
 O'cr-importuncd brows becloud the nuindate. 
 Carelessness or consciousness — the gesture. 
 For he bears an ancient wrong about him, 90 
 
 Sees and knows again those phalanxod faces. 
 Hears, yet one time more, the 'customed prelude — 
 "How shouldst thou, of all men, smite, and save us?"^^ 
 Guesses what is like to prove the sequel — 
 "Egypt's flesh-pots — nay, the drought was better." ^^ 95 
 
 '" Fame brings pain to the genius. 
 
 *° Cf . Numl)ers xx. 
 
 2' Three times before Moses smote the rock he had helped the Israelites 
 from great troubles. lie is used here as a type rather than as an in- 
 dividual. 
 
 " Cf. Exodus xvl. 3. 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 69 
 
 X. 
 
 Oh, the crowd must have emphatic warrant ! 
 Theirs, the Sinai-forehead's cloven brilliance/^ 
 Eight-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's imperial fiat.^* 
 Never does the man put off the prophet. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Did he love one face from out the thousands, 100 
 
 (Were she Jethro's daughter,-^ white and wifely. 
 
 Were she but the Ethiopian bondslave). 
 
 He would envy yon dumb patient camel,^^ 
 
 Keeping a reserve of scanty water 
 
 Meant to save his own life in the desert ; 105 
 
 Ready in the desert to deliver 
 
 (Kneeling down to let his breast be opened) 
 
 Hoard and life together for his mistress. 
 
 XII. 
 
 I shall never, in the years remaining. 
 
 Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues, 110 
 
 Make you music that should all-express me; 
 
 So it seems : I stand on my attainment 
 
 This of verse alone, one life allows me; 
 
 Verse and nothing else have I to give you. 
 
 Other heights in other lives, God willing: 115 
 
 All the gifts from all the heights, your own, Love ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yet a semblance of resource avails us — 
 
 Shade so finely touched, love's sense must seize it. 
 
 Take these lines, look lovingly and nearly. 
 
 Lines I write the first time and the last time. 120 
 
 23 These compounds are In accordance with German usage. For the 
 allusion cf. Exodus xxxiv. 29, 30. 
 
 2^ More compounds. Allusion : Numbers xx. 11. 
 
 2 5 Jethro's daughter — Zipporah, Moses' wife. Cf. Exodus ii. 21. 
 
 2" Numbers xii. 1. 
 
60 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 He who works in fresco steals a liair-bnish. 
 
 Curbs the liberal hand, subservient proudly. 
 
 Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in little. 
 
 Makes a strange art of an art familiar. 
 
 Fills his lady's niissal-marge -^ with flowerets. 125 
 
 He who blows through bronze may breathe through silver, 
 
 Fitly serenade a slumbrous princess. 
 
 He who writes, may write for once as I do. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Love, 3^ou saw nie gather men and women. 
 
 Live or dead or fashioned by my fancy: 130 
 
 Enter each and all, and use their service; 
 
 Speak from every mouth; — the speech, a poem. 
 
 Hardly shall I tell my joys and sorrows, 
 
 Hopes and fears, belief and disbelieving; 
 
 I am mine and yours — the rest be all men's ; 135 
 
 Karshish,-* Cleon, Norbert, and the fifty. 
 
 Let me speak this once in my true person, 
 
 Not as Lippo,-^ Eoland or Andrea, 
 
 Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence: 
 
 Pray you, look on these my men and women, 110 
 
 Take and keep my fifty poems finished; 
 
 Where my heart lies, let my brain lie also ! 
 
 Poor the speech; be how I speak, for all things. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Not but that you know me ! Lo, the moon's self ! 
 
 Here in London, yonder late in Florence, 115 
 
 Still we find her face, the thrice-transfigured. 
 
 Curving on a sky imbrued with color, 
 
 ^''missal-marge — the margin of a prayer-book. Formerlj^ the margins 
 used to be beautifuUy illuminated. 
 
 ^^ Karshish — changed from Karshook ; in Hebrew it means a thistle. 
 See "Ben Karshook's Vision." Cicon is the hero of the poem of that 
 name ("Men and Women"). Norhert is the hero of "In a Balcony" ("Men 
 and Women"). 
 
 ^^ Lippo — the painter in "Fra Lippo Lippi." Roland — in "Childe Roland 
 to the Dark Tower Came." Andrea — in "Andrea del Sarto." 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 61 
 
 Drifted over Fiesole ^^ by twilight, 
 
 Came she, our new crescent of a hair's-breadth. 
 
 Full she flared it, lamping Samminiato/-^ 150 
 
 Rounder 'twixt the cypresses and rounder, 
 
 Perfect till the nightingales applauded. 
 
 Now, a piece of her old self, impoverished, 
 
 Hard to greet, she traverses the house-roofs, 
 
 Hurries with unhandsome thrift of silver 155 
 
 Goes dispiritedly, glad to finish. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 What, there's nothing in the moon noteworthy? 
 
 Nay; for if that moon could love a mortal,^^ 
 
 Use, to charm him (so to fit a fancy). 
 
 All her magic ('tis the old sweet mythos),^^ 160 
 
 She would turn a new side to her mortal 
 
 Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, steersman — 
 
 Blank to Zoroaster ^^ on his terrace. 
 
 Blind to Galileo ^^ on his turret. 
 
 Dumb to Homer,^^'^ dumb to Keats — him, even! 165 
 
 Think, the wonder of the moonstruck mortal — 
 
 When she turns round, comes again in heaven, 
 
 Opens out anew for worse or better ! 
 
 Proves she like some portent of an iceberg 
 
 Swimming full upon the ship it founders, 170 
 
 Hungry with huge teeth of splintered crystals? 
 
 Pro\^s'she as the paved work of a sapphire" 
 
 Seen by Moses when he climbed the mountain ? 
 
 Moses, Aaron, Nadab and Abihu ^^ 
 
 Climbed and saw the very God, the Highest, 175 
 
 30 Fiesole — three miles north of Florence. 
 
 31 Samminiato — San Miniato, a well-known church in Florence. 
 
 32 Cf. the love of the moon for Endymion. 
 
 33 mythos — myth. 
 
 3* Zoroaster — said to be the founder of the Persian Religion, and com- 
 piler of the sacred boolis of the Zend-Avesta. 
 
 33 Galileo — the great Italian astronomer. 
 
 3<i Homer— the Greek poet. Keats and Shelley were favorite poets with 
 Browning before they were read much by the public at large. Undoubt- 
 edly he was much influenced by them. 
 
 37 Cf. Exodus xxiv. 10. 
 
 38 Cf. Exodus xxiv. 9 and the following verses. 
 
62 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Stand upon the paved work of a sapphire. 
 
 Like the bodied heaven in his clearness 
 
 Shone the stone^ the sapphire of that paved work, 
 
 When they ate and drank and saw God also ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 What were seen ? None knows, none ever shall know. 180 
 
 Only this is sure — the sight were other; 
 
 Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence, 
 
 Dying now impoverished here in London. 
 
 God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures 
 
 Boasts two soul-sides; one to face the world with; 185 
 
 One to show a woman when he loves her! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 This I say of me, but think of you. Love ! 
 
 This to you — yourself my moon of poets ! 
 
 Ah, but that's the world's side, there's the wonder; 
 
 Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you ! 190 
 
 There, in turn I stand with them and praise you — 
 
 Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it. 
 
 But the best is when I glide from out them, ' 
 
 Cross a step or two of dubious twilight 
 
 Come out on the other side, the novel 195 
 
 Silent silver liglits and darks undreamed of. 
 
 Where I hush and bless myself with silence. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas; 
 
 Oh, their Dante of the dread Inferno, 
 
 Wrote one song — and in my brain I sing it ; 200 
 
 Drew one angel — borne, see, on my bosom ! 
 
 K. B. 
 
THE PIED PIPER OF IIAMELIN. 63 
 
 THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 
 
 Hamelin town's in Brunswick, 
 By famous Hanover city: 
 The river Weser, deep and wide, 
 Washes its walls on either side; 
 A pleasanter spot you never spied; 
 But, when hegins my ditty, 
 Almost five hundred years ago, 
 To see the townsfolk suffer so 
 From vermin, was a pity. 
 
 II. 
 
 Eats! 
 
 They fought the dogs and killed the cats. 
 
 And hit the l)abies in the cradles, 
 
 And ate the cheeses out of the vats, 
 
 And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles. 
 
 Split open the kegs of salted sprats. 
 
 Made nests inside men's Sunday hats. 
 
 And even spoiled the women's chats 
 
 By drowning their speaking 
 
 With shrieking and squeaking 
 
 In fifty different sharps and flats. 
 
 III. 
 
 At last the people in a body 
 
 To the Town Hall came flocking : 
 
 " 'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy ; 
 
 And as for our Corporation, shocking 
 
 To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 
 
 For dolts that can't or won't determine 
 
 What's best to rid us of our vermin! 
 
 You hope, because you're old and obese. 
 
 To find in the furry civic rol^e ease ! 
 
 Rouse up, sirs ! give your brains a racking 
 
64 ROBERT BROWXING. 
 
 To find the remedy we're lacking, 
 Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing !" 
 At this the Mayor and Corporation 
 Quaked with a mighty consternation. 
 
 IV. 
 
 An hour they sat in council ; 
 
 At length the Mayor broke silence : 
 
 "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell, 
 
 I wish I were a mile hence ! 
 
 It's easy to bid one rack one's brain — 
 
 I'm sure my poor head aches again, 
 
 I've scratched it so and all in vain. 
 
 Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap !" 
 
 Just as he said this, what sliould hap 
 
 At the chamber door but a gentle tap? 
 
 "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" 
 
 (With the Corporation as he sat, 
 
 Looking little, though wondrous fat ; 
 
 Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister 
 
 Than a too-long-opened oyster. 
 
 Save when at noon liis paunch grew mutinous 
 
 For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous,) 
 
 "Oidy a scra])iiig of shoes on the unxt? 
 
 Anything like the sound of a rat 
 
 Makes my heart go pit-a-pat !" 
 
 V. 
 
 "Come in !" the Mayor cried, looking bigger 
 And in did come the strangest figure! 
 His (|ueer long coat from heel to head 
 Was half of yellow and half of rcnl. 
 And he himself was tall and thin, 
 With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin. 
 With light loose hair, yet swarthy skin. 
 No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin. 
 But li])S where smiles went out and in; 
 ''J'here was no guessing his kith and kin : 
 And nobody could enough admire 
 
THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 65 
 
 The tall man and his quaint attire. 
 Quoth one : "It's as my great grandsire, 
 Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, 
 Had walked his way from his painted tombstone !" 
 
 VI. 
 
 He advanced to the council-table : 
 And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able. 
 By means of a secret charm, to draw 
 All creatures living beneath the sun, 
 That creep or swim or fly or run. 
 After me so as you never saw ! 
 And I chiefly use my charm 
 On creatures that do people harm, 
 The mole and toad and newt and viper; 
 And people call me the Pied Piper." 
 (And here they noticed round his neck 
 A scarf of red and yellow stripe, 
 To match with his coat of self-same check: 
 And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; 
 And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying, 
 As if impatient to be playing 
 Upon his pipe as low it dangled 
 Over his vesture so old-fangled.) 
 "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am. 
 In Tartary I freed the Cham, 
 Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats: 
 I eased in Asia the Nizam 
 Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats: 
 And as for what your brain bewilders. 
 If I can rid your town of rats 
 Will vou give me a thousand guilders ?" 
 "One*i fifty thousand !" was the exclamation 
 Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Into the street the Piper stept. 
 Smiling first a little smile. 
 As if he knew what magic slept, 
 In his quiet pipe the while : 
 Then, like a musical adept, 
 
66 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, 
 And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, 
 Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled ; 
 And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, 
 You heard as if an army muttered : 
 And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; 
 And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; 
 And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. 
 Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, 
 Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, 
 Grave old plodders, gay young friskers. 
 Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins. 
 Cocking tails and pricking whiskers. 
 
 Families by tens and dozens. 
 Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — 
 Followed the Piper for their lives. 
 From street to street he piped advancing. 
 And step for step they followed dancing. 
 Until they came to the river Weser, 
 Wherein all plunged and perished ! 
 — Save one, who, stout as Julius Caesar, 
 Swam across and lived to carry 
 (x\s he the manuscript he cherished) 
 To Eat-land home his commentary : 
 Which was : "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, 
 I heard a sound as of scraping tripe. 
 And putting apples, wondrous ripe, 
 Into a cider press's gripe; 
 And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, 
 And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards. 
 And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks. 
 And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: 
 And it seemed as if a voice 
 (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery 
 Is breatbed) called out, ^Oh, rats, rejoice! 
 The world is grown to one vast drysaltery ! 
 So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon. 
 Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon !' 
 And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon. 
 Already staved, like a great sun shone 
 
THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 
 
 67 
 
 Glorious scarce an inch l^efore me, 
 
 Just as methouglit it said, 'Come, bore me!' 
 
 —I found the \Veser rolling o'er me." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 You should have heard the Hamelin people 
 
 Kinging the bells till they rocked the steeple. 
 
 "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles. 
 
 Poke out the nests and block up the holes ! 
 
 Consult with carpenters and builders, 
 
 And leave in our town not even a trace 
 
 Of the rats !" — when suddenly, up the face 
 
 Of the Piper perked in the market-place. 
 
 With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 A thousand guilders ! The Mayor looked blue ; 
 
 So did the Corporation, too. 
 
 For council dinners made rare havoc 
 
 With Claret, Moselle, Yin-de-grave, Hock; 
 
 And half the money would replenish 
 
 Their cellar's biggest butt with Ehenish. 
 
 To pay this sum to a wandering fellow 
 
 With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! 
 
 "Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, 
 
 "Our business was done at the river's brink; 
 
 We saw with our eyes the vermin sink. 
 
 And what's dead can't come to life, I think. 
 
 So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink 
 
 From the duty of giving you something for drink. 
 
 And a matter of money to put in your poke ; 
 
 But as for the guilders, what we spoke 
 
 Of them, as you very well know. w\as in joke. 
 
 Beside, our losses liave made us thrifty. 
 
 A thousand guilders ! Come, take fifty !" 
 
68 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 The Piper's face fell, and he cried, 
 "No trifling ! I can't wait ! Beside, 
 I've promised to visit by dinner-time 
 Bagdat, and accept the prime 
 Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, 
 For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen. 
 Of a nest of scorpions no survivor : 
 With him I proved no bargain-driver; 
 With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver ! 
 And folks who put me in a passion 
 May find me j)ipe after another fashion." 
 
 XI. 
 
 "How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook 
 
 Being worse treated than a cook? 
 
 Insulted by a lazy ribald 
 
 With idle pipe and vesture piebald ? 
 
 You threaten us, fellow ? Do your worst ! 
 
 Blow your pipe there till you burst !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 Once more ho stept into the street, 
 
 And to his lips again 
 Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane ; 
 
 And ere he blew three notes (such sweet. 
 Soft notes as yet musician's cunning 
 
 Never gave the enraptured air) 
 There was rustling that seemed like a bustling 
 Of merry crowds justling and ]u'tching and hustling; 
 Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, 
 Little hands clapping, and HI tie tongues chattering. 
 And, like fowls in a farm-yard, when barley is scattering, 
 Out came the children running. 
 All the little boys and girls. 
 With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls. 
 And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, 
 Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after 
 The wonderful music with shouting and laughter'. 
 
THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 69 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Ma3^or was dumb, and the Council stood 
 
 As if they were changed into blocks of wood. 
 
 Unable to move a step, or cry 
 
 To the children merrily skipping by, 
 
 — Could only follow with the eye 
 
 That joyous crowd at the piper's back. 
 
 But how the Mayor was on the rack. 
 
 And the wretched Council's bosom beat, 
 
 As the Piper turned from the High Street, 
 
 To where the Weser rolled its waters. 
 
 Eight in the way of their sons and daughters ! 
 
 However, he turned from South to West, 
 
 And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 
 
 And after him the children pressed : 
 
 Great was the joy in every breast. 
 
 "He never can cross that mighty top ! 
 
 He's forced to let the piping drop. 
 
 And we shall see our children stop." 
 
 When lo, as they reached the mountain-side, 
 
 A wondrous portal opened wide. 
 
 As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed ; 
 
 And the Piper advanced, and the children followed, 
 
 And when all were in, to the very last. 
 
 The door in the mountain-side shut fast. 
 
 Did I say all ? No ! One was lame, 
 
 And could not dance the whole of the way; 
 
 And in after years, if you would blame 
 
 His sadness, he was used to say, — 
 
 "It's dull in our town since my playmates left ! 
 
 I can't forget that I'm bereft 
 
 Of all the pleasant sights they see, 
 
 Wliich the Piper also promised me. 
 
 For he led us, he said, to a joyous land. 
 
 Joining the town, and just at hand. 
 
 Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, 
 
 And flowers put forth a fairer hue. 
 
 And everything was strange and new. 
 
 The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, 
 
 And their dogs outran our fallow deer, 
 
70 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 And honey-bees had lost their stings, 
 
 And horses were born with eagles' wings; 
 
 And just as I became assured 
 
 My lame foot would be speedily cured, 
 
 The music stopped and I stood still, 
 
 And found myself outside the hill, 
 
 Left alone against my will, 
 
 To go now limping as before, 
 
 x\nd never hear of that country more!" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Alas, alas for Hamelin ! 
 
 There came into many a burgher's pate 
 
 A text which says that Heaven's gate 
 
 Opes to tlie rich at as easy a rate 
 As the needle's eye takes a camel in! 
 The Mayor sent East, West, Xorth, and South, 
 To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, 
 Wherever it was men's lot to find him. 
 Silver and gold to his heart's content. 
 If he'd only return the way he went, 
 
 And bring the children behind him. 
 But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, 
 And Piper and dancers were gone forever. 
 They made a decree that lawyers never 
 
 Should think tlieir records dated duly. 
 If, after the day of the month and year, 
 These words did not as well appear, 
 
 "And so long after what happened here 
 
 On the twenty-second of July, 
 Thirteen hundred and seventy-six;" 
 And the better in memory to fix 
 The place of the children's last retreat. 
 They called it the l»ied Piper's Street— 
 Where any one playing on pipe or tabor 
 Was sure for the futui'e to lose his lal)or. 
 Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern 
 
 To shock with mirth a street so solemn; 
 But opposite the place of the cavern 
 
 They wrote the story on a column. 
 
RABBI BEN EZRA. 
 
 71 
 
 And on the great church window painted 
 
 The same, to make the world acquainted 
 
 How their children were stolen away, 
 
 And there it stands to this very day. 
 
 And I must not omit to say 
 
 That in Transylvania there's a tribe 
 
 Of alien people who ascribe 
 
 The outlandish ways and dress 
 
 On which our neighbors lay much stress, 
 
 To their fathers and mothers having risen 
 
 Out of some subterraneous prison 
 
 Into which they were trepanned 
 
 Long ago in a mighty band 
 
 Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, 
 
 But how or why, they don't understand. 
 
 XV. 
 
 So, Willy, let me and you be wipers 
 
 Of scores out with all men— especially pipers ! 
 
 And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice. 
 
 If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise. 
 
 RABBI BEN EZRA. 
 
 Grow old along with me! 
 
 The best is vet 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. 
 
 Not that, amassing flowers. 
 
 Youth sighed, "Which rose make ours, 
 
 Which lily leave and then as best recall V 
 
 Not that, admiring stars, 
 
 It yearned "Nor Jove, nor Mars; 
 
 Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them 
 
 all !" 
 
12 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 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. 
 
 Poor vaunt of life indeed, 
 Were man but formed to feed 
 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? 
 
 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. 
 
 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 clieap the strain ; 
 
 Tjearn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! 
 
 For thence, — a paradox 
 
 Which comforts while it mocks, — 
 
 Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail : 
 
 What I aspired to be, 
 
 And was not, comforts me : 
 
 A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. 
 
 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 ? 
 
RABBI BEN EZRA. V3 
 
 Yet gifts should prove their use : 
 
 I own the Past profuse 
 
 Of power each side, perfection every turn : 
 
 Eyes, ears took in their dole, 
 
 Brain treasured up tlie whole; 
 
 Should not the heart l)eat once "How good to live and learn" ? 
 
 Not once heat "Praise be Thine ! 
 
 I see the whole design, 
 
 I, who saw power, see now love perfect too : 
 
 Perfect I call Thy plan : 
 
 Thanks that I was a man! 
 
 Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what Thou shalt do." 
 
 For pleasant is this flesh; 
 
 Our soul, in its rose-mesh 
 
 Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest : 
 
 AVould we some prize might hold 
 
 To match those manifold 
 
 Possessions of the brute, — gain most, as we did best ! 
 
 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. 
 Let us cry "All good things 
 
 Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps 
 soul !" 
 
 Therefore I summon age 
 
 To grant youth's heritage, 
 
 Life's 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. 
 
 And I shall thereupon 
 
 Take rest, ere I be gone 
 
 Once more on my adventure brave and new : 
 
 Fearless and unperplexed. 
 
 When T wage battle next, 
 
 What weapons to select, what armour to indue. 
 
74 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 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. 
 
 For, note when evening shuts, 
 
 A certain moment cuts 
 
 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." 
 
 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, 
 
 That acquiescence vain : 
 
 The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." 
 
 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. 
 
 As it was better, youth 
 
 Should strive, thro' acts uncouth. 
 
 Toward nuiking, 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 
 
 Enough now, if the Eight 
 
 And Good and Infinite 
 
 Be named here, as tliou callest thy hand thine own, 
 
 Witli knowledge absolute 
 
 Sul)jcct to no dispute 
 
 From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. 
 
RABBI BEN EZRA. 
 
 75 
 
 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! 
 
 Now, who shall arbitrate? 
 
 Ten men love what I hate, 
 
 Shun what I follow, slight what I receive ; 
 
 Ten, who in ears and eyes 
 
 Match me : we all surmise. 
 
 They, this thing, and I, that : whom shall my soul believe f 
 
 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 : 
 
 But all, the world's coarse thumb 
 
 And finger failed to plumb. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 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. 
 
 Ay, note that Potter's wheel, 
 
 That metaphor! and feel 
 
 Why time spins fast, why nassive 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 ! 
 
76 KOBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Fool ! All that is, at all, 
 
 Lasts ever, past recall ; 
 
 Earth changes, but tliy soul and God stand sure: 
 
 What entered into thee. 
 
 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. 
 
 What tho' the earlier grooves 
 
 Which ran the laughing loves 
 
 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? 
 
 Look not thou down but up ! 
 To uses of a cup 
 
 The festal board, lamjVs flash and trumpet's peal, 
 The new wine's foaming flow. 
 The Master's lips a-giow! 
 
 Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with 
 earth's wheel? 
 
 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 colors rife. 
 
 Bound dizzily, — mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst: 
 
 So take and use Thy work. 
 
 Amend what flaws may lurk. 
 
 What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim! 
 
 My times be in Thy hand ! 
 
 Perfect the cup as planned ! 
 
 Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same ! 
 
SOXGS FROM PIPPA PASSES. ?V 
 
 SONGS FROM PIPPA PASSES. 
 I. 
 
 The year's at the spring 
 And clay's at the morn : 
 Morning's at seven; 
 The hillside's dew-pearled; 
 The lark's on the wing; 
 The snail's on the thorn : 
 God's in His heaven — 
 All's right with the world! 
 
 II. 
 
 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, 
 
 " 'Tis only a page tliat carols unseen. 
 Crumbling your hounds their messes!") 
 
 Is she wronged? — To the rescue of her honor. 
 
 My heart ! 
 Is she poor ? — What costs it to be styled a doner ? 
 
 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, 
 
 " 'Tis only a page tliat carols unseen, 
 Fitting your hawks their jesses!") 
 
 III. 
 
 All service ranks the same with God : 
 
 If now, as fornierly He trod 
 
 Paradise, His presence fills 
 
 Our earth, each only as God wills 
 
 Can work — God's puppets, best and worst, 
 
 Are we : there is no last nor first. 
 
78 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 [This is, perhaps, the grandest and most beautiful of all 
 Browning's religious poems. It is a Messianic oratorio in 
 words. The influence of music in tlic cure of diseases has 
 long been the subject of study by physicians. Depression of 
 mind, delirium, and insanity were anciently attributed to evil 
 spirits which were put to flight by suitable harmonies. David 
 was sent for to cure Saul.] 
 
 I. 
 
 Said Abner, "At last thou art come ! Ere I tell, ere thou 
 
 speak. 
 Kiss my cheek, wish me well !" Then I wished it, and did 
 
 kiss his cheek. 
 And he, "Since the King, my friend, for thy countenance 
 
 sent, 
 Neither drunken nor eaten have w^e; nor until from his tent 
 Thou return with the joyful assurance tlie King liveth yet. 
 Shall our lip with the honey be bright, with the water be wet. 
 For out of the black mid-tent's silence, a space of three days, 
 Kot 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. 
 
 II. 
 
 "Yet now my heart leaps, beloved ! God's chiUl with his 
 
 dew 
 On thy gracious gold liair, and tliose lilies still living and blue 
 Just broken to twine round thy har])-strings, as if no wild heat 
 Were now raging to torture the desert !" 
 
 III. 
 
 Then T, as was meet. 
 Knelt down to the God of my fathers, and rose on my feet. 
 
SAUL. '79 
 
 And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder. The tent was un- 
 looped ; 
 
 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, 
 
 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 de- 
 scried 
 
 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. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He stood erect as that tent-pro]), 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 
 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. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then I tuned my harp, — took off the lilies we twine round its 
 chords 
 
 Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide — those sun- 
 beams 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; 
 
80 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 And now one after one seeks its lodging, as star follows star 
 Into eve and the blue far above us, — so blue and so far ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 — Then the tune, for which quails on the cornland will each 
 
 leave his mate 
 To fly after the pla3^er; then, what uiakes the crickets elate 
 Till for boldness they iigiit one another : and tlion, what has 
 
 weight 
 To set the quick jerboa a-musing outside his sandhouse — 
 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 
 And grow one in the sense of this world's life. — And then, the 
 
 hast song 
 When the dead man is praised on his jonrn(\v — "Bear, bear 
 
 him along 
 Witli his few faults shut u\) like dead flowerets!" Are l)alm- 
 
 seeds not here 
 To console us? The land has none left such as he on the bier. 
 "Oh, would we nnght keep thee, my brotlier !"' — And then, the 
 
 glad chaunt 
 Of the marriage, — flrst go the young maidens, next, she whom 
 
 we vaunt 
 As the l)eauty, the ])i'ide of our dwelling. — And then, the 
 
 great march 
 Wherein man runs to man to assist him and buttress an arch 
 Naught can bi-cak; who shall harm theui, our friends? — 
 
 Then, the chorus intoned 
 As the Levites go up to the- altar in glory enthroned. 
 But I stopped here : for here in the darkness Saul groaned. 
 
SAUL. 81 
 
 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 
 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 more to my playing, pursued it unchecked. 
 As I sang, — 
 
 IX. 
 
 "Oh, our manhood's prime vigor ! No spirit feels waste, 
 N^ot a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced. 
 Oh, the wild joys of living! The leaping from rock up to 
 
 rock. 
 The strong rending of boughs from the fig-tree, the cool silver 
 
 shock 
 Of the plunge in 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 
 
 tliou didst guard 
 When he trusted thee forth with tlie 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 through a lifetime, and all was 
 
 for best !' 
 Then tliey sung thro' their tears in strong triumph, not much, 
 
 but the rest. 
 
82 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 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, — 
 Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch ; a people is thine : 
 And all gifts which the world offers singly, on one head com- 
 bine ! 
 On one head, all the beauty and strength, love and rage (like 
 
 the throe 
 That, a-work in the rock, helps its labor 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 wlion, dare I say, 
 The Lord's army, in rapture of service, strains thro' its array, 
 And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot — "Saul !" cried I, and 
 
 stopped. 
 And waited the thing that should follow. Then Said, who 
 
 hung propped 
 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 Ijroad 
 
 bust of stone 
 A year's snow bound aljout for a breastplate, — leaves grasp 
 
 of the sheet? 
 Fold on fold all at once it crowds thunderously down to his 
 
 feet, 
 
SAUL. 83 
 
 f 
 
 And there fronts you, stark, black, but alive yet, your moun- 
 tain of old. 
 With his rents, the successive bequeathings of ages untokl : 
 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 i\w nest 
 Of the dove, tempt the goat and its young to the green on his 
 
 crest 
 For their food in the ardors 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 his 
 
 right hand 
 Held the brow, helped the eyes left too vacant, forthwith to 
 
 remand 
 To their place what new objects should enter; 'twas Saul as 
 
 before. 
 I looked up, and dared gaze at those eyes, nor was hurt any 
 
 more 
 Than by sldV pallid sunsets in autumn, ye watch from the 
 
 shore. 
 At their sad level gaze o'er the ocean — a sun's sIoav 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 Avhere song had restored him? Song filled to 
 
 the verge 
 
84 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 His cup with the wine of this life, pressing all that it yields 
 Of jnere fruitage, the strength and the heauty : beyond, on 
 
 what fields 
 Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to brighten the eye, 
 And bring blood to the lip, and commend them tlie 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 ; 
 x\nd 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 I laughed — "Since my days are ordained to be passed 
 
 with my flocks, 
 Let me people at least, with my fancies, the plains and the 
 
 rocks, 
 Dream the life 1 am never to mix with, and image tlie show 
 Of mankind as tliev live in those fasliions I luirdly 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 ; T 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 
 
SAUL. 85 
 
 From the mere mortal life, held in common by man and by 
 
 brute : 
 In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our soal it bears 
 
 fruit. 
 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 
 
 outl)urst 
 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, 
 Even the good that comes in with the palm-fruit. Our dates 
 
 shall we slight, 
 Wlien 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 ! 
 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 Avork in the world ; until e'en as the sun 
 Looking down on the earth, tho' clouds spoil him, tho' tem- 
 pests 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 
 
86 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. Carouse in the 
 
 past ! 
 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 forever take flight. 
 No ! Again a long draught of my soul-wine ! Look forth 
 
 o'er the years ! 
 Thou hast done now with eves for the actual ; be2:in with the 
 
 seer's ! 
 Is Saul dead? In the depth of the vale make his tomb — l)id 
 
 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 
 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'll afhrm, is comprised there ! Which fault 
 
 to amend, 
 In the grove with his kind grows the cedar, whereon they 
 
 shall spend 
 (See, in tablets 'tis level before them) their praise, and record 
 With the gold of the graver, Saul's story. — the statesuian'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 l)eing ! Then, first of the mighty, thank God that thou 
 
 art !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And behold while I sang . . . but Thou who didst grant 
 
 me that day. 
 And before it not seldom has granted Thy help to essay. 
 
SAUL. 87 
 
 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 endeavor 
 And scaling the highest, man's thought could, gazed hope- 
 less 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. 
 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. 
 
 XV. 
 
 I say then, — my song 
 While I sang thus, assuring the monarch, and, ever more 
 
 strong, 
 Made a proffer of good to console him — he slowly resumed 
 His old motions and habitudes kingly. The right hand re- 
 plumed 
 His black locks to their wonted composure, adjusted the 
 
 swathes 
 Of his turban, and see — the huge sweat that his countenance 
 
 bathes. 
 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 
 
88 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Be the life and hearing that front you, the same, God did 
 
 choose. 
 To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose. 
 So sank lie along hy the tent-prop, till, stayed by the pile 
 Of his armor 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 
 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 each side around me, like oak roots 
 
 which please 
 To encircle a lamb when 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 l)ont ])ack my head, 
 
 with kind power — 
 All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower. 
 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; 
 1 would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence, 
 x\s 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 ! 
 outbroke — 
 
SAUL. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "T have gone the whole round of creation : I saw and T spoke ; 
 I, a work of God's hand for that purpose, received in my 
 
 brain 
 And pronounced on the rest of his handwork — returned hiin 
 
 again 
 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 
 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 i^erfection, no more and no less. 
 In the kind I imao'ined, full-fronts me. and God is seen God 
 In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod. 
 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 com- 
 plete. 
 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 ! 
 But, I sink the pretension as fearing a man may o'ertake 
 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 
 
 appall ? 
 In the least things have faith, vet distrust in the greatest of 
 
 all? 
 
90 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift, 
 That 1 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? 
 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 wartn 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 
 From the dream, tlie 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-ihrol), triumphantly winning intensified bliss. 
 And the next world's reward and repose, by the struggles in 
 this. 
 
 XVITI. 
 
 "I believe it! 'Tis Tliou, God, that givest, 'tis 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. 
 From Tliy will stream tlie worlds, life and nature. Thy dread. 
 
 Sabaotli : 
 I will ? — the mere atoms despise me ! \An.iy am I not loath 
 
SAUL. 
 
 Ol 
 
 To look that, even that in the face too ? \Yhj is it I dare 
 Think but lightly of such impuissance? What stops my 
 
 despair ? 
 This; — 'tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what 
 
 man Would do ! 
 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 ! 
 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- eve, w^ave 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. 
 'Tis the weakness in strength, that I cry for ! my flesh, that I 
 
 seek 
 In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. Saul, it shall be 
 A Face like my face that receives thee ; a Man like to me. 
 Thou shalt love and be loved by, forever: 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 aljout me, to left and to right. 
 Angels, powers, the unuttered, unseen, the alive, the aware: 
 I repressed, I got tliro' 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 ; 
 
92 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 And tlie stars of ni<;lit beat with emotion, and tingled and shot 
 
 Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowledge : but I fainted 
 not 
 
 Foi- the Hand still impelled me at onee and snp]:)orted, sup- 
 pressed 
 
 All the tnnudt, and quenched it witli quiet, and holy behest. 
 
 Till tlie 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 ; 
 
 In the startled wild beasts that bore off, each with eye sidling 
 still 
 
 Though averted with wonder and dread ; in the birds stiff and 
 chill 
 
 That rose heavily, as I approached them, made stupid with 
 awe: 
 
 E'en the serpent that slid away silent — he felt the new law. 
 
 The same stared in the wdiite humid faces u]3turned 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 !" 
 
 JAMES LEE'S WIFE. 
 
 AMONG THE ROCKS. 
 
 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. 
 
MY LAST DUCHESS. ^^ 
 
 II. 
 
 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 : 
 
 Make the low nature better by your throes ! 
 Give earth yourself, go up for gain above ! 
 
 MY LAST DUCHESS. 
 
 FERRARA. 
 
 That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, 
 
 Looking as if she were alive. I call 
 
 That a piece of 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) 
 
 And seemed as. they would ask me, if they durst. 
 
 How such a glance came there ; so, not the first 
 
 Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not 
 
 Her husband's presence only, called that spot 
 
 Of joy into the Duchess' cheek : perhaps 
 
 Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps 
 
 Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint 
 
 Must never hope to reproduce the faint 
 
 Half-flush that dies along her throat :" such stuff 
 
 Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 
 
 For calling up that spot of joy. She had 
 
 A heart — ^liow shall I say ? — too soon made glad. 
 
 Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er 
 
 She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 
 
 Sir, 'twas all one ! ^My favor at her breast, 
 
 The dropping of the daylight in the West, 
 
94 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 The bongli 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, 
 
 Or blush, at least. Slie tlianked men, — good ! but thanked 
 
 Somehow — I know not how — as she ranked 
 
 M)' gift of a nine-hundred-}' ears-old name 
 
 Witii anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame 
 
 This sort of trifling? Even had you skill 
 
 In speech — (which I have not) — to make your will 
 
 Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this 
 
 Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, 
 
 Or there exceed the mark" — and if she let 
 
 Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 
 
 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'll meet 
 
 The company below, then. I repeat, 
 
 The Count your master's known munificence 
 
 Is ample warrant that no just pretence 
 
 Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; 
 
 Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed 
 
 At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go 
 
 Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, 
 
 Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, 
 
 Which Glaus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me ! 
 
 THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 
 
 I SAID — Then, dearest, since 'tis so, 
 Since now at length my fate I know. 
 Since notliing all my love avails. 
 Since all, my life seems meant for, fails, 
 
 Since this was written and needs must be— 
 
THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 
 
 My whole heart rises up to bless 
 Your narae in pride and thankfulness ! 
 Take ])ack the hope you gave,— I claim 
 Only a memory of the same, 
 — And this beside, if you will not blame, 
 Your leave for one more last ride with me. 
 
 II. 
 
 Mv mistress bent that brow of hers ; 
 Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs 
 When pity would be softening through, 
 Fixed me a breathing-while or two. 
 
 With life or death in the balance : right ! 
 The blood replenished me again; 
 My last thought was at least not vain: 
 I and my mistress, side by side 
 Shall be together, breathe and ride, 
 So, one day more am I deiiied. 
 
 Who knows but the world may end to-night? 
 
 III. 
 
 Hush ! if you saw some western cloud 
 
 All billowy-blossomed, over-bowed ■ 
 
 By many benedictions — sun's 
 
 rVnd 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. 
 Till flesh must fade for heaven was here — 
 Thus leant she and lingered— joy and fear ! 
 
 Thus lav she a moment on my breast. 
 
 95 
 
 
 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? 
 
96 ROBERT BROWNIN(J 
 
 Had I said tliat, liad I done tliis. 
 So might 1 gain, so might I miss. 
 Might slie liavo loved me? jnst 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, 
 
 Fail I alone, in words and deeds? 
 Why, all men strive and who sncceeds? 
 We rode ; it seemed my sprit flew, 
 Saw other regions, cities new. 
 
 As the world rushed by on either side. 
 I thought, — All labor, yet no less 
 Bear up beneath their unsuccess. 
 Look at the end of work, contrast 
 The petty done, the undone vast. 
 This present of theirs with the hopeful past! 
 
 I hoped she would love me ; here we ride. 
 
 VI. 
 
 What hand and brain went ever paired? 
 What heart alike conceived and dared? 
 What act proved all its thought had l)een? 
 What will but felt the fleshly screen? 
 • We ride and I see her bosom heave. 
 There's many a crown for who can reach. 
 Ten lines, a statesman's life in each ! 
 The flag stuck on a heap of bones, 
 A soldier's doing! what atones? 
 They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones. 
 My riding is better, by their leave. 
 
 VII. 
 
 What does it all mean, poot? Well, 
 Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell 
 What we felt only; you expressed 
 You hold things beautiful the best. 
 
 And pace them in rhyme so, side by side. 
 
THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 97 
 
 'Tis something, nay His much : hut then, 
 Have you yourself wliat's best for men? 
 Are you — poor, sick, old ere your time — 
 Nearer one whit your own sublime 
 Than we who have never turned a rhyme? 
 Sing, riding's a joy ! For me, I ride. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And you, great sculptor — so, you gave 
 A score of years to Art, her slave 
 And that's your A^enus, wlience we turn 
 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. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate 
 Proposed bliss here should sublimate 
 My being — had T 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 my 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! 
 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? 
 
98 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 What if we still ride on, we two, 
 With life forever old yet new, 
 Chanoed not in kind bnt in degree, 
 The instant made eternity, — 
 And heaven just prove that I and she 
 Ride, ride together, forever ride? 
 
 THROUGH THE METIDJA TO ABD-EL-KADR. 
 
 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. 
 
 As I ride, as I ride 
 To our Chief and his Allied, 
 Wlio dares chide my heart's pride 
 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? 
 
 As I ride, as I ride. 
 
 When an inner voice has cried, 
 
 The sands slide, nor abide 
 
 (As 1 ride, as I ride) 
 
 O'er each visioned liomicide 
 
 That came vaunting (has he lied?) 
 
 To reside — where he died, 
 
 As 1 ride, as I ride. 
 
 As T ride, as I ride. 
 Ne'er has spur my swift horse plied, 
 Yet his hide, streaked and pied, 
 As I ride, as I ride, 
 
A grammarian's funeral. 99 
 
 Shows where sweat has sprung and dried, 
 — Zebra-footed, ostrich-tliighed — 
 How has vied stride with stride 
 As I ride, as I ride ! 
 
 As I ride, as 1 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! 
 
 A GRAMMAKIAN'S FUNERAL. 
 
 shortly after the revival of learning in EUROPE. 
 
 Let us begin and carry up this corpse, 
 
 Singing together. 
 Leave me the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes. 
 
 Each in its tether 
 Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, 
 
 Cared-for till cock-crow : 
 Look out if yonder be not day again 
 
 Rimming the rock-row ! 
 That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, 
 
 Rarer, intenser, 
 Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought. 
 
 Chafes in the censer. 
 Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; 
 
 Seek we sepulture 
 On a tall mountain, citied to the top. 
 
 Crowded with culture ! 
 All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels; 
 
 Clouds overcome it; 
 No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's 
 
 Circling its summit 
 
 LOFC, 
 
100 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Thither our ])ath lies; wind we up tlie heights 
 
 Wait ve tlie warning? 
 Our low life was tlie level's and the night\s: 
 
 He's tor the morning. 
 Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, 
 
 'Ware the beholders ! 
 This is our master, famous, calm, and dead. 
 
 Borne on our shoulders. 
 
 Sleep, crop and herd ! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft. 
 
 Safe from the weather ! 
 He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft, 
 
 Singing together. 
 He was a man horn 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, "Xew measures, other feet anon ! 
 
 My dance is finished?'^ 
 No, that's the world's way; (keep the mountain-side 
 
 Make for the city!) 
 He knew the signal, and stepped on with ]u-ide 
 
 Over men's jjity ; 
 Left play for work, and grappled with the world 
 
 Bent on escaping ; 
 "\\niat's in the scroll," quoth he, ^'thou keepest furled? 
 
 Show me their shaping. 
 Theirs who most studied man, the hard and sage, — 
 
 Give!" — So, he gowned him. 
 Straight got by heart that hook to its last page: 
 
 Learned, we found him. 
 Yea, but we found him l)ald too, eyes like lead. 
 
 Accents uncertain : 
 "Time to taste life," another would have said, 
 
 "TTp with the curtain !" 
 This man said rather, '^Actual life comes next? 
 
 Patience a moment! 
 
A grammarian's funeral. 10 1 
 
 Grant I have mastered learning's erabl^ed text, 
 
 Still there's the eoninient. 
 Let me know all ! Prate not of most or least, 
 
 Painful or easy ! 
 Even to the crumbs Pd fain eat up tlie feast, 
 
 Ay, nor feel queasy." 
 Oh, such a life as he resolved to live. 
 
 When he had learned it, 
 When he had gathered all books had to give ! 
 
 Sooner, he spurned it. 
 Image the whole, then execute the parts — 
 
 Fancy the fabric 
 Quite, ere you build, ere steel strikes 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. 
 Others mistrust and say. "But time escapes ! 
 
 Live now or never !" 
 He said, "What's time? Leave Xow for dogs and apes! 
 
 Man has forever." 
 Back to his book then : deeper drooped his head : 
 
 Calculus racked him : 
 Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead : 
 
 Tussis attacked him. 
 "Now, master, take a little rest !" — not he ! 
 
 (Caution redoubled! 
 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-hvdroptic with a sacred thirst) 
 
 Sucked at the flagon. 
 
102 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Oh, if WG clraAV a circle premature. 
 
 Heedless of fair gain, 
 Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure 
 
 Bad is our bargain ! 
 Was it not great? did not he throw on God 
 
 (He loves the burthen) — 
 God's task to make the heavenly period 
 
 Perfect the earthen? 
 Did not he magnify the mind, show clear 
 
 Just what it all meant? 
 He would not discount life, as fools do here, 
 
 Paid by instalment. 
 He ventured neck or nothing — heaven's success 
 
 Found, or earth's failure : 
 "Wilt thou trust death or not ?" He answered "Yes ! 
 
 Hence with life's pale lure !" 
 That low man seeks a little thing to do, 
 
 Sees it and does it : 
 This high man, with a great thing to pursue. 
 
 Dies ere he knows it. 
 That low man goes on adding one to one. 
 
 His hundred's soon hit : 
 This high man, aiming at a million, 
 
 Misses an unit. 
 That, lias the world here — should he need the next. 
 
 Let the world mind him ! 
 This, throw^s 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 lloti's business — let it be ! — 
 
 Properly based Oun — 
 Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic Dc, 
 
 Dead from the waist down. 
 Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place : 
 
 Hjiil to your purlieus. 
 All ye high fliers of the feathered race, 
 
 Swallows and curlews : 
 
A grammarian's funeral. 103 
 
 Here's the top-peak; the multitude below 
 
 Live, for tliey can, there : 
 This man decided not to Live, but Know — 
 
 Bury this man there? 
 Here — here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, 
 
 Lightnings are loosened, 
 Stars come and go ! Let joy break with the st(Trm, 
 
 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. 
 
POEMS BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 [Elizabeth Barrett Browning was born at Coxhoe Hall, 
 Durham. England, March 6, 1806. Her father was Edward 
 ]\Ioulton ; lie changed his name to Barrett soon after the birth 
 of Elizabeth, who was his eldest daughter. For many years 
 she was in very delicate health. In 1S4(), she married Robert 
 Browning. Their married life was ideal, and they remained 
 lovers to the end. She died at Florence, June 30, 1861. 
 
 Mrs. Browning's reputation as a poet of high rank was 
 established long before her husband received much apprecia- 
 tion. Her poetry is full of sympathy, of tender sentiment, 
 and religious trust ; the poems are of tlie kind that sink into 
 the heart of those who love a poem without knowing why, 
 "The Cry of tlie Children'' is one of these. It was written 
 about the children who were toiling in mills and mines. The 
 following lines furnish one of the best examples of the 
 strenp;th of her work : 
 
 ^to' 
 
 "But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper 
 Than the strono- man in his wrath." 
 
 f-> 
 
 Other poonis which are well known and among liCr best are 
 "Prometheus Bound," "The Seraphim," "C^asa Guidi Win- 
 dows." "The Sonnets from the Portuguese" tell most deli- 
 cately her love for her husband. "'/Vurora I^eigh," her most 
 conspicuous work, is a sociological novel in verse. A great 
 favorite is "The Rhvme of the Duchess Mav." The closins: 
 lines are the expression of her strong religious faith: 
 
 "And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our 
 incompleteness, — 
 Round our restlessness, his rest."] 
 
 104 
 
THE DEAD PAN. 105 
 
 THE DEAD PAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Gods of Hellas, gods of Hellas, 
 Can ye listen in your silence? 
 Can your mystic voices tell us 
 Where ye hide ? In floating islands, 
 With a wind that evermore 
 Keeps you out of sight of shore? 
 
 Pan, P,an, is dead. 
 
 IT. 
 
 In what revels are ye sunken. 
 
 In old Ethiopia? 
 
 Have the pygmies made you drunken, 
 
 Batliing in mandragora 
 
 Your divine pale lips, that shiver 
 
 Like the lotus in the river? 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 III. 
 
 Do ye sit there still in slumber. 
 In gigantic Alpine rows? 
 The black ponpies out of number, 
 Nodding, clripping from your brows 
 To the red lees of your wine. 
 And so kept alive and fine? 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Or lie crushed your stagnant corses 
 Where the silver spheres roll on. 
 Stung to life by centric forces 
 Thrown like rays out from the sun? 
 While the smoke of your old altars 
 Is the shroud that round you welters? 
 Great Pan is dead. 
 
106 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 V. 
 
 "Gods of Hellas, gods of Hellas/' 
 Said the old Hellenic tongue, 
 Said the hero-oaths, as well as 
 Poet's songs the sweetest sung, 
 . Have ye grown deaf in a day? 
 Can ye speak not yea or nay. 
 
 Since Pan is dead? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Do ye leave your rivers flowing 
 
 All alone, Xaiades, 
 
 While your drenched locks dry slow in 
 
 This cold, feeble sun and breeze? 
 
 Not a word the Naiads say. 
 
 Though the rivers run for aye; 
 
 For Pan is dead. 
 
 VII. 
 
 From the gloaming of the oak-wood, 
 ye Dryads, could ye flee? 
 At the rushing thunderstroke would 
 No sob tremble through the tree? 
 Not a word the Dryads say, 
 • Though the forests wave for aye; 
 
 For Pan is dead. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Have ye left the mountain-places. 
 Oreads wild, for other tryst? 
 Shall Ave see no sudden faces 
 Strike a glory through the mist? 
 Not a sound tlie silence thrills 
 Of the everlasting hills: 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 IX. 
 
 twelve gods of Plato's vision, 
 Crowned to starry wanderings, 
 With your chariots in procession, 
 And your silver clash of wings! 
 
THE DEAD PAN. 107 
 
 Very pale ye seem to rise, 
 Ghosts of Grecian deities, 
 
 Now Pan is dead. 
 
 X. 
 
 Jove, that right hand is unloaded, 
 Whence the thunder did prevail, 
 While in idiocy of godhead 
 Thou art staring the stars pale ! 
 And thine eagle, hlind and old, 
 Eoughs his feathers in the cold. 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Where, Juno, is the glory 
 Of thy regal look and tread? 
 Will they lay forevermore thee 
 On thy dim, straight golden bed? 
 Will thy queendom all lie hid 
 Meekly under either lid? 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Ha, Apollo ! floats his golden 
 Hair all mist-like where he stands. 
 While the Muses hang infolding 
 Knee and foot with faint, wild hands? 
 'Neath the clanging of thy I30W, 
 Niobe looked lost as thou ! 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Shall the cask witli its brown iron, 
 Pallas' broad blue eyes eclipse, 
 And no hero take inspiring 
 From the god-Greek of her lips ? 
 'Neath her olive dost thou sit, 
 Mars the mighty, cursing it? 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
108 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Bacchus, Bacchus ! on the panther 
 He swoons, bound with his own vines 
 And his Mienads slowly saunter, 
 Head aside, among the pines, 
 While they murmur dreamily, 
 "Evohe — ah — evohe — ! 
 
 Ah, Pan is dead ! 
 
 •>■> 
 
 XV. 
 
 Neptune lies beside the trident. 
 Dull and senseless as a stone; 
 And old Pluto, deaf and silent. 
 Is cast out into the sun; 
 Ceres smileth stern thereat, 
 '^'^We all now are desolate, 
 
 Now Pan is dead.'' 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Aphrodite ! dead and driven 
 As thy native foam, thou art; 
 With the cestus long done heaving 
 On the white calm of thy heart. 
 Ai Adonis! at that shriek 
 Not a tear runs down her cheek. 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And the Loves, we used to know from 
 One another, huddled lie, 
 Frore as taken in a snow-storm. 
 Close beside her tenderly. 
 As if each had weakly tried 
 Once to kiss her as he died. 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 What, and Hermes? Time inthralleth 
 All thy cunning, Hermes, thus, 
 And the ivy blindly crawleth 
 Eound thy brave caduceus? 
 
THE DEAD PAN. 109 
 
 Hast thou no ncAv message for us, 
 Full of thunder and Jove-glories ? 
 
 Nay, Pan is dead. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Crowned Cybele's great turret 
 Rocks and crumbles on her head, 
 Roar the lions of her chariot 
 Toward the wilderness, vmfed: 
 Scornful children are not mute, — 
 ''Mother, mother, walk afoot. 
 
 Since Pan is dead \" 
 
 XX. 
 
 In the fiery-hearted centre 
 Of the solemn universe. 
 Ancient Yesta, who could enter 
 To consume thee with this curse? 
 Drop thy gray chin on thy knee, 
 thou palsied Mystery ! 
 
 For Pan is dead. 
 
 XXT. 
 
 Gods, we vainly do adjure you; 
 Ye return nor voice nor sign ! 
 Not a votary could secure you 
 Even a grave for your Divine, — 
 Not a grave, to show thereby. 
 Here these gray old gods do lie. 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Even that Greece who took your wages 
 Calls the obolus outworn; 
 x\nd the hoarse deep-throated ages 
 Laugh your godships unto scorn; 
 And the poets do disclaim you. 
 Or grow colder if they name you — 
 And Pan is dead. 
 
110 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Gods bereaved, gods belated, 
 With your purples rent asunder, 
 Gods discrowned and desecrated, 
 Disinlierited of thunder. 
 Now the goats may climlj and crop 
 The soft grass on Ida's top, — 
 
 Now Pan is dead. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Calm, of old, the bark went onward, 
 When a cry more loud than wind. 
 Rose up, deepened, and swept sunw^ard. 
 From the piled Dark behind; 
 And the sun shrank, and grew pale. 
 Breathed against by the great wail — 
 
 "Pan, Pan, is dead." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And the rowers from the benches 
 Fell, each shuddering on his face. 
 While departing Influences 
 Struck a cold back through the place; 
 And the shadow^ of the ship 
 Reeled along the passive deep — 
 
 "Pan, Pan, is dead." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And that dismal cry rose slowly 
 And sank slowly through the air, 
 Full of spirit's melancholy 
 And eternity's despair ! 
 And they heard the words it said — 
 PAN IS DEAD— GREAT PAN IS DEAD- 
 PAN, PAN, IS DEAD. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 'Twas the hour when One in Sion 
 Hung for love's sake on a cross; 
 When his brow was cliill with dying, 
 And his soul was faint with loss; 
 
THE DEAD PAN. Ill 
 
 When his priestly l^lood drop])ed downward, 
 And his kingly eyes looked throneward — 
 Then Pan was dead. 
 
 XXVIII, 
 
 By the love he stood alone in, 
 
 His sole Godhead rose complete, 
 
 And the false gods fell down moaning. 
 
 Each from off his golden seat ; 
 
 All the false gods with a cry 
 
 Eendered up their deity — 
 
 Pan, Pan, was dead. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Wailing wide across the islands, 
 They rent, vest-like, their Divine; 
 And a darkness and a silence 
 Quenched the light of every shrine; 
 And Dodona's oak swang lonely, 
 Henceforth, to the tempest only. 
 
 Pan, Pan, was dead. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Pythia staggered, feeling o'er her 
 Her lost god's forsaking look; 
 Straight her eyeballs filmed with horror, 
 And her crispy fillets shook, 
 And her lips gasped through their foam, 
 For a word that did not come. 
 
 Pan, Pan, was dead. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 ye vain, false gods of Hellas, 
 Ye are silent evermore : 
 And I dash down this old chalice 
 Whence libations ran of yore. 
 See, the wine crawls in the dust 
 Wormlike — as your glories must. 
 
 Since Pan is dead. 
 
112 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Get to dust as common mortals, 
 By a common doom and track ! 
 Let no Schiller from the portals 
 Of that Hades call you hack, 
 Or instruct us to weep all 
 At your antique funeral. 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 By your heauty, which confesses 
 Some chief heauty conquering you ; 
 By our grand heroic guesses 
 Through your falsehood at the true,- 
 We will weep not! earth shall roll 
 Heir to each god's aureole — 
 
 And Pan is dead. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Earth outgrows the mythic fancies 
 Sung beside her in her youth, 
 And those debonair romances 
 Sound but dull beside tlie truth. 
 Plurbus' chariot-course is run : 
 Look up, poets, to the sun ! 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Christ hath sent us down the angels, 
 
 And the whole earth and tlie skies 
 
 Are ilhiiiuMl l)y altar-caudles 
 
 Lit for blessed mysteries; 
 
 And a priest's hand through ci-eation 
 
 Waveth calm and consecration — 
 
 And Pan is dead. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Truth is fair: should we forego it? 
 Can we sigh I'ight for a wrong? 
 God himself is the best Poet, 
 And tbe real is his best song. 
 
PSYCHE AND PAN. 113 
 
 Sing his truth out fair and full, 
 And secure his beautiful : 
 
 Let Pan be dead. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Truth is large; our aspiration 
 Scarce embraces half we be. 
 Shame, to stand in his creation 
 And doubt truth's sufficiency! 
 To think God's song unexcelling 
 The poor tales of our own telling — 
 When Pan is dead. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 What is true and just and honest, 
 What is loveh^, what is pure, 
 All of praise that hath admonisht, 
 All of virtue shall endure, — 
 These are themes for poets' uses, 
 Stirring nobler than the Muses, 
 
 Ere Pan was dead. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 brave poets, keep l)ack nothing. 
 Nor mix falsehood with tlie whole; 
 Look up Godward; speak the truth in 
 Worthy song from earnest soul; 
 Hold in high poetic duty 
 Truest truth the fairest beauty ! 
 
 Pan, Pan, is dead. 
 
 PSYCHE AND PAN. 
 
 METAMORPII., LIB. V. 
 
 The gentle Piver, in her Cupid's honor. 
 Because he used to warm the very wave. 
 
 Did ripple aside, instead of closing on her, 
 And cast up Psyche, with a refluence brave. 
 
114 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNIXG. 
 
 Upon the flowery bank, all sad and sinning. 
 Then Pan, the rural god, by chance was leaning 
 
 Along the brow of waters as they wound. 
 
 Kissing the reed-nymph till she sank to ground 
 And teaching, without knowledge of the meaning, 
 
 To run her voice in music after his 
 Down many a shifting note (the goats around. 
 
 In wandering pasture and most leaping bliss. 
 Drawn on to crop the river's flowery hair). 
 And as the hoary god beheld her there. 
 
 The poor, worn, fainting Psyche ! knowing all 
 
 The grief she suffered, he did gently call 
 Her name, and softly comfort her despair : — 
 
 "0 wise, fair lady ! I am rough and rude. 
 And yet experienced through my weary age; 
 
 And if I read aright, as soothsayer should. 
 Thy faltering steps of heavy pilgrimage, 
 
 Thy paleness, deep as snow we cannot see 
 The roses through, — thy sighs of quick returning. 
 Thine eyes that seem themselves two souls in mourning, — 
 
 Thou lovest, girl, too well, and bitterly ! 
 But hear me : rush no more to a headlong fall : 
 
 Seek no more deatlis ! leave wail, lay sorrow down, 
 And pray the sovran god; and use withal 
 
 Such prayer as best may suit a tender youth. 
 Well pleased to bend to flatteries from thy mouth, 
 
 And feel them stir the myrtle of his crown." 
 
 — So spake the shepherd-god ; and answer none 
 Gave Psyche in return ; l)ut silently 
 She did him homage with a bended knee, 
 
 And took the onward path. 
 
 THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN. 
 I. 
 
 Do ye hear the children weeping, my brothers, 
 
 Ere the sorrow comics with years? 
 They are leaning thcii- young heads against their mothers. 
 
 And ill at cannot stop their tears. 
 
THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN. 115 
 
 The young lambs are bleating in the meadows; 
 
 The young birds are chirping in the nest; 
 The young fawns are playing with the shadows; 
 
 The young flowers are blowing toward the west ; 
 But the young, young children, my brothers ! 
 
 They are weeping bitterly. 
 They are weeping in the playtime of the others, 
 
 In the country of the free. 
 
 II. 
 
 Do you question the young children in the sorrow, 
 
 Why their tears are falling so? 
 The old man may weep for his to-morrow 
 
 Which is lost in long ago; 
 The old tree is leafless in the forest; 
 
 The old year is ending in the frost; 
 The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest; 
 
 The old hope is hardest to be lost ; 
 But the voung, young children, my brothers! 
 
 Do you ask them why they stand 
 Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers. 
 
 In our happy fatherland? 
 
 in. 
 
 They look up with their pale and sunken faces; 
 
 And their looks are sad to see, 
 For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses 
 
 Down the cheeks of infancy. 
 "Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary ; 
 
 Our young feet," they say, "are very weak; 
 Few paces have we taken, yet are weary; 
 
 Our grave-rest is very far to seek. 
 Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children; 
 
 For the outside earth is cold. 
 And we young ones stand without in our bewildering, 
 
 And the graves are for the old. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "True," say the children, "it may happen 
 That we die before our time: 
 
116 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 Little Alice died last year; her grave is shapen 
 
 Like a snowball in the rime. 
 We looked into the pit prepared to take her: 
 
 Was no room for any work in the close clay: 
 From the sleep wherein she lieth, none will wake her, 
 
 Crying, 'Get up, little Alice! it is day!' 
 If yon listen by that grave, in the sun and shower, 
 
 Witli your ear down, little Alice never cries, 
 CouUl we see her face, be sure we should not know her. 
 
 For the smile has time for growing in lier eyes; 
 And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in 
 
 The shroud by the kirk-chime. 
 It is good when it happens," say the children, 
 
 "That we die before our time." 
 
 Alas, alas, the children ! They are seeking 
 
 Death in life, as best to have. 
 They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, 
 
 With a cerement from the grave. 
 Go out. cliildren, from tlie mine and from the city; 
 
 Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do; 
 Pluck your hand fids of the meadow-cowslips jiretty; 
 
 Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through. 
 But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows 
 
 Like our weeds anear the mine? 
 Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, 
 
 From your pleasures fair and fine. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "For Oh !"' say the children, "we are weary, 
 
 And we cannot run or leap : 
 If we cared for any meadows, it were merely 
 
 To drop down in them, and sleep. 
 Onr knees treml)le sorely in the stooping; 
 
 We fall u])on our faces, trying to go; 
 And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping. 
 
 The reddest flower would look as pale as snow; 
 
THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN. 117 
 
 For all day we drao; our burden tiriiio-. 
 
 Through the coal-dark underground; 
 Or all day we drive the wheels of iron 
 
 In the factories, round and round. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "For all day the wheels are droning, turning; 
 
 Their wind comes in our faces, 
 Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning, 
 
 And the walls turn in their places. 
 Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling, 
 
 Turns the long light that drops adown the wall. 
 Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling, — 
 
 All are turning, all the day, and we with all. 
 And all day the iron wheels are droning, 
 
 x\nd sometimes we would pray, 
 '0 ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad moaning), 
 
 ^Stop ! be silent for to-day !' " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ay, be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing 
 
 For a moment, mouth to mouth; 
 Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing 
 
 Of their tender human youth; 
 Let them feel that this cold metallic motion 
 
 Is not all the life God fashions or reveals : 
 Let them prove their living souls against the motion 
 
 That they live in you, or under you. wheels! 
 Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward. 
 
 Grinding life down from its mark; 
 And the children's souls which God is calling sunward, 
 
 Spin on blindly in the dark. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now tell the poor young children, my brothers. 
 
 To look up to Him, and pray ; 
 So the blessed One who blesseth all the others 
 
 Will bless them another day. 
 
118 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 They answer, "Who is God, that he should hear iis 
 
 While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred? 
 When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us 
 
 Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word : 
 And tve hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) 
 
 Strangers speaking at the door. 
 Is it likely God, with angels singing round him, 
 
 Hears our weeping any more? 
 
 X. 
 
 "Two words, indeed, of praying we remember; 
 
 And at midnight's hour of harm, 
 '^Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber. 
 
 We say softly for a charm. 
 We know no other words except ^Our Father;' 
 
 And we think, that, in some pause of angels' song, 
 God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, 
 
 And hold both within his right hand, which is strong. 
 ^Our Father !' If he heard us, he would surely 
 
 (For they call him good and mild) 
 Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, 
 
 ^Come and rest with me, my child.' 
 
 XI. 
 
 "But no !" say the children, weeping faster, 
 
 "He is speechless as a stone; 
 And they tell us, of his image is the master 
 
 Who commands us to work on. 
 Go to !" say the children, — "up in heaven. 
 
 Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. 
 Do not mock us : grief has made us unbelieving : 
 
 We look up for God; but tears have made us blind." 
 Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, 
 
 my brothers, what we preach ? 
 For God's possil)le is taught by his world's loving — 
 
 And the children doubt of each. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And well may the children weep before you ! 
 
 They ai'e weary ere they run ; 
 They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory 
 
 Which is brighter than the sun. 
 
 1 
 
THE FORCED RECRUIT. 119 
 
 They know the grief of man, without its wisdom ; 
 
 They sink in man's despair, without its cahn; 
 Are slaves without the liberty in Christdom; 
 
 Are mart3TS, by the pang without the palm : 
 Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly 
 
 The harvest of its memories cannot reap ; 
 Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly — 
 
 Let them weep ! let them weep ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 They look up with their pale and sunken faces, 
 
 And their look is dread to see. 
 For they mind you of their angels in high places. 
 
 With eyes turned on Deity. 
 "How long," they say, "how long, cruel nation, 
 
 Will you stand, to move the world on a child's heart, — 
 Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, 
 
 And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? 
 Our blood splashes upward, gold-heaper. 
 
 And your purple shows your path ! 
 But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper 
 
 Than the strons^ man in his wrath." 
 
 THE rOECED EECEUIT. 
 
 SOLFERINO, 1859. 
 I. 
 
 In the ranks of the Austrian you found him, 
 He died with his face to you all ; 
 
 Yet bury him here where around him, 
 You honor your bravest that fall. 
 
 II. 
 
 Venetian, fair-haired and slender. 
 He lies shot to death in his youth. 
 
 With a smile on his lips over-tender 
 For any mere soldier's dead mouth. 
 
120 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 III. 
 
 No stranger, and yet not a traitor, 
 Though alien the cloth on his breast, 
 
 Underneath it how seldom a greater 
 Young heart has a shot sent to rest ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 By your enemy tortured and goaded 
 To march with them, stand in their file, 
 
 His musket (see) never was loaded, 
 He facing your guns with that smile ! 
 
 V. 
 
 As orphans yearn on to their mothers, 
 He yearned to your patriot bands ; — 
 
 "Let me die for our Italy, brothers, 
 If not in your ranks, by your hands ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Aim straightly, fire steadily ! spare me 
 
 A ball in the body which uuiy 
 Deliver my heart hei-e, and tear me 
 
 This badge of the Austrian away !" 
 
 VII. 
 
 So thought he, so died he this morning. 
 
 WlM\t then? many others have died. 
 Aye. but easy for men to die scorning 
 
 The death-stroke who fought side by side — 
 
 VIII. 
 
 One tricolor floating above them ; 
 
 Struck down 'mid triumphant acclaims 
 Of an Italy rescued to love them 
 
 And blazon the brass with their names. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE. 121 
 
 IX. 
 
 But he, without witness or honor, 
 
 Mixed, shamed in his country's regard, 
 
 With the tyrants who marched m upon her, 
 Died faithful and passive: 'twas hard. 
 
 X. 
 
 'Twas sublime. In a cruel restriction 
 
 Cut off from the guerdon of sons, 
 With most filial obedience, conviction. 
 
 His soul kissed the lips of her guns. 
 
 XI. 
 
 That moves you? Nay, grudge not to show it, 
 
 While digging a grave for him here: 
 The others who died, says your poet. 
 
 Have the glory, — let him have a tear. 
 
 SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE. 
 
 I THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung 
 
 Of the sweet years, the dear and wishod-for years. 
 
 Who each one in a gracious hand appears 
 
 To bear a gift for mortals, old or young; 
 
 And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, 
 
 I saw in gradual vision, through my tears. 
 
 The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years' 
 
 Those of my own life, who by turns had flung 
 
 A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware. 
 
 So weeping, how a mystic shape did move 
 
 Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair ; 
 
 And a voice said in masterv, while T strove, 
 
 "Guess now who holds thee ?"— "Death," I saicl. But there 
 
 The silver answer rang, "Not Death, but Love." 
 
 Thou liast thy calling to some palace-floor. 
 Most gracious singer of high poems, where 
 The dancers will break footing, from the care 
 Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more. 
 And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor 
 
122 • ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 For hand of thine? and canst thou think, and bear 
 
 To let th}^ music drop here unaware 
 
 In folds of golden fulness at my door? 
 
 Look up, and see the casement broken in, 
 
 The bats and owlets builders in the roof ! 
 
 M}^ cricket chirps against thy mandolin. 
 
 Hush, call no echo up in further proof 
 
 Of desolation! There's a voice within 
 
 That weeps ... as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof. 
 
 Yet love, mere love, is beautiful indeed, 
 
 And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright 
 
 Let temple burn, or flax: an equal light 
 
 Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed: 
 
 And love is fire. And when I say at need 
 
 / love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee — in thy sight 
 
 I stand transfigured, glorified aright. 
 
 With conscience of the new rays that proceed 
 
 Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low 
 
 In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures 
 
 Who love God, God accepts while loving so. 
 
 And what I feel across the inferior features 
 
 Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show 
 
 How that great work of love enhances Nature's. 
 
 And yet, because thou overcomest so. 
 
 Because thou art more noble, and like a king, 
 
 Thou canst prevail against my fears, and fling 
 
 Thy purple round me, till my heart shall grow 
 
 Too close against thine heart henceforth to know 
 
 How it shook when alone. Why, conquering 
 
 May prove as lordly and complete a thing 
 
 In lifting upward as in crushing low! 
 
 And, as a vanquished soldier yields liis sword 
 
 To one who lifts him from the bloody earth, 
 
 Even so, beloved, I at last record, 
 
 Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth, 
 
 I rise above al)aseiu('nt at the word. 
 
 Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth. 
 
A SELECTION FROM CASA GUIDI ^VINDOWS. 123 
 
 Because thou hast the power, and own'st the grace, 
 To look through and behind this mask of me, 
 (Against which years have beat thus l)lanchingly 
 With their rains), and behold my soul's true face, 
 The dim and weary witness of life's race; 
 Because thou hast the faith and love to see, 
 Through that same souFs distracting lethargy. 
 The patient angel waiting for a place 
 In the new heavens; because nor sin nor woe. 
 Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood, 
 Nor all whicli others, viewing, turn to go, 
 Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed, — 
 Nothing repels thee, . . . dearest, teach me so 
 To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good! 
 
 Beloved^ thou hast brought me many flowers 
 
 Plucked in the garden all the summer through 
 
 And winter; and it seemed as if they grew 
 
 In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers. 
 
 So, in the like name of that love of ours. 
 
 Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too, 
 
 And which on warm and coUl days I withdrew 
 
 From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers 
 
 Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. 
 
 And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine. 
 
 Here's ivy! Take them, as I used to do 
 
 Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. 
 
 Instruct thine eyes to keep their color true, 
 
 And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine. 
 
 A SELECTION FROM CASA GUIDI WINDOWS. 
 
 The sun strikes through the windows, up the floor; 
 Stand out in it, my own young Florenthie, 
 
 Not two years old, and let me see thee more! 
 It grows along thy amber curls, to shine 
 
 Brighter than elsewhere. Now, look straight before, 
 And fix thy l)rave blue English eyes on mine. 
 
 And from my soul, which fronts the future so. 
 
124 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 With imabaslied and unabated gaze, 
 
 Teach me to hope for, what the angels know 
 When they smile clear as thou dost, down God's waj^s 
 
 With just alighted feet, between the snow 
 And snowdroj^s, where a little lamb may graze. 
 
 Thou hast no fear, my lamb, about the road, 
 Albeit in our vain-glory we assume 
 
 That, less than we have, thou hast learnt of God. 
 Stand out, my blue-eyed prophet ! — thou to whom 
 
 The earliest world-day light that ever flowed. 
 Through Casa Guidi windows chanced to come ! 
 
 Now shake the glittering nimbus of thy hair. 
 And be God's witness that the elemental 
 
 New springs of life are gushing everywhere 
 To cleanse the water-courses, and prevent all 
 
 Concrete obstructions which infest the air ! 
 That earth's alive, and gentle or ungentle 
 
 Motions within her signify but growth ! — 
 The ground swells greenest o'er the laboring moles. 
 
 Howe'er the uneasy world is vexed and Avroth, 
 Young children, lifted high on parent souls, 
 
 Look round them with a smile upon the mouth. 
 And take for music every bell that tolls; 
 
 (WHO said we should be better if like these?) 
 But we sit murmuring for the future, though 
 
 Posterity is smiling on our knees. 
 Convicting us of folly. Let us go — 
 
 We will trust God. The ])lank interstices 
 Men take for ruins, he will build into 
 
 With pillared marbles rare, or knit across 
 With generous arches, till the fane's complete. 
 
 This world has no perdition, if some loss. 
 
 Such cheer I gather from thy smiling, sweet! 
 
 The selfsame cherub-faces which emboss 
 The Veil, lean inward to the Mercy-seat. 
 
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