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 I ■ ^^'^^■"■^"l-^.^"*^^^™-^-"^^ 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBCRT BROWNING 
 
 DRAWINGS BY 
 
 FRANK O.SMAL 
 
 '"-"^^^^^■^-^■'^ 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap.._\-.... Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf. .iiS 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
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 Copyright 1890, 
 By L. prang & CO. 
 
 Copyright 1896, 
 By T. Y. CROWELL & CO. 
 
tli0t of Jillustrations?* 
 
 '■'■ Since the King. O my friend, for thy countenance sent.'"' 
 
 [Stanza I.] Frontispiece. 
 Said Abner^ -At last thou art coined [Stanza I.] 
 " Then a sunbeam, that burst through the tent-roof, showed 
 
 Saul.'' [Stanza III.] 
 '• Where the long grasses stifle the luater ivithin the streanCs 
 
 bed.'" [Stanza V.] 
 '• Then I played the help-tune of our reapers, their wine 
 
 song when hand grasps at hand."' [Stanza VII.] 
 " And then, the last song when the dead jnan is praised on 
 
 his journey'' [Stanza VII.] 
 " And then, the glad chaunt of the maj-riage." [Stanza VII.] 
 '• Theti, the chorus intoned as the Lev it es go up to the altar."'' 
 
 [Stanza VII.] 
 
 iii 
 
Illustrations; 
 
 •• The hunt of the bear." [Stanza IX. j 
 
 ''And the sleep in the dried river-channel." [Stanza IX.] 
 
 •• Hast thou loved the ivhite locks of thy father^ whose 
 
 sword thou didst guard when he trusted thee fwth 
 
 with the armies." [Stanza IX.] 
 •• Tha7i by slow pallid sunsets in autu7nn. ye watch fro7n 
 
 the shore, at their sad lei'el gaze o'er the ocean — a 
 
 suns slow decline." [Stanza X.] 
 •• Then fancies grew rife which had come long ago on the 
 
 pasture.'- [Stanza XII.] 
 ♦• Let me tell out my tale to its ending." [Stanza XIV.] 
 •• The dawn struggliiig with flight.'' [Stanza XI\'.] 
 " He is Saul, ye remember in glory."' [Stanza XV.] 
 " That he sat, as I say. with my head Just above his vast 
 
 knees." [Stanza XV.] 
 " I know not too well how I foufid my way home in the 
 
 night." [Stanza XVIII.] 
 " As a runner beset by the populace famished for news."' 
 
 [Stanza XVIII.] 
 
 IV 
 
I'nrrotiticrorr i^orr 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLOTTE PORTER and HELEX A. CLARKE, 
 EiKTOBS OF " BitowxisG's Sei-ected Poems."" 
 
 Saul, founded on the passage in i Samuel x\-i. 14-23, 
 where Saul is described as being troubled with an evil 
 spirit which David drives a\i:ay by playing the harp, — 
 puts into David's mouth the account of his ministry to 
 Saul s great need by means of his music, which working 
 upon the memory and emotions of Saul at last arouses 
 him from his lethargy. First, he sings to him the simpler 
 tunes to the brutes, then the help-tunes for great epochs 
 in human life. Leading up to the tunes of human aspira- 
 tion, he sings first of the great joys of life, and then cen- 
 tres his song upon the greatness of Saul'^s life espedallv. 
 Seeing that Saul is now fully aroused but not comforted, 
 Da\'id sing^ another song showing that Saul's true great- 
 ness does not lie in his mortal life, but in the far-reaching 
 
5|ntroUuctor^ Jiote* 
 
 effect of his great deeds. Then, through the intense and 
 self-sacrificing love with which David is inspired for Saul, 
 the prophetic revelation of God as an incarnation of love 
 in Christ is borne in upon him. Yearning to give Saul 
 greater comfort, even the assurance of a future resurrec- 
 tion of life, the truth comes to him. In Nature God has 
 been revealed to him as the Almighty ; in his own love, 
 God is revealed to him as Love, infinitely strong in his 
 power to love and able to accomplish what David only 
 desires to accomplish, but infinitely weak in his power to 
 be loved, through which weakness he shall become incar- 
 nate and be the salvation of mankind, i. Abner^ the son 
 of Ner, captain of Saul's host (i Samuel xxvi. 5). — V. 
 '■^ And I first played the time.'''' Prof Albert S. Cook sug- 
 gests that Browning may have obtained hints for these 
 tunes from Longus's romance of "Daphnis and Chloe." 
 The first is found on pp. 303-4 (Smith's translation, Bohn 
 Ed.). " He ran through all variations of pastoral melody ; 
 he played the tune which the oxen obey, and which at- 
 tracts the goats, — that in which the sheep delight,'" etc., 
 pp. 332-4. ... " Standing under the shade of a beech- 
 tree, he took his pipe from his scrip, and breathed into it 
 very gently. The goats stood still, merely lifting up their 
 heads. Next he played the pasture tune, upon which 
 they all put down their heads and began to graze. Now 
 
 vi 
 
i 
 
 i 
 
31ntrotiuctor^ jl^ote* 
 
 he produced some notes soft and sweet in tone : at once 
 his herd lay down. After this he piped in a sharp key, 
 and they ran off to the wood, as if a wolf were in sight."' 
 In answer to the question as to whether there is any 
 historical foundation for David's songs, Rabbi Charles 
 Fleischer of Boston replied in a letter to the editors : " I 
 believe that David's songs in Browning's poem • Saul ' are 
 the inspired melodies of our 19th century David rather 
 than the songs of Israel's poetic shepherd-king. . . . 
 While, then, I believe that these melodies in • Saul ' were 
 not current among the Jews of old, I know that they would 
 serve well to express beliefs and ideals characteristic of the 
 best minds among the Jews of to-day." VI. Jerboa^ a 
 small jumping rodent, called also a jumping hare. — VIIl. 
 Male-sapphires, superior. The ancient sapphire was the 
 same as our lapis-lazuh. — XIV. Hebron^ the most southern 
 of the three cities of refuge west of Jordan. — XIV. Kidro?i, 
 a brook in Jerusalem. (•' Bells and Pomegranates," No. 
 7. — Dramatic Romances and Lyrics, 1845, ^^^ ^^^^ nmt 
 stanzas. '' Men and Women," 1855, the completed poem.) 
 
 Vll 
 
mm 
 
 
 I. 
 
 Said Abner, "At -last thou art come! Ere I 
 
 tell, ere thou speak, 
 Kiss m)'^ cheek, wish me well ! " Then I wished 
 
 it, and did kiss his cheek. 
 And he, *• Since the King, O my friend, for thy 
 
 countenance sent, 
 Neither drunken nor eaten have we : nor until 
 
 from his tent 
 
Thou return with the joyful assurance the King 
 
 Uveth 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. 
 Not a sound hath escaped to thy servants, of 
 
 prayer nor of praise, 
 To betoken that Saul and the Spirit have ended 
 
 their strife, 
 And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch 
 
 sinks back upon life. 
 
II. 
 
 " Yet now my heart leaps, O beloved I God's 
 
 child with his dew 
 On thy gracious gold hair, and those lilies still 
 
 living and blue 
 Just broken to twine round thy harp-strings, as 
 
 if no wild heat 
 Were now raging to torture the desert 1 " 
 
g)auU 
 
 III. 
 
 Then I, as was meet, 
 
 Knelt down to the God of my fathers, and rose 
 
 on my feet, 
 And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder. The 
 
 tent was unlooped ; 
 I pulled up the spear that obstructed, and under 
 
 I stooped ; 
 Hands and knees on the slippery grass-patch, 
 
 all withered and gone, 
 That extends to the second enclosure, I groped 
 
 my way on 
 Till I felt where the foldskirts fly open. Then 
 
 once more I prayed. 
 And opened the foldskirts and entered, and was 
 
 not afraid 
 But spoke, ''Here is David, thy servant! " And 
 
 no voice replied. 
 
 4 
 
eauL 
 
 At the first I saw nought but the blackness ; 
 but soon I descried 
 
 A something more black than the blackness — 
 the vast, the upright 
 
 Main prop which sustains the pavilion : and 
 slow into sight 
 
 Grew a figure against it, gigantic and blackest 
 of all. 
 
 Then a sunbeam, that burst through the tent- 
 roof, showed Saul. 
 
IV. 
 
 He stood as erect as that tent-prop, both arms 
 stretched out wide 
 
 On the great cross-support in the centre, that 
 goes to each side ; 
 
 He relaxed not a muscle, but hung there as, 
 caught in his pangs 
 
 And waiting his change, the king-serpent all 
 heavily hangs. 
 
 Far away from his kind, in the pine, till deliver- 
 ance come 
 
 With the spring-time, — so agonized Saul, drear 
 and stark, blind and dumb. 
 
g)auL 
 V. 
 
 Then I tuned my harp, — took off the lihes we 
 
 twine round its chords 
 Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide 
 
 — those sunbeams Hke swords ! 
 And I first played the tune all our sheep know^, 
 
 as, one after one. 
 So docile they come to the pen-door till folding 
 
 be done. 
 They are white and untorn by the bushes, for 
 
 lo, they have fed 
 Where the long grasses stifle the water within 
 
 the stream's bed ; 
 And now one after one seeks its lodging, as star 
 
 follows star 
 Into eve and the blue far above us, — so blue 
 
 and so far ! 
 
VI.- 
 
 — Then the tune, for which quails on the corn- 
 land will each leave his mate 
 To fly after the player ; then, what makes the 
 
 crickets elate 
 Till for boldness they fight one another : and 
 
 then, what has weight 
 To set the quick jerboa a-musing outside his 
 
 sand house — 
 There are none such as he for a wonder, half 
 
 bird and half mouse ! 
 God made all the creatures and gave them our 
 
 love and our fear. 
 To give sign, we and they are his children, one 
 
 family here. 
 
J 
 
m 
 
s^aiiL 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then I placed the help-tune :: :.r re?,::er5, 
 their wine-song/ when hand 
 
 Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friend- 
 ship, and great hearts expand 
 
 And grow one in the sense of this world's life. 
 — And then, the last song 
 
 WTien the dead man is praised on his journey — 
 " Bear, bear him along 
 
 i 
 
AVith his few faults shut up Hke dead flowerets I 
 
 Are balm seeds not here 
 To console us ? The land has none left such as 
 
 he on the bier. 
 Oh, would we might keep thee, my brother I " — 
 
 And then, the glad chaunt 
 Of the marriage, — first go the young maidens, 
 
 next, she whom we vaunt 
 As the beauty, the pride of our dwelling. — 
 
 And then, the srreat march 
 
 10 
 
Wherein man runs to man to assist him and 
 buttress an arch 
 
 Nought can break ; who shall harm them, our 
 friends ? Then, the chorus intoned 
 
 As the Levites go up to the altar in glory en- 
 throned. 
 
 But I stopped here : for here in the darkness 
 Saul groaned. 
 
 II 
 
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 coura- 
 geous at heart. 
 
 So the head : but the body still moved not, still 
 hung there erect. 
 
 And I bent once again to my playing, pursued 
 it unchecked. 
 
 As I sang, — 
 
 12 
 
g)auL 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Oh, our manhood's prime vigor ! No 
 
 spirit feels waste, 
 Not a muscle is stopped in its playing, nor sinew 
 
 unbraced. 
 Oh, the wild joys of living ! the leaping from 
 
 rock up to rock. 
 The strong rending of boughs from the fir-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 
 
 13 
 
g>auL 
 
 That the water was wont to go warbhng so softly 
 
 and well. 
 How good is man's life, the mere living I how 
 
 fit to employ 
 
 U 
 
All the heart and the soul and the senses forever 
 
 in joy ! 
 Hast thou loved the white locks of thy father, 
 
 whose sword thou didst guard 
 When he trusted thee forth with the armies, for 
 
 glorious reward ? 
 Didst thou see the thin hands of thy mother, 
 
 held up as men sung 
 The low song of the nearly-departed, and hear 
 
 her faint tongue 
 Joining in while it could to the witness, ' Let 
 
 one more attest, 
 I have lived, seen God's hand through a lifetime, 
 
 and all was for best ? ' 
 Then they sung through their tears in strong 
 
 triumph, not much, but the rest. 
 And thy brothers, and help and the contest, the 
 
 working whence grew 
 Such result as, from seething grape-bundles, the 
 
 spirit strained true : 
 
 15 
 
&auU 
 
 And the friends of thy boyhood — that boyhood 
 
 of wonder and hope, 
 Present promise and wealth of the future b)eyond 
 
 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 combine ! 
 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 ! " 
 
 i6 
 
X. 
 
 And lo. with that leap of my spirit, — heart, 
 
 hand, harp and voice. 
 Each lifting Saul's name out of sorrow, each 
 
 bidding rejoice 
 Saul's fame in the light it was made for — as 
 
 when, dare I say, 
 The Lord's armv. in rapture of service, strains 
 
 through its array, 
 And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot — '*' Saul I " 
 
 cried I. and stopped. 
 And waited the thing that should follow. Then 
 
 Saul, 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, 
 
 17 
 
g)auU 
 
 While the vale laughed in freedom and flowers) 
 
 on a broad bust of stone 
 A year's snow bound about for a breast-plate, — 
 
 leaves grasp of the sheet ? 
 Fold on fold all at once it croAvds thunderously 
 
 down to his feet, 
 And there fronts you, stark, black, but alive yet, 
 
 your mountain of old. 
 With his rents, the successive bequeathings of 
 
 ages untold — 
 Yes, each harm got in fighting your battles, 
 
 each furrow and scar 
 Of his head thrust 'twixt you and the tempest — 
 
 all hail, there they are ! 
 — Now again to be softened with verdure, again 
 
 hold the nest 
 Of the dove, tempt the goat and its young to 
 
 the green on his crest 
 For their food in the ardors of summer. One 
 
 Ions: shudder thrilled 
 
g)auL 
 
 All the tent till the very air tingled, then sank 
 and was stilled 
 
 At the King's self left standing before me, re- 
 leased and aware. 
 
 What was gone, what remained ? All to trav- 
 erse '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 slow pallid sunsets in autumn, ye watch 
 from the shore. 
 
 At their sad level gaze o'er the ocean — a sun's 
 slow decline 
 
 Over hills which, resolved in stern silence, o'er- 
 lap and entwine 
 
 19 
 
Base with base to knit strength more intensely 
 
 so, arm folded arm 
 O'er the chest whose slow hearings subsided. 
 
 20 
 
&ml 
 
 XI. 
 
 What spell or what charm, 
 (For, awhile there was trouble within me,) what 
 
 next should I urge 
 To sustain him where song had restored him ? — 
 
 Song filled to the verge 
 His cup with the wine of this life, pressing all 
 
 that it yields 
 Of mere fruitage, the strength and the beauty : 
 
 beyond, on what fields, 
 Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to 
 
 brighten the eye 
 And bring blood to the lip, and commend them 
 
 the cup they put by ? 
 He saith, " It is good ; " still he drinks not : he 
 
 lets me praise life, 
 Gives assent, yet would die for his own part. 
 
 21 
 
x^aul. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then fancies grew rife 
 AMiich had come long ago on the pasture, when 
 
 round me the sheep 
 Fed in silence — above, the one eagle wheeled 
 
 slow as in sleep ; 
 And I la}' in m\" hollow and mused on the worid 
 
 that might He 
 *Neath his ken, though I saw but the strip 'twixt 
 
 the hiU 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 I am never to mix with, and 
 
 image the show 
 Of mankind as they Uve in those fashions I 
 
 hardh^ shall know ! 
 
 22 
 
Schemes of life, its best rules and right uses, the 
 
 courage that gains, 
 And the prudence that keeps what men strive 
 
 for." 
 
 And now these old trains 
 Of vague thought came again ; I grew surer ; 
 
 so, once more the string 
 Of my harp made response to my spirit, as 
 
 thus — 
 
 23 
 
eaiiL 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ** Yea, m}" King/' 
 I began — "thou dost weU in rejecting mere 
 
 comforts that spring 
 From the mere mortal life held in conunon by 
 
 man and bv brute : 
 
 J/ 
 
 In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our 
 
 soul 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 outb-irs: 
 The :i ■ : e? all round; and thou mindest 
 
 7 :. in turn. 
 
 frct : yet more was : r :.. 
 Z r : 7 ;xl that comes m with the palm-fruiL 
 
 ' :~ ' shall we slight, 
 Whc:. ij.; : _.:e brings a cure for all S'^rrow ? 
 
 or care for the plight 
 
g)auU 
 
 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 stanch 
 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 work in the world ; until 
 
 e'en as the sun 
 Looking down on the earth, though clouds 
 
 spoil him, though tempests efface, 
 Can find nothing his own deed produced not, 
 
 must everywhere trace 
 
 25 
 
I 
 
g)auL 
 
 The results of his past summer-prime, — so, 
 
 each ray of thy will. 
 Every flush of thy passion and prowess, long 
 
 over, shall thrill 
 Thy whole people, the countless, with ardor, till 
 
 they too give forth 
 A like cheer to their sons, who in turn, fill the 
 
 South and the North 
 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 for- 
 ever take flight. 
 No ! Again a long draught of my soul-wine ! 
 
 Look forth o'er the years ! 
 Thou hast done now with eyes for the actual ; 
 
 begin with the seer's ! 
 
 26 
 
Is Saul dead ? In the depth of the vale make 
 his tomb — bid arise 
 
 A gray mountain of marble heaped four-square, 
 till, built to the skies, 
 
 Let it mark where the great First King slum- 
 bers : whose fame Avould ve 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 popu- 
 lace chid, — 
 
 For not half, they "11 affirm, is comprised there I 
 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 
 
 statesman's great word 
 
 27 
 
Side by side with the poet's sweet comment. 
 
 The river "s a-wave 
 With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other 
 
 when prophet-winds rave : 
 So the pen gives unborn generations their due 
 
 and their part 
 In thy being I Then, first of the mighty, thank 
 
 God that thou art I " 
 
 28 
 
g)auL 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And behold while I sang . . . but O Thou who 
 
 didst grant me that day, 
 And before it not seldom hast granted thy help 
 
 to essay, 
 Carry on and complete an adventure, — my 
 
 shield and my sword 
 In that act where my soul was thy servant, thy 
 
 word was my word, — 
 Still be with me, who then at the summit of 
 
 human endeavor 
 And scaling the highest, man's thought could, 
 
 gazed hopeless as ever 
 On the new stretch of heaven above me — till, 
 
 mighty to save, 
 Just one lift of thy hand cleared that distance — 
 
 God's throne from man's grave ! 
 Let me tell out my tale to its ending — my voice 
 
 to my heart 
 
 29 
 
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 shoul- 
 der, and Kidron retrieves 
 
 Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine. 
 
 30 
 
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 replumed 
 His black locks to their wonted composure, ad- 
 justed 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, though much spent 
 
 31 
 
g)attU 
 
 Be the life and the bearing that front you, the 
 
 same, God did choose. 
 To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, 
 
 never quite lose. 
 So sank he along by the tent-prop till, stayed 
 
 by the pile 
 Of his 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 on each side around me, 
 
 like oak roots which please 
 
 32 
 
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 : through my hair 
 The large fingers were pushed, and he bent 
 
 back my head, with kind power — ■ 
 All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do 
 
 a flower. 
 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, in- 
 venting a bliss, 
 I would add, to that life of the past, both the 
 
 future and this ; 
 
 33 
 
g>auL 
 
 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 : through my hair 
 The large fingers were pushed, and he bent 
 
 back my head, with kind power — ■ 
 All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do 
 
 a flower. 
 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, in- 
 venting a bliss, 
 I would add, to that life of the past, both the 
 
 future and this ; 
 
 33 
 
g>auU 
 
 I would give thee new life altogether, as good, 
 
 ages hence, 
 As this moment, — had love but the warrant, 
 
 love's heart to dispense ! " 
 
 34 
 
^auL 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then the truth came upon me. No harp more 
 
 — no song more ! out-broke 
 " I have gone the whole round of creation : I 
 
 saw and I spoke : 
 I, a work of God's hand for that purpose, 
 
 received in my brain 
 And pronounced on the rest of his handwork — 
 
 returned him again 
 His creation's approval or censure ; I spoke as 
 
 I saw : 
 I report, as a 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. 
 
 35 
 
Have I forethought ? how purblind, how blank, 
 
 to the Infinite Care ! 
 Do I task any faculty highest, to image success ? 
 I but open my eyes, — and perfection, no more 
 
 and no less, 
 In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and God 
 
 is seen God 
 In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul 
 
 and the clod. 
 And thus looking within and around me, I ever 
 
 renew 
 (With that stoop of the soul which in bending 
 
 upraises it too) 
 The submission of man's nothing-perfect to 
 
 God's all-complete, 
 As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to 
 
 his feet. 
 Yet with all this abounding experience, this 
 
 deity known, 
 I shall dare to discover some province, some 
 
 gift of my own. -^^6 
 
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 I 
 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, 
 Xine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should 
 
 the hundredth appall ? 
 In the least things have faith, yet distrust in the 
 
 greatest of all } 
 Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ulti- 
 mate gift, 
 
 37 
 
That I doubt his own love can compete with it ? 
 
 Here, the parts shift ? 
 Here, the creature surpass the Creator — the 
 
 end, what Began ? 
 Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for 
 
 this man. 
 And dare doubt he alone shall not help him, 
 
 who yet alone can ? 
 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 in- 
 sphering the whole ? 
 And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm 
 
 tears attest), 
 These good things being given, to go on, and 
 
 give one more, the best ? 
 
 3S 
 
Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, main- 
 tain at the height 
 
 This perfection, — succeed with Hfe'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, the probation, the prelude, to 
 find himself set 
 
 Clear and safe in new light and new life, — a 
 new harmony yet 
 
 To be run, and continued, and ended — who 
 knows ? — or endure ! 
 
 The man taught enough by life's dream, of the 
 rest to make sure ; 
 
 By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning inten- 
 sified bliss. 
 
 And the next world's reward and repose, by the 
 struggles in this. 
 
 39 
 
§)auU 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " I believe it ! 'T is thou, God, that givest, 't is I 
 
 who receive : 
 In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to 
 
 believe. 
 All 's one gift : thou canst grant it moreover, as 
 
 prompt to my prayer 
 As I breathe out this breath, as I open these 
 
 arms to the air. 
 From thy will, stream the worlds, life and 
 
 nature, thy dread Sabaoth : 
 / will ? — the mere atoms despise me ! Why am 
 
 I not loth 
 To look that, even that in the face too ? Why 
 
 is it I dare 
 Think but lightly of such impuissance ? What 
 
 stops my despair ? 
 This ; — 't is not what man Does which exalts 
 
 him, but what man Would do ! 
 
 40 
 
4 
 
 4 
 
g>auU 
 
 XVII. 
 
 *' I believe it ! 'T is thou, God, that givest, 't is I 
 
 who receive : 
 In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to 
 
 believe. 
 All 's one gift : thou canst grant it moreover, as 
 
 prompt to my prayer 
 As I breathe out this breath, as I open these 
 
 arms to the air. 
 From thy will, stream the worlds, life and 
 
 nature, thy dread Sabaoth : 
 / will .? — the mere atoms despise me ! Why am 
 
 I not loth 
 To look that, even that in the face too } Why 
 
 is it I dare 
 Think but lightly of such impuissance } What 
 
 stops my despair } 
 This ; — 't is not what man Does which exalts 
 
 him, but what man Would do ! 
 
 40 
 
See the King — I would help hmi but cannot, 
 the wishes fall throuo'h. 
 
 o 
 
 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 serA'ice is perfect. Oh, speak 
 
 through me now I 
 Would I suffer for him that I love ? So wouldst 
 
 thou — so wilt thou I 
 So shall crown thee the topmost, ineffablest, 
 
 uttermost crown — 
 x\nd thv love fills infinitude wholly, nor leave up 
 
 nor down 
 One spot for the creature to stand in I It is by 
 
 no breath, 
 Turn of eye, wave of hand, that salvation joins 
 
 issue with death I 
 As thy Love is discovered almighty, almighty 
 
 be proved 
 
 41 
 
g)auL 
 
 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. 
 'T is the weakness in strength that I cry for ! my 
 
 flesh, that I seek 
 In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. O Saul, 
 
 it shall be 
 A Face like my face that receives thee ; a Man 
 
 like to me 
 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 ! " 
 
 42 
 
XVIII. 
 
 I know not too well how I found my way home 
 
 in the night. 
 There were witnesses, cohorts about me, to left 
 
 and to right, 
 Angels, powers, the unuttered, unseen, the alive, 
 
 the aware : 
 I repressed, I got through them as hardly, as 
 
 strugglingly there, 
 As a runner beset by the populace famished for 
 
 news — 
 Life or death. The whole earth was awakened, 
 
 hell loosed with her crews ; 
 And the stars of night beat with emotion, and 
 
 tingled and shot 
 Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowledge : 
 
 but I fainted not. 
 For the Hand still impelled me at once and 
 
 supported, suppressed 
 
 43 
 
g>auL 
 
 All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and 
 
 holy behest, 
 Till the rapture was shut in itself, and the earth 
 
 sank to rest. 
 Anon at the dawn, all that trouble had withered 
 
 from earth — 
 Not so much, but I saw it die out in the day's 
 
 tender birth ; 
 In the gathered intensity brought to the gray of 
 
 the hills ; 
 In the shuddering forests' held breath ; in the 
 
 sudden wind-thrills; 
 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. 
 
 44 
 
The same stared in the white humid faces up- 
 turned by the flowers ; 
 
 The same worked in the heart of the cedar and 
 moved the vine-bowers : 
 
 And the Uttle brooks witnessing murmured, 
 persistent and low, 
 
 With their obstinate, all but hushed voices — 
 " E'en so, it is so ! " 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 45 
 
I