Chapter VIII: Epilogue: To "asolando" (3)

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, 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 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, Not a sound hath escaped to thy servants, of prayer nor of praise, To betoken that Saul and the Spirit have ended their strife, And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch sinks back upon life. 10

II

"Yet now my heart leaps, O beloved! God's child with his dew On thy gracious gold hair, and those lilies still living and blue Just broken to twine round thy harp-strings, as if no wild heat Were now raging to torture the desert!"

III

Then I, as was meet, Knelt down to the God of my fathers, and rose on my feet, And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder. The tent was unlooped; I pulled up the spear that obstructed, and under I stooped; Hands and knees on the slippery grass-patch, all withered and gone, That extends to the second enclosure. I groped my way on Till I felt where the foldskirts fly open. Then once more I prayed, 20 And opened the foldskirts and entered, and was not afraid But spoke, "Here is David, thy servant!" And no voice replied. At the first I saw naught but the blackness; but soon I descried A something more black than the blackness--the vast, the upright Main prop which sustains the pavilion: and slow into sight Grew a figure against it, gigantic and blackest of all. Then a sunbeam, that burst thro' the tent roof, showed Saul.

IV

He stood erect as that tent-prop, both arms stretched out wide On the great cross-support in the centre, that goes to each side; He relaxed not a muscle, but hung there as, caught in his pangs 30 And waiting his change, the king serpent all heavily hangs, Far away from his kind, in the pine, till deliverance come With the spring-time,--so agonized Saul, drear and stark, blind and dumb.

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 sunbeams like swords! And I first played the tune all our sheep know, as, one after one, So docile they come to the pen-door till folding be done. They are white and untorn by the bushes, for lo, they have fed Where the long grasses stifle the water within the stream's bed; And now one after one seeks its lodging, as star follows star 40 Into eve and the blue far above us,--so, blue and so far!

VI

--Then the tune, for which quails on the cornland will each leave his mate To fly after the player; then, what makes the crickets elate Till for boldness they fight one another: and then, what has weight To set the quick jerboa a-musing outside his sand house-- There are none such as he for a wonder, half bird and half mouse! God made all the creatures and gave them our love and our fear, To give sign, we and they are his children, one family here.

VII

Then I played the help-tune of our reapers, their wine-song, when hand Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, and great hearts expand 50 And grow one in the sense of this world's life.--And then, the last song When the dead man is praised on his journey--"Bear, bear him along With his few faults shut up like dead flowerets!" Are balm-seeds not here To console us? The land has none left such as he on the bier. "Oh, would we might keep thee, my brother!"--And then, the glad chaunt Of the marriage,--first go the young maidens, next, she whom we vaunt As the beauty, the pride of our dwelling.--And then, the great march Wherein man runs to man to assist him and buttress an arch Naught can break; who shall harm them, our friends?--Then, the chorus intoned As the Levites go up to the altar in glory enthroned. 60 But I stopped here: for here in the darkness Saul groaned.

VIII

And I paused, held my breath in such silence, and listened apart; And the tent shook, for mighty Saul shuddered: and sparkles 'gan dart From the jewels that woke in his turban, at once with a start, All its lordly male-sapphires, and rubies courageous at heart. So the head: but the body still moved not, still hung there erect. And I bent once again to my playing, pursued it unchecked, As I sang,--

IX

"Oh, our manhood's prime 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, 70 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 That the water was wont to go warbling so softly and well. How good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to employ All the heart and the soul and the senses for ever in joy! Hast thou loved the white locks of thy father, whose sword thou didst guard 80 When he trusted thee forth with the armies, for glorious reward? Didst thou see the thin hands of thy mother, held up as men sung The low song of the nearly departed, and hear her faint tongue Joining in while it could to the witness, 'Let one more attest, I have lived, seen God's hand thro' a lifetime, and all was for best!' Then they sung thro' their tears in strong triumph, not much, but the rest. And thy brothers, the help and the contest, the working whence grew Such result as, from seething grape-bundles, the spirit strained true: And the friends of thy boyhood--that boyhood of wonder and hope, Present promise and wealth of the future beyond the eye's scope,-- 90 Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch; a people is thine: And all gifts which the world offers singly, on one head combine! On one head, all the beauty and strength, love and rage (like the throe That, a-work in the rock, helps its labour and lets the gold go), High ambition and deeds which surpass it, fame crowning them,--all Brought to blaze on the head of one creature--King Saul!"

X

And lo, with that leap of my spirit,--heart, hand, harp, and voice, Each lifting Saul's name out of sorrow, each bidding rejoice Saul's fame in the light it was made for----as when, dare I say, The Lord's army, in rapture of service, strains thro' its array, 100 And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot--"Saul!" cried I, and stopped, And waited the thing that should follow. Then Saul, who hung propped By the tent's cross-support in the centre, was struck by his name. Have ye seen when Spring's arrowy summons goes right to the aim, And some mountain, the last to withstand her, that held (he alone, While the vale laughed in freedom and flowers) on a broad bust of stone A year's snow bound about for a breastplate,--leaves grasp of the sheet? Fold on fold all at once it crowds thunderously down to his feet, And there fronts you, stark, black, but alive yet, your mountain of old, With his rents, the successive bequeathings of ages untold: 110 Yea, each harm got in fighting your battles, each furrow and scar Of his head thrust 'twixt you and the tempest--all hail, there they are! --Now again to be softened with verdure, again hold the nest Of the dove, tempt the goat and its young to the green on his crest For their food in the ardours of summer. One long shudder thrilled. All the tent till the very air tingled, then sank and was stilled At the King's self left standing before me, released and aware. What was gone, what remained? All to traverse 'twixt hope and despair. Death was past, life not come; so he waited. Awhile his right hand Held the brow, helped the eyes left too vacant, forthwith to remand 120 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'erlap and entwine Base with base to knit strength more intensely: so, arm folded arm O'er the chest whose slow heavings subsided.

XI

What spell or what charm, (For, awhile there was trouble within me) what next should I urge To sustain him where song had restored, him? Song filled to the verge His cup with the wine of this life, pressing all that it yields 130 Of mere fruitage, the strength and the beauty: beyond, on what fields Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to brighten the eye, And bring blood to the lip, and commend them the cup they put by? He saith, "It is good:" still he drinks not: he lets me praise life, Gives assent, yet would die for his own part.

XII

Then fancies grew rife Which had come long ago on the pasture, when round me the sheep Fed in silence--above, the one eagle wheeled slow as in sleep; And I lay in my hollow and mused on the world that might lie 'Neath his ken, tho' I saw but the strip 'twixt the hill and the sky: And I laughed--"Since my days are ordained to be passed with my flocks, 140 Let me people at least, with my fancies, the plains and the rocks, Dream the life I am never to mix with, and image the show Of mankind as they live in those fashions I hardly shall know! Schemes of life, its best rules and right uses, the courage that gains, And the prudence that keeps what men strive for!" And now these old trains Of vague thought came again; I grew surer; so, once more the string Of my harp made response to my spirit, as thus--

XIII

"Yea, my King," I began--"thou dost well in rejecting mere comforts that spring From the mere mortal life held in common by man and by brute: In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our soul it bears fruit. 150 Thou hast marked the slow rise of the tree,--how its stem trembled first Till it passed the kid's lip, the stag's antler; then safely outburst The fan-branches all round; and thou mindest when these too, in turn Broke a-bloom and the palm-tree seemed perfect: yet more was to learn, E'en the good that comes in with the palm-fruit. Our dates shall we slight, When their juice brings a cure for all sorrow? or care for the plight Of the palm's self whose slow growth produced them? Not so! stem and branch. Shall decay, nor be known in their place, while the palm-wine shall staunch Every wound of man's spirit in winter. I pour thee such wine. Leave the flesh to the fate it was fit for! the spirit be thine! 160 By the spirit, when age shall o'ercome thee, thou still shalt enjoy More indeed, than at first when, inconscious, the life of a boy. Crush that life, and behold its wine running! Each deed thou hast done Dies, revives, goes to work in the world; until e'en as the sun Looking down on the earth, tho' clouds spoil him, tho' tempests efface, Can find nothing his own deed produced not, must everywhere trace The results of his past summer-prime,--so, each ray of thy will. Every flash of thy passion and prowess, long over, shall thrill Thy whole people, the countless, with ardour, till they too give forth A like cheer to their sons: who in turn, fill the South and the North 170 With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. Carouse in the past! 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 eyes for the actual; begin with the seer's! Is Saul dead? In the depth of the vale make his tomb--bid arise A gray mountain of marble heaped four-square, till, built to the skies, Let it mark where the great First King slumbers: whose fame would ye know? Up above see the rock's naked face, where the record shall go 180 In great characters cut by the scribe,--Such was Saul, so he did; With the sages directing the work, by the populace chid,-- For not half, they'll affirm, 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 statesman's great word. Side by side with the poet's sweet comment. The river's a-wave With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other when prophet-winds rave; So the pen gives unborn generations their due and their part In thy being! Then, first of the mighty, thank God that thou art!" 190

XIV

And behold while I sang ... but O Thou who didst grant me that day, And before it not seldom had granted Thy help to essay. Carry on and complete an adventure,--my shield and my sword In that act where my soul was Thy servant, Thy word was my word,-- Still be with me, who then at the summit of human endeavour And scaling the highest, man's thought could, gazed hopeless as ever On the new stretch of heaven above me--till, mighty to save, Just one lift of Thy hand cleared that distance--God's throne from man's grave! Let me tell out my tale to its ending--my voice to my heart Which can scarce dare believe in what marvels last night I took part, 200 As this morning I gather the fragments, alone with my sheep, And still fear lest the terrible glory evanish like sleep! For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while Hebron, upheaves The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder, and Kidron retrieves Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine.

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, adjusted the swathes Of his turban, and see--the huge sweat that his countenance bathes, 210 He wipes off with the robe; and he girds now his loins as of yore, And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the clasp set before, He is Saul, ye remember in glory,--ere error had bent The broad brow from the daily communion; and still, tho' much spent Be the life and bearing that front you, the same, God did choose, To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose. So sank he along by the tent-prop, till, stayed by the pile Of his armour and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile, And sat out my singing,--one arm round the tent-prop, to raise His bent head, and the other hung slack--till I touched on the praise 220 I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man patient there; And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then first I was 'ware That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees Which were thrust out 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 bent back my head, with kind power-- All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower. 230 Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine-- And oh, all my heart how it loved him! but where was the sign? I yearned--"Could I help thee, my father, inventing a bliss, I would add, to that life of the past, both the future and this; I would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence. As this moment,--had love but the warrant, love's heart to dispense!"

XVI

Then the truth came upon me. No harp more--no song more! outbroke--

XVII

"I have gone the whole round of creation: I saw and I spoke; I, a work of God's hand for that purpose, received in my brain And pronounced on the rest of his handwork--returned him again 240 His creation's approval or censure: I spoke as I saw, Reported, as man may of God's work--all's love, yet all's law. Now I lay down the judgeship he lent me. Each faculty tasked To perceive him has gained an abyss, where a dewdrop was asked. Have I knowledge? confounded it shrivels at Wisdom laid bare. Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank, to the Infinite Care! Do I task any faculty highest, to image success? I but open my eyes,--and perfection, no more and no less, In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and God is seen God In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod. 250 And thus looking within and around me, I ever renew (With that stoop of the soul which in bending upraises it too) The submission of man's nothing-perfect to God's all complete, As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to His feet. Yet with all this abounding experience, this deity known, I shall dare to discover some province, some gift of my own, There's a faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to hoodwink, I am fain to keep still in abeyance (I laugh as I think), Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it, wot ye, I worst E'en the Giver in one gift.--Behold, I could love if I durst! 260 But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may 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 appal? In the least things have faith, yet distrust in the greatest of all? Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift, 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? 270 Would it ever have entered my mind, the bare will, much less power, To bestow on this Saul what I sang of, the marvellous dower Of the life he was gifted and filled with? to make such a soul, Such a body, and then such an earth for insphering the whole? And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm tears attest), These good things being given, to go on, and give one more, the best? Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, maintain at the height This perfection,--succeed with life's dayspring, death's minute of night? Interpose at the difficult minute, snatch Saul the mistake, Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now,--and bid him awake 280 From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set Clear and safe in new light and new life,--a new harmony yet To be run and continued, and ended--who knows?--or endure! The man taught enough by life's dream, of the rest to make sure; By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning intensified bliss, And the next world's reward and repose, by the struggles in this.

XVIII

"I believe it! 'Tis Thou, 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. 290 From Thy will stream the worlds, life and nature, Thy dread Sabaoth: _I_ will?--the mere atoms despise me! Why am I not loath 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;--'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! 300 So shall crown Thee the topmost, ineffablest, uttermost crown-- And Thy love fill infinitude wholly, nor leave up nor down One spot for the creature to stand in! It is by no breath, Turn of eye, wave of hand, that salvation joins issue with death! As Thy love is discovered almighty, almighty be proved Thy power, that exists with and for it, of being Beloved! He who did most, shall bear most; the strongest shall stand the most weak, 'Tis the weakness in strength, that I cry for! my flesh, that I seek In the Godhead! I seek and I find it, O Saul, it shall be A Face like my face that receives thee: a Man like to me, 310 Thou shalt love and be loved by, 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 about me, to left and to right, Angels, powers, the unuttered, unseen, the alive, the aware: I repressed, I got thro' them as hardly, as stragglingly there, As a runner beset by the populace famished for news-- Life or death. The whole earth was awakened, hell loosed with her crews; And the stars of night beat with emotion, and tingled and shot Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowledge: but I fainted not, 320 For the Hand still impelled me at once and supported, suppressed All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and holy behest, Till the rapture was shut in itself, and the earth sank to rest. Anon at the dawn, all that trouble had withered from earth-- Not so much, but I saw it die out in the day's tender birth; In the gathered intensity brought to the gray of the hills; In the shuddering forests' held breath; in the sudden wind-thrills; 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: 330 E'en the serpent that slid away silent--he felt the new law. The same stared in the white humid faces upturned by the flowers; The same worked in the heart of the cedar and moved the vine-bowers; And the little brooks witnessing murmured, persistent and low. With their obstinate, all but hushed voices--"E'en so, it is so!"

* * * * *

ONE WORD MORE

TO E.B.B.

I

There they are, my fifty men and women Naming me the fifty poems finished! Take them, Love, the book and me together; Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also.

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 Rafael's glory, Rafael's cheek so duteous and so loving-- 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 wonder at Madonnas-- Her, San Sisto names, and Her, Foligno, Her, that visits Florence in a vision, Her, that's left with lilies in the Louvre-- Seen by us and all the world in circle.

IV

You and I will never read that volume. Guido Reni,° like his own eye's apple, °27 Guarded long the treasure-book and loved it. Guido Reni dying, all Bologna Cried, and the world cried too, "Ours, the treasure!" 30 Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.

V

Dante° once prepared to paint an angel: °32 Whom to please? You whisper "Beatrice."° °33 While he mused and traced it and retraced it (Peradventure with a pen corroded Still by drops of that hot ink he dipped for, When, his left-hand i' the hair o' the wicked,° °37 Back he held the brow and pricked its stigma, Bit into the live man's flesh for parchment, Loosed him, laughed to see the writing rankle, 40 Let the wretch go festering through Florence)-- Dante, who loved well because he hated, Hated wickedness that hinders loving, Dante, standing, studying his angel,-- In there broke the folk of his Inferno.° °45 Says he--"Certain people 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 picture. While he mused on love and Beatrice, While he softened o'er his outlined angel, In they broke, those "people of importance": We and Bice° bear the loss forever. °57

VIII

What of Rafael'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 find 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. Ay, of all the artists living, loving, None but 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, °74 Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him, 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--"But drought was pleasant." Thus old memories mar the actual triumph; Thus the doing savors of disrelish; Thus achievement lacks a gracious somewhat; O'er-importuned brows becloud the mandate, Carelessness or consciousness--the gesture. For he bears an ancient wrong about him, 90 Sees and knows again those phalanxed 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

X

Oh, the crowd must have emphatic warrant! Theirs, the Sinai-forhead's cloven brilliance,° °97 Right-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's imperial fiat. Never dares 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, °101 Were she but the Æthiopian bondslave), He would envy yon dumb, patient camel, Keeping a reserve of scanty water Meant to save his own life in the desert; 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; 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 He who works in fresco steals a hair-brush, 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 missal-marge with flowerets, 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, you saw me 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, Karshish,° Cleon,° Norbert,° and the fifty. °136 Let me speak this once in my true person, Not as Lippo,° Roland, or Andrea, °138 Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence: Pray you, look on these my men and women, 140 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, Still we find her face, the thrice-transfigured. Curving on a sky imbrued with color, 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, 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, °163 Blind to Galileo° on his turret. °164 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? Proves she as the paved work of a sapphire, Seen by Moses when he climbed the mountain? Moses,° Aaron,° Nadab,° and Abihu° °174 Climbed and saw the very God, the Highest, 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 will 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, One to show a woman when he loves her.° °186

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 Silent silver lights 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!

* * * * *

NOTES

* * * * *

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. (PAGE 1.)

The poem is based on an old myth found in many forms, all turning upon the attempt to cheat a magician out of his promised reward. See Brewer's _Reader's Handbook_, Baring-Gould's _Curious Myths of the Middle Ages_, Grimm's _Deutsche Sagen_, and the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. There are Persian and Chinese analogues.

The eldest son of William Macready, the actor, was confined to the house by illness, and Browning wrote this _jeu d'esprit_ to amuse the boy and to give him a subject for illustrative drawings.

LINE 1. =Hamelin=. A town in Hanover, Prussia.

89. =Cham=, or Khan. The title of the rulers of Tartary.

91. =Nizam=. The title of the sovereign of Hyderabad, the principal state of India.

158. =Claret, Moselle=, etc. Names of wines.

179. =Caliph=. The title given to the successor of Mohammed, as head of the Moslem state, and defender of the faith. _Century Dictionary_.

TRAY. (PAGE 15.)

The poem tells in detail an actual incident, and was written as a protest against vivisection.

3. =Sir Olaf=. A conventional name in romances of mediæval chivalry.

6. A satire upon Byronism. _Manfred_ and _Childe Harold_ are heroes of this type.

Note the abruptness and vigor of the style. Where does it seem effective? Where unduly harsh? Why does the poet welcome the third bard? What things does the poem satirize?

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. (PAGE 17.)

The incident is real, except that the actual hero was a man, not a boy.

1. =Ratisbon= (German Regensburg). A city in Austria, stormed by Napoleon in 1809.

11. =Lannes=. Duke of Montebello, a general in Napoleon's army.

20. This sentence is incomplete. The idea is begun anew in line 23.

What two ideals are contrasted in Napoleon and the boy? By what means is sympathy turned from one to the other? Show how rapidity and vividness are given to the story.

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. (PAGE 19.)

Browning thus explains the origin of the poem: "There is no sort of historical foundation about _Good News from Ghent_. I wrote it under the bulwark of a vessel off the African coast, after I had been at sea long enough to appreciate even the fancy of a gallop on the back of a certain good horse 'York,' then in my stable, at home." It would require a skilful imagination to create a set of circumstances which could give any other plausible reason for the ride to "save Aix from her fate."

14. =Lokeren=. Twelve miles from Ghent.

15. =Boom=. Sixteen miles from Lokeren.

16. =Düffeld=. Twelve miles from Boom.

17. 19, 31, etc. =Mecheln= (Fr. Malines), =Aershot=, =Hasselt=, etc. The reader may trace the direction and length of the ride in any large atlas. Minute examinations of the route are, however, of no special value.

Note the rapidity of narration and the galloping movement of the verse; the time of starting, and the anxious attention to the _time_ as the journey proceeds. How are we given a sense of the effort and distress of the horses? How do we see Roland gradually emerging as the hero? Where is the climax of the story? Note, especially, the power or beauty of lines 2, 5, 7, 15, 23, 25, 39, 40, 47, 51-53, 54-56.

HERVÉ RIEL. (PAGE 22.)

(Published in the _Cornhill Magazine_, 1871. Browning gave the £100 received for the poem to the fund for the relief of the people of Paris, who were starving after the siege of 1870.)

The cause of James II., who had been removed from the English throne in 1688, and succeeded by William and Mary, was taken up by the French. The story is strictly historical, except that Hervé Riel asked a holiday for the rest of his life.

5. =St. Malo on the Rance=. On the northern coast of France, in Brittany. See any large atlas.

43. =pressed=. Forced to enter service in the navy.

44. =Croisickese=. A native of Croisic, in Brittany. Browning has used the legends of Croisic for poetic material in his Gold Hair of Pornic and in The Two Poets of Croisic.

46. =Malouins=. Inhabitants of St. Malo.

135. =The Louvre=. The great palace and art gallery of Paris.

Note the suggestion of the sea, and of eager hurry, in the movement of the verse. Compare the directness of the opening with that of the preceding poem: What is the advantage of such a beginning? How much is told of the hero? By what means is his heroism emphasized? How is Browning's departure from the legend a gain? Observe the abrupt energy of lines 39-40; the repetition, in 79-80; the picture of Hervé Riel in stanzas viii and x.

PHEIDIPPIDES. (PAGE 30.)

The story is from Herodotus, told there in the third person. See Herodotus, VI., 105-106. The final incident and the reward asked by the runner are Browning's addition.

[Greek: =Chairete, nikômen=]. Rejoice, we conquer.

4. =Zeus=. The chief of the Greek gods (Roman Jupiter). =Her of the ægis and spear=. These were the emblems of Athena (Roman Minerva), the goddess of wisdom and of warfare.

5. =Ye of the bow and the buskin=. Apollo and Diana.

8. =Pan=. The god of nature, of the fields and their fruits.

9. =Archons=. Rulers. =tettix=, the grasshopper, whose image symbolized old age, and was worn by the senators of Athens. See the myth of Tithonus and Tennyson's poem of that name.

13. =Persia= attempted a conquest of Athens in 490 B.C. and was defeated by the Athenians in the famous battle of Marathon, under Miltiades.

18. To bring earth and water to an invading enemy was a symbol of submission.

19. =Eretria=. A city on the island of Eub[oe]a, twenty-nine miles north of Athens.

20. =Hellas=. The Greek name for Greece.

21. The Greeks of the various provinces long regarded themselves as of one blood and quality, superior to the outer barbarians.

32. =Phoibos=, or Ph[oe]bus. Apollo, god of the sun and the arts. =Artemis= (Roman Diana), goddess of the moon and patroness of hunting.

33. =Olumpos=. Olympus. A mountain of Greece which was the abode of Zeus and the other gods.

52. =Parnes=. A mountain on the ridge between Attica and B[oe]otia, now called Ozia.

62. =Erebos=. The lower world; the place of night and the dead.

80. =Miltiades= (?-489 B.C.). The Greek general who won the victory over the Persians at Marathon in 490 B.C.

106. =Akropolis=. The citadel of Athens, where stood the court of justice and the temple of the goddess Athene.

109. =Fennel-field=. The Greek name for fennel was [Greek: ho Marathon] (Marathon). Hence the prophetic significance of Pan's gift to the runner.

Compare the story in Herodotus (VI., 105-106) with Browning's more spirited and poetic version. Observe how the strong patriotism, the Greek love of nature, and the Greek reverence for the gods are brought to the fore. What imagery in the poem is especially effective? What is the claim of Pheidippides--as Browning presents him--to memory as a hero? What ideals are most prominent in the poem?

MY STAR. (PAGE 40.)

4. =angled spar=. The Iceland spar has the power of polarizing light and producing great richness and variety of color.

11. =Saturn=. The planet next beyond Jupiter; here chosen, perhaps, for its changing aspects. See an encyclopædia or dictionary.

This dainty love lyric is said to have been written with Mrs. Browning in mind. It needs, however, no such narrow application for its interpretation. It is the simple declaration of the lover that the loved one reveals to him qualities of soul not revealed to others. Observe the "order of lyric progress" in speaking first of nature, then of the feelings.

EVELYN HOPE. (PAGE 41.)

The lover denies the evanescence of human love. He implies that in some future time the love will reappear and be rewarded. Browning's optimism lays hold sometimes of the present, sometimes of the future, for the fulfilment of its hope. Especially strong is his "sense of the continuity of life." "There shall never be one lost good," he makes Abt Vogler say. The charm of this poem is more, perhaps, in its tenderness of tone and purity of atmosphere than in its doctrine of optimism.

LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. (PAGE 43.)

This poem was written in Rome in the winter of 1853-1854. The scene is the Roman Campagna. The verse has a softness and a melody unusual in Browning. Compare its structure with that of Holmes's _The Last Leaf_. Note the elements of pastoral peace and gentleness in the opening, and in the coloring of the scene. What two scenes are brought into contrast? Note how the scenes alternate throughout the poem, and how each scene is gradually developed according to the ordinary laws of description. What ideals are thus compared? What does the poem mean?

MISCONCEPTIONS. (PAGE 47.)

11. =Dalmatic=. A robe worn by mediæval kings on solemn occasions, and still worn by deacons at the mass in the Roman Catholic church.

The lyric order appears sharply developed here in the parallelism of the two stanzas. Point out this parallelism of idea. Does it fail at any point? Note the chivalrous absence of reproach by the lover. Observe the climax up to which each stanza leads, and the climax within the last line of each stanza.

NATURAL MAGIC. (PAGE 48.)

5. =Nautch=. An Indian dancing-girl, to whom Browning ascribes the skill of a magician.

The poem celebrates the transforming and life-giving power of affection. Note the abrupt and excited manner of utterance, and how the speaker begins in the midst of things. He has already told his story once, when the poem opens. Note also the parallelism of structure, as in _Misconceptions_, the climax in each stanza, and the echo in the last line of each. Tell the story in the common order of prose narrative.

APPARITIONS. (PAGE 49.)

Study the development of the idea in the same manner as in _Misconceptions_ and _Natural Magic_. Note the felicity of imagery and diction.

A WALL. (PAGE 50.)

The clew to the meaning is to be sought in the last two stanzas. This is one of the best examples of Browning's "assertion of the soul in song."

CONFESSIONS. (PAGE 51.)

First construct the scene of the poem. What has the priest said? What is the sick man's answer? What evidence is there that his imagination is struggling to recall the old memory? What view of life does the priest offer, and he reject? Does Browning indicate his preference for either view, or tell the story impartially?

A WOMAN'S LAST WORD. (PAGE 53.)

What key to the situation in the first line? Who are the speaker and the one addressed? What mood and feeling are in control? Comment upon the condensation of the thought and the movement of the verse.

A PRETTY WOMAN. (PAGE 55.)

25-27. Compare Emerson's lines in _The Rhodora:_--

"If eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for being."

To what things is the "Pretty Woman" compared? Of what use is she? How is she to be judged?

YOUTH AND ART. (PAGE 58.)

8. =Gibson, John= (1790-1866). A famous sculptor.

12. =Grisi, Giulia=. A celebrated singer (1811-1869).

18. In allusion to the asceticism of the Hindoo religious devotees.

58. =bals-parés=. Fancy-dress balls.

The poem is half-humorous, half-serious. The speaker, in her imaginary conversation, gives her own history and that of the man she thinks she might have loved. The story is on the "Maud Muller" motive, but with less of sentimentality. The setting suggests the life of art students in Paris, or in some Italian city. The poem is a plea for the freedom of the individuality of a soul against the restrictions imposed by conventional standards of value. Its touches of humor, of human nature, and its summary of two lives in brief, are admirably done. Its rhymes sometimes need the indulgence accorded to humorous writing.

A TALE. (PAGE 61.)

The source of the story is an epigram given in Mackail's _Select Epigrams from Greek Anthology_. It is one of the happiest pieces of Browning's lighter work.

65. =Lotte=, or Charlotte. A character in Goethe's _Sorrows of Werther_, said to be drawn from the heroine of one of Goethe's earlier love-affairs.

Who are the speaker and the one addressed? Whom does the cicada of the tale symbolize? Whom the singer helped by the cicada? What application is made of the story? What serious meanings and feelings underlie the tone of raillery? What things mark the light and humorous tone of the speaker? Point out the harmony between style and theme.

CAVALIER TUNES. (PAGE 67.)

Note the swinging, martial movement, and the energetic spirit in these lyrics. For an account of the history of the period, see Green's _Short History of the English People_, Chapter VIII, and Macaulay's _History of England_, Chapter I. For an account of the qualities of the Cavaliers, see Macaulay's _Essay on Milton_.